Category: Aging

Strong

Published on by Sharron BurnettLeave a comment

helping hand with the sky sunset background

Childhood is a kind of bubble of naiveté that protects us while we are learning about ourselves and the world around us. Some children like myself experience tragedy early in their lives and such events become cautionary tales for them. Hurt and loss changes little ones in varying ways. I suppose that in spite of the fears that lie at the bedrock of my personality I was somehow able to develop somewhat normally into a healthy adult who is perhaps a bit less adventurous than I might other wise have been. The shock of losing my father after a long journey to and then back from California left me quietly confused and desirous of clinging to any form of security that I might find.

I blanketed myself in the luxury of routine and a certain level of isolation from the realities of the world. I spent the remainder of my growing up years in relative ignorance of hurt and intrigue. I became resilient and once again confident by living a quiet and somewhat uneventful life inside the little neighborhood from which my family and I rarely needed to venture save to visit with my grandparents and my aunts, uncles and cousins.

I cared little about world affairs or intrigue of any sort. It was not until I was fifteen and in high school that I once again faced death when my beloved grandmother developed cancer and died. That was about the same time that President Kennedy was assassinated while he was visiting Dallas. I went into the same state of shock and grief that I had felt when my father died. I wanted to look away, to somehow pretend that such events were not really part of our human experience. I buried the fears that I inside my heart and pretended that I was stronger than I actually felt.

Like so many of us so often do I ignored my feelings and stoically moved forward, avoiding contact with negative thoughts or people or situations. I tried to make life a fairytale forgetting that the theme of all such stories revolves around triumph over hardship. It was not until I was twenty years old and I saw mental illness take hold of my mother that I realized there was no running away from the tragedies that each of us must face. I had to become fearless without warning or practice and it was painful.

For some time I hid my reality as though it were some ugly thing that defined me and my family. I did not share with others. Instead I dealt with the situation hoping that my mother would be cured and I would be able to move forward as though nothing had ever happened. Of course her chronic illness kept jerking me back into a dark world that was confusing and painful beyond measure. It was only when I freed myself from the constraints that I had placed on my willingness to face the truth that I began to see the world around me in all of its good and bad iterations.

By becoming honest with myself and with the people that I knew I developed more and more trust even in the face of seemingly hopeless situations. I saw that there is always someone willing to help if only I had the courage to ask. I found friendships and relationships that made me a better person each time that I reached out for understanding and assistance. By facing the toughness of life I actually began to see its true beauty more clearly.

There are patterns among human beings that repeat themselves over and over again through the centuries. How we deal with our longings and our sorrows may change ever so slightly as we learn from the mistakes of our ancestors but the basic feelings are in total harmony with every man and woman who has ever walked on this earth. We strive for happiness while enduring the inevitable sorrows. None of us will make it through life without scars, but if we are very lucky and willing to embrace those situations with wisdom and determination we will surely learn from them.

I know so many who are suffering at this very moment. It hurts me to see their pain and to know that in some cases there is so little that I might do to help them. I offer small bits of encouragement knowing that theirs is a season of sorrow through which they must walk. In other cases there are tangible things that I am able to do because of the resources that I am blessed to have. Mostly I simply demonstrate how much I care because I have learned that even the tiniest bit of generosity has the power of bringing joy to a broken or frightened heart.

We should never underestimate our power to say or do exactly what someone needs in a dark moment. Thoughtfulness and openness are like healing salves when administered at just the right moment. From my own experiences I know for certain that small gestures of love are never forgotten. It may be a neighbor lighting the pilot light of a heater on a cold winter’s day who brings hope or a pot of soup delivered by a friend that begins the process of healing.

I see the faces of those who took the time to comfort me when my father died and then my mother. I know exactly who extricated me from the darkest times of my life. I have never forgotten how impactful their kindnesses were. They remind me even when I am feeling low that I am not as alone as I might sometimes believe. I may stumble and skin my knees in this grand adventure called life but I will always find a hand reaching out to save me. I have learned time and again that there are very good people just waiting to be at my side and in that knowledge I have become very strong.

Push!

