Category: Aging

The Test

Published on by Sharron BurnettLeave a comment

56750d678ee6c-imageFridays in the fall always meant one thing to me. There would be a test in on of my classes and a test of our school’s football team on the gridiron later that night. I was always feeling exhausted after a long week of assignments and high expectations from my teachers. Even though I was a Hermione of sorts when it came to academics I just wanted to get through the educational part of the day as quickly as possible and move on to the possibilities of the weekend, a time for taking a deep breath and avoiding the stress of study if only for a moment.

My school didn’t have a band but we did have an all girls drill team with a drum and bugle corps. It was considered a big thing to belong, a way of forming endearing friendships and being part of something revered by the student body. Surprisingly I wasn’t a member of the group. My decision was a huge disappointment to my mother.

My mom had spent money that she didn’t have to provide me with baton twirling lessons from the time that I was in the third grade. In my middle school years I had performed as a twirler in the drill squad and had eventually risen to the rank of Captain. Mama had assumed that I would continue the quest to become the drum major in high school but in an uncharacteristic fit of rebellion I had refused to try out for one of the coveted twirling positions and had instead chosen to become a lowly marcher on the team. Due to my then diminutive size I was in the very last row of performers, a kind of afterthought.

My downfall from the glory of leading the group as a twirler was more than my dear mother could handle and she announced that if I wanted to be on the team I would have to find a way to pay the fees and attend the practices on my own. Since I barely had enough money saved to purchase the many school supplies that I needed it became quickly apparent that I would have to drop out of the coveted drill team group and become a nameless member of the horde of students that freely trolled the stands under the Friday night lights. I chose the unconventional road and it ended up being not so bad after all.

I never had a car or a driver’s license. Such luxuries were not included in our very tight family budget. I bummed rides to the football games with anyone that I could find and thoroughly enjoyed our free and easy excursions. We had no uniform code or rules. We were just out and about for the evening. We’d crank up the volume on the radio which was always tuned to the popular stations of the time and rock to the songs of The Beach Boys and The Animals. We’d laugh and sing and swear that on this night our team was going to topple the opponents. We’d whisper our hopes of encountering  certain male someones from our classes and scoring romantic conquests of our own. It was all so glorious and magical.

Our football team always tried but never ranked with the greats around our state of Texas. I went to a Catholic school that was rather small by public school standards. Our arch rival was St. Thomas High School, an all boys institution that prided itself in both academics and a championship athletic program. During my high school years they dominated football, winning the state title several times. Still with the optimism that was mine in my innocence I always dreamed that my team would one day be David to the St. Thomas Goliath. It never happened but it was fun to keep the faith and cheer for our guys even in the face of defeat.

I was an enthusiastic supporter of my classmates who braved the gridiron. I saw them as superheroes, young lions strutting their physical acumen. I yelled so long and hard at those games that I often returned home with a voice so weak that I was barely able to relate my adventures to my mom. I never scored with any of the guys with whom I self consciously flirted even though I often tried. I should have been disappointed by so many of those Friday nights but instead I remember them as being the highlight of my week. Win or lose it was glorious to shed the stresses of studying and taking tests and just hang out with friends. Screaming for my team and laughing at the antics of my fellow students freed the pent up frustrations and emotions associated with my attempts to successfully meet the sometimes daunting demands of my teachers.

Our football team’s most successful year came when I was a senior. For a brief moment I imagined that we might actually topple the might St. Thomas Eagles but that was not going to happen. Back then I had no idea that I would one day meet a young man from St. Thomas who would steal my heart and teach me how to love my one time foes. We would become parents and then grandparents cheering new teams and still enjoying those Friday night challenges that light up entire towns across Texas on cool fall evenings.

Tonight we’ll be at the Pearland Oil Rig stadium to watch the clash between Dawson High School and George Ranch. We will be torn in our allegiance because the kids in our neighborhood attend Dawson. In fact the young lady next door is one of the cheerleaders. On the other hand our grandchildren attend George Ranch.  We’ll wear the George Ranch colors and sit on their side of the field but in the end we really can’t lose because we have grown to love all of the young people who live around us who catch the bus for Dawson each morning right in front of our home. It’s a win win situation all around.

