Random Acts of Kindness

"Unexpected kindness is the most powerful, least costly, most underrated agent of human change."

~ Bob Kerrey

I woke this morning to a damp and dreary day. A good day to rest, read, and reflect - especially since we are still recouping from our recent trip to MD Anderson Cancer Center.

This trip can take a lot out of us. It's not just that air travel has become more difficult. It's also the emotional stress of not knowing what we might hear from the hematologist, the physical stress of pushing John everywhere in a wheelchair, the physical stress for him of yet another bone marrow biopsy.  And when we're done, managing another day of travel and our morale for at least another week until we receive the biopsy report.

We've made this trip three times within 17 months. Each with a similar routine, yet each yielding radically different reactions. The first visit we met with the hematologist assigned to us, an austere Russian trained research physician, whose honesty bordered on bluntness, a shocking confrontation with reality while we were already shell-shocked. By our second visit, she was warmer, gentler, but the news she delivered still bleak and unpromising. Still no cure on the horizon. No appropriate clinical trials available. And her concern for John's appearance disconcerting. The biopsy took two attempts, and the results still were inconclusive. Overall, every bit as challenging a visit. Maybe even more so.

It was a surprise, therefore, when we both affirmed as we left our accommodations that this trip was a much more positive experience even though we couldn't pinpoint why at first. Yes, our doctor was even warmer, more personable, more patient with our questions, clearer with her answers.  But still no cure, no appropriate clinical trials. The biopsy went smoother. But still no results yet.

And then it hit us in the airport as someone offered to help with our luggage. This what was different. The constant stream of kindness that had enveloped us the entire trip. People who lifted luggage without being asked. People who held doors and offered help with the wheelchair. People who not only gave directions but walked with us to be sure we were headed the right way - and not because they were paid to do so. People who smiled first. People who genuinely seemed pleased to see us and willing to listen. People who reminded me with every gesture that there are wonderful, kind and decent people all around us.

Simple, unrequested, unexpected acts of kindness. I'd like to think I would always be aware of and grateful for them. But I suspect they have meant so much more because I am so much more aware of our fragility, so much more susceptible to cynicism and despair. Powerful, inexpensive but not underrated in this household.

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Standing in a Hammock

"So, how was Houston? What did you learn?"  "How is John?" "How are you holding up?"

Today, three weeks since our trip to MD Anderson Cancer Center in Houston, I would answer these questions somewhat differently than when we first returned, having the advantage of hindsight.  First, Houston was in better shape as a city than we had anticipated, remaining water viewed more from the air than in the area of the Center.  The Center itself as busy, as challenging to navigate as ever.  The sight of so many folks in distress as difficult to handle. 

But for us, the fact that they could not get a sufficient bone marrow sample added stress and uncertainty as we had traveled there specifically to check the progress of John's disease.  What we did learn was that currently there were no clinical trials available to pursue.  And that we would have to wait another week for whatever further information could be retrieved from the sample.  The best advice we received was to resume monthly chemotherapy treatments.

I would have said on the morning we left Houston that nothing much had changed as a result of the trip.  And then, in the airport, waiting for our departure, I heard John tell a friendly stranger that he has an incurable cancer and is not sure he will survive another year.  Something I had never heard him acknowledge before, even at times seemed unable to acknowledge.  It broke my heart - and it was such a relief.

For, it has been very challenging for me to hold the reality of this prognosis without impacting his optimism, his conviction that he could endure this long enough for a cure to be found.  That, at least there might be a clinical trial that would provide a better treatment plan.  After all, he beat cancer before. That optimism, however, has been an obstacle to getting our "ducks in a row" should he or before he loses this battle.

Oddly enough, admitting this is a possibility, even a probability has decreased our stress and anxiety.  Rather than be depressed, it has brought us both a sense of calm relief and purpose.  And subsequently, we have adjusted our expectations and aligned behind a commitment we can manage.  We are focusing on three months at a time and a laundry list of to do's that keeps us grounded, energized and in tandem.  