Published on by Sharron BurnettLeave a comment

boulder

I’m an old dog who continues to learn new tricks. I’m truly thankful every single day for having a mind that is still working relatively well. My knees hurt all day and all night and my bladder is weak, but so far I can still make those little grey cells in my head do their thing. it’s a blessing to maintain my ability to think clearly that I tend to believe I inherited from my paternal grandfather and seemingly from my mother’s side of the family as well.

My Grandpa was still reading massive biographies and quoting them when he was one hundred eight. When he ultimately lost the clarity of his mind it was painful to watch because he had indeed been so wise and brilliant for all of the time I had known him. His clouded thinking came on rather suddenly after an unexpected illness. For the last few months of his life he no longer seemed to understand where he was or why certain things were happening to him. He became like a confused and frightened child. Luckily his pain did not last too long. He was spared the horror of living in a dazed condition for years.

The old adage is that the mind is a terrible thing to waste, but it is also a terrible thing to lose. The confusion that results from diseases like Alzheimer’s and dementia steal the joy from both those who are afflicted and those who care for them. The journey into loss of memory or understanding can be terrifying for everyone concerned. Whereas my grandfather had the good sense to stop driving his car when he was in his nineties, those whose minds become confused often insist on being allowed to do things that are dangerous for them and those around them. It becomes a battle of wills to reason with them.

There is still a great deal to learn about the brain and how it works or fails to work. We don’t yet have the understanding that we need to reverse the effects of aging or diseases of the brain other than rudimentary ideas. One of those is to keep the mind active. Just as with exercise for the body, continuing to challenge the mind is essential for good health. Reading, writing and even “ciphering” as my Grandpa called it keeps things working as long as they have not been affected by disease. It’s important to challenge ourselves by continuing to learn just as we might push to tone our bodies.

I was a mathematics teacher by profession but I never taught anything past Algebra II. As a result I recall little or nothing about the more advanced courses that I took when I was still in my teens. Back in the day we had Trigonometry courses but Pre Calculus was not a thing. Even our Calculus offerings were rather sparse compared with what students learn in today’s classrooms. The acceleration of learning for modern day students is awesome but also somewhat unimaginable for those of us who learned “back in the day.”

I do a great deal of mathematics tutoring. I feel quite comfortable working with students in Algebra I, Algebra II and Geometry, but I begin to lose my confidence with Pre Calculus and Calculus because it has been more than fifty years since I mastered the material in those subjects and in some cases the information in those courses goes far beyond what I learned in the long ago. For that reason I have shied away from working with students who struggle in those areas, preferring to stick with what I really know and understand.

Recently I’ve been called upon to help one of my grandsons with his Pre AP Pre Calculus class. I have literally been studying mathematics every single day for weeks now, learning the concepts in tandem with him. Fortunately there are instructional videos on virtually every topic known to mankind that I can watch on my laptop. I’ve managed to rebuild the structures in my brain that had gone to rot from neglect and to stretch my knowledge to places that my brain had never before ventured. It’s been both a challenge and a pleasure to realize that I am still quite capable of pushing my mind beyond what I already know. In many ways I feel younger and more excited about life than I have in quite some time.

I’ve always found comfort in the process of learning. Often it has not come easily to me but it has been a most enjoyable pursuit. I am passionate about reading and writing and a bit proud that I also have a fairly good understanding of mathematics, or at least an ability to learn what I do not yet know. It’s been fun to work alongside my grandson and to accomplish something of which I was initially afraid.

We humans are truly remarkable creatures. We have the ability to remold ourselves in both mind and body, but doing those things takes effort. We can’t just sit back and hope that the fat in our bellies will miraculously go away or the dust in our brains will disappear. All good things associated with improvement take hard work and that is a fact. The successful folks among us were rarely just born that way. They have had to consciously strive to better themselves. That’s why the person who loses fifty pounds is so proud, or the individual who masters a knew concept literally glows with a sense of accomplishment.

