anticipation

Yesterday, Matt and I served at the Five Rivers Christmas dinner.  Five Rivers is the retirement home where Mom (Kaye Mumford)  lives.  It's about four minutes from our house so we bop in and out several times a week.  We've gotten to know the director, employees, and especially mom's "table-mates"  quite well over the past few years as we visit mom, share dinners, and participate in special occasions there.  To clarify "table-mates" there are no assigned places in the dining room; but God forbid anyone change places.  The residents simply go balistic.  Seems, like when one hits there 80s or so, change is NOT a favored part of life.  Therefore, when we dine with mom, we can always count on dining with Millie and Kay as well.  They have come to think of us as their "kids."

We started our volunteer duties by pouring drinks. Over 100 family visitors trailed into the dining room and lobby, laboriously set up in festive fashion, to feast on roast beef, Chicken Cordon Bleu and all the trimmings.  After a thankful prayer by Joyful (who fits her name perfectly) the two-hour long buffet line began.  I don't even want to know how many pounds of beef I placed on plates of  hungry diners; but, I will tell you, I am now an expert at cutting pieces of beef with tongs. 

What stood out the most, though, were the faces and families.  Some residents had every person on both sides of their family there to celebrate with them.  Those unable to negotiate the buffet have loving family members that know exactly what their loved one likes...and how much of it.  I was taken back by this fact:  none of us wants to be in that situation-- of watching a loved one losing their quality of life, ability to walk, talk, remember, or do simple acts, like cut one's own food.  But the room was full of spirit and life and love yesterday.  The tenderness of a son's arm, the hippity- hop of great grandchildren, and the gift of charity and purpose enveloped me. 

Those who have known me over the years have heard many stories about my mother in law who my brother fondly titled "a hummingbird on speed."  She's always been a force to recon with and a challenge to keep up with as well.   We've basically been caring for her since 1989 when my father in law passed away.  Right after his death, we lived nearby; we were her home away from home...at least when she wasn't traveling to visit other family and friends.  Later,  she would come to Tulsa for months at a time attending the boys events.  She loved  going to work with me no matter where I was teaching, presenting a workshop or even attending a class.  Now, we are her prominent caregivers.  She lives at Five Rivers for care, but more importantly,  for social stimulation.  She formerly ran a facility for the disabled; she now views herself as Five Rivers co-director. 

Mom is one of the more congnizant residents.  The director is smart enough to know she needs constant social interaction and can be an asset if encouraged to collaborate in the day to day activities.  If you were to visit the retirement home today, you would see our 89 year old, 100 pound little boss everywhere.  She might be playing piano, helping someone find their room, in the Bingo room working on winning my inheritance, or retrieving a cup of coffee for her friend Kay.  She is seldom in her room (just ask anyone trying to call) and jumps at any free activity offered.  She'll gladly tell you a story or 1000.  (We've numbered them now.)  And you will never find her without her earmuffs!  I love her to death and she drives me absolutely crazy. 

After dinner, we went to mom's room to take care of some things.  A beautiful Christmas wreath greeted us on her door.  She "inherited" it from the family of a resident who recently passed away.  Laughing and knowing there was more to that story we entered her room. 

There it was. 

The moment we always dread.  The "real" mom emerges.  A panic attack evolves into tears because she'd lost the papers she wanted to show us.  Matt tells her four different times, in four different ways, we've already "paid that bill."  She stares blankly, her face cherub like that of a small, scared child.  She's visibly tired and sometimes winces with pain.  We know she won't rest with us there or if we take her home with us so we prepare to leave. 

After we finish the daily financial discussion, we remove the fire hazard of cut-up yarn she's stuffed in her cherished ceramic tree, dump some food from the fridge, sneak more useless paper out, and dump another vase of dead flowers she can't bare to part with.  As always, with the walker Matt insists she use, she walks us all the way to the car waving goodbye as if we were leaving on a five year stage coach journey home...as if she will never see us again. 

Driving away, her frail figure gets smaller and smaller.  I think about all the employees who stayed up all night preparing this special Christmas dinner and the daily sacrifices they make which exceed any job description imaginable.  I think about all the caregivers who came to Five Rivers yesterday.  People who were busy with shopping, baking, decorating, church choirs, and other activities begging us for time during this season of the year.  They stopped.  For a couple of hours they came to be present.  In fact, they are the present, the gift to those whose lives are diminished to anticipation of seeing them again...waiting...waiting to see them again.  A call, a card, a visit. 

