Rough week, huh? Escalating wars in the Middle East. Devastating earthquakes in Japan with horrific tsunami and radioactive ramifications. A worsening global financial crisis. It’s as if the World is just wrapping its arms around itself, rocking out-of-control while dropping buckets of tsunami tears and screaming, “What on Earth….. ?????
After loading those tragedies on our backs every morning, we then shift to face the reality of our own lives, with their challenges and problems. We often forget to toss happiness, contentment and joie de vivre into that hefty baggage we’re hauling around each day. You bet, it’s far easier to be sad, miserable and depressed. “Woe is me” trumps “Ain’t life wonderful”, every time. And, unfortunately, being female, growing older, living alone, either by choice or happenstance, digging down within to find the lightness, is often tough, really difficult.
Call me crazy but I believe we can choose to be, no matter how our world turns, joyful and happy, or, not. Our glass can be half-full or half-empty. We can utilize our lemons to make lemonade or let them rot. I promise you, one can make a silk purse out of a sow’s ear. That’s what this week’s essay is about, doing just that.
More than six years ago, as my husband’s illness progressed to “noticeably serious”, we were forced to make some dramatic lifestyle changes, selling our Colorado home, leaving friends of 20-years, escaping the Rocky Mountains’ idyllic high-altitude living.
Once settled in Nevada, my husband, in his mid- 70’s, his mate, that would be me, in her late 50’s, faced a reality neither of us had even envisioned. ( Alone, I may be, but Alone, we are not. Alzheimer’s is difficult to diagnose, more difficult to predict, unpreventable, incurable and, presently, five million other Americans have it.)
Our years ahead revolved around his illness, my sharpening skills at the University after realizing the financial consequences of this disease, and, to my mind, just surviving. That was when I began writing a book, the working title, “Neither Nurse, Saint, or Martyr Be, My Role as a CareGiver”. Trust me, the title was the best part! Ninety-two pages of grief, anger, “Why Us?, discontent, gloom and doom later, I realized this was not going to be the block-buster to solve my financial concerns and it also was never going to see the light of day.
Being a midwestern girl, you might call this my “Get a Grip”, “Buck-Up”, “Shake It Off”, Moment. The time when, my husband being safe, secure, loved and cared for, always primary, I needed to find a path forward that included happiness. Whether alone by choice, death, divorce, or, like me, through illness, we all deserve to be happy.
Readers, never, never forget that.
This voyage has been arduous, not always successful. I still suffer times of inconsolable sadness. But, for the past two years, having ridded myself of Survivor’s Guilt, among other things, I have enjoyed more upticks than downs, my smiles are broader and my step is livelier. I find it easier to be Me. And, I’ve come to believe that not only do we deserve to be happy, despite the responsibilities and grievous roadblocks thrown in our path, every one of us can BE happy if that’s our recipe of choice. Yes, I’ve had to tinker with the ingredients, adjust the time and temperature, and purchase new utensils, but I’ve baked a whole bunch of happiness back into my life. So, here are some of my “tricks of the truc”, some serious, others, silly. They all work.
Step #1 – It is important to surround yourself with family and friends who love you unconditionally. Whatever your circumstances, everyone, yes, everyone, will have an opinion as to how your life should be handled. And, of course, some of those opinions will be critical, hurtful and harmful. For now, at least, get those critics out of your life or put them on the back burner.
Step #2 – Stop being a Victim. A huge challenge to this particular illness, and, probably, others, is that CareGivers lose themselves into the disease. It becomes, because it is, all-encompassing. It wasn’t until a year ago that a very dear (and, wise) eighty-two-year old-friend said, most kindly, “Oh, Mary, I’m so glad to see you’re no longer playing the Victim.”
Step #3 – Choose advisors carefully. When life gets shaky, you’ll need sound advice, buckets of it. Some will come free, others, I’m sorry, you’ll need cash. For financial advice, I called upon the smartest friends I knew. Just started asking economically-laced questions. Which, amicably, they answered, and still do. I call them my “unpaid Board of Directors”. I love ‘em. In dealing with uncharted territory, I relied on our doctors, books, organizations, support groups, and, most importantly, I hired a trained, educated senior guidance consultant who does know the territory and helped us immeasurably. Among my friends I found good, trusting “sounding boards”, often testing their goodwill, patience, and love. My last stop was always my California daughter, my best cheerleader but always thoughtfully and honestly direct. I’ve exhausted her.