I rarely have any kind of tests these days other than those to explain my medical ailments. I have left the stress of long academic weeks behind. I am retired so even work is no longer a worry. I have new concerns over which I have little control. I fret about friends who are sick and suffering. I tutor my grandchildren and students at local high schools and middle schools and often think of them taking a critical exam. I feel a bit nervous for them when I look at the clock and realize that they are in the midst of taking a test for which I helped them study. I pray that they will remain calm and remember the ideas that we discussed. I mentally root for them as much as I did for the athletes who represented me and my school so long ago.

Life is the ultimate test of our wisdom, courage and endurance. As I attempt to make the very best of what will inevitably be the final phase of my life I at long last understand that it is okay to be unsure of all the answers and to lose from time to time. We gain as much from defeats as from victories, from mistakes as from success. In the end we are tested not so much on our abilities as in how we have lived and treated those who have walked along beside us. I’d like to believe that most of us have passed with flying colors.

The Rock

Published on by Sharron BurnettLeave a comment

10245585_10203403388626110_6869636648318012857_nI met a boy over forty years ago at my cousin’s birthday party. He fascinated me from the moment that he entered the celebration stylishly late. He might have walked straight off of a cover of GQ magazine with his cutting edge fashion sense but it was his confidence that caught my eye. He had only recently returned from attending Loyola University in New Orleans and he bore the international bohemian flair of the residents of that city. He was indeed quite different from the other attendees at the celebration and I was as drawn to him as a moth to a light, making a fool of myself as usual with far too much nervous idle chatter.

When he called me a week later and suggested that he’d like to take me to a movie I was dumbfounded. Somehow he seemed far too sophisticated to want to spend time with a bumpkin like me but he was quite sure of himself so I didn’t question his motives. Instead I decided to go along for the ride as long as it lasted.

He arrived at my house looking once again as though he had been hanging with the in crowd of high society, casually wearing a pair of madras slacks that had been tailored to fit him perfectly along with carefully polished brown penny loafers bearing no sign of the white socks that most of my male friends usually wore. A perfectly starched blue shirt topped off with a navy blue blazer completed his look making him appear to be the most handsome person I had ever known. I felt a bit overwhelmed and underdressed as I answered the door in my off the sale rack outfit from Penny’s. Somehow we didn’t seem to go together but I would soon enough learn that my first impression was so totally wrong.

We began a conversation on the way to the movie that would continue through the decades. We found that we shared so much in common that our interests overtook our social and economic differences. Superficialities mattered little as we talked as though we had been the best of friends for all of our lives. Ours was an exciting and easy flow of communication in which we were able to fill in the blanks for one another and anticipate what the next topic might be. I felt as though I had finally met my very best friend and I had only known him a few hours.

After that we became inseparable, spending as much time together as two college students might spare and still take care of business. Somehow I knew that I had truly met my soulmate even though I was incredibly young and naive. I was still quite shy with the world but never with him. I had grown up in an isolated neighborhood with a huge safety net just waiting to catch me if I fell. He had witnessed the vices of the Crescent City and his stories of his time there fascinated me but I was even more enthralled with his intellect. He possessed an uncanny ability to recall the smallest of details from the things that he had read. He was almost encyclopedic in his knowledge of history.

Ours was a whirlwind courtship played out against a backdrop of war and political intrigue. By the time that he proposed that we marry the easygoing world that had defined our childhood was forever gone. It had been replaced with dramatic cultural shifts that set fire to much of what we had once known. Some of those changes were far overdue while others only served to awaken our cynicism and sense of urgency. We felt as though we needed to hurry if we were to grab a slice of happiness in a world that had seemingly gone mad. We dove into a life together with full force and never once looked back with regret. It became a magnificent journey filled with all of the elements of a saga. Along the way we encountered the totality of the human experience and somehow managed to keep our heads above water no matter how crazy things became, always continuing our conversation and finding fun in even the simplest adventures.

