I am not trying to be dramatic, controversial, or disturbing. Nope! This is just how I am when a new year is peeking around the corner. It’s all I can do NOT to hang up next year’s home office wall calendar in October when I first purchase it. I force myself to wait until at least the day before the new year before doing so.
Guaranteed, I won’t wait that long this year.
Don’t get me wrong, I do this calendar page turning every month of the year so that by the time there are a couple days remaining in the month…FLIP! There’s a new month’s calendar page to grace my wall. Does that mean I don’t live in the present? Probably. But for me, it’s a comfort to look ahead and hope for the best.
I think the above sentiment is appropriate when hoping for a better new year, both globally and locally. It works for me; I hope it works for you.
Why does it take bravery to be kind? Because sometimes we have to reach out to someone when doing so feels uncomfortable; uncomfortable because offering a kindness that might be rejected would be embarrassing. Or perhaps the intended recipient might take offense at the gesture, thereby cancelling out the kindness meant to be shared.
That’s where intuition comes into play.
The other day, the employee who checked our groceries at our neighborhood store wore a pin that indicated she was a US Air Force veteran. That was when my intuition started to buzz. I asked how her Holidays were going, and she said her son, who is on active US military duty, wouldn’t be coming home for Christmas this year. That really got my intuition buzzing…CORRECTION…my intuition was jumping around in my body.
As a member of a local botanical garden that has an extraordinary Holiday light display throughout the gardens in December, I had two free passes in my wallet. I asked “Laurie” if she was familiar with the gardens’ annual light display. Boy, was she. Her face lit up. I pulled out the passes and handed them to her. “Would you like to go this year?” She started to cry, saying she and her husband wanted to go, but it didn’t seem possible this year. She looked me in the eyes and, through her tears, said, “This means so much to me.” Let me tell you, it meant a great deal to me as well.
I have been working on amping up my bravery. As a matter of fact, BRAVERY is my word for 2026. I am very glad I was able to exercise my bravery muscles to go along with the kindness I felt compelled to extend at the grocery store.
My encouragement to everyone is just this: trust your gut.
And talk about trusting your gut, please enjoy this prime example of where bravery and courage come into play. It’s quite a dramatic piece from an extraordinary blog I follow, Boomer Banter.
My two novels are available in eBook format for practically free and are very affordable in paperback.
Requiem for the Status Quo is a work of fiction based on real events in which I was personally involved, and it effectively portrays the role family caregivers play in caring for loved ones with Alzheimer’s and other forms of dementia.
A Jagged Journey, also fiction, addresses the attitudes you and I exhibit and witness in a world that should allow for diversity and differing beliefs.
My sister, Mary, was born 8 months before me; my parents adopted her after my mother suffered three miscarriages. As sometimes happens, before the ink was dry on the adoption papers, my mother became pregnant with me. Yay me!!!
Suffice it to say, being so close in age, my sister and I grew up together, sharing the same experiences and often the same friends. We are still very close, even though we don’t live in the same state.
Several years ago, after our mother and father had passed away, my sister located her birth mother, met her, and had a few occasions to get together with her and her other daughters, even though her birth mother lived in eastern Canada and my sister resides in California.
Because I erroneously believed I would have all the time in the world to thank my sister’s biological mother for placing Mary up for adoption, I missed out on that opportunity because Cathy died a few years after my sister first connected with her.
Cathy’s decision to provide the best possible home for my sister was an extraordinary gift for which I wanted to express my gratitude. Still, I procrastinated and never told Cathy what a blessing her first daughter is to me. In my recent history, this is by far the biggest regret I harbor in my heart.
Being kind to yourself is most definitely a serious matter. You deserve to be treated with the same gentleness you would treat others for whom you care.
If the Holidays are starting to get to you, do what is needed to bring some calm and control back into your life, even if that means disappointing others. Again, you matter just as much as those you might have to disappoint, so I would advise you to try a little kindness toward yourself, a kindness you so very much deserve.
And if you’re doing absolutely well right now and can exercise some outward gentleness, check in on individuals who might need a reminder that they matter and that someone was thinking of them. You don’t have to make a huge effort – especially if doing so depletes your own reserves – but a phone call, a text, or a hello in passing – could mean the difference between making their day and not.
What a terrific statement that is, isn’t it? This statement was made twice in my presence the other day. The first time was when I said it to the grocery store checker that morning, an employee who was stretching her back and then leaning on the check stand. I asked her, “Has it already been a day for you?” To which she responded, “You have no idea how long it has already been.” I told her I was sorry and that I hoped she got relief soon, then I said,
I appreciate you, I really do.
Later that same day, I was at a medical office, having turned in some paperwork to the front desk employee who then said the following to me,
I appreciate what you have done, thank you so much.
I felt acknowledged, and I felt like my presence mattered to her. I felt present.
One definition of appreciation is:
Recognition and enjoyment of the good qualities of someone or something.
Wow. That must be why the grocery employee expressed her pleasure with my statement earlier that day and why I felt so present and worthwhile during my very brief encounter with medical staff a few hours later.
Please extend your appreciation to others as you go through your day today. You just might save that person from having the worst day of their life.
Have world events impacted you in such a way that you feel things are hopeless?
Are you overwhelmed to the point that you say to yourself, What could I possibly do to make a difference?
The answer is:
You can make a difference because kindness overcomes all.
My last post addressed the negative power of words. I sincerely believe that random acts or words of kindness can make a difference in the world in which we live. There are so many negative and hurtful words being thrust into our universe; can’t we please try to balance out that hurt with words of encouragement, recognition, and nourishment?