Step #4 – Is your head spinning? Have second-guessing, panic, fright, and “shoulda, woulda, coulda”, become your sidekicks? For years I took every anxiety-reducing herb known to man until my frustrated daughter finally wailed, “Mom, you can mainline every herb in your cabinet, it’s not going to work. Get help.” And, I did. And, it did. A well-educated, experienced psychologist has enabled me and allowed me to find my path.
Step #5 – Sleep. Never underestimate the value of a good night’s sleep. Priceless. Park your worries. I cannot stress the importance of 8-hours of rest each night.
Step #6 – The Silly Stuff. Always at-the-ready to play on a dumpy afternoon, iTunes playlists filled with Golden Oldies, locked and loaded with my memories. I also delight in my playlist of newbies, Taylor Swift, the Green Peas (or, something), I even like the gal who botched “The Star-Spangled Banner” at Super Bowl XLV.( I forgive her.) Go to a movie. What’s so bad about staring at Matthew McConaughey (“The Lincoln Lawyer”) for two hours? Bake something rich and decadent/deliver pasta dinner to those 9-5 hard-charging neighbors who are your constant good samaritans. Keep all your hobby projects visible, scattered about, ready to go. Be messy. It’s okay. You live alone. Always, always, have a book to read. Never miss Jeopardy. Keep a Gratefulness Journal. Every night I write down two or three things for which I am thankful, ranging from the Chicago Cubs to 7-year-old granddaughter Clara losing a front tooth at our local PF Chang’s. Okay, I admit to some, yeah, well, many blank pages. And, granted, some of my “Grateful” I’m not proud about. I’ve written down, Krispie Kremes, probably more than I should admit. But, the journal is an ingredient for the road to recovery.
No recipe is fail-proof and, it’s true, happiness is elusive. Sometimes it even takes being brave. For every giant step forward, there’s always a baby step or three back. However, I believe with ever fiber of my being, that all of us can have it (happiness) and be it (happy), if we wish. Even in today’s world. Wasn’t it about 235 years ago that those someones wiser than us saw this pursuit of happiness-business as an unalienable Right?
Hanging prominently on a wall in my study, located squarely at eye level over my desk, is a caricature of three deliciously joyful women. A ribbon of words dances through the picture, “If Life gets dumpy, call your best friends and throw yourself a party.” Now, no one would call me “a social animal.” Small talk is not my forté. I’ve never met a boisterous cocktail party that I’ve enjoyed. Restaurants, dimly lit, crowded and noisy, don’t make me smile. I love, however, to gather friends around my table at dinnertime.
The opportunities for entertaining, as my husband’s illness noticeably progressed the past six years, have been slim to none. My life has been “on call”, needing to give attention to every crisis, dealing with emergencies as they presented themselves. No day has been my own. And, honestly, how was I going to enjoy gathering people at our table when he wasn’t at the other end of it? It was now time, I decided, to shed that skin and find out. What better way to do that than by gathering my female friends together to commemorate the upcoming 100th anniversary of International Women’s Day on March 8th.
Odds are that most of you have never celebrated IWD, nor even heard of it. Put simply, it’s a day to honor and support women’s empowerment, economically, politically and socially. In many European and Asian countries, it’s a national holiday. I was first introduced to this by my friend, Ardyth, an academic who just spent 6 months in Latvia as a Fulbright Scholar. Last March 8th, in one of our daily e-mail exchanges, she elaborated on how wonderful the day’s acknowledgement of women had been. “There were flower vendors on every corner,” she enthusiastically wrote. “Women received bouquets from their sons, their husbands, their bosses, no one was forgotten.”
(According to the CIA’s World Fact Book, there are almost 7 billion people in the world, more than half, female. Recognizing that women are the change agents who can drive peace, reconciliation, economic growth and stability, President Obama created a U.S.Ambassador-at-Large for Global Women’s Issues naming Melanne Vermeer to the post. According to a recent Boston Consulting Group survey, “Women” is the world’s largest and fastest growing market. “WE” will arguably spend more than $5 trillion over the next several years, more than the predicted growth consumer economies of India, Russia, Brazil or China! The CEO of Coca-Cola, Muhtar Kent, has committed his company to empower and train 5 million women entrepreneurs by 2020.)