It was a day of anticipation, hope, giving...the very definition of Christ's birth and the reason for this time of celebration each year. 

Top Ten Advantages to my 2011 Christmas Season

1.    No baking, no pounds.
2.    No parties, no hangovers.
3.    No gifts, no wrapping.
4.    No tree, no needles.
5.    No company, no cleaning.
6.    No lights-- economic, eco-friendly.
7.    No snow, safe driving.
8.    No cards,  free e-cards.
9.    No travel, no traffic.
10.  No materialism-- spirit-filled

Life Changes

My husband asked recently why I wasn't writing my blog.  I quit because I didn't want to share the darkness in my life; however, I was reminded today that we need to share our struggles as it is through them we grow and help others.  So, today I write.

As I'm looking back over 2011, it is hard to believe how much my life has changed.  I spent the first few months grieving my job loss from the National Writing Project, my purpose for living the past few years.  First I mourned for the organization, then on to the friendships, then on to the job aspect, and finally "the divorce."  Even though, I was just let go June 1, it seems ages ago now.   

I spent the summer in an oblivious state of shock  Playing with my granddaughter for an unforgettable seven weeks and entertaining company from June-August kept me wonderfully distracted.  Not to mention, we attended a family reunion back in July as well.  It was easy to slip into a "summer vacation" mode of thinking.  I learned how to calm myself, relax, and live totally in the moment which is a place I hadn't lived in years...maybe never before, actually.
 
As September arrived, another big change came our way.  Matt's contract ended.  It was at that point I began to note the real changes taking place in my life on so many levels.

Have you thought about unemployment insurance paperwork; I never had.  I'll never know how an uneducated person manages to get through it.  It took days to do the computer work and get the verifications needed.  Funny, I'd paid into the system some 45 years, but I'd never thought about actually needing it and how it worked.  Now, it feels uncomfortably like a handout. 

Do you know that Cobra  healthcare insurance costs twice as much as your monthly mortgage...or more.  I'd never thought of that either.  Living as a professional the last 38 years, I'd always had health insurance through my employer.  Do you realize what a benefit that is?  Not to be taken for granted!

What do you say when someone asks you what you do?  For years that has been one of the first questions I ask someone when I meet them.  NO more!  We easily equate people with their job.  But, a job is just that...a job.  It doesn't define a person.  Still, I choke every time someone asks me what I do.   Should I say what I used to do? 

Did you know job seeking has become a Google keyword match.  Your resume can go unread should a term not match the employers data base.  Should you make it to the interview process, you're looking at a series of interviews, eight, nine, ten with different employees.  I can quote the rejection letters, "Thank you for your interest in>>>> Though your resume and credentials are impressive, your skills do not meet our needs at this time."  Rephrase those two sentences and all the "no thanks" sound the same. I picture HR professionals accessing the same site and printing multitudes of these notices at a time.  They come in emails, texts, and hard copy.  But, they are all the same.  Sometimes, they mention the number of applicants.  "We had 100's or 1000's for instance.  I think winning the lottery might have better odds now. 

Here it is a few days before Christmas and I am surrounded with reminders of our situation.  The home For Sale signs greet me as I come and go, my email is full of advertisements, no phone messages on the home phone or my cell, no deadlines...no purpose.  Sometimes it feels like we are invisible.  Everything around us is moving past us, through us, beyond.  People begin to avoid you as they don't know what to say.

I got in my car this morning and thanked God for it being paid off.  Looking at the gas gauge,  I realized it was almost empty.  While employed, I  thought, Oh, time to fill up.  Now, I think, Wow, there goes 50 dollars.  How many more times will I be able to fill the tank?  Will I be living in this car at some point?   

I'm off to the YMCA to exercise, thinking about the membership dues that will need to be paid soon. I remember the homeless in our area can get vouchers for showers there.  I wonder if I'll be part of that program by the end of next year.

I pass our church and think about how much I used to give.  We always adopted at least one family to buy gifts for and contributed to the food baskets, pastor's gift, and maintained our monthly contributions.  This year I was only able to purchase candles for the windows.  We pray to keep our monthly contributions going.  I know every member is critical to our little church to keep things going. 