Yes, nourishment. In all our daily interactions—whether via social media or in person—we can nurture the hurt that exists all around us. Our words, our smile, and our actions may just change someone’s life forever. Haven’t you been on the receiving end of that type of transformative nourishment? Didn’t it feel good? Didn’t it fill the emptiness within you that hungered and thirsted for confirmation that you matter, that you aren’t a failure, that you have potential?
Let’s revisit how that felt and commit to quenching the thirst of each person with whom we come in contact, whether virtually or in person.
Syndicated columnist Leonard Pitts Jr. wrote an Opinion piece in a January 2014 Seattle Times newspaper edition that focused on the cruelty that comes out of the mouths of people who criticize the physical differences that exist in people. His column focused on people’s cruel words that made fun of a very successful actress whom they deemed to be overweight.
The columnist questioned when and how this type of truly sadistic personal meanness became acceptable, even commonplace. And may I just say that in the year 2025, such meanness flows from the mouths of those in political office, seemingly sanctioned because of the position held by the word abuser. Why do we think it’s any of our business to criticize someone else’s supposed imperfection? Doing so is an act of judgment of someone about whom we know very little.
Dad & I, circa 2000. When us kids would say something cruel about someone, my dad would offer the following: “It’s too bad that everyone isn’t as perfect as us.” Point taken.
Mr. Pitts asked what had happened to what he called “home training” that is supposed to teach us that there are just some things you don’t say to or about people in a public forum?
Whether our “something” is shaped like the emotional scars of abuse, an eating disorder, physical or developmental disabilities, bad teeth, or a nose that is too big, too fat, or too small, no one has the right to inflict hurt on us with their words.
Let us all adopt Nobel Peace Prize winner Elie Wiesel’s statement made during an interview with Oprah Winfrey many years ago. May it be a challenge to all of us.
As a human race, we must choose between: the violence of adults, and the smiles of children; the ugliness of hate, and the will to oppose it; inflicting suffering and humiliation on our fellow man, and offering him the solidarity and hope he deserves for naught.
Even in darkness, it is possible to create light and encourage compassion. Every moment of our life is essential; every gesture is essential. Our role in life is to give an offering to each other.
I recently read a book on Stoicism, Reasons Not To Worry, and the author, Brigid Delaney, concluded that her goal most days is to be tranquil, rather than happy, because “Happiness…is often a fleeting emotion that seemingly comes and goes on a whim…”
So if your response to my post’s question does not fall into the category of happiness, please don’t feel as though you’re in a bad state of being. You are not; after all, as the author also states, “…tranquility, although a less exciting state, is more constant, acting like a slow-release drug that keeps me stable and content throughout the day.”
So I ask you, what’s not to like about stability and contentment?
Dr. Bernie S. Siegel provides some wisdom for our day from his 365 Prescriptions for the Soul book. The following is provided verbatim:
Parade of Life
Forget past mistakes. Forget failures. Forget everything except what you are going to do now, and do it. – William Durant
Life is a parade. Sometimes we march along and realize we have passed by what we were looking for. What do we do? Stand there and drop out of the parade? March on with regrets? Feel bad about how we looked or that everything we wanted was on the wrong side of the street? It’s passed! Forget it and march on!
Sometimes our parade isn’t so pretty, and the crowd isn’t interested in us. If we drag everything we have passed with us, we will destroy the present. We have no future when we live in the past.
We even talk about past lives. Whether you believe in them or not, the same principle applies. If you are living a past life, you are destroying your present one. In therapy, people come to understand why they are acting the way they are and how the past is affecting them. They learn to let go, move on, and not sit in the same classroom year after year. They graduate and commence a new life.
To conclude, I, Irene Frances Olson, have this to say about Dr. Siegel’s comments:
The good news is that we can learn from our past, both the good and the bad, but if we stay cemented in the past and don’t move on? That parade Dr. Siegel talks about? It’ll pass us by.
I don’t know about you, but I don’t want to get left behind.
Our weekly grocery store has made it through thick and thin, which of course includes the pandemic that closed down so many businesses and saw employees leaving their place of employment in droves, so much so, that retail operations are now struggling to staff their stores appropriately. Many long-time employees stay committed to their work, wanting the salary, of course, but also wanting the retail operation to survive.
The other day, in response to my comment about the cute smiley face health mask our grocery checker was wearing, this long-time employee told us that a “secret shopper” was brought into the store to monitor its employees and this shopper told management that “Jane” didn’t smile when he went through her checkout stand. Jane shows up for all her shifts, does a stellar job, and the lack of a smile becomes punishable?
As difficult as it is to fill retail shifts, I would think the lack of a smile at any given time, whether momentary or ongoing, isn’t an offense worth reporting to management. I think it was unfortunate that this employee was reprimanded. We are in your corner, Jane. May peace and prosperity be your portion.
I am 72 years old. Up until my 60s, I looked forward to every birthday, but when I was about to turn seventy, all bets were off. The good news is, I now know why.
My mother died at the age of 77, which, come on now, isn’t old. My mother’s cause of death doesn’t at all reflect my health status. Mom had three health conditions that adversely affected her quality of life for many, many years. I don’t have any of those conditions, but when I turned 70, I saw my life as one that was hanging in the balance.
Over the past couple of years, I have reconciled to the fact that I do not fear that I will die as Mom did. Nope! But I still don’t like being in this particular decade of my life. Perhaps I will get over it, and, quite frankly, I hope I do, because feeling averse to this decade is counterintuitive to living in the moment, which is what I truly endeavor to do. If you read last week’s post, you know that I’m trying to do better at living and accepting my age. But it’s not always an easy task, is it? But “easy” isn’t what I’m demanding out of life either; rather, I simply want to refine my ongoing attempt to accept what is.
