All It Takes Is A Little Love

It can sometimes seem as thought the whole world has become a horrible place to be. Mostly that is because the media specializes in featuring stories that rile up our emotions. We hear about the bad things that are happening rather than the everyday good moments that make life so wonderful. We can be overwhelmed with the bad news. The best aspects of life are all around us in small moments that bring smiles to our faces. We don’t have to look very far to find them, but we do have to turn off the constant barrage of negativity to notice them. 

Have you ever encountered a harried clerk in a store who seems so grumpy that you want to file a complaint against her or him? Before doing that stop to consider what might be causing that person to be so irritated. Instead of reacting to the negativity become a positive moment for them. Tell them how much you appreciate them or mention that it must be difficult dealing with crowds and ungrateful customers who don’t seem to understand how overwhelming the job of serving them can sometimes be. It’s amazing how a bit of understanding and a small compliment will change a person’s attitude almost instantly. Suddenly the two of you are laughing and smiling and wishing each other a good day. It feels good to bring cheer to someone who might otherwise spend the entire day being surly.

It may be just me, but I like nothing better than changing the linens on my bed and then diving into the fresh sheets at the end of the day. It is a feeling of absolute luxury that always leads to counting my blessings followed by a night of uninterrupted sleep. If I really want to make the scene perfection I don my prettiest and most comfortable pair of pajamas and sip on ginger tea before I settle in for my slumbers. It reminds me of my childhood when my mother tucked me in each night and told me how much she loved me. There is something so simple and yet so special about a nice clean and warm bed that brings a sense of safety and well being. 

As a teacher of low income students I often learned of a child who had no bed in which to slumber. It stunned me to hear of one of my pupils sleeping on a sofa each night or spending the night in the backseat of a car. I began to appreciate the seemingly small luxury of having my own bed with clean linens far more than I might once have done. 

I’ve also laughed with glee whenever I found money that I have forgotten I had. Maybe it was a few dollars tucked in the bottom of a purse that I had not used in awhile or a few coins under cushion of my favorite chair. It always feels like finding treasure regardless of how much is there. It’s like seeing a dime shining on the street. Bending down and putting it in my pocket seems like good luck, a little bit of positive adventure on an otherwise ordinary day. 

Even better is when I find something that I had thought was missing forever. Such it was with a lipstick that I purchased in Harrods in London. I wanted to be able to say that I had indeed bought something there but most of what I saw was ridiculously expensive. Suddenly I had the idea of purchasing an item from the cosmetic department. That is when I found a lovely shade of lipstick in a pretty tube that made my smile seem even brighter than usual. I carried it all the way back to my home across the pond only to later realize that I had somehow misplaced it. Years literally passed and I assumed that I had lost the lipstick somewhere in my routines. A few weeks ago I was tidying up my purses and noticed a lump in one of them. Digging deeply into the bottom I found the lipstick and celebrated as though I had discovered gold. Finding it brought back memories of that wonderful trip and the joys of sharing it with my brothers and their wives. Now I get a jolt of joy each time I run the color across my lips. 

As a child I often sat next to my father watching comedy shows on television. I remember him laughing so hard that his belly jiggled and his eyes twinkled. Since that moment I have loved the feeling of glee that comes from a good joke, a great story, or just the emotional high of being with friends. Laughter really is the best possible medicine for ailments of the mind and sometimes we just don’t get enough of it. Laughing clears my head of worrisome thoughts and soothes the aches and pains that I might be feeling. There are some people who have a gift for making me laugh and I love being around them. We can’t always be serious and dreary. Sometimes even in the most dire situation a good laugh breaks the tension and makes the moment a bit more bearable. 

Having time all to myself with no imminent responsibilities is another happiness maker that I often take the time to enjoy. Walking on a quiet path or just sitting in my upstairs room quietly watching the parade of people living life in my neighborhood brings a kind of contentment that invigorates me. I relish being outside tending my plants when nobody else is around. I love the sounds of the birds and the feeling of the sun kissing my face. I like to crumbling the dirt in my hands and enjoy the glorious colors of the flowers and the sky. It is a panacea that can’t be bought or sold and as simple as it seems it heals every hurt that I might be feeling.

