Ageing Gracefully

Can it be done, I wonder.  With my ageing, I find that being graceful about it, is one of the most difficult things.  First comes my acknowledging some loss – breathing is difficult, walking is difficult, and on and on.  Then accepting the loss myself and then acknowledging it to others and asking others to help me or make allowances for me  I hate asking for help to do simple things like  take something to the office which is only a short distance away.  It makes me feel inadequate, dumb and stupid.  And that makes it hard for me to ask nicely &/or say thank you nicely.

 

But I know that if I do take it to the office, it will take me ten minutes to get over it – sit down to relieve my back and hips, breathe in gulps to get enough air - and then I’ll be fine again.  So I try to remember to ask nicely.

I think my mother aged gracefully, at least most of the time.  I do remember a time or two when she laid a guilt trip on me.  Something like, “oh go on to the lake with the others, I’ll just stay here by myself while you all have fun.”  But by and large, she asked politely and thanked graciously. And all with a smile on her face.

  

I remember once back in the early eighties when my Aunt Lois and her friend Rubye came for a visit.  It was in the fall and one beautiful day we went riding to enjoy the countryside.  We came to a big field that was planted with pumpkins at one end and corn further down.  We stopped by the side of the road to admire the beauty of it.  Aunt Lois said, “I feel like I could just get out of the car and run across that field.”  I thought to myself why is she saying that, she knows she can’t and hasn’t been able to run in a long time.  Aunt Lois was in her seventies.  I am now in my seventies and now I understand Aunt Lois. 

I know I can’t run across that field but I feel like I can.  I think the young person that I was is still the person that is inside me.  But the body is a stranger to me.  It no longer functions as it always did.  Perhaps that’s one reason I’m having difficulty – I was used to being able to physically do whatever whenever I wanted.  That’s not so any more and I’m having to deal with it.  That’s what I think aging is - having losses and  accepting them gracefully.     

You know what it is, it’s CHANGE!  Yes, it’s reared its ugly head again.  It always gave me fits.  Just as soon as I think I’ve got everything under control and a pattern worked out, something happens and I have to change!  Change my way of thinking, being, look at a new point of view, and/or review other possibilities..  So I go kicking and screaming and fighting – I don’t want to change.  But I have to, I do, and I’m glad – But it wasn’t or isn’t easy.  I do believe that every change brings more wisdom and a greater understanding of self and others, so I’m always glad when it’s done.  I just don’t want to do it again.  AND here it is, I have to do it again. 

So, I’ll keep practicing (there’s no way to wiggle out of it) and maybe even feel better in this role of being the old lady, letting others help and gracefully enjoying it all. 

The Walker

The Walker

You now use a walker,

I want to say:

“Remember!

Remember who last used a walker

in this house.”

I remember you saying

you could not stand the

clang, clang

of her walker.

You would go through other rooms

so you would not have to

confront Mama

and her disability.

I hope you did not mean to be that mean.

But there is something in me that wants to shout:

“See, see what it feels like!”

And don’t you hope the younger ones

view you

with more compassion

than you gave Mama?

MBS: 9/7/11

Gulio

I was in my second year of teaching and was beginning to have some confidence in multi-tasking (a requirement of any teacher, especially elementary). My student, Guilo showed me that I was still had much to learn.  My first graders and I were sitting in a circle in the little first grade chairs and I was reading them a story.  Guilo was sitting right next to me – as always.  This was not for love but for survival of both of us.  Half the time Guilo innocently caused trouble the other half he intentionally caused trouble and thoroughly enjoyed it.  He was the one in the class that I knew I had to know where he was and what he was doing all the time.  Now you might think that is a simple job.  Not so easy.

As I was reading the story, I began to realize the room was hot and stuffy.  I got up from my little chair, walked to the window, raised it and all the while kept reading.  Oh my, I thought, I’m getting good at this multitasking.  I walked back over to my chair and sat down ---oops, oops.  I landed on the floor flat on my back!  While I was congratulating myself for my coolness, Guilo had simply used his foot and slowly but surely moved the chair back out of the circle.  Since I expected it to be there, I did not look, I had not noticed any clue that anything was amiss.