So, how am I doing?  I told someone recently that I'm learning to ride the waves.  "No," she said, "you're learning to stand in a hammock."

And John, well, he recently reminded me that doctors could be wrong.

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.

LOL

"the most wasted of all days is one without laughter"

~ ee cummings

As someone who can be too serious and thus, tend to worry and fret, laughter, even a simple smile, is a lifeline to a modicum of serenity.  Especially these days in this world with the health challenges we are facing. Laughter brings me back to center.  It reminds me to be grateful for what I have.  Who I have in my life.

I thank my lucky stars that I married a man who values humor and sends me laugh out loud e-mails almost every day.  And I thank my lucky stars that I have friends who share silly FB posts that always bring a smile if not an outright belly laugh.  (Pat, that's for you!) I'm so grateful for the late night comics who can find or create humor from a situation that otherwise stirs up angst and anger.  And special thanks to all my friends and my brother and sister who, when we speak, manage to get me to laugh at something, anything.  My days would be darker without all of you.

So, I conclude this brief post with one man's witty observations on aging.  Hope you get a laugh or two, or at least an occasional smile.

https://www.youtube.com/embed/LR2qZ0A8vic?rel=0

Just Another Candle

"Age is a case of mind over matter.  If you don't mind, it doesn't matter."

~ Satchel Paige 

I recently turned 76, and, somewhat surprisingly, the number took my breath away.  It's not that I didn't know it was coming.  I usually look forward to celebrating my birthday for an entire week. I'd been saying for some time that  I was going to be 76.  Yet, when the day came and I said the words, "I'm 76", it suddenly struck me that I'm on the downward slope to 80.  And however, you look at it, 80 is old.

Most of the time I don't feel old.  I don't think of myself as old, unless, until -

• I know all the words to songs younger folks have never heard of.  Happens all too frequently on The Voice.
• I catch a glimpse of myself in a store window and wonder who that woman is.
• Or look unexpectedly in the mirror and see my mother staring back at me.
• I have to struggle to get up if my butt is lower than my knees.
• I walk into a room and can't remember why I went there.
• I see a celebrity from my youth and am shocked at how old they look.
• I can recognize all the gadgets and appliances on a quiz about golden oldies - skate keys, ice boxes, party lines, even mimeograph machines.
• I hear myself saying I could be someone's grandmother.
• I notice that none of the heels in my closet are over 1" high and I dress for comfort rather than style.
• I refer to someone in their 50's as young.
• I have to say I'm 1/2 inch shorter on my new driver's license. (At this rate, I'll need a car seat if I make it to 90 and am still driving!
• The news arrives that the last of my Dad's siblings has died.
• I watch a contemporary decline.

For the most part, however, I don't mind.  After the initial shock a few days ago, I did celebrate.  All week.  I celebrate that I take no meds.  I can do much of what I did 20 years ago, though I must confess it takes longer.  I love to learn and strive to learn something new every day, deriving more from what I read than I ever did.  I am overcoming my fear of this technology, even have a FB page.  I enjoy people of all ages and particularly enjoy conversations with young people.  Though I may cry more easily, I also laugh more easily.   Though I get angry and fearful, I don't reside there as long as I did when I was young. Though John is ill, we have great medical care.  And we continue to fight the good fight together.  Not bad for 76, if I do say so.

So,I agree with Satchel.  Age is a case of mind over matter.  If you don't mind, it doesn't matter.  The secret is to continue to not mind.  It is after all, just another candle.