Make a list of the small things that make you happy. Take the time to enjoy those moments when life feels overwhelming. It’s always the little bits of life that bring the most joy. Read a book, have a cup of coffee, call a friend, hug a neighbor. Reach out and find whatever makes you feel good. 

Two years ago my father-in-law walked into our home using a walker. After losing his wife, enduring a major surgery, catching Covid and spending six weeks in various hospitals and rehab centers He was barely able to shuffle to the room we had prepared for him. I would be lying if I said that I imagined him growing stronger and thriving better than ever two years later. In fact I somehow assumed that he would be gone before a year had passed. Instead he is lively and still going strong with some memory loss and an inability to maneuver safely through a crowd. 

While my father-in-law looks great for a ninety-five year old he still has many difficulties that make it impossible for him to live alone. His essential tremors are such that he cannot open boxes or cans or containers without help and many ordinary tasks are impossible with his shaky hands. He also gets confused about dates and his medications so my husband religiously keeps his pill minder up to date. We have a system for insuring that my father-in-law gets his medications at the proper time each day. 

We have had a few heated discussions about driving with my father-in-law as well. He managed to convince the state of Texas to renew his license when he turned ninety-five to our incredible dismay. He still thought himself capable of driving across town to his home until something changed and he began to insist that my husband drive him on such journeys. Now he only takes a spin in his car down to the CVS which is only a few miles away on a thirty mile per hour road. I still maintain that he should permanently turn over his keys but for now those short and infrequent drives with have to suffice as a compromise. 

For the most part my father-in-law gives the impression of being totally capable of caring for himself but that is mostly because my husband and I quietly take care of all of the different daily routines that are troublesome for him. Now his days consist of rising between eight thirty and nine in the morning, eating breakfast, taking his pills, and signing on to his computer where he entertains himself for most of the day. I keep him supplied with the apples, oranges, peaches and fruit that he snacks on between meals. I also make sure that he is stocked with plenty of the Glucerna that he drinks everyday. I launder his clothes, clean his room and cook for him. In addition to using his computer most of the time, he spends fifteen to thirty minutes walking at a slow pace on the treadmill and joins us for dinner and conversation and maybe a television program or two each evening 

We have taken him to visit our daughter in the San Antonio area but such outings tend to wear him down. He comes back home looking the worse for wear. He is a creature of habit and changes of any kind throw him off balance, so we keep him happy by ensuring that we will meet his daily needs. All in all it might seem to be a rather easy routine to follow but as the months pass by we ourselves become more and more homebound because we know that he cannot be left alone for more than a few hours or so. We have to plan very carefully just to go out with friends. 

The point of all of my descriptors is to admit that taking on an elderly man at our own late stage in life is much more mentally and physically difficult than most people might imagine. Over the past two years I have found myself being in awe of friends who cared for someone in their homes for multiple years. The unrelenting routines, concerns and isolation can be devastating. Sometimes it indeed feels like a very lonely task even as we have made it manageable for now. 

Then there is the worry about what may potentially happen as more time passes. The reality is that nobody in our home is going to get better. All of us are aging and losing bits of our stamina from one year to the next. I have to work hard to control the scenarios that run through my mind, especially when my husband and I develop health scares of our own. When I was juggling three different health issues that slowed me down I felt panicky wondering what we were going to do in the event that we all became in need of help. 

I have learned that the role of caretaker is far more difficult than it may appear from afar, even when the person being monitored appears to be as independent as my father-in-law does. While he may seem perfectly capable, he is not, and the never ending vigilance can become exhausting even as we know that it is something that we must do. 

There are times when I feel downright ugly. I miss the trips that my husband and I used to take and I resent that I am being held down during the years when I should still be traveling and enjoying the freedom of retirement. We have not used our trailer in two years. It sits waiting for us to take a spin down the road that we dare not take lest something dire happen to my father-in-law while we are gone. We only managed to travel to Maine last summer because my daughter and grandson were available to watch over my father-in-law in our absence. This year it has been difficult to find anyone with the time to step in so that we might plan a little vacation. Hiring a professional is out of the question for now because my father-in-law insists that he does not want a stranger around the house. So for the moment we are simply marching in place.