There I lay on the floor.  I looked up and 26 little faces were looking down at me.  There was a second that would decide whether we would have chaos or all would be well in the classroom.  I carefully got up and said, “I’m alright, I’m not hurt but that is a dangerous thing to do and I lectured a bit more on how it could really hurt somebody.”  Then I glared (you know, that teacher’s look) at Guilo and said, “go to the corner.”  Order was maintained and we continued with the story.  Guilo was lucky that I didn’t leave him in the corner forever.

OK, Guilo made a point – always always be aware of what’s happening in a first grade classroom!

He taught me another lesson too.  This was early spring and Guilo was still having trouble getting any of the class work done.  It took all day because – he fell out of his chair, couldn’t find a pencil, broke the pencil, somebody distracted him, and on and on.  On day I was exasperated.  I said, “Guilo, you are going to stay after school today until that paper is done.  I’ll stay and do schoolwork, I’m in no hurry.  We are not going home until it is done!”  We stayed after school and now it’s just Guilo and me.  I won’t talk to him or interact with him. But, he falls out of the chair, can’t find a pencil, the pencil has a broken point and on and on.  It was getting late and I had finished everything I could think of to do and was ready to go home.  Guilo was not finished.  I realized my mistake – never never make an absolute statement that leaves no wiggle room for either of you. 

My realization came too late.  He had outlasted me. I was going to have to make up some excuse to end this standoff.  I said that I just remembered some errands I needed to do and had to go home.  I thanked him for really trying (and I think he had) and said that he could finish the paper tomorrow.  There was an innocence and tenderness about him despite all the difficulties he caused.  Some 40 plus years later he is still in my heart.  He moved away from the district and I never heard from him again. I wonder how he is today.

We closed up the room, gathered up our belongings and started to leave.  I was taking him home. We were walking hand in hand as we went past the secretary’s office.  In my southern accent, I cheerily called out, “Good night, youall”.  Guilo tugged on my hand and asked,” Mrs. Summerlin, what’s a youall?”     

Ahh Gulio, you wear me out and then you steal my heart again.

Celebration

 

Today was a celebration of colors.  This morning a male cardinal came to feed at my bird feeder.  It seemed to me he was redder than usual.  A bright red red!  Then after he had been here a short time a flock of yellow goldfinches stopped by.  And they were not just yellow but yellow yellow with touches of black on them. Spring is barely beginning here in upstate NY but these bold vivid colors brightened my spirit with thoughts of all the colors and textures to come.

Then right above them was a squirrel eating the new beginnings of blossoms on the maple tree.  Now I been observing and warring with the squirrels for at least 25 years and I’ve never seen this before.  I told you today was a celebration.

I decided some years ago that I have the right to declare my own celebrations.  I don’t have to wait til July 4^th, Christmas, or Mother’s Day or any of the rest.  The first celebration that I declared was when some friends and I went on a boat ride to see manatee in the Florida waters.  On the way home, dolphins joined us.  They followed us and jumped through the waves caused by the boat.  It was an awesome sight.  I just had to declare April 4^th, 2008 a Celebration.  And that’s not all, as we neared home a rainbow come out.  That was the icing on the cake.  When outstanding things happen that leave you with your mouth open – it’s a celebration.  At least it is in my world.

And the celebration this day did not end with that lovely morning.  Later that day about sundown I drove to a playhouse to see Robin Hood.  I left early so that I could stop and take pictures if anything presented itself.  Just beyond the playhouse is one of my favorite trees.  I have trees that I call mine even though they are on somebody else’s land.  I feel we have a special affinity.  I went to see my tree in the evening light. It is dead or dying so there were some branches very bare and there were vines growing up it.  It looked like a ghostly sculpture, especially in that ending of the day light.  In the background was a bank of trees, some evergreen and other just beginning to bud and bloom.  A gorgeous array of colors.  My visit with my tree added to my celebration. 