And there you have it, unapologetically me in a nutshell.
In light of the way life has unfolded in the world as of recently, I have endeavored to discover a way of surviving the day-to-day tedium, and it appears I have done so for myself. It is not a religion, with its set orthodoxies and rules; rather, it is a way of living that is extremely pliable:
Stoicism
I now provide for you the principles found in this philosophy that – quite frankly – seem worthy of our attention. This list comes directly from the book, Reasons Not to Worry – How to Be Stoic in Chaotic Times, by Brigid Delaney.
Acknowledge that you can’t control much of what goes on in your life.
See that your emotions are the product of how you think about the world.
Accept that bad things are bound to happen to you from time to time, just as they do to everyone else.
See yourself as part of a larger whole, not an isolated individual; part of the human race, part of nature.
Think of everything you have as not your own, but simply on loan, that one day will be taken back.
And that is all I have to say to you this week because it is not I who says it, but the Stoics themselves.
Do you feel as though you don’t visit your loved one often enough at the long-term care (LTC) facility in which they live? Try to acknowledge that guilt is a feeling that may not necessarily reflect an accurate reality of how attentive you are towards your loved one.
The local caregiver.
In my past Alzheimer’s Association work, many caregivers expressed their concerns that they were not doing enough for their loved one who lived in a LTC facility. Even when a caregiver visited Mom several days a week, the caregiver still felt guilty for not making more of an effort to be there for her.
Guilt is a valid feeling, but the feeling of guilt may not accurately reflect what is going on. Let’s face it, most of us are hard on ourselves. The old adage, “we’re our own worse critic” came about resultant from generations of people who unfairly beat themselves into the ground.
At a gathering I attended several years ago, a woman expressed how guilty she felt for not visiting her mother more often than she thought appropriate. Another person, also a caregiver, suggested that this person ask herself whether or not she felt she was doing the best she could in this situation. “If you are, then perhaps your feeling of guilt is based on emotion rather than reality.” Whether five visits a week or one visit a month – if that’s the best a person is able to do, then it’s sufficient.
Caregivers simply need to cut themselves some slack. Even when the loved one they’re visiting has no concept of the passage of time and is not able to discern whether they’ve been visited as recently as the last hour or as long ago as last year, caregivers still berate themselves for not being there more frequently.
Caveat: I need to add that even if your loved one doesn’t a) recognize you, and b) can’t quantify the passage of time, you are still a wonderful addition to that person’s life. No staff caregiver can take your place when it comes to providing a loving presence for your Mom who lives in a facility. Just being there with a smile, a hug, and speaking words of compassion can do wonders towards brightening Mom’s day.
The long-distance caregiver.
One of many walks my father and I took around his facility
My biggest role as a caregiver was that which I performed long distance for my father who lived in a dementia unit in a Southern Oregon assisted living facility. I felt like I was doing something truly valuable for him while I was there but as soon as I boarded the plane for Seattle the guilt enveloped me. Usually, the first night of my return was spent crying because I felt I had been impatient with him, or I acted flustered when I had to answer a question that my father had already asked me no less than two dozen times prior. I relived every moment of my visit, criticizing this and that about what I did, or didn’t do. I was a wreck. I had to talk myself into believing that dad did have a good time and dad was genuinely happy to see me, and by golly, I didn’t do that bad of a job as a caregiver daughter.
I could then relax knowing that he was being well-cared for in my absence; my visits augmented that care, and I could rest on that fact rather than falling back on my guilt. The NY Times article, Being There and Far Away sheds some light on the long distance caregiver’s experience. I hope you’ll take the time to read the article as I believe it will touch on some topics that all caregivers may experience.
As I mentioned in my Blog entry, Deathbed Promises and How to Fulfill Themtake a deep breath and shed the mantle of guilt you’re wearing. It doesn’t do you any good and it gets in the way of you being the best caregiver you can be. Cut yourself some slack and don’t be so hard on yourself.
Mary Oliver is well-known for her poetry. Although I am not normally a lover of poetry, I do love this one that seems to encourage us to find and celebrate joy, regardless of what is going on around us. I hope you enJOY this brief poem of hers.
Don’t Hesitate
If you suddenly and unexpectedly feel joy, don’t hesitate. Give in to it.
There are plenty of lives and whole towns destroyed or about to be.
We are not wise, and not very often kind. And much can never be redeemed.
Still, life has some possibility left. Perhaps this is its way of fighting back, that sometimes something happens better than all the riches or power in the world.
It could be anything, but very likely you notice it in the instant when love begins.
Anyway, that’s often the case. Anyway, whatever it is, don’t be afraid of its plenty.
I would venture to say that 100% of us humans have some sort of mental health anomaly. In the Oxford dictionary, anomaly is defined as something that deviates from what is standard, normal, or expected.
A broken leg is an obvious malfunction: obvious to everyone who observes the cast that is worn or the crutches that are employed to hobble around. But what about what is going on in our brains? It is certainly true that certain behaviors are equally as detectable as a broken limb, but I believe the majority of us have degrees of anomalies of which only the individual affected might be aware. And we get up every morning hoping to crawl out of what that might mean for us: depression, anxiety, or fear of this, that, or the other.
The thrust of this brief post is two-fold:
to encourage those who suffer to seek beneficial support, and
to beseech others to be kind-hearted to those in need of your compassion.
