Month: December 2022

I once worked for a man who loved to chat. My coworkers warned me not to visit his office unless I had enough time to lose an hour or so listening to him philosophizing or telling stories about his youth. I actually enjoy getting to know what makes people tick so I was not averse to settling into a chair in front of his desk and listening to him taking up topics that don’t usually come up in a business meeting. He was a sweet man who had a way of spinning a tale that was folksy and interesting given my own propensity for relating the stories of my life.

One day he randomly began thinking about an old flame that he had in his high school days. He told me that he had once thought he was in love with the girl that he took to his senior prom, but his youthful romance never panned out. He moved on to college and then the beginning of a career where he met his wife with whom he had created a wonderful family and life. He assured me that he was still very much devoted to his wife, but he had sometimes thought that if anything ever happened to her, he might look up his old girlfriend to see if she was available. He felt that the two of them might enjoy living out their final years together because their common bond of the past would be comforting. 

I suppose my boss’s theory intrigued me because I remember that conversation quite clearly. Many years later when I met with him for lunch one day I saw how grief stricken and lonely he was after his wife had died. As usual he talked my ear off, but I did not mind because I understood how important it was for him to have an outlet for his sorrow. I found myself wondering if he had tracked down his old girlfriend, but I dared not bring it up because he was still working out his feelings. Instead I allowed him to do all of the talking for probably three hours before we finally parted. 

I did not hear from him for some time after that. I worried that he might be ill because he seemed to just drop out of sight. Then out of the blue a Christmas card arrived from him and I was excited to know that he was back with us so to speak. I opened it to see a different kind of handwriting than his. It was signed by a woman who quite proudly linked her name to his. I instantly remembered the name of the girlfriend that he had mentioned and knew that he had found her and renewed their youthful romance. Now she was his second wife just as he had imagined she might one day be. 

It was a sweet story of the kind that I have seen repeated over and over again. As my boss had noted, we humans feel safer with people that we knew well when we were young. We do not fear the dating game nearly as much if we already share commonalities and relationships. It is a kind of comforting way to spend our golden years after our first spouses have died or left us. I have countless friends who have done just that and they have found happiness that they did not believe would be possible with old friends from high school or college. Theirs are stories worthy of romantic movies. 

My own fifty year class reunion has led to renewal of old friendships and the beginning of new ones. The common memories of our youth along with our evolutions as adults somehow seem to mesh even decades after we once knew each other. It is as though we are able to complete each other’s sentences or thoughts. We may not think exactly alike, but our memories of past times fill in the gaps and demonstrate how much we were shaped by those crucial adolescent years. We are with people who knew us when we were awkward and lacking in confidence, unsure of who we were and who we might become. They seem to like us even with all of our flaws. We don’t have to put on airs around them. 

In a typical fashion I could hardly wait to graduate from my high school and strike out in new directions. I was not the least bit interested in looking back although I did maintain friendships with many of my former classmates. I was intent on shedding the image that had become my personality, even though it was nothing like who I knew I actually was. I had to free myself from the classifications that teens often implant on each other…the popular crowd, the nerds, the shy nobodies. 

My mother’s illness accelerated my transformation from an ugly duckling to a swan. I had to become an adult to keep her well. I no longer had the luxury of hiding behind my shyness. I became an advocate for her, and later for my children and my students. I became unafraid. 

Now I enjoy being with old classmates and listening to each of their stories. It’s amazing how strong everyone has had to be and how wonderfully they have overcome mind numbing challenges. Many have found happiness just like my former boss did, others find comfort from just being with old friends. All of us have benefited from the foundations of our youth that had seemed so silly at the time. Now we see that we are the sum total of all of our experiences, but the lessons we learned from our parents and teachers have guided us all along to do the right things. It’s very nice to realize that the world continues moving forward, but our relationships never really wane. We are part of a very big family of good people who helped us to take our first steps forward into the world. Finding them again is a blessing.

Starting with Thanksgiving I’ve been buzzing around meeting up with people and having a grand time in ways that I have not experienced since 2019. I have to admit that I have lost much of my socializing stamina in the past three years of mostly staying hime and being isolated. I don’t know if my reaction is simply a matter of growing a bit older or if I’m just out of practice. 

I used to flit around from place to place, task to task, visit to visit with ease. It was as though I had an unlimited supply of energy that kept me going from early in the morning until late at night. I seemed able to tap dance, juggle and spin a plate on my head all at the same time. Now as I attempt to revive all of my old ways I’m missing steps, dropping balls, and breaking plates. I shut down sooner in the evening and sleep a little longer in the morning. It’s frustrating to me to realize that for the first time in my life I have to admit to having limits to what I am able to do before giving in to the aches in my back and knees. I find myself wondering if I’m just out of shape or if I’m simply experiencing inevitable changes in my life. 