I am presently reading multiple books about caretaking. I know that our situation could be far worse. I try to focus on the moments we we are talking and laughing together or enjoying a cup of frozen yogurt on a warm day. I know that we are not alone, in fact more than ever before there are elderly people being watched by family members all over the nation. From now on when I hear of such a situation I am going to be more inclined to offer to somehow help. I now know how difficult the long days of being mostly homebound can be. I appreciate those who do such things with an optimistic smile. Taking care of an adult is no easy job.

When I was a child I had a cardboard box filled with items that I used for playing school. I sometimes had a difficult time convincing my friends to make believe with me because they were already in school and somehow using their free time to work math problems and take tests was not their idea of having fun. I on the other hand loved being a teacher. I even created report cards for my playtime students. I suppose you might say that I was destined to be a teacher even in my childhood. School was a place of joy and discovery for me. I enjoyed reading and learning even with the teachers that I did not especially like. Being a devoted student was something I was able to control after the chaos of losing my father. Somehow I needed to know that I was in charge of my own destiny and being in a school setting has always brought a sense of joy to me. 

Ultimately I chose educating young people as my profession. There were times when it was difficult and I had to work hard to keep my students engaged and moving forward in their academic progress. Even in the toughest years I knew that I had chosen the right career. In spite of the salary that did not come close to competing with other choices I might have made, the everyday excitement of watching young people grow in wisdom was reward enough for me. 

I retired on the day before my mother died. Ironically I had chosen to free up my time in order to care for her since she had been diagnosed with cancer. I spent a few months enjoying the freedom of not having any place to go and soon realized that I was already missing my interactions with students. Before long I was tutoring and then once again becoming a mathematics teacher for children who are homeschooled. Instead of taking vacations in the fall or spring, I have tied myself down to the school calendar just as I have done for so many years. Somehow it would not feel right to watch the children in my neighborhood riding off for school in August and not have anything to do with my age old tradition of greeting a new group of eager young faces hoping to learn about math while also admitting that it is not really their favorite subject. 

I’m old school in that I still use a traditional lesson planning book. I like to be able to jot down notes about what was right and what was wrong with my lessons as I go along. The computer is fine but I want to be able to instantly assess myself and my pupils with comments about each goal that I have created for a particular session. 

This year I will have a different challenge. I have some students who will be taking a Business Math class at a local community college. I have studied a synopsis of the curriculum and think that I may have to do some reviewing before feeling confident to help them if they run into trouble. I haven’t done much with statistics or linear programming for quite some time and I don’t want to be checking for information at the last minute. Everyone’s time is too valuable to waste while I brush up. So I have ordered some old textbooks from Abe Books that should help me stay ahead of where they are surely going. I plan to set aside some time each week to get myself up to speed and I’m already feeling intrigued by the idea of learning something different from what I usually do. 

I’ve been to Target to purchase all the school supplies my students will need. There is nothing like just sharpened pencils and spiral notebooks with a year’s worth of room for taking notes. It’s like getting a new pair of shoes and a cute outfit for the first day of the academic year. I have always enjoyed watching the initial eagerness of the students in the early days and weeks. Of course much of the enthusiasm tends to wane as we edge toward Christmas, but that’s still a long way off and this is the prime time for introducing new concepts and challenges. 

I suppose that I sound like a world class nerd but I have always believed that there are few gifts that we give our children, other than love and security, that are as likely to stay with them for all of their lives than education. I have often wondered why we sometimes take it so for granted. Maybe if it were not so readily available we might be more inclined to look forward to the new school year as much as we do a vacation. It is a splendid gift that literally changes the world in which we will live. 

This is a time when I think of my own favorite teachers and professors and hope that they knew how much I appreciated them. So just in case they never realized how important they were to me here is a short list of the ones who left the greatest impression on me. Some have gone the the great beyond but hopefully the ether will send a message to them. So starting with my pre-school days here they are:

My mother, Ellen Little

Mrs. Wright

Sister Camilla

Mrs. Powers

Mrs. Loisey

Mrs. Colby

Sister Mary Lester

Mrs. Getz

Father Bernard

Father Franz

Dr. James Cooper

Dr. Howard Jones

Dr. Carl Lindahl

Dr. Roger Durand

Here’s hoping that everyone enjoys the 2024-2025 school year wherever you are and hoping that learning will be fun.

