Care For Dessert?

Here's the last of Don's birthday cobbler topped with some homemade raspberry ice cream. M-m-m-m-m.

Not Just a Hair Cut

Self perception is an interesting thing. Today I got a haircut and a perm that were both way overdue. I put them off for various reasons, but now the deed is done and I feel like a new woman. Really, the only thing wrong with my hair before was that the bangs were too long and annoying. The fact that my locks were lank and straight was not actually contradictory to modern styles, but it nevertheless made me feel old and unkempt. Somewhere along the line, I have come to associate curls with me being at my best. This is not necessarily true, but not necessarily false, either.

When I was growing up, my mom always complimented me on being tall and lithe (I really was lithe once, in ancient times!). I didn’t care at the time and just rolled my eyes in response, but the words still managed to sink in enough that it was quite a shock in my home economics class when I was rudely awakened to the fact by my laughing classmates and teacher that I was not actually tall. It comes down to perspective. From Mom’s four foot, eleven inch viewpoint, I was, indeed, “tall” at five foot four, but my five foot, seven inch girlfriends had a different perspective.

My self perception changes daily and even hourly in certain situations. I can see myself as tall and lithe one moment and short, dumpy and old the next; as brilliant and creative one day and as a lazy space cadet the next. The sad thing is when I sometimes let a negative mental image affect my actions as well as my thinking. I have seen the same thing happen with kids in the classroom and with Mom as she deals with age issues. Half of my work as a tutor and teacher is to help students stretch their self perceptions to include the viewpoint of their strengths. It’s a little tougher with Mom as she sees herself losing ground, but we try to help her focus on what she can do rather than what she can’t. It is a good lesson to me to become more aware of how my self perceptions are affecting who I am, how I make choices, what I do, and how I feel. Does the real me have curly hair or straight hair, and does it matter?

Up, Up, and Away

88 degrees... 92 degrees... 96 degrees... It is a good day to hibernate indoors. I'm glad my little town has lots of trees because, as hot as it has been this last week, the larger towns on either side of us are even hotter.

Although I would rather be too hot than too cold, it does make life interesting in our little household. When the nights do not cool off and leave a little bank of cool air in our house the next morning, we start our day at a disadvantage. By mid-morning, rather than mid-afternoon, I am turning on area fans, guzzling decaffinated iced tea, and finding low-energy activities to keep myself busy. Add to the mix my random hot flashes and I am thankful when the air conditioner finally kicks on.

However, this mixture of high temperatures and air conditioning is volatile to a household combination of both middle-agers and seniors. Tempers begin to flare in small ways as Mom leaves the living room and re-enters with a sweatshirt over her long-sleeved shirt, the hood over her head drawn in a tight pucker around her 94-year-old-face-that-doesn't-look-a-day-over-70. *sigh* I try to ignore the gesture. After all, we don't turn the air conditioner on until the inside temperature is over 80 and she can always go back to her room and turn up her electric heater. Okay, I don't really want her to be quarantined to her room, but is the hood really necessary? We live with furnace settings of 78 degrees in the winter, can't she grant us a little grace in the opposite direction during the summer?

"The air conditioning isn't always this cold, is it?" she asks.

Silence. How do I answer that? What kind of a question is that? AC is what it is.

*sigh* "I'll turn it down."

Happy Birthday

3rd Grade

We are celebrating Don's birthday today, on perhaps one of the hottest days of the year for our area. He is taking half a day off so that he can properly relax and I have already prepared from scratch two of the most important elements of his birthday dinner: marionberry cobbler and raspberry ice cream. And, since the raspberries came from a neighbor, I have saved some of the ice cream to share with her. So, here's to a nice afternoon and evening. Put your feet up, lay back and enjoy getting another year closer to retirement.

Enough is Enough, Isn't It?

But, when is it? Really. When is enough enough? More specifically, when do I stop wanting more?

For instance, no matter how long my vacation is, when I see it coming to a close I get that same gut-twisting, wistful feeling that adding just one more day would be better, would make the end of it easier to take. Yet, one more day only begets the wish for another. For me, this same weakness is apparent in the purchasing of shoes and art supplies, especially with a sale. Why is “just enough” not enough for me? Just enough seems to mean that I could easily run out and must horde what I have, whereas, “more than enough” means I’m good for awhile and can afford to enjoy my wealth. Just enough shrimp on my plate to fill me up without overfilling me leaves me wondering if I shouldn’t be able to have a few more to make sure. Make sure of what? That I won’t have room for ice cream later? That I increase the size of my girth beyond bursting? What am I thinking?

