Well Said

 

Rollercoaster Ride

I have decided that this caregiving gig is an unpredictable rollercoaster ride. My days range from being so tame that I am bored to tears, to being a nightmarish, life-changing dilemma about whether to call an ambulance or not. I alternate between feeling sorry for Mom and, God forgive me, being irritated. One minute she is telling me how nice it is to be able to watch a movie together during our lunches and the next she is chiding me for not cleaning my toaster often enough. I think she is also fairly convinced that I don’t ever feed the fish or the cat and that, roughly once a month, my marriage is on the rocks because Don and I aren’t smiling when she happens to look over. *Sigh.* This morning she was concerned that maybe the doctor might have to remove her big toe because it is so sore. “It’s an ingrown toenail, Mom, not gangrene!” “Really?” she asks. *Oi.*

And yet, how can I really be mad at these mere aggravations when Mom so clearly has more than her share of frustrations? Although I didn’t think it was possible, she is slower and has become even more fragile over the last three months. Sometimes I hold my breath as she moves, watching with sadness how much effort it takes her to pick up a foot and shuffle it a few inches. It takes her a minimum of 3 ½ hours to get dressed on the mornings that she doesn’t shower. Of course, that includes makeup and at least three types of moisturizer because one must always be presentable. My feelings of guilt at these moments, for ever having been impatient, drive away the irritation and open the door to appreciation again.

Mom’s vulnerability reminds me how precious life is and, as I stare at her sleeping form in the chair or under her covers, holding my breath until I detect hers, I am thrown around the curve of that ever-moving rollercoaster into thankfulness that we have another day together.

Note: Last night, as I typed the last word of the last sentence above, Mom’s frantic voice barely reached my ears and sent me running into her bedroom. She had fallen and was shook up and in need of assistance in getting up. Thank goodness she was on the carpeted floor and not in the bathroom, so a scrape, some bruises and sore muscles should be the worst of it. Buckle up; we're headed for another go-round!

Glowing Pickles

Teaching, like raising kids and life in general, is a matter of going in as prepared as possible with at least two viable plans and then being flexible enough to ditch both when you have to and punt from the seat of your pants instead. I just finished substitute teaching six days for two different districts, grades five, seven, and eight. It was a nice rush of “busy-ness” that, in my restlessness, gave me something fruitful to do.

Four of the days were spent with the fifth grade class of the teacher with whom I student taught a couple years ago. He has a whirlwind personality and a teaching style all his own. I learned a great deal from working with him and now, when I have a chance to be with his students for several days in a row, I enjoy putting what I learned into practice, albeit with my own spin.

Teaching is as much learning as it is imparting knowledge, however, so I came away with some interesting new bits of information. For instance, I was sorely reminded that teaching fifth graders a new study technique should be done with a simple bit of information or the task becomes unwieldy and that, no matter how well the first procedure went, teaching a second one too soon will be disastrous. It also became apparent that, no matter how I might try to make up for the interruptions we had during our Social Studies time, there was no way to hurry up the process of reading without sacrificing comprehension. When my third attempt at reorganizing the lesson was endangered by an offer to join the sixth graders in watching a glowing pickle demonstration, I figured that even the US Constitution would have to take a back seat. I guess, you could say, I saw the light.

While none of the students may have been able to explain the Three-Fifths Compromise to the returning teacher the next day, I’ll bet they had plenty to say about how certain kosher pickles can glow at one end and spit and make the room smell like burnt brine when used to complete a circuit with about 50 amps running through it. I hope he accepted the trade-off as fair, since tomorrow is another day. I also hope the kids didn’t try the experiment at home, since pickles explode at about 100 amps.

In the Mood

Was I imagining things or did my ears catch the faintest strains of music? Nope, it was my imagination. Wait! There it was again. As I turned my head to search around me in the living and dining room areas, the sound disappeared. I glanced at the tv, even though I already knew it wasn’t on, and then held the discarded computer headphones to my ear to no avail. Staring at the telephone accusingly, as if the elusive sound was somehow humming through the wiring and occasionally escaping from the receiver or wall outlets, I finally decided I was mildly delusional, which didn’t seem too implausible. Giving up, I grabbed my coat and headed toward Mom’s bedroom in the attached apartment to let her know I was going to get the mail. Nearing her closed door I discovered the source of the phantom strains of music and paused for a moment to let a chuckle escape my throat and to rearrange my face into a “nothing is unusual” expression. Preparing myself for a blast of sound, I opened the door and stuck my head in to announce my intentions. Bracing myself against the force of the Big Band music that was dancing away, I had to repeat myself twice just to get Mom’s attention since she was sans hearing aide.

Once she detected my voice and made eye contact, she laughed a little sheepishly and told me she had turned on the cd to divert her mind from its “black thoughts.” Indeed, I had noticed before she was aware of me that, even though it was her shower day and already 10:00 a.m., she was still in her nightgown, sitting on the edge of her bed with her head down. I had thought for an instant that maybe she was dozing, but after she spoke I realized she must have been deep in thought instead.

The term “black thoughts” always makes me first think of evil thoughts, which is completely incongruous with my Mom, but she has used the term several times lately in reference to depressing thoughts. So I laughed with her and said that music always helps me feel more cheerful, too.