We are all beautiful at every age...

I find myself thinking about my grandmothers more and more often these days. Perhaps it is because I have reached the age that they were when I recall my first real memories of them. They were still vibrant and energetic but they had given up all pretense of attempting to appear younger than they were. They embraced their senior years without makeup or artificial color on their hair. Their skin was wrinkled and their eyelids drooped but they were nonetheless beautiful in their acceptance of the aging process. 

Both of them mostly wore unexciting cotton dresses with very sensible shoes, if they wore shoes at all. My Grandma Minnie Bell was an inveterate gardener and farmer who often donned khaki pants, flannel shirts and black rubber boots for cultivating her plants. She would shade her skin with a big straw hat. Everything about her style was mostly about function and simplicity. Even when she dressed for a special occasion she wore a simple frock constructed from a finer fabric than those reserved for daily work around the house and perhaps some ear bobs and a necklace but little more adornment. 

Grandma Ulrich more often than not cut the sleeves from her dresses and did her chores in her bare feet during the hot and humid Houston summer months. When the temperature fell she donned comfortable fur lined slippers and wore a wool cap on her head to stay warm in her house which was heated by gas stoves that did not always fill every corner with warmth. She wore her long hair in a braid that trailed down her back. It stayed dark black for many years before the gray began to take over. Eventually one of her daughters cut her hair to make it easier for her to brush it each morning. I have to admit that I missed that lovely braid that seemed to be her trademark. 

Neither of my grandmothers ever seemed to eat much. Ironically Grandma Minnie Bell never weighed over a hundred pounds and Grandma Ulrich was as round as an apple. They were living examples of how differently food affects people because neither of them snacked on sweets or stuffed themselves, but one held the weight more than the other. I tended to think that having ten pregnancies had a lasting effect on Grandma Ulrich that resulted in her chubbier appearance. Even with her extra weight she was a very cute grandmother. 

Both ladies became my idea of how an elderly woman should look, but styles and times changed while I was busy becoming an adult. My mother and my aunts made great efforts to remain stylish even as they entered their sixties, seventies and eighties. They took great pains in using makeup and styling and sometimes coloring their hair. They did not seem to age in appearance as quickly and easily as my grandmothers. They never fit my idea of how the quintessential older woman was supposed to be. 

Now I am that old lady and I find myself slathering my face with creams to chase away the brown spots, dark circle and wrinkles. I can only do so much but so far I have managed to stave off many of the natural processes that would give away my age. I have only touches of gray that I hide with highlights in my still brown hair. I try to keep up with stylish clothing without attempting to look way too young and silly. My biggest concession to my age has been wearing comfortable but rather ugly shoes. My feet refuse to accept the ruse that I am still a youngster. I nod to the practicality of my grandmothers when I don my rubber boots to work in my garden or walk around my home in my fur lined slippers. 

Sometimes I just want to chuck all of my efforts at staying relevant in the world of fashion by just letting go of all the efforts to fool nobody about my age. Even when I am donned with all of my glory young people offer their seats to me on the Tube in London, someone is always deferring to my age in some way. It leads me to understand that I am not fooling anyone into believing that I am a spring chicken. At such times I think of how my grandmothers gloried in adjusting to their aging bodies without attempting to cover up the signs that they were growing old. 

There is a great deal of talk about age these days. We have two men who are older than I am running for President of the United States. I do not dismiss them because of a number that tells me how old they are because I am still teaching difficult mathematics each week and keeping my mind sharp in a thousand different ways. Still, I sometimes think that not all of the hair dye and makeup in the world actually cover the signs of aging. Perhaps we would all do well to allow people to see our graying locks, our balding heads, the wrinkled hands that attest to all of our work. Those lines on our faces should be testament to all of our achievements and hard work. We are the most beautiful when we are natural and unencumbered by efforts to fool everyone that we are younger. 

We are each part of the circle of life, moving degree by degree until we connect the finishing point with the starting point at three hundred sixty degrees of living. We should enjoy the point of each age that we achieve. We should be whatever we are wherever we are on the curve, always developing and changing, adapting to life with joy.

