A Work in Progress

"Routine, which I used to scorn as next door to incarceration, holds new appeal for me."
~ Carolyn G. Heilbrun
The Last Gift of Time

First, before I go any further, a few words as to my short hiatus from posting.  Given John's illness, I want to reassure anyone following the blog for some time now, we are fine.  Just have been busy fending off the imps of technology.  First, the printer, then the computer, and even my Kindle acted up.  But, and I say this with some pride, I handled it all and did so with patience, a modicum of grace, and success. (And yes, with the help of some patient, competent technicians.)  Not bad for someone who not long ago was afraid that I would break the computer if I hit the wrong key.

Now, for the Heilbrun quote.  I've been reading The Last Gift of Time for a few days now - one of my new habits, reading inspirational material as part of my morning routine.  Among the many sentences that caught my attention for its clarity and significance, this one captured an awareness I have had for some time now, but could not express with such eloquence or brevity.  

Like Heilbrun, I have a long history of resisting routine, seeing it as impeding my sense of freedom.  Lacking creativity and spontaneity, "next door to incarceration."  A psychologist might suggest this was a normal reaction to being raised by strict disciplinarians and taught by even stricter Catholic nuns.  I told myself that I needed more choice. I loved the individualized teaching methods of the 70's and 80's, no fixed curriculum for me.  And when I led my own training courses, I took pains to be sure no one course ever looked like another.  I could redecorate every month and have had to work, really work, at not starting yet another project, pursuing another hobby.

Upon retiring, however, habits and routines  took on a new meaning. The most obvious reason I began to concentrate on developing habits was to compensate for my " normal aging brain," as my doctor labeled it.  You know - where did I put my keys? What's her name, what's that word?  Why did I come into this room?  Surprisingly, it didn't take very long, well longer than 21 days, to recognize that habits and routines could actually increase my sense of freedom rather than confine it.  Freedom from worry and anxiety, freedom from stress, freedom to put my attention on something other than retrieval.  

So, I started with the obvious, the same place for my keys and sunglasses.  Grouping items by function and always, always returning them to their home.  Making lists and checking them twice.  Keeping one master calendar.  Developing schedules to address my needs rather than someone else's.  The behaviors organized, disciplined folks develop at a much younger age.

Last fall, when John was diagnosed and our lives took on chemo treatments, doctors' visits, medications, a state of hyper vigilance, these habits sustained me even as new habits and routines were demanded.  Sterilizing surfaces and materials often, communicating with friends and family more consistently, checking for potential obstacles, asking for help, etc., John's physical health and my mental health depend on them. They keep us grounded and provide a sense of stability and normalcy when any day can present a new and unexpected challenge.  They keep me tethered to today rather than floating away in sea of future uncertainty.  A computer glitch is just that, a glitch, not the cause of a meltdown.

Have I become a creature of habit?  Hardly.  Not after decades of denial and outright resistance.  But I can see the fruits of my labor.  I can feel the shift in my thinking.  Do I wish I had learned this sooner, well, maybe.  For now, let's just say I'm a work in progress.

Just for Today

"Do not dwell in the past, do not dream of the future, concentrate the mind on the present moment."

~ Buddha

Just like that, another holiday season is over, officially over as of today.  Another year past. Decorations boxed and stored.  Journals from the past year reviewed.  Just like that.  Like so many holidays of the past.  Over in the blink of an eye.  And at the same time, so unlike other holiday seasons we have known together.  Far less frenetic.  Far more uncertain. 

I have been tempted to make a list of resolutions, create a list of specific goals, design a year of special events and special memories, as I have so many years in the past - anything to gain a semblance of control. Fortunately, I was reminded, by Dear Abby no less, that there is a simpler way, one that I believe will serve John and me much better this coming year.

On New Year's Day, the current Abby, the original's daughter, shared an often-requested list of resolutions that her mother adapted from the original credo of Al-Anon.  I prefer to think of them as guidelines or aspirations that can provide a framework for a simpler, more mindful year.  I offer my edited highlights, those that speak most to me, and a couple more that these have inspired.

"Just for Today:  I will live through This Day Only.  I will not brood about yesterday or obsess about tomorrow."

"Just for Today:  I will not dwell (my emphasis) on thoughts that depress (or worry, or frighten, or anger, or...) me."

"Just for Today:  I will accept what is.  I will face reality.  I will (strive to) correct those things I can correct and accept those I cannot."