  So, I drive on past the church and join in the exercise class at the YMCA pool.  A fellow exerciser asks, "Now, what is your name?  I know you've been here before.  You have that traveling job; what is it you do? "  Yep, there it was, that question again.  I told her I used to work for NWP.  Her response, "Oh, you're retired now."    "No, just a product of cutbacks," I replied, feeling the need to be honest.  She looked away.  I don't blame her; I'd like to look away too.  "What's your name? I asked, hoping we could continue conversing.  She shared that she was retired and told me she used to work in Real Estate.  Later in the locker room, she was sharing stories about her recent trip to Austrailia.  I thought to myself, Ahhh, that is what I dreamed life would be like at this age and stage.  The disappointing rush of reality washed over me.  Suddenly, I felt like I was choking and couldn't wait to dress and leave. 

Back in the car, I took a deep breath.  The sun was shinning, very unusual for the Oregon Coast in December.  The trees were the greenest green and the sky  bright blue with wisps of clouds to punctuate the beauty.  All I have to do is this moment,  I thought.  Being thankful is free and being thankful is something I can control.  I thanked God for the beauty around me, the car, the warm home, and my family and friends I love so dearly. 

Arriving home, there was a box on my porch, a big red box, "MOM and DAD" it was addressed.  My heart filled.  This is all I need I thought as I placed it on the floor where we used to put up a Christmas tree.  This and my sister's fudge arrived today.  How thankful I was to have an address for these gifts to be delivered. 

A New Decade

Flowers from my sis

I turned 60 this past Monday.  I've heard a million cliches about aging like:   "It's only a number.  Numbers don't define me.  60 is the new 40,"  etc. etc.  I'm sure you've heard them too.

         I can remember when I turned 50 it felt really BIG.  Reaching 50 resembled reaching the top of a mountain knowing the next step would be descending.  In that sense, I spent the 50s in that mode of thinking.  Both my mother and stepmother died at 42.  My father died at 56 so when I reached 50 I felt the hour glass was almost empty.  I was racing against time...out of sands... the best was over. Between 40 and 50 I became like most middle-aged women- invisible.  What does that mean?  It means no one looks at you, doors once opened for you, gently shut in your face.  The guy sitting next to you on a plane doesn't notice you need help with your bag in the overhead bin.  There is no need to primp for hours because no one notices anyway.  It's an interesting phenomenon after several decades of celebrating womanhood, knowing men were glancing or flirting, feeling pretty at least some days.   This feeling of invisibility was compounded because my husband and sons and brothers never acknowledged my birthday: they simply forgot.  I was crushed.
                        I am pleasantly surprised as I enter this latest decade. I had some expectations of doing something incredibly special but they were unrealistic.  I know now, if that is what I'm expecting, I'll need to make it happen.   Turning 60 was just another day.  Most importantly, I was able to enjoy each moment of that day with my son and husband as we drove, toured, ate, drank, and rested.  Just that was enough.

Matt and Myles at the Vista House, OR

Last night I went to the theater and saved two dollars because now...I'm 60.  It's exciting  to know I've outlived the family odds.  I don't care that I'm invisible; in fact, I like it.  Let me live in the moment, shop without makeup, wear what I want, open my own doors, help others with their bags, and be exactly whatever I want to be.  I am blessed with health, friends, family, and love.  That is all I need at 60 or in any other decade.  I got the best gift this year, a gift I'm sure my parents would have loved, I have the gift of life and I plan to cherish it as long as I live.

Flowers from Michael, Sky, Riley and Sunny

Perfectly Imperfect

So far, my summer has been like no other.  I've been surrounded by people and had endless visitors staying at the "Mumford Spa and Resort" nestled in the hills of Tillamook county.  Most significantly unique  is being unemployed and keeping my granddaughter for a couple of months. Having time to spend collecting worms, dressing paperdolls, creating Birthday Bear cakes with colorful playdough, cutting, pasting, and coloring is taking me back to my own childhood.  I don't remember having this sort of time with my own boys.  It seems we were always in the middle of a military move, or I was in school, or the boys were shifting from activity to activity.  I don't remember taking time to BE with them.

Recently, I had lunch with the son of a close friend.  He will be married Saturday and has spent summer in the throws of planning a wedding.  The look of stress on this young man's face is visibly evident.  He  is focused on perfection.  I couldn't help but feel disappointed; this should be one of the happiest times in his young life, and yet, his days are steeped with worry and attention to detail.