I recall a time when my mother-in-law was about my age and she announced that she no longer had the stamina to be the grand hostess of Christmas festivities. She turned those duties over to me about twenty years ago and I had to learn how to be the driver of Christmas activities rather than the guest who simply showed up looking relaxed and festive.  It took me a while to learn how to replicate the wonderful Christmas dinners that she had always so deftly produced. In the beginning I could feel the disappointment from those who compared my humble efforts to hers. Over time only a handful of family members actually remembered her parties and mine became the gold standard for Christmas Day. With the pandemic all of that changed.

I once heard a friend describing her very simple Christmas Day traditions. Each year she made lasagna for her immediate family and they opened gifts after the meal. They followed with a bit of chatting and laughter, but the big tradition of the day meant going out to see a movie together. At the time I thought that her way of celebrating sounded a bit sad, however during the Covid times when things really slowed down I found myself wondering if maybe she had found a nice leisurely way to spend time with her small family group. Somehow her easy going dinner sounded more and more wonderful and I tried to think of ways to emulate the joyfulness of it. 

There are countless stories and movies about families running themselves ragged trying to create the most perfect Christmas memories. Doing that eventually exhausted my mother-in-law and she had to cry “Uncle!” While I’m not yet ready to surrender, I’ve decided to try some easier ways of opening my home to my extended family while still being able to keep up my strength and actually become the biblical “Mary” rather than “Martha” when they arrive. This year instead of a sit down dinner with all of the china and crystal and neatly ironed tablecloths and napkins I am offering an open house in which people will be free to come and go at any time that pleases them. I’ll have paper plates and bowls for food that I can set out as needed. The emphasis will be on just getting together, not hosting a feast that keeps me puttering in the kitchen before, during and after my guests arrive. I no longer want to finally sit down only to hear everyone announce that they are tired and ready to go home. I plan to actually visit this year.

My brother and sister-in-law have already refined their traditional Thanksgiving celebration to suit their own need to slow down just a bit. This year their children and their spouses arrived the day before the celebration to clean the house, set up tables, wash the china and silver, fold the napkins. On Thanksgiving day they brought a fully cooked turkey and dozens of side dishes that they only had to heat up. My brother and sister-in-law greeted guests and enjoyed the day in ways that they had never before experienced. It was wonderful for everyone. 

I wish I had thought of such things before my mother-in-law had to retire from Christmas duties. I might have pulled together a group to help her with set up and food preparation so that she might still have been able to experience the joy of having her loved ones come to her home for the celebration. I have finally realized that things don’t have to be perfect or always the same for everyone to have a good time. The joy of working together is often more fun. 

I’m fairly certain I can do this, but not by myself. Everyone’s going to get a job of some kind. I am learning as I go and remembering how my mother often insisted that I know when it is time to let go gracefully. All we really want is to be together. Nothing else really matters. There will be no more rushing around in a state of exhaustion if I manage to do this right. Wish me luck!

There was once a time when humans had to concentrate most of their efforts on simply surviving, moving from place to place in search of food. Over time hunting and gathering gave way to settling down somewhere amenable to growing crops, raising animals, working with a group to create a society of fellowship. Even then there was little time for doing anything other than toiling to keep food on the table and defending homes from invaders of all kinds. Nonetheless, it was in the nature of humans to try new things, new ideas. Even in primitive civilizations we witness attempts to create works of art. We find ancient tools for making work easier. We encounter instruments for making music. It is in the nature of every person to explore, to try new things, to accept challenges beyond the parameters of merely surviving. 

The uniqueness of humans lies in their ability to think outside of a box, to dare to push themselves seemingly beyond their abilities. It is this tendency that has built a legacy of artistry, innovation, inventiveness. It took thousands of years of human willingness to push the envelope of possibilities to lead to the incredible comforts of the modern world. 

I need only look around my home to be in awe of what people have managed to accomplish. The quest for more knowledge, new ideas continues even as I “write” with a tiny computer more powerful than the entire room of gigantic machines used in mankind’s journey to the moon. Thinking of the march of progress is a breathtaking and inspiring story of people willing to try new things simply because it is in our natures to explore the world of thoughts and ideas. 

My grandmothers were unable to read or write. Only two generations later I have accumulated knowledge and skills that were unimaginable to them. My grandfathers supported their families with backbreaking labor. Their grandson created the program for the navigational system of the International Space Station. We appear to be progressing in quantum leaps, but we are also in the midst of a strange time when many of our fellow humans are voicing anti-science, anti-intellectual, anti-artistic fears. They question the value of creativity and innovation and express wishes to return to simpler times, to eschew anything new or different. 