Yesterday I ordered a new pair of glasses after my eye exam. Instead of just replacing the lens on my old glasses, I decided to also get new frames so that I could have a fall-back pair. I was also afraid that the old ones would soon start falling apart; all legitimate concerns stemming from issues I had dealt with before, though admittedly still a splurge. I went in just wanting a basic pair of bifocal lenses, but was bombarded with quite a few options: ones that were made in a more technologically accurate way, ones that were thinner and lighter weight, ones that had night vision coatings, and ones that were transition lenses that darken in the sun. Of course, each option had its own price tag so I humbly mumbled my no thanks and left feeling somewhat bereft for what I didn’t have rather than thankful for what I did. Just enough didn’t seem to be enough any more.

I have to argue that perhaps wanting more isn’t always bad. Wanting more good health, more love, more companionship, more education, more ways to serve seem like positive motivations. Wanting more pushed me into going back to college, into staying home when my kids were little, and into caregiving; things that are huge positives in my life. Wanting to learn more made me a better student and wanting a real relationship with God made me a better Christian because I made better choices. However, even in such admirable desires, I fear there lurks the possibility of going too far, wanting too much or for the wrong reasons, never being satisfied. For instance, wanting more love is fine until I go too far to get it or until I pin more importance on the need for others to love me rather than on my own self-approval. Wanting to be a good student must be balanced against the ravages of stress. Wanting more good health can motivate me to make some very positive changes in my life, but could I take also it too far?

I think wanting more must be part of the human condition. Isn’t that what we see in the story of Adam and Eve? If this is good, then a little bit more would be better. Too many times this concept has certainly filled my closets, doubled my waist-size, and diverted my spirit from one of thanksgiving to one of disgruntlement. So I am going to double my efforts once again to take a small page out of St. Francis’ book on simplicity and focus on being happy with just enough. And, although more could be said, this is enough.

Simple Pleasures

When I got to the city, Danielle helped me work out the kinks from sitting in the car for four hours by introducing me to Wii. I held my own at bowling, but it took me forever to swing the bat at the right time in baseball and the Dancing With the Stars judges did not care much for my dance moves. I think I kept holding the controls sideways or something. Surely it couldn't have been any lack of coordination on my part! Anyway, the games were addicting and, I have to say, I was impressed with how the technology functions and how Wii gets you up off the couch and moving.

After giving Sarah a head start, we went over to her new (in a hip, antique sense) apartment in the Pearl District. She cooked for us while we visited with her cats and soaked up the ambiance she has created.

Apple showed us around, emphasizing all Sarah's painting and decorating projects, such as these dining room chairs.

Then we lazed around and visited with MaiMai (mymy). Check out K-Kids Family Fun for more details.

After crying with Harry Potter over Dumbldore, we headed to a park near Jennifer's house to eat a picnic lunch and listen to a concert. It was amazingly relaxing and brought me back to why summer is my favorite season.

None of what we did was complicated or expensive, but I probably would not have done any of it on my own. It is so easy to guilt or reason or pooh-pooh my way out of doing even simple things that bring me pleasure, reconnect me with people I care about, and put me in touch with the gentler side of the world. Lets see if I can make this happen at home now.

I Can TOO Be Spontaneous!

It started out like any old Saturday morning. Don had made us breakfast and then I scooted outside to pull some weeds before the temperature soared up to “unbearable.” He came out and trimmed some tree and bush branches for me and then we took a load of debris to the dump. After getting back, I raced him to the shower, but he pulled a fake and went back out to mow the lawn. (What a dedicated soul.) That’s when the fateful phone call came: an invitation to join my daughters at the latest Harry Potter movie, The Half-Blood Prince. The fact that the viewing was to take place some 300 miles away was a minor detail that my support system here at home graciously overlooked. Mom and Don promised to get along without me and encouraged me to take my time and enjoy the break, although Mom said she wouldn’t go across the street for Harry Potter and thought a nice John Wayne western would have made much more sense. Actually, there was very little of any of the plan that made sense, but I managed NOT to tell her that HP was also playing just 20 miles away from us at our local theater and that the real draw was just getting away from our routine and spending a nice little hiatus with my kids in a different setting, but she probably already understood that. Moms always do.