While at my tree site, I noticed red winged black birds.  The first flock I’ve seen this year.  I took picture after picture even though they were far away and the evening light was dim.  The results were not good  but it was an event to add to my day of celebration of color.

I drove back to the parking lot of the playhouse and as I got of the car I saw another beautiful sight.  There were three weeping willows and the leaves were that beautiful chartreuse spring color.  I took several pictures and I liked the results.  Another color to add to my day.

I finished my day with the entertainment of Robin Hood.  It was done by a local theater group and a  friend had a part in the play.  I met his wife (a friend of mine for about 40 years) and we comfortably sat together as only old friends can and thoroughly enjoyed the evening. The colors of Robin Hood and his Merry Men, all the other characters and Sherwood Forest were all the colors of the spectrum. 

Now that was a day to celebrate.  I declare April 22, 2011 My Celebration of Spring Colors.

 

I can't wait to see what my next celebration will be.

Tough Old Broads

I hang out with a group of tough old broads. Me, 75 years, Ann, 70 years, Chris, 70 years and Geri, 68 years. Yeah I know, that’s old according to what we thought when we were 20, 30 or even 40 years old. But now that we are there at that grand old age – it’s just a number. We still think we can do whatever we want whenever or however. We are spending a week together at Ann’s island home in Florida. We do this once a year to celebrate our birthdays and to renew the bonds of friendship. We spend every day doing our favorite things. But tonight was especially impressive. I’ll tell you about it but first I’ll lead up to it by telling you the events of the day.

We celebrated Chris’s birthday today. We followed the schedule she set. She still works so she wanted a relaxed day. We started at 10 AM with the Legacy Workshop which I led. For two hours, we discussed our lives in intimate detail. Today the topic was “You”. The assignment was to write about any of the topics that were on the worksheet and that we had shared, dissected and listed the pros and cons about at class. Tomorrow we’ll share our written work.

After workshop time, Chef Geri made a delicious, colorful and healthful lunch. This was followed by an hour or two of free time.

I chose to use the golf cart for a tour around the island. Of course I had my camera and was especially looking for birds and flowers. This was the first time I was to use the golf cart this visit. Well, I put my foot on the accelerator and the golf cart took off like a race horse. Now I’m prepared for a slow stop-and- go speed so that I can inspect all the sights and possibilities for a photograph. Instead I had my foot on the brake very hard just to keep from flying. I stopped – checked all the things on the dashboard that could be pushed or pulled or turned. Nothing made any difference. I turned around and went back home. I told Ann, the owner of this runaway, and she said, “I’ll check it out”. She went out and soon after, I went to the porch to see what was happening. There was Ann riding around the driveway, and the golf cart was behaving properly. I thought it was the old “car won’t run right, take it to the garage and it runs perfectly” but Ann assured me it wasn’t. She said that the accelerator was stuck in high gear, she just pulled it up from the floor and all was fine now. But to make sure, she came inside, found WD 40, went out and liberally applied it to the accelerator. I let out a big sigh of relief and said to myself, “ok, that’s taken care of”. I took the golf cart and started off. I had not gone far before I saw a red bougainvillea leaning against white steps. It was so graceful and beautiful – a perfect picture. Further down this sandy road I saw an osprey nest with mother osprey caring for eggs or babies – I didn’t know which. She was perfect for a picture – very blue sky behind her, her big woody nest and her green eyes in a steely gaze. Wonderful! I’m having a great time carefully looking everywhere and seeing things many people walk right past. Ohhh there goes a little green butterfly. I try and try to get a photograph of him but he moves too fast. Oh well, there will be other days. On my way back home I have the good fortune to see a big white heron swallowing a frog. It was a marshy area so the colors were beautiful. It took the heron several tries. I took many photographs, in fact I took many photos of all the above and other things that interested me because of the color, lines, light and/or unusual activity. The island is a paradise for a photographer. The colors are so vivid and the light is so interesting.