Breathing Space

"My desire to be informed is currently in conflict with my desire to not have my head explode or spend all day sobbing in the fetal position."
~  Christine Organ

While I haven't spent a day sobbing in the fetal position, I have been fighting a bug all week - a sure sign that I have been spending  too much time on Facebook, and too much time listening to what is loosely called news these days.  Too much time distressed by the steady stream of innuendos and accusations, and checking snopes.com to sort the truth from the distortions and outright lies.  Too much time blocking the steady stream of anger and venom spewed from supporters and dissenters alike.   Too much time appalled by the cursing, name-calling, and personal attacks from all quarters. Too much time struggling to maintain some sense of hope that our system of checks and balances with be sufficient to curtail an agenda and its proponents that I find disheartening, to say the least.  Too much time fending off my fear that it may not be.  And that I will be left alone in a world I do not like.

However, if I've learned anything about illness these past few years, it's that it is a great opportunity to reassess and renew.  So, after a brief period of chastising myself for not putting tighter boundaries around this circus, and feeling just a bit sorry for myself, I stepped back and reassessed and renewed.  I watched only mysteries and ice skating on TV (and Family Feud with John), ate my favorite comfort foods, stayed in my nightgown and robe all day, and napped whenever I felt like it.  After all, I am retired.  Finished three novels, reviewed last year's journals and found my way back to a couple hobbies.  Had a few telephone conversations with old friends,  catching myself when we strayed too long into politics.  Even managed to catch up on laundry and create another donation for Catholic Charities.  I did check Facebook daily,  still responded to surveys, added my name to a few petitions, even made a couple calls to my elected representatives.  But I timed myself and put tight boundaries around what I read and what I responded to. 

In the process, I discovered, well, rediscovered that it isn't an either/or choice between staying informed or staying healthy.  It is a matter of choosing how to stay informed so that I can remain healthy, not only physically, but emotionally and mentally. It requires, for me at least, choosing carefully where, when, and how I get accurate information.  It requires boundaries around how much time I spend doing so, and to which voices I listen. It requires that I focus on my priorities - John's health and my health.  It requires periods of rest and recreation, breathing space.

This morning, finally feeling better physically, intent on finishing this post, I checked my e-mail and found a message from a special friend - that friend who though miles away seems to sense just what to say when I most need it.  She shared some words of wisdom from Michael Moore that put my thinking of this past week into crystal clear perspective. 

"This morning I have been pondering a nearly forgotten lesson I learned in high school music. Sometimes in band or choir, music requires players or singers to hold a note longer than they actually can hold a note. In those cases, we were taught to mindfully stagger when we took a breath so the sound appeared uninterrupted. Everyone got to breathe, and the music stayed strong and vibrant. Yesterday, I read an article that suggested the administration's litany of bad executive orders (more expected on LGBTQ next week) is a way of giving us "protest fatigue" - we will literally lose our will to continue the fight in the face of the onslaught of negative action. Let's remember MUSIC. Take a breath. The rest of the chorus will sing. The rest of the band will play. Rejoin so others can breathe. Together, we can sustain a very long, beautiful song for a very, very long time. You don’t have to do it all, but you must add your voice to the song. With special love to all the musicians and music teachers in my life."

Although this is a decidedly political statement, it speaks to me in other ways, for the challenges John and I face together.  I need to remember MUSIC...to take a breath now and then.  To let the wonderful chorus around me sustain the note.  It may take awhile, but I will rejoin them when I can.

PS.  A special thanks to everyone who reminded me on my 76th birthday yesterday of just how wonderful my chorus is.  You made my day!!

If I Ruled the World...

"If I ruled the world,

Every man would be as free as a bird

Every voice would be a voice to be heard..."

~ Cyril Ornadel, Leslie Bricusse  

This has been a tough week.  I have watched with dismay as this President signs executive order after executive order that I disagree with.  I have serious concerns about his mental health and the agenda of many of the people he surrounds himself with.  I can't believe that the interference of a foreign government, let alone Russia, hasn't raised more of an outcry nationwide. I have watched demonstrations that remind me of the divisiveness of the 60's that tore apart our families and communities.  I fear our very democracy is being eroded before my eyes, fed by the beliefs of a small segment of our population with little regard for the needs or values of the larger whole, even blatant disregard.