I've Been Pumped, Pierced, and Squeezed

Since there is a lull in Mom's appointments, school is out, and Mom's yard is back in shape, I have decided that the rest of July is "Take Care of Myself" time. Wednesday I went in for an annual physical, although there wasn't too much about it that was actually "physical." I had car trouble on the way over, but was, luckily, able to turn around and limp the three miles home with enough time to still get there in the Land Cruiser. The doctor and nurse had to take my blood pressure twice to get an accurate reading, but it was all good in the end. I soon came out of the clinic with a tetnus shot, a stamp of overall health approval, 4 vials less of blood, and an appointment for a mammogram, which I took care of yesterday. I feel blessed to have the insurance to be able to do these things for myself and am aggravated that I so often put them off too long, taking my health for granted.

Now, let's kabitz over that mammogram idea for a second. This computer age has made it a quicker process since we don't have to wait for film to develop any more before getting dressed and leaving; I don't think I was in there over 15 minutes. And they finally got rid of that ridiculous gown that we never really "wore" and replaced it with a cape. Now, if they could just get beyond the whole "balance on your tiptoes with a platform corner jammed in your armpit while a sensitive appendage is smashed flatter than is comfortably possible - and don't move!" thing. But...it IS worth it, and a small price to pay.

So. Since I can't move my left arm without screaming (tetnus shot) and other body parts are complaining from an over-zealous exercise routine the other day, and I nearly got heat stroke from trying to run all Mom's errands when I was out "taking care of myself," I am treating myself to a leisurely day inside. If anyone needs me, I'll be on the sofa with an ice tea in my hand, watching a movie. Maybe then I'll be ready to face that eye appointment next week.

Badge of Honor

When I was going through pictures for my children's scrapbooks, my eye caught sight of Mom's hands. There was such a difference in the way they were then compared to how they are now, that it caused me to pause. She complains about her hands often because they have lost their strength and arthritis has twisted them until they can no longer grip very well, pick up small things, or hold the tasteful jewelry that used to adorn them. And then, there is the pain.

Here Mom is holding our youngest in 1986. I had thought of her then as being in her late 50s because she was so active, but now I realize that she was 73! Below, are her hands as they look now, at 95.

As sad as it is to see what havoc can be wrought by a condition such as arthritis and as hard as it is for me to think of going down this same path myself, it occurs to me that there is something more important to remember. Mom used her hands well. She gardened to share beauty, sewed to clothe family and the less fortunate, cooked to nourish us, held, hugged, and cared for babies to give love, shook hands and held hands to create peace, and wrote in order to learn and to send her thoughts to those far away. She used her hands to read to and teach children, grandchildren, and great grandchildren, to bandage and heal the wounds of children and animals, to stroke pets, to bring comfort, to hold rosary beads, receive communion, profess the Sign of the Cross, and to fold in quiet prayer.

Pumm Pumm Pa-Pum Pum...

And the annual games come to another close. The weather was on the warm side, but pleasant nevertheless. I took the time this year to walk around and take some thoughtful pictures. After 18 years, we tend to take Caledonian for granted, but someday I will miss the colors, sounds, community, and identity that they offer and not just think of it as work. I don't know if it is because a corner of my heritage is celtic or if it just my eclectic personality, but I am definitely pulled toward the whining and droning sounds of a well-played bagpipe. Used in ancient times to rally the troops and intimidate the enemy, I've often thought that they must have worked well. I think they also must have lured the enemy closer. I certainly can't resist, and don't want to ever escape the swelling of emotion that washes over me when Amazing Grace is piped.

Hoot Mon

This morning began with a parade. Our little community runs on an early timetable so we had to get Mom up by 7:00 to give her enough time to be ready by 8:40 so that we could get her a place to sit along Main Street by 9:00. I should have gotten her up at 6:30, but she has been sleeping in some mornings and I hated to wake her up. She was also vague last night about whether she really wanted to go, but now I'm sorry I didn't encourage her more and take over the decision-making. At 8:45 she told us that she wasn't going to make it and I could tell the "hurrying" (which is a contradiction in terms) was starting to make her nervous so we walked on down without her.