Our next activity was to take our new rafts out into the ocean, right in front of Ann’s house and float around for awhile. Geri had found an electric air pump and pumped up all the rafts. After enjoying the warm water and conversation for awhile, it was decided that we needed some liquid libation. We sent Geri, our expert bar tender, inside to make and bring out martinis. Clever Geri put the drink in water bottles so they would fit in the cup holder of the raft. So we swayed, rocked in the waves and laughed and joked.

Chris remarked that it was her best birthday ever! We all agreed.

But the day was not over. We came in, showered, dressed and lounged around for a couple hours, and then went to a fancy restaurant. Delicious food, service and company --- nothing could be better. But I skipped an important development. Geri and Chris walked over to the restaurant and Ann and I came in the golf cart. We got to the restaurant, parked on a slight hill. The emergency brake would not hold – it kept rolling back. Finally we rolled to a flat place (in somebody’s driveway), took one of the rocks lining the driveway and put it in front of the front wheel to keep it from rolling. I worried that we would get in trouble with the owners. Ann, who is a resident of the island, assured me that it would be just fine. We left it, with me still worrying but assuming that Ann knew the habits of the island. We went in and spent a wonderful hour or so having dinner and swapping stories.

Then we had to face facts. Ann and I explained our problem with the golf cart and asked Chris and Geri to come and help us push the golf cart out of the driveway. They did and we discovered another problem. It wouldn’t start! The battery was dead.

We had to get it home. It was late, about 10PM and nobody or nowhere to ask for help. There was nothing to do except push it home. Physically, the walking and pushing was more than I could do so I got the lucky job of guiding the golf cart home. Chris, Geri and Ann pushed up hill, down hill, and through sandy places all the while shouting encouraging words to each other to keep pushing. I hope you remember we had just been to a fancy restaurant and were all dressed up – including dressy shoes. Once going up a hill, it was too much, I had to get off, push and then jump back on as we coasted down the hill. We finally got home.

BUT we were not finished. The golf cart had to be recharged so that we can use it tomorrow. Ann took charge, pulls back a seat on the cart, pulls out the big battery, finds where to plug it in on the cart and then realizes that she needs an extension cord to reach the house plug. She finds one and plugs it in.

Next she persuades her reluctant cat to come inside. We are all tucked in for the night. Praises be!

We did not eat dessert at the restaurant because at home we had a delicious carrot cake all decorated for birthdays. The night before, when we celebrated Ann’s birthday, we carefully sliced off four pieces. Tonight we were really hungry for our special cake. We put candles on it as usual, sang Happy Birthday to Chris, sliced the cake and ate – enjoying each bite. Chris’ eyes gleamed with pleasure as her special day was ending.

Celebrating our birthdays together during this week is such a wondrous occasion. We are family and these celebrations help keep that bond firmly in place.

We will eat birthday cake again tomorrow to celebrate my birthday and again the next day to celebrate Geri’s birthday. The cake is going to last just that long.

This is just one day out of seven, so you can just imagine the goings-on the other days. Next Wednesday, we’ll leave going home with more stories to tell about this unusual group of friends.

Yes, this group of “Tough Old Broads” still believe that we can do whatever we want. So we just do!!

Just Call Me Margaret

Growing up, I was taught these rules. Anybody older than you should always be addressed with a title - Mr. So and So or Mrs. So and So.  Relatives were always Aunt or Uncle So and So or Cuden So and So.  Close friends were sometimes also called Aunt or Uncle too.  And then neighbors or kinda close friends were Mr. or Miss and their first name.  Our neighbors the Drakes were Miss Eugenia and Mr. Jim instead of Mr Drake and Mrs. Drake.  I can think of only one exception - Frances and Barney, adult friends let us, in fact told us to call them by their first names. Oh, was I impressed.  Otherwise, the rules held.