"Just for Today:  I will improve my mind.  I will read something that requires effort, thought, and concentration."  Or inspiration.

"Just for Today:  I will do something to improve my health."

And....
Just for Today:  I will do something that is creative and enjoyable.

Just for Today:  I will do something to simplify our home.

Just for Today:  I will do something with John that is fun.

If any of these guidelines speak to you also, I encourage you to read the original list in its totality.   And whether you create resolutions, or goals, or guidelines, or choose to let the year unfold as it will, may it be a healthy, happy one.

This Much I Have Learned

"In the middle of every difficulty lies opportunity."

~ Albert Einstein

 I have kept a personal journal for 40 years now, my own unedited, politically incorrect, safe confessional.  I  periodically have gone back to review a volume or two, sometimes out of mere curiosity, sometimes - as this past week - because I want to see if/what I have learned. Not surprising I'm sure that I would start with the most recent volume whose first entry was Sept. 1, three days before the ER visit that led to John's dire diagnosis.  

This much I have learned - in no order of importance -

• that Einstein was so right.  This challenge is the opportunity for many things.  Like learning.  I know more today than three months ago.  I know more about his disease. I know more about John.  I know more about myself.  I know more than I want to know about navigating the health care system, even a good one. 
• that even though John and I have battled cancer twice before, I did not appreciate or respect his courage and resiliency as much as I do today.  He is my hero.
• that just because we fought this fight before, we have had to acquire new knowledge, new skills, new attitudes for this particular battle.
• that the most important role of caregiving may be that of advocacy with the individuals and institutions on whom your loved one's survival depends.  And that that role calls for skill, patience, tenacity and above all, fearlessness.
• that I am a great advocate! 
• that support and help can come in the most creative ways, from the least expected quarters, and take your breath away.
• that we have an incredible network of support here.  And that knowing that has removed a source of worry for John.  He knows I would not be alone.
• that the very differences between John and me that have at times been the source of disagreements and stress, harnessed, are the source of our strength, resiliency and endurance.
• that one of the biggest challenges for me is to stay present and not leap into an unknown, frightening future.  And developing that skill, though difficult, may be the biggest opportunity for me, the one that will impact the very future I worry about.
• that I need to take care of me as well as John.  I sometimes do a better job at the latter than the former.
• that it takes constant conscious attention to maintain a healthy tension between realism and optimism.  And between enjoying the present and planning for a future we may not want.
• that this time is bittersweet.  The bitter - his frequent need for transfusions; the reality that this is currently incurable; watching him give up so many things he enjoys; observing his fatigue; the vigilance needed to prevent infection, etc., etc.  The sweet - deeper communication; greater and more frequent expression of affection and respect, not only between us but for us; a stronger partnership than we've ever had, etc., etc.  And that the sweet does not negate the bitter, nor vice versa. 
• that a sense of humor is more valuable than I ever realized.  Thank heaven John has a good one.
• that simplifying our environment and our routines isn't about losing anything.  It's about gaining time and space, calm and serenity.
• that, while others can and will give you advice, everyone handles a crisis like this in his or her own way.  And what may work for you one day may not the very next.
• that I have a whole new respect for the chronically ill and their caregivers.
• and that, though I have learned a lot, I know I have so much more to learn.

Last September I decided to share our journey here in the hope that what we are experiencing and learning along the way could be of value to others who are or will be in a similar situation.  I hope this is so.  And to all who are following this and perhaps sharing it with others, thank you.  And Happy Holidays to all.

Keep It Simple Sweetheart

"Life is simple, but we insist on making it complex."

~Confucius

I think most people would understand were we to choose not to decorate for the holidays this year.  Coming off a rough month for both of us, we are weary.  But having had to forego our Thanksgiving tradition with friends, and having spent so much time last year organizing decorations for an easier holiday this year, we decided to go ahead, albeit more simply.  

So, our Christmas tree, a bit smaller than last year's, is up, decorated and topped with our traditional angel.  The mantel, with fewer ornaments than last year, is lovely nonetheless.  A few of our other decorations rest in their usual spots - not ready yet to give up my Santa collection or the large bowls of beautiful ornaments.  But several items are destined now for other homes and newer memories.  Simpler, not abandoned.