That is how I saw my grandmothers. They were wise and beautiful women whose only goal each morning seemed to be to love. They reached outward rather than concerning themselves with themselves. They made everyone in their radius feel important and wonderful. In that regard they were two of the most beautiful women in the world and they did it without the accouterments of fashion or style. Perhaps we might all consider how lovely it would be to emulate them and spend our days enjoying the simplicity of just being ourselves with all of the gray hair and wrinkles that show the world that we have really lived. Living is what makes us beautiful.

I like to be present, because that’s my life —-Unknown

I was reading a long article in The Atlantic magazine and when I saw this quote from a person with whom the author had spoken I could not get it out of my mind. The young man who said this was described as a “tired and angry troublemaker” whose life had been punctuated with much suffering. His way of coping with poverty and the indifference and sometimes disdain of people who judged him to be somehow inferior was to simply live in the moment rather than stewing over past slights or allowing himself to be disappointed if he dreamed that one day things might change. 

I found myself wondering how many people make it from one day to the next simply by concentrating on whatever task is in from of them rather than constantly analyzing the difficult moments of life. It’s an age old story repeated throughout history by individuals and groups who have been ignored or even abused by much of society. It may be the man or woman who toils without notice at a dead end or mind numbing job. It is perhaps the soul so ground down by bad luck and want that to think about the situation would be debilitating. It is the person who has suffered from tragic loss that is too disturbing to meditate upon. It is a kind of armor that provides the impetus to keep trying without too much thought of what might lie beyond. It is a step by step method for surviving in a sometimes cruel and uncertain world. 

I suppose that I am perhaps the polar opposite of this person. I tend to over analyze every situation I have ever encountered even long after the events are over. I take my critical thinking to extremes and parse sentences I have spoken, decisions I have made. It can be uncomfortable to do so but I was trained to assess my behaviors in my education classes that made the science of teaching a kind of research position. Somehow I have adopted the methodology into all aspects of my life, and being a perfectionist I believe that I sometimes go too far. The result is all too often a kind of anxious feeling that I have made far too many mistakes. 

I also look far into the future. I plan and plan and plan for situations that may never come. I think in “what if” projections. While such attention to goal setting and readiness may work in a classroom, it can become a kind of whipping post when applied to my life in general. I have to be very careful not to look too far out into the future, especially when I imagine potentially dire situations. Doing so causes me to come a bit undone and to sound like Chicken Little crying that the sky is falling. 

I am slowly learning even at my advanced age the importance of learning from the past and then letting go of any feelings of failure that I might associate with my normal human responses to the challenges that I have faced. For example, I doubt there has ever been a parent who did not sometimes lie awake at night worrying that he or she has somehow failed to properly prepare a child for life as an adult. Living a bit in the present, in the now, and accepting the idea that I did my best definitely helps me when I get overly obsessed with wanting to make up for my perceived mistakes. 

The same is true of the future. We are constantly surprised by events that we never dreamed would happen. It is impossible to predict the unknown with accuracy. Stewing over what might or might not happen is unproductive and in many cases actually damaging to our psyches. I know this, but have to force myself to rein in my imagination all of the time. 

I have a friend who tragically lost his son in a road rage murder. His journey through grief has at times caused him to wonder what he might have done differently to prevent that grievous harm that took his child. He admits that wondering what his son might now be like is excruciatingly painful. He has to compartmentalize his thinking into the now, the present, the moment in which he finds himself. It is far too painful to keep looking backward or forward. 

Theirs is a kind of wisdom in the words of the young man in the article who announced that his life has taught him to always be in the present. In doing so he maintains a kind of power over whatever is happening. Perhaps we would all do well to find a balance between analyzing the past, setting goals for the future and simply being fully engaged in the present moment. Those who have mastered the art of praying or meditating show us how much solace there is in focusing on the here and now. They demonstrate the calm and joy that comes from being totally in a present mindset. It is a technique that we might all learn how to do. Think of how deeply freeing it would be to simply take a breath and immerse ourselves in whatever is before us without the distraction of the past or the future to detract from the joy that we might otherwise feel.