When I was 31 years of age, I had finally finished college and gotten a job teaching 1st grade.  The first day of school began with just the teachers there so they could prepare for the students who would be coming the next day.  I was excited and more than a little anxious about getting my room ready and being prepared for a roomful of 6 year olds.  Across the hall from me was Miss Margaret Spingler.  She was a second grade teacher and had been at this school many years.  In fact, she was just a year away from retirement. 

During the course of the day I went across the hall to ask a question and began with, "Miss Spingler".  She interrupted and said, "Just call me Margaret".  I stuttered and stammered and said, "Oh no, I couldn't do that".  And Miss Spingler said in her most no-nonsense teacher voice that that was her name and that's what she wished to be called.  Well, I said, "Yes" and after a few false tries it was Margaret.

Margaret is a spinster lady and at that time she hurried home each day after school to take care of her 92 year old mother who lived with her.  Having Margaret across the hall certainly was my good fortune.  She proved to be a guide, and role model.  Margaret retired but continued to stay in touch with all her school friends.  

Margaret's heritage is Irish and she wished all the world to know it and enjoy it with her.  Each St. Patrick's Day she had an Open House and everybody was invited - school friends, family, church friends, and other friends she had collected over the years.  So our friend and fellow teacher, Pam  and I would go over the day before and help make everything green - hang green curtains, add food coloring to the punch, make green sandwiches, get out all the Irish memorabilia from upstairs and make sure the way was cleared for everybody and food that would be coming the next day.

Once, I told my first grade class about the St. Patrick's Day party that I had attended.  I told them that everything that we ate and drank was green.  When we began to put on our coats and get ready for dismissal.  Joey quietly came up to me tugged on my sweater. 

Oh, do you know how to tell a 1st grade teacher?  They have callouses on their hips where little hands pat all day saying Miss Summerlin, Miss Summerlin. 

So Joey then asked, "You know that party - Yes, Joey - Well, when you went to the bathroom was it green"?  Luckily for me the dismissal announcement was made. 

As time went by, the Open House was just too big an undertaking.  But Margaret could not let March 17th pass by without her doing something to acknowledge it.  So every St. Patrick's day I get an Irish verse or prayer in the mail and it is addressed to Mary O'Summerlin from Margaret O'Spingler.  And I feel touched by a bit of the Irish and I cherish it dearly.

This chain of events has made Margaret a part of my life and it will always be so since she taught me a skill I still enjoy.  Many years ago Margaret taught Pam and me how to crochet afghans.  Neither Pam or myself had any knowledge of how to crochet.  Margaret did not know what she was getting into!  With infinite patience, she taught us the pattern she had used for many years.  Pam and I listened, watched and practiced and were sure we knew what we were doing.  Then we would go home and try to work and we would create a big mess.  So, we'd call Margaret, go over and she would straighten us out.  This happened many times. 

Finally, I mastered the pattern and since that time I have made at least 20 afghans.  I always have one in progress by my easy chair and anytime I sit down I work for awhile.  I tell people that for a year the afghan is my therapy and then it is a present for a loved one.  You can't beat that arrangement.

Thank you, Margaret, my friend and I can't think of ever calling you anything else!

A Curiosity

Isn’t it a curiosity that I am I and you are you?

As I sit here tonight at a Folk Music Concert at Fiddler’s in Hyde Park listening to the incredible Sally Rogers, I wonder.  Sitting on my right is my friend Lyn a well known and loved folk singer who joins in the singing anytime Sally Rogers invites participation. And on my left is my friend Eileen who loves music and performs often and she also joins in singing along.  I’m hearing incredible music from all sides. There is not a better seat in the house.

Isn’t it strange since I’m not a musician at all.

I’ve always been involved with musical people.  In High School my best friend was Debbie.  She had a most beautiful singing voice and sang in all the special events in our medium sized town. She was our singing sensation.  I always marveled at Debbie’s talent  and was jealous of her.  There was no doubt what she was going to do in life.  It would be something with music.  What would I do in life?   I didn’t know except there were about a hundred things that really interested me but not one that demanded I do it.