Nowadays that boy is a man with thinning white hair. He long ago eschewed the call of fashion in favor of more practical and less expensive clothing. He is after all a husband, father and grandfather concerned with the well being of an ever expanding brood. He has little time or concern for outward appearances. He has become a practical man whose very existence is governed by a desire to keep his family safe and happy. He requires little more to feel content than to know that everyone is okay.

He is enjoying his retirement after years of hard work dedicated to making me and our two girls as comfortable as possible. He is still a romantic who looks at me with a special twinkle in his eyes. He is all in all a very good man whose entire focus has always been on our crazy extended family. He has spoiled me and our daughters not in a materialistic way but with unconditional love that has made us confident and strong. 

Today is that man’s birthday, the final year in his sixth decade of life. He just celebrated with a trip to his favorite part of the world, the Rocky Mountains. He spent time with me and friends doing the things that he most loves. I still see that young lion that I met so many years ago whenever he smiles at me. He is a beautiful man that I was fortunate enough to encounter. He has changed my life in ways that I never thought possible and I am all the better because of his influence. I should be giving him a gift on his special day but somehow it always feels as though I am the eternal recipient of his favors and his love. He is the rock upon which all of us who know him depend.

Happy Birthday, Mike. I can only hope that there will be many, many more.

The Early Bird Catches the Worm

Published on by Sharron BurnettLeave a comment

beautiful-sunrise-images-hd-photosI used to wonder about my early rising friends. You know the kind of people that I am thinking of, the ones who arrive at work at six thirty in the morning and boast that they have already been to the gym and vacuumed their living room. They come bearing hot muffins that they popped into the oven while they were getting dressed. They are overly perky given the time of day and more than ready to go. I always had a hard time fathoming how anyone might push themselves out of bed before six on a weekday and nine on the weekend. I have always needed my beauty rest and I have taken it with gusto whenever possible. Then something happened that changed my entire outlook on life.

For the past several months I find myself sleeping peacefully until about four in the morning. I awake and begin to toss and turn for an hour. By five I have come to the conclusion that I am not going to be able to fall back into a peaceful slumber so I lie uncomfortably in the dark closing my eyes in the hope that maybe my body will surrender. It doesn’t happen. I’ve finally decided that the only thing to do is to begin my day before sunrise. Since I don’t want to disturb my husband I use the time for quiet endeavors. It has been a remarkably freeing experience.

I check the news on my laptop to see what happened around the world while I was dreaming. I send birthday greetings to friends on Facebook and look for important emails. Then I write my blog. The words flow readily with nobody around. It is a perfect time for reflection and for going quietly within myself. As the minutes tick by the world outside slowly begins to awaken. I hear the cars backing out of driveways as my neighbors head for work or school. Children wait for the bus on the corner right in front of my house. Those on the early route are still sleepy and make little noise while the ones who leave when the sun has lit up the sky are frisky and mischievous. I keep my blinds open so that I might see the activities taking place all around me. They somehow make me happy.

I eat my breakfast and sip on my Diet Coke while I compose my essays. Sometimes I get quite excited because I sense that I have written something important that might influence the way people think. At other times I laugh at my own platitudes and Pollyanna imitations. I enjoy my little corner of the day and love that it is uninterrupted by robocalls or knocks at the door.

I have a dear friend who routinely meditates. She has often told me of the power of silence. I have always had difficulty stilling the voices in my head. They seem to be constantly scolding me and reminding me of all that I must do. My early morning alone time has brought me a newfound peace and I find myself able to become completely relaxed. I hear the beating of my heart and feel the breaths that I take. Somehow I feel in sync with the universe without the clatter of everyday life that begins with regularity as soon as the sun is on the horizon. I am beginning to experience the beauty of silence and meditation.