To be sure, it is difficult to know what is going on in the emotional background of people we encounter so it is a very good practice to interact with others without passing judgment. I would very much appreciate being on the receiving end of a nonjudgmental encounter so it behooves me to extend that same courtesy to those who cross my path.
May we all practice acceptance and compassion towards ourselves and towards others.
Perhaps in addition to the above poster, this site would also be a helpful resource for all of us: NAMI
Some time ago, I came to the realization about how many places my almost seventy-two year old feet have taken me. I’ve lived in the following US states: California, Hawaii, Alaska, and Washington. I’ve traveled to the following countries: Canada, Mexico, France, Scotland, and the UK. (I know, that’s not a lot of places but just the same, my feet took me there and back!)
Sometimes our feet take us to geographical places; other times they take us to and through life experiences – not all of which are easy or pleasing. But those gnarled toes and fallen arches manage to carry us where we need to be and will continue to do so until they can’t.
A few years ago, I came to a place of acceptance of my body resulting in gratitude for everything it has endured and managed to survive. That may not seem like a monumental achievement to some, but for me, it most definitely has been. My body’s challenges and your body’s challenges may not be identical but there isn’t a person around that doesn’t have them – bodies or challenges – and we’re still here!
I HAVE SURVIVED THE LESS THAN ENJOYABLE BODY FOIBLES 100% OF THE TIME AND HAVE LIVED TO WRITE ABOUT IT!
Wow! And because I have evidence that such successes have occurred, when I’m in the midst of seemingly insurmountable medical, physical, or emotional challenges, I can look forward to getting to the other side of them to add yet another success to my growing evidentiary list.
Our lives never follow a straight path. We make turns, we leap or crawl over speed bumps and roadblocks, and when needed, we take breaks along the way while battling the insistent urge to just give up. More often than not, however, we keep going; we move forward, one step at a time, hoping for the best.
A Jagged Journey, is a novel that follows the pothole-filled lives of disparate characters between the ages of seven and seventy-seven who are far from perfect and for the most part, are not hesitant to admit it. Set in the Pacific Northwest of the United States, the diversity inherent within that region is front and center and will have readers laughing and crying in equal measure.
Laughing because the youngest character, Sammy, is a kick-in-the-butt delight when his honesty comes through loud and clear, challenging every adult with whom he comes in contact to sit up and pay attention.
And crying, because readers will see themselves in the imperfect childhoods that can find adults sinking or swimming in their grown-up years.
My novel was written for anyone eighteen years and older. Within its pages, readers will find loving friendships and relationships that will challenge even the hardest of hearts to open up to the many joys that life has to offer.
Although my second novel does not have the same focus as Requiem for the Status Quo with its’ storyline filled with the caregiver and loved one’s journey with Alzheimer’s and other dementia, you will always find that element in every novel I write, including this latest, A Jagged Journey.
What a privilege it is to love someone and be loved by them. There’s a reason why there are so many dating/relationship services out there: we crave connection, and happily-ever-after is a worthy goal to pursue.
I’m fortunate that my current 29-year relationship (married for 25 of those 29) quite naturally fell into place. Girl meets boy on a blind date set up by a dating site; girl and boy decide to get together for another date, and…the rest is history!
No one disputed my choice of a partner with whom I held hands, smooched in public, and eventually enjoyed full intimacy. That is not always the case, whether a partner is of a different race, financial standing, or of the same gender identity. I experienced racial hatred when I married my first husband who is Chinese American. As a newly married couple, we walked hand-in-hand on a weekend outing in an Eastern Washington town where we were verbally accosted by a woman who shouted, “Thou shalt not mix races! You are an abomination to God!” I veryunpolitely told her off and went on my way with my husband, enjoying the love we had already shared for more than eight years. That was 50 years ago, and I am still negatively affected by it. Many are harassed and abused in a similar manner because of the love they share with someone, harassment that takes many forms.
In the early 90s, I was privileged to work at a progressive Seattle law firm where one of my coworkers, a woman, was in a relationship with another woman. The two of them had certainly experienced discrimination but expressed that for the most part they had been fortunate. I asked my coworker how she and her partner had met. “Susan is who I fell in love with and she with me. It’s all about who you fall in love with.” That made sense to me and still does.
What also makes sense is living one’s truth and genuineness about who you are as an individual, and with whom you choose to share your life. Being who you are with someone else is rife with hurdles, regardless of your gender, but truly there is no other way to be. No ifs, ands, or buts – being safely and securely transparent in a relationship is a gift! What a privilege it is to live honestly, not having to pretend to be someone else, not living a cloaked identity just to be accepted by others.
I experience that freedom, and wish that same freedom for everyone seeking connection, love, and happily-ever-after.
There are 26 letters in the English alphabet and what I find amazing is that those 26 letters make up all the words we could ever want to write in our lifetime. I find that such an endearing fact!!!
But you wanna know what I REALLY love? Sending greeting cards to people.
Okay, true confessions time: I am a card-a-holic. Yes, I am! I love sending cards to people for noteworthy occasions or for no occasion whatsoever. Why do I do that? Well, it’s a passion of mine, but also, I have to believe that any day I can improve someone’s life with snail mail that lands in their physical mailbox, is a good day.
And who doesn’t want to gift someone with a good day?
Trust me when I say, I know that texting and writing emails is a more efficient way of getting ones’ message across, but is it always the best way? No, I don’t think it is. The tactile experience of someone slicing open an envelope to receive my greeting excites the heck out of me! I send more cards than I receive but that doesn’t stop me from sending at least one card a week to someone, and what also doesn’t stop me is the ever-increasing price of postage because seriously people:
Can you put a price tag on happiness? Nope, you cannot.