I sent invitations to seven women friends, asking them to join me for dinner on March 8th. No one, except for Ardyth, had even heard of IWD but all responded affirmatively. Hey, it’s dinner, after all.
These women might all bring home the bacon, but, on this night, at least, they would not have to toss it in the pan! Although these gals are treasured personal friends, their professional credentials
aren’t too shabby either. Gathered together in my home last Tuesday evening were two PhD’s, three business owners, and two lawyers, one, also, a professional chef and judge. (Yeah, she exhausts me, too.) Among us, we have seven daughters and granddaughters. You might say we have quite an investment in women. Their only assignment was to think of the woman, past or present, they would be, if asked to change places.
I sharpened up my knives as well as my cooking skills to put together a menu. Perhaps, a “Where’s the Beef”, comfort food-evening, along with lots of vegetables, salad and pasta to satisfy any Vegetarians in the crowd. And, for dessert, a three-layer lemon torte, a Marie Antoinette – who really never said “Let them eat cake” – Moment. French Champagne. Italian Cabernet Sauvignon. For dessert, Limoncello, to honor a Sicilian guest, Adriana. My Ukrainian florist and friend, who has always celebrated IWD, created lovely table bouquets of roses, daises and tulips.
(The world produces enough food to feed everyone. Half of the world’s food is produced by women. In developing countries women harvest 60% to 80% of food crops. In Sub-Saharan Africa, 70% of the small hold farmers are women. However, according to United Nations 2010 figures, from 925 million to 1.2 billion people, almost 14% of our global population, go to bed hungry every night Dr. Helene Gayle, the CEO of Care USA, points out that 60% of the world’s one billion poorest people are women. “As recently as 1990, more than 90 percent of the world’s poor people lived in poor countries,” she says, “Today, roughly three-quarters of the world’s poor live in middle-income {emerging} countries.”)
The evening was, by all accounts, a smashing success tempered by sobering statistics. Our champagne toast was not made to “us” but to the hundreds of million of women who do not have the opportunity to be “us”. We delighted in exposing the ‘other woman within us’, from Julia Child (Michelle, my lawyer-judge-chef friend) to Mother Cabrini. “You may not know, I almost became a nun,” Adriana said, with a giggle. ( We are all still trying to get our arms around that revelation.) Linda and Kathy each chose Amelia Earhart, “but not her ending,” they said, in unison. Ellen, who devours self-help books, channeled successful California author, Louise Hay. And, Ardyth honored the achievements of Wilma Rudolph and Katherine Hepburn. I chose Madeleine Albright (that woman is all-bright on every level), Gertrude Ederle (I cannot swim), and my daughter, Melissa (wishing I had had her parenting skills). Actually, no one chose just one woman but a composite of many, thinking, perhaps, it took tiny parts of them to make one of us. The most intriguing choice was Susan’s of Kate Middleton, in all probability, England’s future queen. “I would just love to be Kate,” she said. “bringing what I know NOW to what she has the opportunity to be. What a platform. She can be and do so many good things.”
(Using UNESCO figures, there are arguably one billion non-literate adults in the world. Two-thirds of these are women. Two-thirds of the children who do not attend school are girls. Nobel Laureate Natalie Godimer calls literacy the “poverty of the intellect.”)
Prior to our sitting for dinner, I asked everyone to pick up their place cards. On them I had written a phrase which we each read aloud, round-robin style.
I, began – “The 19th Amendment to the Constitution, giving the right to vote to women”
Ellen – “took 72 years”
Adriana – “and, required 56 referendum campaigns,
Michelle – “47 campaigns to get state constitutional conventions to write women’s suffrage into state constitutions,”
Linda – “480 drives to get state legislatures to hold those referendums (5 referendum campaigns in South Dakota alone),”
Kathy – 277 campaigns to get state party conventions to include women’s suffrage planks,”
Ardyth – “30 campaigns to get presidential party campaigns to include women’s suffrage planks in their platforms,”
Susan – “and, 19 campaigns with 19 successive Congresses.”