For the first time I understand why the early morning risers are so happy and even a bit self righteous. I don’t plan to look down on the sleepers like some do because I have been one of them for all of my life. I will instead rejoice in learning the wonders of greeting the day in the dark. I will enjoy this new phase of my life for as long as it lasts for I fear that one morning my body will revert to its old ways and I will awake to find the sun streaming through the spaces between my curtains and the clock registering a warning that I must hurry or fall behind.

I hate to admit that my newfound ability to wake up before the chickens is a measure of my age. My mother used to tell me that she was sometimes awake at three in the morning once she entered her senior years. She and one of my aunts would talk on the phone in the dark of the early morning hours because neither of them were able to stay in bed. Research tells me that I am supposed to get eight hours of uninterrupted slumber but I can’t seem to push it past six no matter how hard I try.

I sometimes wonder if we are creating a nation of insomniacs with the constant barrage of sights and sounds that overstimulate our brains. There is rarely a time when I do not hear a car driving past my house or a siren in the distance. Planes fly overhead and my phone makes little noises indicating that someone has sent me an email or a text. People are always checking their computers, reading from screens, playing fast moving games. It will be interesting to one day discover what the effects of all of this have been besides an epidemic of pinched nerves, frozen shoulders and numb fingers. We are caught up in a brave new world in which we eliminate the sounds of nature by shoving earphones into our heads so that we might escape to loud music instead. Air conditioners are humming, clocks are ticking, appliances are buzzing and we think that we have managed to ignore them but somehow our brains are taking note and perhaps even changing in ways that make it more and more difficult to simply relax.

I still consider myself a night owl rather than a morning person. I find it difficult to go to bed before eleven. I enjoy staying up late to finish a good book. I sometimes have my most eloquent ideas after everyone else has retired. I plan to enjoy my newfound morning hours for now. Who knew that I would one day be joining the early birds that I used to think were obnoxious? Life is certainly full of surprises and maybe even a few extra worms.

Not So Strange

Published on by Sharron BurnettLeave a comment

66.0.0Watching television in the summertime can be a dreary affair. The hundreds of available channels tend to pack their schedules with reruns or replacement programs of dubious value. Most of us are too busy enjoying travels and the long hours of daylight to really care about the dearth of decent options but when rain is dampening plans we sometimes reach for our remotes hoping to find something interesting and worthy to view. Sadly our options aren’t always promising.

The summer Olympics in Rio have been fun but somehow NBC manages to go into overkill with certain events and completely ignore others that might be interesting. I have found myself tuning out every time that they showcased yet another beach volleyball game. Don’t get me wrong. Those competitions are fast paced and even have the potential to be exciting but when they seem to be part of the programming every single day they soon get old. On the other hand we never get to see much related to soccer or rugby or basketball. I thoroughly appreciate the finals in swimming and track but don’t really need to see every event leading up to those matches. I’d much prefer a montage of the many different sports and not just those that NBC has selected for my viewing pleasure. I suspect that I am not alone in my thinking because ratings for the Olympics are down.

Luckily there is a bright spot in the vacuous desert of summer programming. Stranger Things is yet another Netflix original limited series that demonstrates how a great story, taut writing, a perfect cast and stunning production can elevate a simple idea into a winner. Stranger Things is so nineteen eighties and that is a very good thing. The tale weaves a tapestry of mystery with characters right out of the movies that we so loved in that era. Subtle but powerful touches include a soundtrack of eighties favorites that illicit memories of MTV with starring roles for once young actors and actresses who have settled into middle age. The formulaic themes so common in the golden age of the eighties are all there but with twists and turns that keep us on the edges of our seats. Stranger Things is a romp through the past that seems to have elements of Goonies, E.T., Sixteen Candles and Alien. In other words, it is great fun, especially for those of us who so enjoyed that glorious time.