This strive for perfection reminded me of the summer my family rafted the Snake River.  The day was a bit windy and rainy as we arrived before sunrise.  The guide, a young man clearly rooted in nature and living in the moment, made a comment I'll never forget.  "Enjoy the rain today as it will make this experience memorable.  It is not the perfect days we remember, but those less perfect that stand out."  He was right.  I remember being wet, sliding as I climbed up the bank to an outside breakfast, the smell of bacon drawing me upward to the outdoor kitchen.  I recall the eagles and their nest...in full view without the bright sun in our eyes. We never received the expensive pictures we purchased; and yet, I remember the trip vividly. It is etched in my mind forever.

When I remarried, my son AW was five.  One of the greatest memories of the day was his perfectly imperfect presence.  The photographs took much longer with his wiggly- self eagerly awaiting the cake to follow.  "AW, lower your chin," the photographer pleaded.  He did ...with mouth wide open.  My brother captured it all on video.  The imperfection of the photography session is a highlight of our wedding day. We still chuckle  now as I show his five year old the wedding video and her father's antics.  Had it been perfect, I would not have remembered the photo session at all.

So to all you wedding planners, brides and grooms--striving for imperfection: relax, and enjoy your day of whatevers.  The imperfection of life, and how you accept it,  is what will carry you through the good times and bad to a happily ever after in the making. 

Groomology:  Maybe this would have helped my friend.  Let's face it, how many grooms study up on things!

Patish

Patish:  noun for special "mom" language.  The word was coined by Michael, Myles, and AW as they were growing up around our home.  It's a loving way of saying...only mom would use this word or term. For example:  "boober noomer"...a loving way of saying, "I love every little silly thing about you."

Unlikely

Yesterday,  while volunteering at Grub Club, I met Nate.  Nate is "going to be in seventh grade" next year, yields a killer grin, and is still shorter than me, which I suspect will change by the end of the summer. My volunteer position has changed from driver/delivery detail to "sandwich maker" so I showed up early yesterday at 8:40 am to knock out a bzillion PBJs.  Evidently Wednesday is YMCA field trip day, so volunteers arrive at 7:30 to prepare lunches for the Y kids.  Nate's grandmother had been spreading peanut butter since the church opened, and Nate was along for the ride as he would be working in her yard later-- his Wednesday summer job.  When I arrived, there were only 25 sandwiches left to prepare so Nate and I were assigned to "stuff" duty.

First we sat down  to stuff  two cookies each into small zip lock bags.  As you can imagine my pre-teen friend Nate wasn't full of conversation at that un-Godly hour of the morning, so I took upon myself to get the conversation going.  He tolerated me, politely.  After 132 bags of Oreos were stuffed, we moved on to strawberries.  Now it is after nine and Nate's personality is emerging. 

"This one has a soft spot," he says holding the perfect-looking strawberry up in the light.  We had already established quality control.  If one Oreo was cracked, we made sure the other was perfect.  No kid deserves two broken cookies.  So it would go with the strawberries, managing size, quality, and number to honor each recipient's USDA right to fresh Oregon strawberries.  Nate and I developed a rhythm and system to our work, mostly chatting about quality, and of course me finding ways to tease him so I could catch more glimpses of that killer grin.

Having finished our strawberries, we were put back on Oreo duty.  I would easily unzip a sleeve of cookies and begin to stuff where Nate struggled to open each sleeve.  Finally, he asked, "How do you open those so easily?"  I showed him my unzipping technique and Voila he opened the next one almost perfectly.  In the spirit of a teen-age boy, opening Oreo sleeves became a competition to see who could do the longest, most perfect unzip of the sealed plastic enfolding the cookies.

By the end of two hours, Nate and I were volunteer buddies.  It is unlikely that we would ever chat or choose to do something together in any other situation; but, volunteering gave us the opportunity to cross paths.  I am amazed at the contentment I felt watching Nate successfully unzip cookies, grin, and inspect strawberries.  Time seemed to stand still as I cherished the teachable moment and remembered how harried I was when my boys were approaching seventh grade.  It was zen like...very in the moment...very volunteerish.  Georga says that is the great thing about volunteering, "It's not a job Pat; you can say no, you can do it when you like...or not."  This concept is so far from my usual task this time of year of jigsawing workshops, balancing schedules, and planning ahead to November.  I pray to become more "volunteerish" and more in the moment, eventually transforming from the task-master I had become to someone who is fully living the moment remaining open for more unlikely encounters.