The effort has been well worth it.  First, decorating together is just plain fun and it was rewarding to see that my efforts last year were worth it.  Not only fun, but easier than usual. Second, we both love the look and feel of our home at the holidays and would have missed it. Third, while almost everyday brings new information, new challenges, a new normal, this is a cherished piece of the old normal.  Fourth, when there is so much out of our control, decorating, (and deciding what to let go), is something we can control.  

Most valuable, however, has been the recognition that not only do we need to simplify our home for easier maintenance and a calmer environment, but we would benefit from simplifying our efforts, our habits and routines as well. This is a project to do together and one that will keep us on focused on the here and now, rather than worry and fret over a future we can't control.

So, we've started, not just to be better organized or reduce clutter (a goal I've been working on ever since we merged two homes into one), but to simplify, to make easier to manage, to reduce maintenance and effort, to reduce the complexities. A different set of criteria. 

After only one week, we have made a small dent, and it's already clear that this will take a different way of thinking.  We will do well to remember why we are doing this.  We will have to focus on what we are gaining rather than what we are letting go.  We will have to pace ourselves, to keep our approach and strategies simple, too.  One collection, one box, one cupboard, one drawer, one pile of papers.  Our mantra...keep it simple sweetheart.

I Am Not a Luddite!

"I hate to say it, but I come from an era when we weren't consumed by technology and television."

~Jimmy Buffett

I come from the same generation and don't hate to say it. Having recently returned from a trip to Santa Barbara, my first flight in almost two years, I saw signs of folks consumed by technology, glued to cell phones and computers, rarely noticing their surroundings whether sitting in the airport, walking down the street,  even across from tables in restaurants.  To a degree that I found confusing and disconcerting. So much so that my reactions have remained with me since my return, hovering like an incipient headache.  

Before I share my observations and my concerns, a disclaimer.  As a member of one of the last generations to remember ice boxes, party lines, and wringer washing machines, the humid heat of Midwestern summers before air conditioning and hanging clothes in the basement in the winter, I  appreciate the modern conveniences that technology has produced. I wax lyrical over small appliances - love my Keurig coffee maker, thank the inventor of the electric can opener- and there must surely be a place in heaven for the creators of the microwave.  I have a cell phone, enjoy my Kindle, e-mail, Skype and use Facebook.  In short, I am not a Luddite.

I am, however, also not a techie, nor do I desire to become one.  Because as a member of my generation,I also remember the joy of receiving a handwritten letter and the pleasure of long conversations with a friend.  I had fewer friends, but I knew them, had a shared history.   I listened to the radio, played board games, pursued hobbies. The family doctor came to my home and didn't push prescriptive drugs.  I didn't have to ask people to put their phones away or look at me when I talked to them.  The bullies on our playgrounds had faces and names.  Information came into my world at a pace I could digest, understand and discuss in depth.

So, I would rather discuss a problem in person or over the phone, (a land line preferably); I will not bring my cell phone to a meal and don't instant message.  I journal my most private thoughts in a  notebook using a ballpoint pen.  I tape tv programs so I can eliminate the constant barrage of commercials suggesting I may need a new drug that I suspect will be recalled within a couple years for its side effects.  Increasingly, I choose to listen to music or read a book, a real book, or pursue a hobby. 

It can be argued that my generation doesn't need all the networking technology or that because we're retired, we have the time to write letters, have long conversations.  Or, as too often is the accusation, that we are afraid of the technology or too old to learn new tricks.  I maintain that some of us are making conscious choices, to communicate deeply, to take charge of how we spend time, to curtail the distractions, to control technology rather than let it control us.  

We don't need to defend this choice.  Or apologize.  Indeed, we may be one of the last generations to understand it is a choice.

  

...and Holding On

"All the art of living lies in the fine mingling of letting go and holding on."

~Havelock Ellis

I've repeated this quote because I'm still pondering it, seeing evidence of its validity everywhere I turn. 

The most obvious has been in the constant assessing I find myself doing as I strive to simplify our home.  I've been on an organization and decluttering kick for the past five years, ever since we downsized from two homes to one.  I thought I had done a wonderful job (if I do say so myself) until my sister visited last fall and commented that even though we had a lot of 'stuff', it didn't look cluttered.  It took awhile to figure out why the comment, intended as a compliment, still unnerved me. I was organized, uncluttered, but, clearly, far from the simpler look and feel that I really wanted but hadn't acknowledged.