I hope that my own country’s postal service never goes out of business, and I am doing my best to support it by purchasing the stamps it sells and giving the employees something super worthwhile to do: improving someone else’s day by delivering a card!
So, there you have it. I am grateful for the English alphabet that was created centuries ago so I could stand at a greeting card counter – like I did the other day – and carefully choose future tactile experiences that many someones will receive in their postal mailbox.
I SURE DO LOVE WHAT JUST 26 LETTERS OF THE ALPHABET CAN DO FOR OTHERS!
Marcus Aurelius stated a good thing in this particular meditation, but boy is it difficult to comply with such wisdom. Am I right?
Negative matters and thoughts can really color our view of what’s going on around us but because of that negativity, I guess it’s far more beneficial to only give them their minimum due and then shift our focus to more positive happenings. After being on this earth for more than 71.5 years, I can state without hesitation that while yucky stuff is going on left, right, front, and center, positive stuff is equally as present…although not always recognizable. In a post last month, You Can Never Have Too Much Hope, I suggested that hopelessness is not a desired state of being. It’s a brief post I hope you will click on.
That is where hope comes in – an emotion that just might provide clarity when all the lines of decency seem blurred.
How well do you know the person who bags your groceries on a weekly basis? I am here to encourage you to engage with staff you see every week because the rewards to you, and the staff, are immeasurable.
The other day my husband and I said goodbye to our favorite grocery bagger, “Steven.” We saw Steven every week for a few years, and each time we did so – and after a certain measure of trust was established between customer and staff person – Steven opened up more and more to us. We shared grandchild stories while he shared tidbits about his hobbies and his later in life dating adventures.
But the other day, just a couple days before he moved across the country to help out his daughter in her hardware store business, he honored us by walking our groceries out to our car and then opened up like never before when I asked him how long he had worked at that Redmond, Washington area grocery store. His response floored us.
Steven revealed that he started working at the store six years ago, a couple years after he had survived, and been rehabilitated from, a brain aneurysm that didn’t quite stop him dead in his tracks. As a 50-something year old adult, he had to learn everything from scratch. Prior to this severe medical event, Steven was a professor of industrial engineering at a Washington university. Now he bags groceries, which, let me tell you, is a noble profession, especially during all the pandemic and other world events that pitted frontline workers in the midst of disarray and uncertainty.
My husband and I were shocked by his revelation given that we didn’t detect anything medically abnormal about this now 60-something year old gentleman. We never knew about the challenges he endured and overcame; we simply enjoyed our weekly interactions with him and quite frankly, felt those interactions were the highlight of each week’s mundane shopping trips. We were not looking forward to his planned move out of the state.
Opening up and being transparent with others is a vulnerable thing to do and shows a strength that many do not possess.
Once our groceries were loaded into our vehicle we visited with Steven some more and when it was time for him to head back into the store, the three of us exchanged goodbye hugs. We will miss this valuable connection but are happy that the state of Indiana will now get to benefit from this stellar human being we had come to know.
How many times in a lifetime are we asked: How are you?
How many times have we answered: Fine.
How many times has that not been a true statement? Probably lots and lots of times.
We don’t always feel fine, and when I say “feel” I don’t just mean the physical or medical definition of fine. How about emotionally? How about the complicated psychological aspects that are tied in with how each of us is handling life as it presents itself to us?
Our confidence or lack thereof. Our sense of safety or danger in any given hour of every day. Our ability to cope when coping feels like the least practiced skill available to us.
I would suggest that each of us check in with those individuals within our sphere of influence: spouse or partner, neighbor, coworker, and friend, so that we assure the person we are querying that we really want to know and that they can be as transparent as they are comfortable being.
When we get in the practice of honestly inquiring about each other, it is my hope that our responses will be equally as honest so that dialogue, true dialogue will take place.
I hope that you are fine, but if you’re not, it’s okay to say so.
Last week I wrote a post about something terrific that happened to me while traveling recently. This post spotlights another terrific instance that took place at the commencement of our travels.
Our scheduled ride share failed to show up at our house to take us to the airport.
That certainly doesn’t sound like good news, does it? WELL, my husband and I had never used a ride share but wanted to do so for our most recent trip. Rather than drive our own vehicle to an offsite airport parking lot, we decided to enter the 21st century and hire a lift like so many other people routinely do. A couple weeks before our intended airport commute, we expressed our fear of doing so to our neighbor who immediately offered to be our backup should anything get in the way of the driver getting us to our intended destination. The day before our travel day, we scheduled the driver to pick us up at 7 the following morning.
Fifteen minutes before the driver was scheduled to arrive, they called me to say that their vehicle was slipping and sliding all over the road (it had snowed a bit the night before) and they didn’t know when they would arrive at our house. We both agreed that the scheduled ride needed to be cancelled. That left me needing to contact my next door neighbor at 6:57 am to ask if he could take us to the airport – a destination that was a good hour away.
I’ll be at your place in ten minutes.
Yep! He had chosen to monitor his phone starting at 7 am just in case he was needed so he was awake and ready to roll if called upon.
What started as a stressful travel day turned into an exercise in appreciating the goodness that exists just over the hedge/fence. We certainly knew our neighbors were the best neighbors ever and this incident confirmed what we already knew.
So if you’re looking for some good news to brighten your day, look no further than someone who just might be a stone’s throw away.