(In the 2008 Presidential election, 56.8% of eligible Americans voted, more women than men. “Women still bear the brunt of poverty, war, disease, and famine,” Hillary Clinton recently said. “ And when it comes to the boardroom meetings, government sessions, peace negotiations, and other assemblies where crucial decisions are made in the world, women are too often absent.”)
Cudos to New York Times Columnist Gail Collins for those startling, fantastic place card statistics.
During my professional life, I was an economic journalist, a sleuth-seek-and-search newspaper job that often yielded surprises and discoveries. So, it rather surprised me to discover today, after digging down to pull up and dust off my investigative reporting skills, that the jigsaw puzzle industry, which is now enjoying a resurgence, peaked in popularity during the Great Depression. At a time in our history of primarily gloom, doom and 25% unemployment, those puzzle-producers realized a growth spurt. If author Felix J. Sheffield is to be believed, in 1933,10,000 puzzles a week were sold.
Fast forward to 2011. In Nevada, where I live, the economy has tanked, unemployment is 14.6%, and folks are losing their homes. A Recession, it’s called. (Notice I’ve dropped the “Great”. Really, what’s so “great” about it?) Maybe, just maybe, that’s why we’re in another jigsaw puzzle-frenzy now.
Why puzzles? Well, why not puzzles? These colorful, cardboard cutouts, of drop-dead designs and the style of a sophisticate, are reasonably priced, created for various skill levels, with mucho bang for the buck, and are recyclable to others. Go Green! Jigs provide hours of entertainment, whether you’re a family of four, like my kids in California, a couple, my neighbors, for example, or alone, like me. Stress seems to float away. There’s satisfaction in its completion, a feel-good pastime. As an additional bonus for we Boomers, it’s mental gymnastics for our brains: 1,000 little pieces just begging to be interlocked together.
This is when I admit to you that I am hooked. I am addicted. Contagious to the point that I’m willing to spread the ailment around. Actually I caught the disease from those California kids (don’t all trends begin in California and wind their way eastward?). Currently I have a puzzle-in-progress called “State Birds and Flowers”, which I received on Valentine’s Day. It’s a stinker. One-thousand pieces, 24 x 30 inches, floral, fauna and birds. The skill level is 12-years and Up. They’re kidding. Right?
I have already found out some interesting facts, however. The most popular birds? Five states chose the Western Meadowlark as their state bird and another five, the Mockingbird. Seven others Go Red. The Cardinal, of course. I was puzzled as to why Utah chose the California Gull as its state bird. My map shows Utah to be land-locked and shouldn’t California get first dibs on that particular gull? The story is that long ago, Mormon farmers were dealing with a devastating plague of Mormon Crickets, when some seagulls swooped in, gobbled up those critters and saved the day. In Salt Lake City, there is a monument called “Miracle of the Gulls”, commemorating that event. Thus, the state bird. To further their claim, Gulls, unlike most birds, can drink the saltwater supplied by the fly-and-stop gas station called the Great Salt Lake.
Although Jigs have been around for almost 250 years, first produced in 1767 by John Spilsbury, an English engraver and mapmaker, I’m a newbie to the pastime. While growing up as well as raising a family, we always had a shelf full of children’s puzzles. Didn’t everyone? But, recently, I’ve picked up my game, moving beyond the 300-, and 500-piece Jigs to those with 750 and 1,000 pieces. Devoted connoisseurs of the sport go even higher, 10,000 pieces and more. Egads. I’ve peaked at 1,000.
For holidays and birthdays, I now parcel out puzzles, just presuming the recipients will be grateful. To a micro-beer aficionado, I even found a 1000-piece puzzle of exotic beer bottles. He was not overwhelmed with gratitude but immediately got to work putting the “edges” in place, telephoning me two days later to insist two of the edge pieces were missing. Not there. No way. Couldn’t be found. A thousand pieces and several weeks later, the edges were found, the puzzle was completed, matted and framed and is proudly hung in his study. Now, he’s doing another, which he purchased himself!