I want to think "we are better than this."  But that belief is being tested almost everywhere I look.  When lies are called alternative facts and people brag about posting false stories, when basic Constitutional rights (freedom of speech, freedom of the press and freedom of assembly) are threatened, when I see resistance that looks as ugly as that which is being resisted, when I see and hear behavior I would have chastised a 10 year old for, I am at best stunned, at worst saddened and afraid.  So....

If I had my way -

• we'd challenge our generalizations - not all Republicans support this president and his policies; not all Muslims are terrorists; not all Christians are Evangelical; not all Democrats are Progressives; not all Pro-Choice supporters advocate abortion; not all voters who didn't vote for him voted for her; not all who voted for him are racist, etc., etc.
• we'd "seek to understand, then be understood" - whether in personal conversation or on social media, we'd ask more questions for clarity; consider at least a point, if not the entire perspective, that is being made; provide feedback for understanding (even if not in total agreement) before countering with our own points of view.  
• we'd move beyond blame, especially overarching blame of a single group of people - there are many factors that contributed to the outcome of this election, many groups that can be pointed to for the roles they played or didn't play; we'd do well to remember that blame elicits more defensiveness than ownership.
• we'd tamp down the flames of hatred rather than fan them -  name-calling, profanity, insult, ridicule and rudeness are running rampant; hatred is being justified by anger; respect is being demanded without being given; "argument turns too easily into animosity; disagreement escalates into dehumanization." (George W. Bush) 
• we'd be as aware of our own biases, as much as we are the biases of others - President Bush said it beautifully in Dallas, "too often we judge other groups by their worst examples, but judge ourselves by our best intentions."  I also would add that too often we justify with single anecdotes rather than patterns of behavior, belief rather than fact.
• we'd do our homework - we'd learn from history - ours and that of other countries, understand how easily populism morphs into Fascism, what trade wars can do to an economy, how easily the fabric of a society is torn apart and how long it takes to sew it back together again.  We would demand more than platitudes and slogans, proof and plans, not mere promises; personal character would be as much a criteria for success as wealth is.
• we would be engaged citizens - we'd understand how our government is supposed to operate; we'd understand something about basic economic theory; have some knowledge about the rest of the world; at least we would vote...and rid ourselves of the gerrymandering that has contributed to the belief - and in many cases, the reality - that our vote doesn't matter.

But most of all, we'd look for ways to pull together, rather than divide further - we'd seek compromise, solutions that work for the largest segments of our population, not just a single segment or group.  Next month I will be 76.  Although I am concerned for my own future should this regime impact Medicare and Social Security and health care as they promise to, I am not going to be here in 15 to 20 years, maybe less than that.  But my nieces and nephews, my grand-nieces and grand-nephews will be.  If I had my way, they will enjoy the opportunities I did.  They will live in an environment of clean air and clean water.  They will feel safe to express their political views, to practice the religion of their choice, or no religion at all. 

I know I will never rule the world.  But at least, I can still hope "this is not who we are."

Today Is a Good Day...

"Today is a good day for a good day."

I don't know the origin of this quote, but I've been repeating it often of late.  I first heard it used on an HGTV series, Fixer Upper, with Chip and Joanna Gaines.  It not only makes me smile, but reminds me to declare each day as a new possibility, regardless of the state of the preceding day. 

It's not that I'm into denial.  I certainly know bad things happen to good people.  I believe we are in for some rough years ahead with the division in this country and threats around the world.  I understand full well that "aging is no place for sissies."  I face reality every time John needs another transfusion or I hear about another Trump nomination. 

In order to have some good days in spite of all that, however, I am focusing on what I/we can control.  I read my news from a source I trust. I call my representatives to express my opinions and concerns.  I take appropriate surveys.  I try to influence others to do the same. I make sure we stay in regular communication with the cancer clinic.  I learn as much as I can digest about John's condition so that we do our part in his treatment.  