Life is filled with one challenge after another. Our need to push ourselves never really ends. We can make our bodies and our minds stronger but we have to work at it. There is no rest for the weary, but we can make our efforts fun with the right attitudes. Carving the pounds from our bodies or filling our minds with knowledge can be enjoyable pursuits. Pushing ourselves just a wee bit more is not just amazing. It is truly good for us.

Life Is Good

Published on by Sharron BurnettLeave a comment

contentment

The aroma of banana bread is baking in the oven. Songs from Sting are playing in the great room. The washer and dryer are working to clean today’s laundry while Mike irons his dress shirts. We’ve just returned from Sprouts where we purchased a week’s worth of fresh vegetables and I am boiling eggs for future breakfasts. My niece will be coming soon for afternoon tea and my level of contentment is soaring.  It would be difficult to feel any better than I do right now.

I suppose that my satisfaction is a sign of my age. It doesn’t take much these days to feel blessed. I’ve learned over time what is most important in life and it certainly isn’t things. It’s a sense of security, enough healthy food to feed my energy, and great moments with family and friends. I enjoy good music and the opportunity of another day whether it be sunny with blues skies or cold, wet and grey.

I spent the morning planning for a Pre Calculus study session with my grandsons. It’s nice to know that my brain is still working, probably better than my knees. I also created lessons for some young men who are learning Algebra I, a couple of youngsters who are mastering middle school math, and two little tikes who are learning how to tell time, read a calendar, and add numbers. Having a purpose each day is priceless and does much to boost my optimism. I see young people working very hard to learn and to move toward their own futures. They give me faith that the world will ultimately be just fine.

We humans are rather amazing. We don’t just hunt and grow food. We turn it into delicacies. We don’t just talk to communicate. We turn our voices into musical instruments with our singing. We use our words to paint lovely pictures. There is something quite miraculous about the things that we do. Our creativity and curiosity have led us to great heights throughout history and I can’t help but believe that we will continue to use our magnificent intellects to solve the world’s problems. We have always ultimately risen to every occasion and I don’t see why we won’t continue to do that.

A young man who was once my student is looking for a job. He earned a degree in petroleum engineering, a rather incredible accomplishment, but he is not from a world filled with contacts. The great thing is that with only a few strokes of the keyboard of my computer I was able to put him in touch with generous people who work in the world of oil and gas. They are eager to help, just as people usually are.

It would be easy to only see the really bad aspects of the world, but I choose not to do so. Dwelling on evil only invites depression. Instead I have always found that the key is to find the good people who are so much in the majority. I was happy to hear one of my grandsons following that same path. He recently boasted with great joy that he feels confident about the future. I suspect that he will be very much part of the new generation that tackles difficulties and I can’t think of any way better to do that than with a sense that all will be well with just a bit of work.

Of course it is important to share what I have with those who are less fortunate. Not everyone lives in the kind of luxury that I enjoy. They may have dangerous living conditions and worry about where they will find food for the next meal. They have serious problems that threaten to overwhelm them. It’s up to those of us who “have” to help those who “have not” both with tangible offerings and educational opportunities. The old saw about teaching someone how to fish rather than just giving them a fish is only half right. Sometimes they also need that initial fish just to have enough energy and ambition to learn.

At my age one never knows how much time is left. That can be a depressing thought or it can be an impetus to make the most of every single day. We just don’t know when we will hear our last song or eat our last meal, so why not savor every second to the utmost? Taking joy out of even the smallest of experience is good for the soul and helps to make the heart healthy.

It’s also important to have a willingness to learn and change. It’s never too late to take that class in geology or to tackle a new language. Keeping the mind alive and alert seems to gush lots of happy serotonin through the brain. It makes each moment feel a bit more adventurous.

The school bus will soon bring the children from the neighborhood back home. Hearing those lovely little voices never fails to bring a smile to may face. On this day of contentment it will be the cherry on top of my glorious mood. Life is good.