So, for the last couple months I been removing the next level of belongings with simpler as the new criteria - a criteria that has forced me to examine and reexamine more closely the underlying reasons for holding onto...anything and everything.  For me, and I suspect for others, it's not the object that I'm holding onto, but what it represents - a memory, a relationship, an image of myself, an aspiration, an achievement, a time and place, maybe a "what if" - perhaps more.  With this realization, the decisions of what to keep and what to release became much easier, even enjoyable.

The more valuable realization dawned on me, however, when I went to visit my 90 year-old friend the week before she was to move into independent living near her family in the Midwest.  As I drove up to the house she had lived in for 17 years, she was standing in her near empty garage giving the last donations to a crew of compassionate and caring men who have obviously done this before.  We walked into her near empty home.  And in that moment I could hear the inner voice...the reason.  I'm beginning to let go now while it is my choice, while I have a partner to help with the decisions, to take the stuff to donation and consignment.  Because I want to, not because I have to!

So...this is what I've come to...

• this fine mingling of letting go and holding on is an art each of us comes to in our own time, for our own reasons, in our own way
• that it is much easier when it is our choice
• that the tangibles are much easier than the memories, the regrets, the dreams and aspirations, the relationships that we are asked to let go along the way
• that letting go may be one of the biggest and most important challenges of the aging process

But for now, it's my clothes closet.

Simplify, Simplify

Our life is frittered away by detail.  Simplify, simplify.
~ Henry David Thoreau

My efforts to simplify started four years ago (although I didn't recognize it as such at the time) when we decided to move to St. George where we owned a second home.  When we sold our Vegas home, we had just 27 days to move. In the midst of the recession, and deluged with foreclosures, the Vegas consignment stores had a glut of belongings.  So we moved a houseful of furniture to a house full of furniture.  There were boxes and crates, chairs and lamps, electronic devices stacked in the garage, and on the patio and courtyard.  Luckily, St. George is a low crime community, so nothing was stolen - I think.

After more than 25 years of marriage and a business run from our home, the accumulation of "stuff" was overwhelming and the decisions required to diminish it equally so, but necessity IS the mother of invention. Boxes and bags of books went to the library; we placed furniture and accessories in several consignment stores; Catholic Charities volunteers came to know John by name as we sent crates of redundancies for donation. Gradually, the patio and courtyard cleared and I could park my car in the garage.  We had successfully downsized.

What followed was months of organizing what was left.  Organizing and reorganizing, labeling and relabeling until I finally realized that merely organizing the stuff was like the proverbial rearranging of the deck chairs on the Titanic.  Better organized, yes, but still too much stuff - so this January I began a campaign of donating or gifting three objects, tossing three objects, and reusing or storing three objects every day. I waged war on the stuff  for six months!  

So recently, when my sister commented that although we have a lot of stuff, our home doesn't look cluttered, (and meant it as a compliment), I was initially disheartened.  All that work, all those months of donating and consigning and tossing.  All the organizing and labeling.  What had I missed?  

Looking back on my efforts, I realize that I had used the criteria of orderly, functional, and creative as I made my decisions. But not simple.  Why not simple? Why now?  And why has it become so easy to let go of things I thought so important until now?

Over these past weeks, I have renewed my campaign.  Another donation to Catholic Charities.  Another to the library.  A box to the food pantry.  I don't have satisfactory answers to my questions yet, but this much I know:

• The more I let go of, the easier it gets.
• The fewer choices, the easier to choose.
• As I simplify space and objects, I'm instinctively simplifying routines and activities as well.
• Less IS more - more space, more time, more freedom, more peace of mind, more satisfaction.
• And less is less as well - less to clean, less to maintain, less to insure, less to worry about, less to remember.
• For me, simplifying means making life simpleR, not necessarily simple. (I'll never be a minimalist!)
• To let go of possessions, I've learned to let go of the meaning attached to them.
• Possessions have no intrinsic value in themselves.
• People simplify their lives for different reasons - some political, some ethical or spiritual, some economics, some purely out of immediate necessity.  I started out of necessity but am now thinking about simplifying more philosophically.
• Although there are movements that foster simpler life styles (the tiny house movement, Voluntary Simplicity, minimalism, etc.) and that are attracting younger folks, I suspect conscious aging fosters simplifying for different reasons.
• Holding this as a process rather than a project reduces stress and encourages creative problem solving.
• Some days it's even fun.