Wednesday, August 16, 2017

Little Things Mean a Lot

Recently, I posted on Facebook -

"A day of simple pleasures...cutting roses in our backyard, a lovely lunch with a fine friend (and a crepe and creme brulee to boot), finding a tiny treasure for my office, an afternoon nap, and a bowl of popcorn while watching the World of Dance with John, who's had a good day too. And off to bed with a good mystery - I'm a happy camper."

I doubt I would have written something like this 20 years ago.   Is it because my world has become smaller and more confined?  Is it because our lives have become consumed by handling more important things?  Is it because the bigger issues in my life are looming as so beyond my control? So far beyond my control that to pay attention to the little things is a matter of survival? 

Or is it simply because I'm older and wiser? Which, of course, is the explanation I prefer!

No matter.  Whatever the reason or reasons, 
  • having a good piece of chocolate, well anything chocolate
  • seeing a movie with a friend
  • watching The Voice or So You Think You Can Dance with John, critiquing the whole way through
  • taking the time to enjoy spectacular coral desert sunsets
  • journaling on the courtyard chaise in the morning when the only sound that interrupts my concentration is our friendly pair of mourning doves
  • laughing at a sacrilegious Facebook post, well laughing in general
  • cleaning out a drawer or shelf - I can hear the disbelief now - "you find that pleasurable?" I do, I do.
  • watching a baby play, whether a human baby or a puppy or a kitten, a baby
  • reading good writing
  • hearing John laugh
  • holding hands
  • learning how to do something new, but especially anything on the computer - John can hear my yell of triumph anytime I figure out something for myself.
  • receiving an e-mail, message or phone call from an old friend
  • hearing "I love you" and knowing it's true
I can regret that I didn't learn how important or how satisfying this when I was younger, but that's a waste of time.  I'd rather pay attention to these little things.

Saturday, August 12, 2017

I Hope Life Has Been Good to Her

I haven't thought about her for years.  I doubt she would remember the dinner she prepared 40 years ago as a favor for a mutual friend who was deeply concerned for me and thought she could be of help.  In the midst of debilitating panic at the prospects of living alone for the first time after a nasty divorce, I, too, was concerned, and thus, very grateful for the invitation.  Hoping she, indeed, could be of help.  

I don't remember her name.  I'll call her Sara. Our friend said Sara was ahead of me in the stream of 70's divorcees, swimming with grace and serenity.  Walking into her home, I could feel the peacefulness immediately.  After our meal, she got straight to the point. This I remember vividly.  "Mike says you are struggling with living alone and hopes I can offer some good advice.  Well, I'm no expert, but these three things work for me, a career I love, friends of the same sex, and hobbies or interests that fill the empty hours."  Simple. Straight to the point.

Well, I was teaching and loved it. I had a group of female friends from among neighbors and colleagues, who supported, and worried about me. But hobbies, interests? All my interests had been directed by my ex. So I thanked her, not adequately I'm sure, and set out to develop my own hobbies. And never saw her again. I eventually settled on needlepoint,  needle pointing a pillow for everyone I knew. Eventually, settled into a modicum of comfort in my singleness, but more importantly, gained the confidence that I could and would do so eventually with my own style of grace and serenity.

So what triggered this memory?  No single comment or event, but rather a series of events that took place this week.  A week of daily contact with friends, old and new. A week of sharing memories, tears, laughter, good food, serious conversation, fears and hopes and even a few interesting possibilities for the future.  A week that has culminated with suddenly remembering Sara and thinking of how, 40 years later, I would respond to her advice.

Some of the contacts this week were extemporaneous - e-mails, Facebook posts, a telephone call - from friends acquired along my career path, some friendships over 25 years old. Others - the newer St. George friendships - had been planned for some time.  My monthly luncheon date with a friend in her 80's, who shared her dream of seeing Alaska some day, and opened the possibility that we might do that together.  The next day, lunch at a local spa with a friend in her 50's, Grasshopper to my Sensei. Discussing my plans for the future, she sparked an idea for a  project I could become passionate about.  Asked how she might be of personal support in the days ahead, we committed to a monthly luncheon, at the spa, of course.