And I repeat, sometimes more than once a day, "today is a good day for a good day."  It reminds me to focus on those things and those thoughts that contribute to a good day.  For me, that includes spending time with John.  It includes contacting a friend, taking time to journal and to read something inspirational.  (Right now, that's The Power of Now by Eckhart Tolle.)   It includes limiting negative news as much as possible, whether on TV or Facebook.  And spending time on a project whose completion brings me satisfaction, like simplifying our home or drawing.

It also includes watching something entertaining on TV.  When I had cancer some years ago, I watched every Fred Astaire or Gene Kelley film I could find.  I know every lyric to the songs of Seven Brides for Seven Brothers and can quote much of the dialog of The Princess Bride and The Wizard of Oz.  And I confess, I'm a sucker for Hallmark movies, especially over the holidays.

I could wish I had come across this quote years ago.  It might have made some difficult periods in my life easier to endure, but I suspect I might not have had the wisdom to appreciate and use it.  For now, therefore, I am adding this quote to tonight's list of gratitudes, followed by "it has been a good day!"

 

Out of Crisis Comes...

"Often out of crisis comes this enormous wellspring of generosity and motivation."  

~ Josh Fox

We know from past experience the truth of this quote.  I retain many of the 100+ angels that were sent to me when I had cancer.  Although I am a confirmed agnostic, I do believe that the prayers offered when John battled Non-Hodgkin's Lymphoma, contributed to his survival, if nothing else, because he knew he was being supported, even by people he did not know.  And that contributed to his will to survive, in spite of a poor prognosis.

Even with our past experiences, we are profoundly touched by the outpouring of concern and offers of assistance we are receiving from across the country.  Many have asked what they can do to help.  I know there is plenty of advice out there that you should just do what you can because people in the midst of crisis often don't know what they need.  We certainly don't know the extent of what we might need yet.  

Some folks have gone through a challenge of their own and have a sense of what might be helpful.  A card from old friends who had heard our news through the grapevine came unexpectedly and that was touching.  Several friends have sent well wishes and prayers - always welcome.  A friend and a family member who have special medical expertise continue to provide translation of medical terms, insight into possible treatment, and research into other options.  Another who knows me well, knows how I tend to think and react, is a good sounding board as I contemplate important decisions.   Sometimes, a simple offer...like "what would make the day easier today and can I get or do that for you", as one dear friend recently queried, may be the sweetest gesture in and of itself, needing no response other than thank you for the offer.  And anything that brings a smile, or better yet a laugh, is a treasure.

But it is more than fine with us that you offer and then wait for our requests.  We are leaving tomorrow for MD Anderson in Houston. We will make more specific requests once we have more information.  For now, your prayers, moral support, positive thoughts and wishes are deeply appreciated.

First Things First...

"Courage is the measure of our heartfelt participation with life, with another, with a community, a work; a future."

~ David Whyte

   Consolations

Because I hope you will follow our journey and share our thoughts with others, and because these will be strangers to us, I feel it only fitting to profile who we are and why this chronicle is important to us and, hopefully, to others.

John and I have been married for 33 years (must be comfortable because we both forgot our anniversary this year!)  We met in the summer of 1980 "in a bar in Kansas City."  Just as the song says.  I was an elementary principal at the time, he the Director of Corporate Engineering for a Fortune 500 company.  Both divorced, neither with children, neither intending to marry again.

We were married in Cleveland, Ohio, two and a half years later.  Within a year, John was transferred to Santa Barbara where I created a small boutique training/coaching firm that became my passion for the next 25 years, and he eventually created a small firm specializing in the abatement of asbestos and lead based paint.  That's the raw data.

In some respects, we are quite different.  He loves country and I like - almost anything but. He is a vegetarian, I am not.  He could watch sports all day.  Give me a good mystery.  And then there's politics.  Let's say we cancel each other's vote.  But we are partners, and the medical crises, of which we have experienced our fair share, have forged that partnership. We love each other, yes.  But as important, we like, trust and respect each other.