When I think of the eighties I get a huge smile on my face. It was a decade when everything in my world was going well. I loved my job and had few worries. I lived in a great neighborhood and enjoyed adventures with so many wonderful friends. My two girls kept me busy but I loved every moment with them. I was still in my thirties, a time when I was confident, energetic and still rather nice looking. We traveled all across the United States as a family and created memories that are vividly exciting even to this day. The world itself seemed safer and less complex. We lived contentedly at the end of a cul-de-sac thinking that life would always be as perfect as it appeared to be back then. We were so busy enjoying our little slice of heaven that we hardly noticed the changes that were brewing just as they inevitably do.

We would all grow older. Family members and dear friends would die. Our children became adults who left our little nest to begin their own sagas. The world seemed to evolve into a more dangerous place. Our nostalgia for the good old days increased and yet if truth be told these are good times as well.

The reality of life is that it is in constant motion. As the Bible so beautifully tells us there is a season for everything. How we react to each stage of our existence will color the way that we view our past, present and future. With the right attitude we are able to accept and enjoy our status even with the many changes that alter the way we live. True joy comes in embracing the moment and finding the blessings that most surely are right in front of us.

My mother was masterful at enjoying the simplest of things. She had very little money but she never complained. She received as much joy from a McDonald’s sausage biscuit as she might have had from breakfast at Brennan’s. The simple act of waking up each morning was a grand miracle in her mind. Each day was precious to her and she packed her hours with generosity and love. Whether she looked backward or forward at her life she was filled with optimism. She loved the eighties like me but she appreciated all of the other decades as well and they spanned from the twenties of the twentieth century to the teens of the twenty first. She had a way of finding the silver lining even on the darkest of days and constantly assured us that every problem has a way of working itself out if we are willing to be patient.

Watching Stranger Things reminded me of one of my favorite times but it also made me think of just how wonderfully far I have come. I now have seven grandchildren who weren’t even part of my imagination back then. I have met so many remarkable people in the days since dresses had more padding than a football uniform. The inventiveness of humankind in the last thirty years has made virtually every aspect of my existence far easier than it has ever been. I can tutor my granddaughter or visit with my grandson without any of us leaving our homes thanks to technology. I am daily reminded of how lucky I am and of the goodness of most of the world. It is with a sense of anticipation that I think of what may lie ahead. I suspect that wondrous things are on the horizon and that’s a good thing.

The best thing about life is how creative we humans are again and again. We adapt and thrive and carry on because it is in our natures to build rather than destroy. We laugh and enjoy the adventure of a good challenge. The bonds that tie us all together weather the test of time and there is nothing strange about that.   

I Did It!

Published on by Sharron BurnettLeave a comment

IMG_1282A few years back I went on a family vacation to Colorado. My son-in-law Scott had devised a plan for all of us to go backpacking in Rocky Mountain National Park. He assured us that it would be a rather leisurely stroll up a minor peak where a lovely lake awaited us. The plan was to bring our tents and backpacks so that we might spend the night in the secluded spot. It sounded like a doable challenge, especially since Scott had done a great deal of research ahead of time. We would be taking some rather young children on our adventure and my husband Mike and I were well into our sixties and admittedly not in the best of shape, so Scott had done his homework in choosing a destination rated moderate in difficulty.

I was quite excited because it had been years since Mike and I had backpacked into the mountains. We had once attempted to reach the summit of Long’s Peak but had to turn back when one of our daughters was overcome with mountain sickness. Luckily we had camped along the trail at a lower elevation so she was able to rest for a time and recover. By then it was far too late in the day to try our ascent again so we gave up and decided to return another time. We got busy with living and didn’t come back until we knew that we were no longer as hardy as we had once been. A short trek up an easier trail would have to do.

Mike and I spent a great deal of time at REI accumulating the proper equipment. Our old backpacks were sadly worn and out of date so we invested in new ones that were better built. We decided to purchase lightweight sleeping bags and a two person backpacking tent. We already had a single burner stove for cooking and lots of containers to carry the water that we would need. We carefully weighed our loads and spent time walking around the neighborhood to increase our stamina. We thought that after our more difficult adventures this one would be a walk in the park.