Then, there were the gatherings.  A monthly meeting of a group that has been meeting for two years now, pulled together in the hopes that these women would be a bastion of support in the inevitable life crises that, indeed, have begun to emerge.  Aging from 65 to 82, with a fount of knowledge and expertise and a bottomless well of compassion, they have become the haven we hoped for two years ago. For me, for sure. Then, today, lunch with friends to discuss Hillbilly Elegy, four "senior citizens" who share a love of reading and learning, 

So, how would I respond to Sara's advice today? At 76, retired, with perhaps too many hobbies, I would say friendship has become the most important, enduring element for me in living a satisfying life, whether alone or with a mate.  I would add, that especially as I have aged, I value a web of friends of different generations and different interests.  That though it is tempting, especially in today's divisive, hostile environment, to surround myself only with people who think and believe as I do, the diversity of age, interests, and viewpoints keeps me engaged and invigorated. That I need friends to cry with, and friends to laugh with, too. That I need friends who share a piece of my history, friends who nurture me in the present, and friends who help me face the future.

I take comfort in knowing I have created just such an elaborate web of friendships over the years, largely by remarkable good fortune, surely not by conscious design.  I don't know how Sara has fared.  If she would amend her advice as I have.  I hope life has been good to her. I hope she is surrounded by a web of loving, nurturing, diverse friendships.

Wednesday, August 2, 2017

Illegitimi Non Carborundum

It has been almost eleven months since John was diagnosed with Therapy Related MDS, a relatively new and currently incurable cancer of the blood.  Our initial prognosis with six months extended, thanks to a second opinion, to two years.  These months have flown by, but looking back, I am proud of how we have settled into a "new normal" - a daily way of living with this new challenge.  A new normal marked by grace, partnership, support and a quality I've come to recognize as resiliency.

Resiliency - elasticity, malleability, flexibility, plasticity, buoyancy - I've long recognized this in John.  With a history of non-Hodgkins that required the stem cell transplant that is the cause of his current illness, five hernia operations, three bouts of skin cancer, and macular degeneration, one might expect him to rail against the heavens or to just give up or give in. But he endures.  He keeps getting up.  He takes a day at a time and never relinquishes the fight.  He stays remarkably present and positive. He remains optimistic and reminds me that he's not a statistic.  He reminds me, too, that he beat the odds once, and he can do it again. That he can endure until there is a breakthrough that will extend his life with me.

What I haven't recognized is that his resilience has rubbed off on me.  I've thought of myself as tenacious, strong, and determined; and those are not bad qualities. But I like resilient better.  It's more fluid, less easily bent or broken.  Definitely an asset during these tenuous days.

And these days are tenuous.  There are the ordinary breakdowns of everyday life.  The breakdowns we all experience. We lose our TV picture. It's so hot that our potted plants all wither and die.  We keep receiving those calls that our computer is infected or someone can help us with college loans we never took out 50 years ago.  A light on my dashboard lights up for the 4th time, still not fixed after three trips to the dealer. The bombardment of news gets more frightening with each passing hour.  I'm not sleeping well.

What's a resilient soul to do?  Well, work patiently with the disembodied voice in technical support to recover the TV picture and be grateful we got a living breathing soul.  Remove the dead plants and wait till it cools off before replacing.  Stop answering calls from locations we don't recognize.  Take the car to the dealer and tell them the car will be returned if they cannot fix it properly once and for all - they did.  And limit the news, which also cured the sleeping problem.

Then, there are the bigger breakdowns.  The medical assistant that we have come to rely on for information and support suddenly leaves the clinic to move to another city.  A few days later, a dear friend who has been a key member of my personal support system lets me know she is moving, a wise decision for her, another loss for us.  A shot that we have hoped would make transfusions needed less often has had no measurable effect.  

What's a resilient soul to do?  Well, learn to access and interpret John's blood test results on the computer.  (Actually, doing so makes this resilient soul feel just a little proud of herself). Get to know more of the clinic staff. Plan a trip to see our friends after they are settled in, giving us something to look forward to.  Work with our doctor to design changes to John's treatment plan.

This is our new normal.  To take in new information and adjust, as quickly as we can, as patiently and gracefully as we can.  To work with each other and our network of support. To seek solutions rather than rail against the problems.  To focus on what is within our control. A day at a time, some days an hour at a time.

I do like resilient better.  It's more fluid, less easily bent or broken.  Definitely an asset during these tenuous days.  Definitely, a valuable asset for an unknown future.