I married a jazz musician. He was not someone who did music on the side. It was his life and his life’s work.  I had never seen or felt anybody with such a passion for an activity.  He really had no concept how utterly ignorant I was about music. Early in our relationship, we were riding in the car listening to a jazz band on the radio.  He casually asked me who was playing.  What a strange question??  I thought, “a bunch of people”.  No, he meant who was playing trumpet.  “Was he crazy! People could tell who was playing just by listening.”  I was dumbfounded.  He told me it was Miles Davis, a famous and talented jazz musician and that one day I would be able to tell when he was playing.  Ha! That shows how little he understood my music disability. It was inconceivable to me that you could tell who was playing an instrument.  Didn’t they all sound alike?  I did get so that I could tell (most of the time) which instrument was playing and I thought that was wonderful. 

The musical gene was passed on down to our son.  He hears the sounds of each instrument and has perfect pitch.  He learned to play the saxophone and drums in elementary school and even formed his own band.  The competition with his father and his father’s critical comments proved too much and he dropped being an active part of the music world.  Since that time he became a listener who has a keen appreciation for music.   Our granddaughters both sang in the school choirs, played in the bands, acted and sang in the high school plays, and have taken dance lessons and performed since 4 or 5 years old.  They are now in college and are part of the Dance Company at their respective schools. Any time they perform, I ask them if they told the teacher or director that they got their talent from Nana.  Of course that always brings BIG DENIALS and comments like, “Nana, you know better”. I’m the odd ball out but over the years. I have learned to enjoy and appreciate music.

But I do seem to have an attraction for the musical type person.

In my family, playing the piano was considered a social grace that any young lady should know.  It was the proper thing to do, so my sister and I were given piano lessons when we were in elementary school. That lasted about two years.  We went to lessons once a week and were supposed to practice an hour a day.  Well, that hardly ever happened for me. I was much too busy riding my bicycle, climbing trees, playing with my dog and horse and running anywhere.  One day my father was supposed to take my sister and me to our piano lesson and he happened to ask how much we had practiced since the last lesson.  Since we confessed that we had not touched the piano, Daddy said that it was time to end the lessons.  It was, he did and I never missed them.  I really had no talent or interest in that direction.

Evidently my singing voice also leaves something to be desired.  Until I was in the fifth grade I thought I sang just like everybody else.  But my teacher Mrs. Martin taught me differently.  I went to a three room school in the country and Mrs. Martin was the principal and taught fifth, sixth and seventh grades. These grades were planning a Christmas program.  We were all on stage singing and Mrs Martin said, “Something doesn’t sound quite right, it’s coming from this side.  Mary Elizabeth would you come sit down and the rest of you – let’s try it again.” They sang and then she said, “Ahh, that’s much better.”  That’s all I remember about the program. 

Many years later, my then husband and I used to travel with a band all over the United States doing one nighters.  We would play at a hotel and then travel about 500 miles to play at a different hotel the next night. Sometimes that traveling was hard.  We traveled in our car and Eddie developed a system for staying awake when he was tired.  He’d ask me to sing for him.  My singing was so bad that there was no way he could go to sleep listening to me.  By this time he did have some comprehension of my music disability and had informed me that I was tone deaf.  But see, it did serve a purpose.

In high school, I decided I wanted to be the life of the party at summer camp and I decided the way to do it was to play the ukulele.  I bought a cheap one and then had to tune it.  I couldn’t – I could not hear the different tones.  So I called my friend Debbie, I stood on tiptoe to talk into the phone that was hung on the wall in the back of the hall.  I plucked one string and she would say higher or lower and we kept doing that til it was tuned.  Obviously this was too cumbersome to continually do and besides I couldn’t tell when it was out of tune and I needed to call Debbie.  That was the end of my only real try in the music world. 

Isn’t it a curiosity that I am I and you are you?

Aren’t we collectively and individually a curiosity?