No doubt each of us can name a friend or loved one who died younger than they should have. For me, it’s my sister-in-law, Wendy, who died of cancer and never got to meet her daughter’s children nor witness her son’s wedding; and my son-in-law’s father, David, who also died of cancer and not only didn’t get to see his children get married but also missed out on being grandpa to his son’s two children. Although it was years ago now, we are still feeling the after effects.
This body of mine has certainly inspired some complaints on my part; all those aches and pains and the inability to get up off the floor when playing with my grandkids without much fanfare. But I get to play with my grandkids on the floor. What a gift!
I am still here and Wendy and David are not so I will honor them both by not complaining too loudly when the privilege of aging has been granted to me and not granted to those two stellar human beings.
That sure gives me pause, as I am certain it does you where your losses are concerned.
I think we can all agree that we are surrounded by bad news stories. We need not look any further than a pop-up notification on our phones to catch BREAKING or HEADLINE news that is rarely good.
I am as guilty as any other consumer in that I have recently paid more attention to the yucky happenings in my world than the good that already exists. You and I can certainly find some delightful happenings right in our own backyard, can’t we?
Seeing as I live in the United States that was in a very contentious election season that played out this very month, I have relished the opportunity to look for even the smallest of victories that come my way so as to lighten the emotional load that too often clouds my view of the world.
So here are a few positive incidents I had the privilege of recently celebrating:
My husband and I celebrated having met each other on a blind date 28 years ago that changed our lives in such a very good way.
Our two grandchildren have thus far managed to stay healthy, even though their school sessions started a few months ago. That’s a record because as most of us know, schools can be regular germ factories!
On top of that, two of our adult children are teachers in the local school system, and they too have stayed healthy. Let me tell you, that is good news worth celebrating!!
Our oldest daughter and her husband will celebrate their 25th wedding anniversary in just a month’s time and our youngest daughter and her husband recently celebrated their 13th wedding anniversary!
The home of one of my nieces who lives in the region of the United States that was hard-hit by one of the recent hurricanes suffered physical damage, but my niece, her husband, and their teenage daughter escaped bodily harm. Homes can be repaired, but human bodies aren’t quite as easily fixed. It is now my dream that full restoration for all affected will be forthcoming.
The two novels I wrote, Requiem for the Status Quo, and A Jagged Journey, continue to receive positive reviews! Requiem is dedicated to all family members caring for their loved ones with dementia. I celebrate that others have been helped by my own challenging experiences that were included in that memoir-like novel and I dream of a world that eradicates Alzheimer’s and all other dementia.
Majoring on the “minors” is a great way of living when positive happenings cross our paths. They are so very important because the more good we acknowledge, the less yucky the bad stuff will seem to be.
Focusing on the good news around us is a healthy way to close out the current year, don’t you think? That’s what I plan on doing because the alternative just doesn’t seem very appetizing to me.
I don’t envy those who try to learn the English language when it is not their first language. For example, words that are spelled differently but pronounced the same are called HOMONYMS, like the three words in the title of this post. Words that are spelled the same but are pronounced differently are called HETERONYMS. Some examples of both of these anomalies:
I need to alter the arrangement on the altar. Did you develop instructions about the right way to write?
While viewing the beautiful redflower in the vase, I read the cookie recipe and opened the canister of flour. I rode my bike on the road in the desert but had to desert the area because it was close to getting dark so I had to close out my plans.
I was born in the United States to a middle-class family. My parents and my older brother and sister spoke English, so quite naturally the first words out of my mouth were also English ones. The educational system of which I was a part was English speaking only and although learning how to diagram sentences was a requirement, it was expected of me, and I didn’t have to discard any non-English rules to do so along the way.
HOW DO NON-ENGLISH SPEAKING PEOPLE MANAGE?
One of my nieces is from Russia and when my sister and brother-in-law adopted my sixteen-year-old niece from a Russian orphanage, Kristina didn’t speak or understand English. She is now in her mid-30s and has a successful job. Keep in mind, Kristina’s parents didn’t know or understand the Russian language either, so the challenges existed on both sides. BUT, and this is an important BUT, my sister and brother-in-law were born and raised in the United States so the biggest post-adoption adjustment occurred for the teenager who entered high school as an extremely handicapped individual and managed to graduate from her secondary school AND attend college. WOW!
The bottom line regarding the English language is that even though there are rules about how to write and speak the language, those rules don’t always apply, and when they do, they are still confusing as heck. I have deep respect for anyone who attempts – and succeeds at – learning the English language. At seventy years of age, I still struggle with discerning the correct word choices and sentence structures in any given circumstance, and I am a published author who is supposed to know a thing or two about the correct way to speak and to write! As I leave you with a few more frustration-inducing examples, think of those with whom you come in contact who might struggle with the language that comes so naturally to you. Perhaps we can all exercise a bit more grace towards them as a result.
HOMONYMS: ate or eight way or weigh aisle or isle blue or blew buy or bye
HETERONYMS: tear (crying result) or tear (rip something up); object (an item) or object (in a courtroom); lead (as in a heavy metal box) or lead (using a map to guide someone)
At seventy years of age, the end of 2023 saw me setting out to make space in my home’s storage areas. My husband and I weren’t running out of storage space, but in an effort to help our adult children should either my husband or I be out of the picture – which of course will happen eventually – we dragged out the under-the-stairs storage bins filled with photos, mementos, and journals to lessen the emotional impact on our adult daughters when the time does come, whether tomorrow or many years from now.
Doing so meant the emotions would no doubt come barreling down on me. Boy did they.