It’s almost as fun choosing Jigs as doing them. Although there are more than thirty manufacturers who create quality puzzles, I’m currently partial to those made by Springbok, White Mountain , Spilsbury and Ravensburger. (Disclaimer: No free puzzles are headed my way because of that sentence.)
It’s a dismal, dark and dreary Winter evening. The wind’s howling outside. Get the picture? I just built a toast-your-innards fire. Popped a bowl of popcorn, properly buttered, for sure. Poured a glass of wine. (Red wine pairs with popcorn, I promise.) A jigsaw puzzle just daring me to try. Not so bad. Really.
It’s a soppy, overcast Sunday in Nevada, a perfect opportunity to hunker down, settle in, and peruse the newest addition to my library, a book called “Gulls of the Americas.” (Ever bought something on a lark?) Yes, it’s all about those pesky critters who swoop in to nab your crumbs after a beach picnic. And, just in case you think a Gull is a Gull is a Gull? You’re wrong. There actually are 36 different species of what poet Robinson Jeffers describes as ‘slim yachts of the element’. Perhaps, after studying the 1,160 photographs included in this 516-page marvel, I will even be able to identify some.
For those of you who are asking “Why would one want to?”, read on.
In the Spring of 2009, desperately needing something to feather and cheer up my Nest, I registered for the three-day Laughlin Bird & Wildlife Festival. Granted that Laughlin, a tiny resort town of 7,000 people, is a community known more for its casinos than birds and wildlife, but, never mind that. Located on the banks of the Colorado River in the southern tip of Nevada, it was only an hour’s drive from my home. Since I was flying solo, I was willing to go out on a limb, pay the $25 entry fee, enroll in several aviary field workshops, and book an $18 room for three nights.
Although I now know that Birding is the second most popular pastime in North America, I had never before even met a Birder. That’s nothing to crow about since more than 47 million people give a hoot about Birding and lay out $30 billion-a-year to pursue it.
Let’s fly forward two years, several species, and a three-pound book on Gulls later, when my only question might be, “Why did I wait so long?”
“Birds are one of the most successful animals the world has ever seen.
They have survived for over 100 million years, singularly mastering without
aid the land, sea, and air. They live in almost every environment the
planet has to offer, from harsh Antarctic expanses to barren deserts, from
bustling cities to remote and unforgiving seas.” Patrick Merrell
Following my exhilarating and hilarious experience in Laughlin, where I had to beg and borrow binoculars every day (Well, who knew?), I enthusiastically embraced this ornithological hobby with the joy and passion I was eager to experience after more than a decade of challenging caretaking. Rose Kennedy, who knew a little bit about grief herself, put it perfectly, ‘Birds sing after a storm; why should people not feel as free to delight in whatever remains to them?’.
My obsession grew with my involvement, skill, and, I might add, just winging it. In just two short years, I have not only zealously birded locally, but also in California and Arizona, attending bird festivals in Monterey and Lee Vining. Over time I joined the Audubon Society and other bird/conservation organizations; started my Life List of viewed birds; connected socially with other Birders; participated in the Christmas Bird Count (burrrrrrrr); and, have grown intellectually while studying to increase my proficiency.
Admittedly, the real feather in my cap has been my Life List. What you also need to really understand is that Birders make Lists about anything with wings. They LOVE lists. No, Birders are bewitched and mesmerized by Lists. Lifetime Lists. Big Year Lists. State-by-State and Country-by-Country Lists. Backyard Lists. Birds-Who-Eat-Burgers Lists. The possibilities are limitless. And, yes, Birders are sometimes competitive, as Mark Obamascik’s entertaining book, “The Big Year, A Tale of Man, Nature and Fowl Obsession” clearly illustrates.
Although, after 24 months, I am still known as “Marywhoisnewtobirding” (said all in one breath, a running phrase) by my birding buddies, I will try not to ruffle their feathers by putting forth my own list.
My Ten Reasons for Birding
1. You may already be a tree-hugger, green geek, aging athlete or nature-lover. But. Can’t hike as far nor as high these days? Can’t bike like Lance anymore? The knees are gone, no more tennis or golf? Birding enhances the outdoor experience in a more gentle fashion. Birding is User-Friendly. They chirp everywhere.