We have both battled cancer.  Breast cancer for me and non-Hodgkin's Lymphoma for John. The latter was put into remission with a stem cell transplant at MD Anderson 11 years ago. The same MD Anderson we will be visiting next week for further testing, prognosis, and treatment recommendations for the rare blood cancer with which John was diagnosed this week.

We are dedicated to facing this head on as we have faced every other challenge together. With the prayers and assistance of an incredible network of support.  With dignity and a healthy dose of realistic optimism. Learning whatever we can to make the most responsible decisions we can. And with a desire to contribute to each other and to others who are or may be facing a similar challenge.  It is our hope that by writing about our journey as we embark upon it, we can add insight and assistance to others now and in the future.  

It Is What It Is!

"A crisis is a terrible thing to waste."
~ Paul Romer

We are facing a health crisis as great, if not greater, than any we have faced before.  We do not yet know the full extent of this crisis other than what we have just learned from the preliminary results of John's bone marrow biopsy.  He has been diagnosed with a rare blood cancer that will require further information as to prognosis and treatment.  We do not have a clue as to what good could come from this.  But we do trust that something will.

It is out of our desire to create something good from this crisis for ourselves and for others that John agrees we should share our journey here.  Not that we intend to share intimate details, or rage against the universe, or wring our hands in despair. For it is what it is. But this is a blog about aging, and medical crisis and how one deals with it is one of the most challenging aspects of aging I observe. And am now experiencing.

So, in the weeks and months ahead I will be sharing the lessons we are learning, hoping that they will be of help and support to others who are faced with a similar challenge. And hoping you will share with us also - questions, comments, the lessons you've learned.  Let's learn together.

Just Like That!

"Aging is no place for sissies."

~ Bette Davis

I woke this morning, a bit tired, having watched a couple Harry Potter movies late into the night. I was looking forward to a leisurely Sunday.  I'd have a Kahlua coffee in the den while tackling the crossword puzzle and  then wrestle with the sudoku. John would make eggs after he got back from Starbuck's with his soy latte, no foam, volcano hot.  Later I'd post a piece about Gene Wilder and the waves of nostalgia I've been experiencing since hearing of his death.

I went into the great room, surprised to see John sitting on the sofa, wearing his Greek fisherman's hat, apparently waiting for me,  No "Good morning."  No "How'd you sleep." Just  "I think you'd better take me to the emergency room.  Something's not right.  I'm having a hard time breathing."  Just like that!

Last night, Harry Potter in the den while he watched sports in the great room.  Tonight, well, when I left him, he was watching sports - in an ICU room.  Something is not right.  We still don't know what or why.  He's had a couple blood transfusions and, of course, a series of tests. We've been reassured he hasn't had a heart attack or stroke.  But - something is not right and they don't know what or why yet.

We've been here before.  Waiting on news.  Waiting for specialists.  Sitting in ICU rooms. After all, we've weathered breast cancer and non-Hodgkin's Lymphoma.  We know not to panic. We know how to advocate for ourselves.  We know we have supportive family and friends. We know how to ask for help.  We know we are stronger together.  

Somehow this feels different, however   Those bouts with cancer were fought in our early 60's. Today, in our mid 70's, we see more of our contemporaries in decline. We have less energy, less stamina.  Less to distract us, to occupy a worried mind. We are more reliant on each other, so feel more at risk when one of us is ill.  

But we are not sissies.  We may be old-er, but we are not sissies.  We are stronger together.

So, my plan for tomorrow.  Get there early enough to meet with the doctors - and stop off at Starbuck's on the way for his soy latte, no foam, volcano hot.  

  

A Balancing Act

"The word happiness would lose its meaning if it were not balanced by sadness."