As many of you know, I was the caregiver for my father after he was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s disease. When caring for my father after his Alzheimer’s diagnosis, I kept meticulous journals on the progression of the disease from which he died in October 2007. I kept those journals so I could provide in-the-moment accurate updates to my brother and sister so those journal entries were VERY detailed about incidents I would rather not revisit.
But revisit them I did, and although the emotions that came through were raw, letting them bombard and fill me was a necessary step so that in the future our daughters would not have to wonder what they should do with all the anguish-filled words I put down on paper in those journals. You see, once I recently re-read my journals, I shredded them, knowing I didn’t need them for future reference. Over the course of several days, I digested their emotional impact and then eliminated them – remembering all that occurred, but not needing to save such records for decades to come. Bags and bags of shredded and disposed business effects and medical records were a gift I consciously gave to our daughters well in advance so they would not be put through the decision-making process of trying to figure out what the heck to do with Mom’s emotional ramblings and Grandma and Grampa’s business and health records that have been in my possession for so many years. My husband and I have already streamlined our own personal business effects so although at our passing our daughters will have to pour over them and address what is necessary at that time, at least they won’t have the much older generation’s business matters with which to contend.
But along with the somewhat devastating emotions experienced while going through the storage bins came joyful emotions in discovering decades of old keepsakes that shed a light on who my parents and grandparents were in the 1800s and 1900s. The most cherished keepsake were my parents’ love letters to each other a week before they got married in the 1940s. They were so in love with each other and did not hesitate to put that love into words as a gift to each other a few days before their May 26th wedding day. I made copies of those letters for our adult children and my siblings. Needless to say, good vibes prevailed in our hearts as a result!
Making space for storage purposes – and for emotional purposes – is an arduous task but the cleansing benefits can very much be worth the effort. I made space for the emotions to enter and pass through me and somehow or another, I survived that herculean task. Keep in mind, this is not a job for the faint of heart, but if you have it in you, you just might feel as lighthearted and/or relieved as I do now. And for me, that makes the task’s anguish a fading memory rather than a landmine waiting to be discovered.
I sometimes find myself in new circumstances—perhaps a new medical professional’s office—so that when I check in for an appointment the receptionist or the medical assistant invariably say, “Wow! You don’t look seventy years old!” Which begs the question:
What is 70 years old supposed to look like?
Aging is a strange bedfellow, isn’t it? We can’t get away from it, but would we want to? Doesn’t that bring about a lethal alternative?
Former model, Cindy Joseph said, “Aging is just another word for living.”
From all outward appearances, I look to be in good shape: I’m not overweight, I more or less stand upright (even though I’ve lost 2 inches of height over the past 10 years), I don’t leave the house in inappropriate clothing, and most of the time I remember to put on a pair of earrings in the lobes that were pierced 57 years ago as a teenager. Yep, for all intents and purposes, I present myself as being in pretty darn good shape for a seventy-year-old. But as we all know, outward appearances don’t tell the whole story, do they?
What no one can see is what is going on inside of my seventy-year-old brain. No one sees the worries and the fears that keep me awake at night or that keep me secluded in my home because I don’t feel comfortable driving long distances—especially on freeways—by myself. The receptionist at the medical office isn’t aware of my perfectionistic tendencies that create “What ifs” that need not be addressed but that I revisit over and over and over again in my effort to get things just right.
She or he has no sense of the terror that fills me when a neighborhood dog approaches me that, even though on-leash, I fear may take a chunk out of my leg like the “harmless” dog that did so in my same neighborhood twenty years before.
I am touching on these elements of my life that I am certain exist in many people regardless of their age, simply to point out that appearances can be deceiving. That just because someone presents themselves as in stellar shape doesn’t mean they are 100% healthy. Mental health is health, and without it, fullness of well-being does not exist. Thank goodness we are all becoming more aware of the mental health piece so that the stigma oftentimes attached to it is less pronounced than it was in times past.
I am not at all ashamed to speak of such matters because I know I am not alone. I take pride in the fact that I expend just as much energy to maintain my mental health as I do my bodily health, and apparently, it shows. The way I look at it—my physical body shouldn’t get all the attention, right?
My wish for you is that you nurture your mind just as much as you do your body. Aging isn’t for wimps, and I doubt very seriously that any of you would choose to fall into that wimpy category. Rock on everyone and celebrate the proof of life that your age has afforded you.
I finished off 2023 by going through numerous storage bins that were filled with photos, mementos, and historical family records. I didn’t enjoy it, but I am glad I spent the time to do so. I wrote about that emotional process in my column that appears in an online Australian publication called Grandparents Day Magazine. I welcome you to click on the link. Perhaps it will encourage rather than discourage you to do the same.
Because I erroneously believed I would have all the time in the world to thank my sister’s biological mother for placing Mary up for adoption, I missed out on that opportunity because Cathy died a few years after my sister first connected with her.
What a terrific statement that is, isn’t it? This statement was made twice in my presence the other day. The first time was when I said it to the grocery store checker that morning, an employee who was stretching her back and then leaning on the check stand. I asked her, “Has it already been a day for you?” To which she responded, “You have no idea how long it has already been.” I told her I was sorry and that I hoped she got relief soon, then I said,
Have world events impacted you in such a way that you feel things are hopeless?
Yes, nourishment. In all our daily interactions—whether via social media or in person—we can nurture the hurt that exists all around us. Our words, our smile, and our actions may just change someone’s life forever. Haven’t you been on the receiving end of that type of transformative nourishment? Didn’t it feel good? Didn’t it fill the emptiness within you that hungered and thirsted for confirmation that you matter, that you aren’t a failure, that you have potential?