I suppose that such fears have always been the counter weight to taking risks like replacing horse drawn carriages with automobiles, or supplanting oil lamps with electric lights. No doubt there are more cautious souls among us who worry that we may be going too far when we push our explorations to points that we don’t really understand. We are hard-wired to be careful and even flee when we sense danger. Surely the unknown is the most dangerous possibility that we may ever face. 

Many of us leave it to others to be the pioneers. We only accept the work of pacesetters once it seems to be safe to do so. We are not like my husband who seems to be the first on the block to automate his home, purchase a family computer, undergo experimental medical treatments. He looks to the future with enthusiasm while others his age cling to old ideas and tried and true ways of doing things. He is a futurist who appreciates that the world is progressing more rapidly than ever. He envisions a time when the disabled will be freed from their wheelchairs and the air on our earth will be cleansed from the fumes of fossil fuels that are now choking it. He is an optimist because he believes in those toiling away to find better ways of living.

Because my focus has always been on people, I too am a dreamer. I long for a world in which we all understand that our strength lies in our diversity. Surrounding ourselves with sameness only produce a kind of intellectual lethargy and even envy or fear. We are too often reluctant to accept people whom we do not understand. These are the very reasons that we have so often warred with one another, abused those who seem different, undervalued and underrated people whose skin color, or cultures, or politics are different from our own. When we set aside our concerns and ironclad convictions and begin to learn more about each other we realize that no one type of person or nation is the best. We are all just humans attempting to make our way through life. Advancing our understanding and acceptance of differences is actually another way of making the world a better place. 

Culture wars and anti-science are destructive to a healthy society. They are the bane of peaceful progress, the creators of ignorance and evil. We would all do well to try new things, learn new ideas, demonstrate a willingness to move forward, not backward. It can be a scary thing to do, but without risks we would still be wandering around searching for food and a cave to keep us warm and dry. Try on a new perspective even if it is only a tiny step forward. It is an exhilarating way to live.

My mother used to tell me that if I always told the truth I would never have to worry that I might forget details of the story I would have to invent to cover up a lie. She also remarked that defaming accusations hurled against honest people are rarely believed if that individual insists that he/she is innocent. Truth telling was a top priority in her moral code and she lived by the integrity that was so important to her. Sadly an ironic aspect of her bipolar disorder was a paranoid fear of being accused of something she did not do and not being believed when she uttered her truths. 

In her worst moments she imagined that someone was watching her and waiting for a moment to arrest her for crimes she had never committed. When she pulled the drapes in her home tightly shut and furtively peeked between the panels to search for boogeymen we knew that she was quite sick. It was time to get the assistance of doctors who prescribed medications that somehow quieted her mind and helped her to return to reality and become the wise and delightful person that we knew as our mom. 

My mother was my hero. In spite of the debilitating illness that seemed to stalk her again and again, she managed to create a wonderful life for me and my brothers. When I think of the balancing act that she had to endure to fight off the illness that few understood or wanted to talk about, I am in awe of her courage and her willingness to forgive those who turned away from her in fear of her changing personality. Somehow sho chose to love them even when they hurt her. Always she remained the most honest person I have ever known. 

I seem to have an eye for noticing someone who is suffering from a mental illness. I often wonder why even the members of their family do not appear to have a clue that the erratic behaviors they are witnessing are a sickness, and not just an undesirable way of acting. They look away or even push such persons away rather than coaxing them to get the treatments that they need. I suppose that the fear of confrontation keeps many sick individuals from receiving the care that they deserve. It can indeed be a challenging process to convince a psychotic individual whose paranoia is raging to trust you to do the right thing. Nonetheless, it is worth the effort to at least try. 

Now and again I observe celebrities who are out of control, seeking attention in horrible ways. Often I sense that they are actually quite sick and in need of medication and therapy rather than our indignation and judgement. Society does not always demonstrate the compassion that such people need, but instead spurns and isolates them. If the person is lucky one of their own will notice the erratic nature of their actions and guide them to find the help that they need. 

In my decades long quest to care for my mother I read many books about bipolar disorder. One of them was written by the actress, Patty Duke, who suffered from the same disease as Mama. Ms. Duke was lurching out of control in a manic state that created problems for her career and her family life. She detailed her outbursts in the book and spoke of the moment that changed everything for the better. It happened after she appeared on the Tonight Show when it was hosted by Johnny Carson. She was in a highly agitated state as she boasted that she was going to build an ark in Arizona. As she chattered rapidly the audience laughed and Johnny made funny faces. She came across as a kooky character and little more.

After the show Ms. Duke received a phone call from Frank Sinatra. The two of them had never before met in person, but of course they knew of each other. Frank told Patty that he had been watching the show and that he was exceedingly concerned about her. He urged her to go see her doctor and to be very honest with him about how she was feeling. He insisted that he was going to bug her until she had done what he had counselled her to do. She was so overwhelmed by his demands that she meekly obeyed and called a doctor the following day. 