It was a good parade, with much of the usual small town entries. (Do all parades feature the community's fire truck and ambulance?) There were plenty of princesses and horses.

I love how the horses always know that they are in a parade and step along with incredible interest and pride.

Know this person? Check out why she was riding a horse in the parade...
Yay, Deb! She deserves the recognition for all her years helping at the fair.

Our hometown high school pipe band just returned from a trip to NYC and Washington DC.

This pipe band is the Boise Highlanders.

Now it's time to wander down to the park for some serious Scottish culture.

Is That Bagpipes I Hear?

It is poster time again as my little community gears up for another annual Caledonian Games weekend. This week I did a "quick and dirty" job of throwing together six big posters and a better job of some letter-sized computer ones. Last night and today we set up the souvenir booths, information displays, and hauled decorations down to the Ceidlih (kay-lee). When that was done, I ran home to quickly make camping passes and a list of camping rules on the computer. Just before I printed out the passes the electricity flicked off and then back on. Any experienced computer user knows to periodically save what they are working on for just such a surprise, but do you think I had done that? *sigh*

Me (head bowed, hands covering my face): "I cannot believe that just happened."
Mom (struggling unsuccessfully to balance her checkbook): "Huh? Did you do that?"

And, as I reopen Corel Draw, I wonder to myself if I am, indeed, living all alone in this crazy bubble?

July 4th Album

Anyone wishing copies of the July 4th pictures, both mine and some from Jen's camera, can access them at:

http://s457.photobucket.com/albums/qq295/m4mall/Fourth%20of%20July%202009/?albumview=grid

Wha? You Did NOT Just Say That!

At 95, Mom has outlived most of her contemporaries, a fact that makes both of us sad; but two of her good friends still live in her hometown. Within the last year they have each moved into apartments in the local assisted living facility. Last week we set aside an afternoon to go up and see them. I was a little chagrined that Mom would not call ahead to set it up herself since they were her friends and I felt very awkward doing it, but I "sucked it up" and did it for her anyway. As I waited by the front door while she slowly made her way back from "one-last-trip-to-the-bathroom-before-we-leave-even-though-I-said-I-was-ready," I kept asking myself why we were doing this. However, as soon as I saw their faces light up like that of a kid in a candy store when they spotted each other, I was really glad we had made the effort.

The above photo of these three muskateers only reveals the canned smiles that they use for posed pictures. I wish I could have taken some candid ones without spoiling the mood once they were settled in W's easy chairs, laughing at a bazaar conversation that I fear, even at 54, my ears were too young to hear.

J: "You know, I've lost weight and am so bent over now that I am nothing but loose, saggy fat all through here" (pointing along waistline).

W: "Well, at least you have titties!"

Stunned silence, then surprised laughter.

W: "You always had some pretty good ones."

(Excuse me?! Did the most proper, lady-like person in the room just tell my mom she had had great TITTIES and actually say the word titties out loud? Why do I feel like I should not be hearing this?)

J: "Oh yes, and now they hang down to here!" (pointing to navel)

More hysterical laughter!

In this incredible moment I realized that such abandoned laughter is the epitome of friendship; it is the laughter of trust. These ladies have been through alot together. Although they speak of shopping trips, card parties, and coffee get-togethers as the substance of their relationship, I am reminded of more than that. They have stood by each other during child-rearing, physical ailments such as cancer, the death of loved ones, and spousal caretaking. They have shared with one another their feelings, worries, joys, time, and prayers as only long time-friends can, and they have supported one another even when words or understanding failed. Now, even though their memories are faulty and they often can't hear each other very well, they still make each other light up with joy. I wish this type of friendship for us all and I feel it such a priviledge that I have been able to witness theirs.

He's a Keeper

This is a good man. For 35 years he has pushed the lawn mower, shoveled the snow, fixed his own lunches, scrimped and saved for both of us, and loved his family steadfastly. He has learned when I need a hug, when to duck for cover, and when to come home with pizza. He good naturedly becomes attached to the pets I bring home, holds down the fort when I need to escape for a break, and even shares the remote control. He has faith in God, faith in his children, and faith in me. Thank you, Don; I love you. Happy Anniversary!