So if your response to my post’s question does not fall into the category of happiness, please don’t feel as though you’re in a bad state of being. You are not; after all, as the author also states, “…tranquility, although a less exciting state, is more constant, acting like a slow-release drug that keeps me stable and content throughout the day.”
Life is a parade. Sometimes we march along and realize we have passed by what we were looking for. What do we do? Stand there and drop out of the parade? March on with regrets? Feel bad about how we looked or that everything we wanted was on the wrong side of the street? It’s passed! Forget it and march on!
In light of the way life has unfolded in the world as of recently, I have endeavored to discover a way of surviving the day-to-day tedium, and it appears I have done so for myself. It is not a religion, with its set orthodoxies and rules; rather, it is a way of living that is extremely pliable:
Mary Oliver is well-known for her poetry. Although I am not normally a lover of poetry, I do love this one that seems to encourage us to find and celebrate joy, regardless of what is going on around us. I hope you enJOY this brief poem of hers.
Joy is not made to be a crumb.
To be sure, it is difficult to know what is going on in the emotional background of people we encounter so it is a very good practice to interact with others without passing judgment. I would very much appreciate being on the receiving end of a nonjudgmental encounter so it behooves me to extend that same courtesy to those who cross my path.
And my feet will take me there.
Our lives never follow a straight path. We make turns, we leap or crawl over speed bumps and roadblocks, and when needed, we take breaks along the way while battling the insistent urge to just give up. More often than not, however, we keep going; we move forward, one step at a time, hoping for the best.
What a privilege it is to love someone and be loved by them. There’s a reason why there are so many dating/relationship services out there: we crave connection, and happily-ever-after is a worthy goal to pursue.
But you wanna know what I REALLY love? Sending greeting cards to people.
I hope that my own country’s postal service never goes out of business, and I am doing my best to support it by purchasing the stamps it sells and giving the employees something super worthwhile to do: improving someone else’s day by delivering a card!
That is where hope comes in – an emotion that just might provide clarity when all the lines of decency seem blurred.
How well do you know the person who bags your groceries on a weekly basis? I am here to encourage you to engage with staff you see every week because the rewards to you, and the staff, are immeasurable.
How many times has that not been a true statement? Probably lots and lots of times.
I’ll be at your place in ten minutes.
I think we can all agree that we are surrounded by bad news stories. We need not look any further than a pop-up notification on our phones to catch BREAKING or HEADLINE news that is rarely good.
Focusing on the good news around us is a healthy way to close out the current year, don’t you think? That’s what I plan on doing because the alternative just doesn’t seem very appetizing to me.
I don’t envy those who try to learn the English language when it is not their first language. For example, words that are spelled differently but pronounced the same are called HOMONYMS, like the three words in the title of this post. Words that are spelled the same but are pronounced differently are called HETERONYMS. Some examples of both of these anomalies:
HOW DO NON-ENGLISH SPEAKING PEOPLE MANAGE?
At seventy years of age, the end of 2023 saw me setting out to make space in my home’s storage areas. My husband and I weren’t running out of storage space, but in an effort to help our adult children should either my husband or I be out of the picture – which of course will happen eventually – we dragged out the under-the-stairs storage bins filled with photos, mementos, and journals to lessen the emotional impact on our adult daughters when the time does come, whether tomorrow or many years from now.
But revisit them I did, and although the emotions that came through were raw, letting them bombard and fill me was a necessary step so that in the future our daughters would not have to wonder what they should do with all the anguish-filled words I put down on paper in those journals. You see, once I recently re-read my journals, I shredded them, knowing I didn’t need them for future reference. Over the course of several days, I digested their emotional impact and then eliminated them – remembering all that occurred, but not needing to save such records for decades to come. Bags and bags of shredded and disposed business effects and medical records were a gift I consciously gave to our daughters well in advance so they would not be put through the decision-making process of trying to figure out what the heck to do with Mom’s emotional ramblings and Grandma and Grampa’s business and health records that have been in my possession for so many years. My husband and I have already streamlined our own personal business effects so although at our passing our daughters will have to pour over them and address what is necessary at that time, at least they won’t have the much older generation’s business matters with which to contend.
But along with the somewhat devastating emotions experienced while going through the storage bins came joyful emotions in discovering decades of old keepsakes that shed a light on who my parents and grandparents were in the 1800s and 1900s. The most cherished keepsake were my parents’ love letters to each other a week before they got married in the 1940s. They were so in love with each other and did not hesitate to put that love into words as a gift to each other a few days before their May 26th wedding day. I made copies of those letters for our adult children and my siblings. Needless to say, good vibes prevailed in our hearts as a result!
Making space for storage purposes – and for emotional purposes – is an arduous task but the cleansing benefits can very much be worth the effort. I made space for the emotions to enter and pass through me and somehow or another, I survived that herculean task. Keep in mind, this is not a job for the faint of heart, but if you have it in you, you just might feel as lighthearted and/or relieved as I do now. And for me, that makes the task’s anguish a fading memory rather than a landmine waiting to be discovered.
I sometimes find myself in new circumstances—perhaps a new medical professional’s office—so that when I check in for an appointment the receptionist or the medical assistant invariably say, “Wow! You don’t look seventy years old!” Which begs the question:
She or he has no sense of the terror that fills me when a neighborhood dog approaches me that, even though on-leash, I fear may take a chunk out of my leg like the “harmless” dog that did so in my same neighborhood twenty years before.
Living: the ultimate team sport 