The rest of the story is legendary. Patty Duke was diagnosed with bipolar disorder and given medication to ease the symptoms. She lived the rest of her life educating and advocating for the mentally ill. Her days were full and happy in a way that they had never before been. She credited Frank Sinatra with saving her even though he did not personally know her. She urged people to follow Sinatra’s example and never ignore the signs that a person needs help.

It is difficult to witness mental illness and even more difficult to do something to get medical attention for the person who is suffering. Mental illness is chronic in most cases so the cycle of illness and treatment becomes a lifetime journey. It’s up to loved ones to do as much for those with mental illnesses as they would if they had other diseases of the body. The truth is that too many fear the symptoms of mental illness and turn away from those who present them. I urge everyone to help instead of laughing or pretending or shunning. It’s well past time to bring mental illness out of the darkness by talking about it openly. Truth is a verb that calls for action.  

Life can feel unexciting at times as our days become a never ending repetition of themselves. We may consider the sameness of our routines to be boring, perhaps even dreary, but the unpredictability of life inevitably catches up with us in one way or another. The unexpected can be exciting, make us happy, or it can rock our world, leaving us groping for the everyday schedules that once made us complain. In truth our journeys through the cycles of the earth are a complex mixture of calm and anxiety brought on by forces that we can neither predict nor control.

I’ve learned to greet the morning with gratitude for simply waking up one more time. As each hour passes during a typical day I am thankful if no emergency arises. I no longer crave excitement like I once did. Calmness is my ally, sameness makes me smile. Experience has taught me to be prepared for anything, even as I know that sometimes the unimaginable will leave me quaking, unsteady in my resolve. Adjusting to new ways, to loss of certainty is always a massive challenge. 

There is only so much that we might generally predict. We know that there will be seasons in our lives but we can never be sure of how they may ultimately affect us. We’ve learned how to reasonably predict the weather but not to pinpoint who will be most impacted by it. We set up our calendars knowing that everything on them is subject to change given unexpected circumstances. We have control of our lives but only in how we choose to react to the events that unfold beyond that control. 

Our shared human experiences have the power to bring us together in support and compassion, but that does not always happen. Each of us responds differently to challenges and sometimes we cannot even predict our own behavior in difficult times, much less the actions of others. In many ways life is a puzzle, a difficult maze, a game that we will sometimes navigate with ease and other moments with a feeling of being totally lost. 

It’s easy to watch others struggling and believe that we might do better in the same situation, but we don’t really know if that is true until we experience our own crises. As humans we would be wise to pontificate less and attempt to understand more. But for the grace of God, as my mother often said, we might collapse under the pressures that some of our fellow humans must endure. It’s easy to condemn the person who attempts to illegally enter our country, but how often have we taken the time to actually speak to such an individual? Have we truly listened to their reasons for taking such great risks? Do we even try to visualize what we may be willing to do given the same circumstances?

For some reason people often open their hearts to me. I learn from them that there are times when life becomes so unbearable that they must take extraordinary steps to ease their pain. A father may steal from a store to feed his children. A mother may subject herself to indignities to keep her family together. A family may find themselves living in a car behind a funeral home that allows them to use the restroom facilities before going to bed at night on seats and floorboards padded with blankets. A son may lose his life in violence for no reason at all. A nation may be invaded at the whim of a madman. 

How would each of us react in such situations? We think we know, but desperation has a way of channeling our behaviors in very unpredictable directions. I was quiet and shy until my mother required my care when I was not quite yet an adult. I whined and cried and wailed at the heavens for a time, but eventually realized that either I would accept my new role or watch my entire family suffer. I had to push myself to become an aggressive advocate for my mother and for my younger brothers. It was uncomfortable, an ill fit with my natural temperament and I often dreamed of simply running away. Instead I pushed myself to become a different person than I had expected to be. Thankfully it made me a better person than I might have been. 

The unpredictable is a double edged sword. It can be fun and exciting or it can attempt to crush us entirely. We can never really know how we will do until such moments taunt us to demonstrate who we are. In the back of our minds we know that there may one day be a time when the pressure is too much and we will break into a thousand pieces. We would do well to be understanding when we see someone who has shattered under life’s pressure rather than judging them harshly or thinking them weak.

I sit in my safe little home each morning tapping my fingers on the keys that string letters together to make words that express my feelings. Most days I have a fairly good idea of where the hours will lead me, but I also know how unpredictable even the most serene beginning of my routine might be. I hope and pray that all will go well and that I will have whatever strength I need to deal with surprises. I can’t really predict how things will progress or how I will be affected by them. All I can do is take one minute at a time and try to be grateful for the quiet and the calm. The unpredictable game of life will most certainly challenge me just when I least expect.