It saddens me that she has these moments and I know that they increase in occurrence as each birthday brings her closer to 100. She is so amazing for her 96 years, with a good mind and clear health, that those of us around her are sometimes lulled into the feeling that she might live forever. But time and arthritis are taking their toll and her mortality peeks through her tough exterior more and more often, distressing us both. Mom mourns the things she can no longer do and I mourn the eventuality of her not always being around to try.

I think it is okay to think about these things; to think about death, rue our mistakes and inabilities, and begrudge the weight of our crosses. Acknowledging our difficulties is necessary, but when we start to let them overshadow the positive, then enough is enough. Mom is right. Turn up the heat, turn up the volume, and start dancing to whatever toe-tapping beat lifts your spirits! Quit dwelling on what can’t be done and savor the joy of what can. Life may be different now, but it is certainly not over.

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Champagne and Cheesecake Celebrations

I went to a wedding recently that launched me into a reverie about the variety of such blissful occasions that I have attended. Some were lacy affairs that served a dainty fare of shrimp and petite fours while others, like mine, were down home celebrations with a barbecue and homemade ice cream. Some took place in parks, some in churches, and one in a pig barn (free of pigs, of course). Smiling brides wore veils, or flowers, or floppy hats, three-inch heels, Nikes, or flip-flops; but no matter what their wardrobe, the grooms always appeared white and solemn, as if holding their breath until it was over.

Although, some of the ceremonies might have been more a reflection of the bride or her parents than of the happy couple, each matrimonial pair found a way to reflect their own joy. One of my friends jumped off her wheat harvester and into her wedding gown just minutes before walking down the aisle, then flew off to a new life in New Zealand. Another couple interrupted their procession out in order to greet and hug friends and family on their respective sides of the aisle as they went.

One thing that makes these events fun are the innocent little foibles that don’t hurt anything, but make the day memorable. For instance, at a rather elegant wedding in a state park, the bride wound her way around a small lake before coming down the aisle while a small string quartet played airy music. The perfect visual touch of meandering geese, however, soon went out of control as the long-necked residents took umbrage at the parade of maids going through their midst and began squawking, scolding, and chasing them out of their territory.

Most recently, a barn full of onlookers were unexpectedly charmed by four very small attendants. The oldest boy, not quite four, pulled his baby sister and girl cousin up the aisle in a wagon, the latter flipping wads of flower petals behind her. After depositing them with Grandma, in the front row, he turned the wagon around and went back to fetch his toddler cousin. The sweetness of this quiet moment was suddenly shattered when he pulled up in front of the exit and called out, “Next” - disintegrating the spellbound audience into fits of giggles.

My own wedding was no exception. The ceremony went perfectly: the flower girl went down the aisle on cue, I didn’t trip or step on my dress when getting up from the kneeler, and neither of us fainted or threw up. Since we were skipping a reception in favor of a family barbecue, we greeted everyone as they came out of the church and breathed a sigh of relief as we waved goodbye to the last of the cars pulling out. That is, until we realized that we were being left stranded across town at the church in our wedding clothes without transportation! “Wait!” we shouted to Don’s parents, running for their car as it started to drive away. Ah, yes. Memories.

It just goes to show that “perfect” is in the eye of the beholder. As in the rest of life, we must follow our hearts in making it meaningful and allow laughter to soften the harsh edges. However we choose to celebrate it, real joy should not be contained, but allowed to spill over and infect everyone. At least no one used black electrical tape to spell “Help Me!” on the soles of the groom’s shoes so it would show up when he knelt at the altar. Oh, wait. Um. I guess that did happen…

Sunday Drive

The folds of land around me that roll down from the nearby mountain range are once again lush with the green of winter wheat grown thick and rich from recent rains. As my car crests yet another rise, I am treated to the 360 degree expanse of more velvet hilltops that eventually spill into a blue valley with the faint glint of a spring rain-swollen river cutting its length. In this part of the state, where cities are few and towns are far apart, travelers are reminded of the hugeness of the earth and the grandness of nature that is often taken for granted.

I must say, Oregon does have it all, from sand dunes and ocean waves to high deserts, lush valleys, forests, and snow-capped mountains. Here’s to taking time to appreciate what we have and what we are part of and taking the personal as well as political steps necessary to protect and maintain it.

Celebrating Danielle

We love you! (Slide show here)

What the..?

What?! I thought it was April...

Guess I'll bake some:

It's Ironic

Life has a lot of little ironies. I suppose that’s what makes it interesting, isn’t it? Yes, frustrating, too, and aggravating and a tiny bit humorous, but, at the very least, not boring. They are those shake-your-head moments that leave you speechless except for the wry twist of a grin that tweaks one side of your mouth when you think about it. You'd swear for a moment that it must be some kind of April Fools joke, but no, it isn't; it's just life.

For instance, when I started back to college to get my teaching degree, schools in my area were hurting for teachers, but, ironically, my graduation coincided with the present economic downturn that has caused severe school cutbacks and not even a whisper of any job opportunities.

There are more such twists of fate that cause me to pause. Such as, how an avowed nontraveler ended up across the globe for three weeks. How someone who graduated summa cum laude could think jogging barefooted on the treadmill was a good idea. How an alert driver who is diligently trying to swerve around potholes can hit them dead center every time. How an animal lover can love leather shoes. How a vegetable hater can suddenly crave broccoli. How a chocoholic can be allergic to chocolate. How a duck hunter can adopt a drake named Frank.