The Frogs

Published on by Sharron BurnettLeave a comment

lucky frogMy grandchildren are becoming all grown up. They are all either teens or young adults in their twenties. The days of hearing the seven of them tearing through my house playing chase or hide and seek are gone. Now they are more likely to play quiet sedentary games or engage in conversations with us older folk. They have hundreds of questions about history and enjoy discovering the movies and music that are classics from the sixties, seventies and eighties. It’s rather wonderful spending time with them because our interactions are more and more adult and they become sweeter as they age, as unafraid to admit their love as they were when they were toddlers. They no longer hide with embarrassment when they see us approaching them while they are in the company of their friends. They quite openly smile at us, squeeze us with great hugs, and express their feelings with honesty. They even solicit advice and listen to our stories with keen attention.

It’s nice to know that they are going to be the kind of adults who will do a grand job of moving our world into the future. I have to give a nod of approval to my daughters and sons-in-law for parenting jobs well done. There’s still some minor work to be completed before they are fully launched into adulthood but things are looking quite promising.

I’m quite proud of the next generation but sometimes I miss the little ones with their innocent joyfulness and laughter that used to echo through the rooms of our home whenever they came to visit. When I see grandparents with babies and toddlers I remember how much fun it was to escape into a wonderland of joyful abandon when my own grandchildren hung on my every word and laughed at even the lamest of jokes.

These days I enjoy entertaining the children of my nephews and nieces who are still in the fanciful stage of development. They wander through my house giggling and asking delightfully silly questions about the most unexpected things. They notice items that I have on display that I sometimes forget that I even have. Among their favorites are my frogs, a trio of amphibians associated with my teaching days that remind me of dear friends that I now rarely see. They are whimsical and as adorable as the children who are invariably fascinated by them, the source of smiles and maybe even a story or two.

The oldest of my frog family lives upstairs in what I fondly call “the children’s room.” She is a rather lovely creature who sits atop a shelf filled with books, games, photos of former students and mementoes from my long career as a teacher. She was a birthday gift from a counselor at South Houston Intermediate, a quite beautiful woman with an impish sense of humor. The frog, not the lady, has green leathery skin and incredibly long and skinny legs that seem almost incongruent with her plump midsection. I hate to admit that her figure now resembles my own rather closely but like me she hides her flaws under a carefully selected outfit. Her gingham dress is bright and cheery and the little apron that protects it also serves as a way to keep her fat belly from being noticeable. She has lovely eyes that protrude with a kind of happiness that matches her grin. She holds a little net for catching flies and she used to boast a cute wide brimmed straw hat but it somehow got lost over the years. She is as cute as can be and nary a child fails to notice her. In fact I do believe that she might give Miss Piggy a run for her money in attracting Kermit the frog if given the chance.

The next frog that game to live with me is from Chinatown in New York City. I bought him at the suggestion of an art teacher who had invited me to join her for an award ceremony at Carnegie Hall where one of our students was to be honored. She showed me the frog in a crowded shop and convinced me that I needed to take hime home.

He’s a fierce looking but friendly character who stands guard by my front door. He is like a soldier on duty with his immovable bearing and elegant red coat. He perennially holds a quarter in his mouth which is supposed to be a sign that we will never find ourselves without the funds we need to survive. His fabled story insists that he is a bearer of luck, a creature who represents good fortune, tranquility and harmony. He is also the one object inside my house who totally fascinates every child who enters. They are never sure whether to love him or fear him until he gently allows them to take his quarter without harm. Then they seem to understand that he may look gruff but he is indeed a kind fellow whose only job is to be steadfast in his duties.

The youngest of my frog family was yet another gift from a colleague at work. He is lustrous and elegant, well toned and athletic. His sleek body and strong legs give him the appearance of an Olympic god. He proudly poses as though he is modeling his lovely attributes. His skin is a combination of jade mottled with ebony and tiny flecks of gold. He is a muscular creature who might join the ranks of the Avengers and fit right in with the superheroes. He is worthy of belonging to a king or a queen even though his actual monetary value is not great. There is just something remarkable about him that nobody fails to notice, especially youngsters who view him with a kind of reverence. They want to know who he is and why he is in my house. I always tell them that he is a treasure that reminds me of the glory of my teaching days and the dear friends who once worked with me.