We headquartered at my brothers‘ cabin on Storm Mountain. I began to worry just a bit when a walk along the road near their house left me feeling breathless. I told myself that I just needed to acclimate to the elevation. After all, I was coming from only a few miles above sea level to an area that nature had pushed up to great heights. I suspected that after a couple of days my lungs would be okay in the less oxygenated environment.

We ate pasta the night before our journey hoping that the carbs would provide us with extra energy. I hardly slept in anticipation of our trip. We were all set to venture out when one of my grandsons fell on the gravel driveway and got a huge bloody gash in his knee. Fearing that he might need stitches we detoured to a local clinic. The doctor saw him right away, cleaned the wound and declared him ready to go. We were off and running albeit a few hours later than we had planned.

We were grinning from ear to ear as we embarked on our hike. Scott reckoned that it would take us three or four hours to reach our destination. That would give us plenty of time to explore the area before retiring for the night. We were all smiles as we took our first steps down the trail. It didn’t seem to be difficult at all. We began to believe that we would hardly break a sweat achieving our goal.

Before long the asphalt pavement gave way to a more rugged pathway filled with sharp edged rocks and boulders that required us to increase our strides. The gentle slopes became steep and before long I found myself huffing and puffing. I could feel the pounding of my heart inside my ears and I suddenly wondered if I was up to this challenge. Unwilling to admit my concerns to anyone I just kept moving forward one step at a time.

Eventually the trail became so rugged that I had to play mind games to keep moving forward. I would see a log or a rock up ahead and tell myself that I had to proceed until I reached that small goal and only then would I be able to rest for a time. Over and over again I maintained my motivation by starting and stopping, pretending to need a swig of water or a bite of one of my granola bars. The hours ticked by and I feared that I was no closer to my goal. My children and grandchildren had grown weary of lagging behind and were long gone. Only Mike was walking steadily behind me to reassure me that I was not going to pass out alone on the mountain.

Along the way I encountered other hikers who were in worse condition than I was. I pretended to be strong as I sauntered past them and smiled when I heard them note that I appeared to be a very experienced backpacker. I only collapsed when I was out of view, usually pretending to be so taken by the lovely scenery that I had to linger for a time. The truth was that I was running out of steam and saw no end in sight. I didn’t want to disappoint my family or myself. I decided that I had to muster my determination even if it killed me and that was indeed a possibility.

Just when I thought that I was unable to take another step my two eldest grandsons appeared. They had already reached the end of the trail and had set up camp. They encouraged me by insisting that I was almost there. One of them went to help Mike carry some of the load and the other took my backpack and hoisted it over his shoulders. I felt that angels from heaven had descended to aid me in my hour of need.

We walked along talking about a variety of topics most of which were rather deep. I suppose that mountainous environs are cause for reflection and we certainly had time to discuss the state of the world. The good company and conversation made the time and the effort seem less brutal and before I knew it we were rounding a switchback that led into our campsite for the night. I wanted to kiss the ground but I maintained my composure as though I had only completed a little walk that hardly caused me to strain.

It was lovely up there, more so because I was at the top of the world with all of my children and grandchildren. We had brought a whole lot of love and laughter to that place. I was proud that I had made it. I was happy to realize just how wonderful my life really was. I celebrated and rejoiced and slept like a baby even though the rangers had warned us that there were bears in the area.

The next day as I descended I passed people coming up the trail who marveled when they learned that I had spent a night on the mountain. They complained that the trail was far more difficult to navigate than they had been led to believe. I proudly insisted that if I could make it so could they. I was admittedly quite full of myself at that moment. Going down was far easier that coming up had been. I fairly flew to the parking lot where our cars waited to take us back to the luxury of our cabin.

I knew then that my rugged camping days were over. I had grown soft and old. I no longer had the desire or need to prove my mettle. I would leave that to the youngsters. Still I am so glad that I made that kind of trip one last time. I did it!