~ Carl Jung

I was reminded of Jung's quote this past week as it has been a week of both pronounced happiness and pronounced sadness.  In the midst of news that two friends had been diagnosed with cancer and an acquaintance had committed suicide, we also got the news that John's biopsy for possible prostate cancer had proven negative.  Sadness and happiness within a matter of days,

I think I first grasped this idea on a Saturday almost 50 years ago, although I couldn't have expressed it as such that day.  Early that morning my ex and I, visiting our families for the first time since we had married and moved to California, were awakened with a frantic call from my grandmother.  Grandpa was having a heart attack.  We raced to their home to see him being put into an ambulance, and within an hour, got the news that he had died.  

While my parents and aunts and uncles attempted to console my grandmother and each other, I, as the eldest grandchild, was assigned the task of helping my siblings and cousins stay calm in the midst of Sicilian grief.  How I managed, I can't recall, but somehow we got through the morning.

And then, that afternoon, I changed clothes and attended the wedding of my ex's younger sister, the original reason for our visit.  A death and grief in the morning, a wedding and joy in the afternoon.  I do recall, vividly, two clear, distinct thoughts -  "This is surrealistic." Followed in the next breath - "I guess this is just the nature of life."

I expect, as we go forward, there will be more weeks like this past one.  Weeks with news that someone or some ones we love are facing a health challenge or have died.  We are, after all in our 70's now, living in a community that attracts retirees.  We most certainly will not go unscathed.  I have recognized this for some time.  What is clearer to me, however, is my responsibility to seek the happy moments, to create them with greater attention and diligence, and always, always to be grateful for them.

That's What Friends Are For

Having just reread my last post, I wish I had concluded it with this cartoon - 

For younger readers, this is Joe Btfsplk, Al Capp's little carrier of doom and gloom, an inhabitant of Li'l Abner's town of Dogpatch.  I see him at the periphery of my vision whenever I feel the degree of dismay I was expressing some nine days ago.  Fortunately, he doesn't visit me very often, and fortunately, he has returned home.

What's changed?  Not much out there in the world, sad to say.  In fact, there's been more stories of terrorist attacks, more non-sense, continued murder and mayhem, vile and bile, even in this short period.  What has changed, however, are my mood and morale in spite of it all - thanks to some help from my friends.

Friends take many forms and I've been blessed to be visited by a few this past week.  There are the old friends, one that I've cherished for over 40 years and another for almost 30.  The old and tried relationships that have been there through divorce and illness, the passing of parents, the challenges with children.  The friends with whom I can pick up a conversation after a gap of months, even years, and it's as comfortable and comforting as though we just had a slumber party.  The friends who remind me that I have overcome obstacles and crisis and am stronger and more resilient than I may think I am.  The friends who called just to check in and who listen through filters of shared history and memories and values.

There are the new friends, friends who seem to enjoy and value who I am today, wrinkles and warts and all.  One who, by sending a book with a slightly sacrilegious and wholly hilarious inscription , brought a belly laugh in spite of my mood.  One who shared a morning with bright and eager eighth grade girls, reminding us both that opportunities are so much better for them than they were for us at their age...progress!   Or another, who listening to my litany of dismay reminded me to return to what I know works for me - turn off the news, watch something pleasant and uplifting, read a good book, look and listen for the positive, focus on what I can control, remember to be grateful.

And the three I cherish most - my husband who accepts me just as I am, cheerful, anxious, upset, remote, frustrated, angry - room for it all, without a shred of judgment or criticism.  My 'baby' sister who has become close friend and trusted confidante over gaps of distance and age and circumstances, and my brother who knows better than anyone alive today why I am so committed to being optimistic, especially when it is challenging to do so.  Each was there this week.  Each listened and each cared.

I'd like to think I have long appreciated the importance of friendship, been grateful for the men and women I am blessed to call friends, but this week has added a new depth of understanding.  Friends, old and new may never be as important as in these last years of our lives, when the impersonal insecurities of a changing, tense and frightening world intersect with our personal physical and emotional challenges.  

So, I have declared a recess from the news.  I have been watching musicals and reruns of The Golden Girls and Murder She Wrote.  I'm reading a good book, focusing on what I can control - and being grateful for good friends.