I love all three of my frogs. Until I googled the word frog I had little idea of their storied history. They are the stuff of literary metaphor. No wonder they make me and my visitors smile. Mostly they remind me of other times in my life that I shared with people who brought me the good fortune that only comes from treasured friendships. Frogs are a sign of a peaceful and accomplished life and in my own case they are reminders that I did something meaningful for young people along with so many devoted people who worked alongside me. How wonderful is that!   

Alike and Unique

Published on by Sharron BurnettLeave a comment

Aunt Valeria

For as long as I can remember I’ve been told that I look just like my mother, my father, both of my grandmothers, my brothers, my aunts, my cousins, my daughters, my grandchildren. When people view me they see different things emphasizing certain traits in their minds. I’m certainly not a doppelgänger of anyone in my extended family, but the resemblances are there. I noticed that as I grow older I take on a kind of generic similarity to my relations even though I don’t appear to be a twin of any of them. It seems as though in the process of aging we take on characteristics similar to those of a baby without the external trappings of hair, makeup or clothing to distract from the essence of our appearance. We begin to look more and more alike.

I have a one hundred year old aunt from my mother’s side of the family. Invariably when I visit her at her nursing home someone will tell me that I am a carbon copy of her. My aunt doesn’t hear well these days so when I recently related such a comment to her in writing she commented with her trademark sense of humor, “Poor girl!” with a sly grin on her face.

The fact is that I have often thought that she and I resemble one another in a number of ways but most of them have more to do with the genetic makeup of our health issues rather than outward appearance. I somehow inherited the same propensity for osteoporosis and migraine headaches that have plagued her to the point of landing her in a wheelchair for many years whereas my own mother had none of those things.

I suppose that if a very observant artist or writer were to seriously analyze my facial features I would be found to more closely resemble my father and my youngest brother than anyone else in our big family. Such is also true of one of my grandsons and a nephew who bear a preponderance of features very similar to those of my dad. It’s funny how that works and often leads to one of those strange moments when finding an old photograph of an ancestor who appears to be a twin to one of the living relatives. It’s one thing to pick up the habits and nuances of people with whom we frequently interact to the point of seeming to be just like them, but it’s rather remarkable to discover an ancient still image that is eerily like a living descendent. Our DNA has a way of repeating patterns.

I now look at myself in the mirror and I see my face as a kind of microcosm of hundreds of years, perhaps thousands in a long line of people leading to me. Of course it never occurred to them to ponder so far into the future but I am intrigued by the thought of who they might have been and which of their traits I share. When I consider the miracle of those clumps of cells forming in a woman’s womb to make a new person with the evolved characteristics of people from the past I am in awe. It is breathtaking to consider the magnificence of the process of the creation of a human life and something not to be taken for granted.

Since joining Ancestry,com I have been able to put names, if not faces, to the people who came before me. I have put my spit in a test tube and sent it for DNA analysis. Through that process I have found distant cousins that I did not know existed. I have become a member of a Facebook group of people related to my paternal grandmother. I read their posts and their stories and realize that we share so many commonalities without ever having known each other before. Learning about them has made me feel an even stronger connection to humanity than ever before. It has made me realize that on the whole we share many more commonalities than differences even as we are separated by time and distance. I sometimes wonder if people would think we look or act alike if we had the opportunity to come somehow come together. Would the world instinctively know that we are related?

It’s difficult to imagine disrespect for human life whenever I think of how much I share with other people. There are basic traits that course through all of us. We laugh and cry and bleed and hurt in much the same ways. It seems contrary to common sense that we would ever think that one human is less worthy than another when we are so intertwined by our commonalities. The things that separate us are mostly cosmetic. If we were to be stripped down to the essence of who we are we might begin to look almost like reproductions of one another, just as babies and old people do.

At any given moment I do indeed look like my aunt or any of the people to whom I am related. I also resemble the more generic characteristics of being human just as we all do. It tells me to value myself and the people that I encounter. Each of us is both alike and unique. Perhaps there is nothing more important than treasuring every single life from the moment that we first begin to form to the instant when we take our last breaths. If we were to continually bear that in mind perhaps we might find ourselves in a more peaceful and just world. Languages and cultures may differ but the marrow in our bones and the blood in our veins tell us that we are the same.