2. Like photographers, Birders increasingly grow more aware of their surroundings, fine-tuning their ability to spot, identify and savor the moment. Sure, a Robin has an orange breast, and Donald Duck quacks, but it’s the field markings that distinguish the species. It’s all in the details.
3. If you’re a photographer, amateur or professional, Birding offers hundreds of new subjects. A caveat to that, birds will not pose. They just won’t.
4. If you’re an artist, and, I am not, birds are wonderful to draw. I’m no Audubon, but I purchased several “How To Draw Birds” books and often turn a lonely-evening-lovely by sketching a bird I’ve recently discovered.
5. Whatever your economic level, schedule, or location, you can become a Birder. Grab a pair of binoculars, borrow some books from the library, walk outdoors and just wing it.
6. Birders are genuinely nice-ies. Wasn’t it Will Rodgers who remarked that he’d never met a Birder he didn’t like? Generous with their know-how, you’ll spot veteran Birders hoisting 50-pound Spotting Scopes (for locating and sighting birds) over their shoulders. While that poundage may be an exaggeration, the exertion of it is not. Then, it’s “Marywhoisnewtobirding”, you have to see this bird.”
7. Birding is social, breeding worthwhile and lifelong friendships.
8. If you become a Birder, you will undoubtably join some clubs and organizations, both locally and nationally. For starters, two excellent sites are: http://www.aba.org./ and http://www.audubon.org/
9. Grandchildren? Birding is a wonderful opportunity to expose them to, what could be, a lifelong hobby. My 7-and 9-year-old granddaughters own their own binoculars, have begun Life Lists, and can already recognize many species.
10. According to a Chinese Proverb, “You cannot prevent the birds of sorrow from flying over your head, but you can prevent them from building nests in your hair.”
All quotes acknowledged and taken from “Bird Brain-Teasers, Puzzles, Games and Avian Trivia,” compiled by Patrick Merrell.
(Maybe you noticed that I’ve enjoyed throwing a number of avian phrases and bird species into this essay. Another List, perhaps?)
Not unlike many of the sixty-something-aged women in America, I have spent my adult life taking care of others. A Husband. Children. Friends. Family. I moved from under my parents’ roof to a University dorm and into a marriage. Well, to be honest, more than one. Meaning marriages, as well as roofs. Since I first married, at the age of twenty, I have always, always been responsible to and for someone. Not that I am complaining. My life has sped by, chugging along through the years, often being side-tracked, sometimes veering off-the-rail. Being a Type A, “I Think I Can” Female, I’ve dealt with Life, its Pitfalls and Road-blocks, professional and personal, as time raced by.
This year, 2011, brings another one of life’s challenges. And, it’s a big one. For almost half of our twenty-five year old marriage, my husband has suffered that slowly murderous disease of the brain called Alzheimer’s. Until the past four years, when he moved to a luxurious independent-living facility, I was his only caretaker. For these four years, I’ve shared that responsibility with others. Two months ago, as his journey is about to end, Hospice joined us in his care.
However, when my husband’s journey ends, mine will not. But, it will be different. This is what My Blog will document: My journey, My story, and Mine, alone.
In greeting the New Year 2011, my quote-mistress/daughter, e-mailed me this quotation, “When I am old sitting in my rocking chair. I don’t want to be thinking about all I regret not doing, I want to think about what I regretted doing.”
Humorous, perhaps, frivolous, no. It feels right to me, a bold, slightly off-kilter, outside-of-the-box, bubble-off way to view the World at this point in my life. I intend to drive with my lights on bright, my foot off the brake peddle, and, like Yogi, when arriving at a fork in the road, I’ll take it.
For me, it’s the Fourth Quarter. I want to score, in my path ahead, touchdowns, not field goals.
A brilliant remark, to my thinking, made by an unknown Illinois woman named Bertha Massie, comes to mind. ”When they pass the cake, take a piece, ‘cause you don’t know if it’s gonna come around again.”
Rough week, huh? Escalating wars in the Middle East. Devastating earthquakes in Japan with horrific tsunami and radioactive ramifications. A worsening global financial crisis. It’s as if the World is just wrapping its arms around itself, rocking out-of-control while dropping buckets of tsunami tears and screaming, “What on Earth….. ?????
