A woman of a certain age...

That's me. A woman of a certain age. I always wondered what I would be like when I was older and now - here I am - older. Not old, just older.

I have a pretty amazing life. I have a husband that is unparalleled when it comes to being the best husband in the world. Seriously, I would put him up against anyone in that category. He does so much and I know that sometimes that stresses him out but I hope he always knows how much I love and appreciate him for everything he does. He is, quite simply, the best.

My job is pretty good too though I admit I'm kind of over the whole getting up and going to work thing. Really, I would love to retire sometime soon. I'm not burned out and when I work I give it my all but there is other stuff I would love to do and having to adhere to a daily schedule of someone else's making is tedious to me.

My family is, of course, awesome. I know I have been blessed with an amazing support system and the fact that we are so close is brilliant.

I guess I am comfortable at my age. I'm confident that I know what I do is important and that I am competent in what I do. I know people come to me for advice and guidance because they know I understand how this stuff works and I will always be honest and supportive. I have cultivated a kind of wisdom, I think. That's funny! I never thought I would have that but I do! Wisdom. I see younger woman who work with me trying to inch their way in and doing it in a way that, though temporarily puts them in a good light, always inevitably ends with their true colors showing. Woman spending too much time trying to impress the management and not enough time just doing their jobs. And sometimes, those same women, try to place an unflattering spotlight on me to get their needs met.

Being a woman of a certain age, I am also very level headed and being confident in my own abilities, I never allow their actions to make me question my own worth or competencies. And, much to their dismay, that attitude goes a long way to impress my own boss. Oh, the drama-rama!

Yes, at a certain age, the need for drama goes away. Life becomes deeper and better and you just get on with it. They will learn it too as we all have to. I have to admit, it's kind of fun watching it from the other side.

Not so much...

It's funny watching my 20-something nieces interact. There is always some kind of drama going on with them, sometimes it revolves around boys, other times it's someone in their "crowd" that they just "don't get".  The drama makes them "stressed out" and "tired of it all" and even stops them from going out to certain parties or places if "he's going to be there". I can remember being in the thick of that kind of drama when I was that age. I think we all were back then. It was part of the growing process when we took our cues from our friends and TV and Mademoiselle magazine. We wanted to be unique but the kind of unique that "fit in" with our friends. We were decidedly the same, but in a good way. Yet, we revelled in the made up whoopdydoo's that swirled around us all the time. We were finding out who we were and what it all meant.

I'm not sure when it happened - when did I stop caring about what other people think of me and just really started enjoying who I am. There was no epiphany for that. It just happened. And when it did all that made up histrionic drama went with it. In the words of that great meme, "Ain't nobody got time fo' that!" And I don't. The older and wiser I get the more I know that rolling with the flow is so much more comfortable than trying to leap the waves. I'm not saying we have to conform. Oh hell no! Far from it! I'm saying we have to accept the persons we are and get on with it.

The funny thing is, when you do that? The acceptance thing? All these crazy, exciting doors open up. Doors you might have missed or wouldn't have even known they were there! Suddenly, because you don't gage yourself by what other's see, you can really get out there and live! There's nothing to lose and everything to gain. And the other thing you learn is that all that time you spent worrying that other people wouldn't get you - well, turns out it didn't matter anyway! You see, the other people are all worrying about that very same thing. We just spent years of senseless worry! So much better just to be who you are and get on with living and enjoying every single breath!

Take risks!
Take a chance!
Give someone else a chance!
Laugh a lot!
Cry when you have to! Sometimes that can be for the silliest reasons - like a Hallmark commercial - but just go ahead and cry!
Dance!
Paint something! Even if you never tried it before. Do it! It's therapeutic. And you may surprise yourself.
Make friends. Have as many friends as you can possibly make but always know you'll only have a handful or so that you can always rely on. It doesn't matter. They are all your friends.
Give something away.
Give the gift of your time to someone else.
Stand up for something!
Write your life story. Seriously, sit down with a notebook and just start writing whatever you remember about growing up. What a great gift for someone you love.
Sing! LOUDLY! Make up a song if you have but just SING!
Dress up once in awhile.
Wear a costume once in awhile. For any reason.
Delight in the joy that other people can bring you. Be proud of the people in your life. Show them!

And most important - just be you. Because no one will be able to resist the real you.

Three people I will never forget...

When you stop to think about your life, you have to remember those people who somehow influenced, good or bad, and helped make you the person you are today. When I think of my life I can remember many influential people. Some were influential for what they taught me, some for how they lived their lives, and some just for being who they were. I'm going to talk about three of those people today. Three people that somehow touched me and I will never forget them.

Uncle Bill Whelan -
My Uncle Bill Whelan was my Auntie Hazel's second husband. I was pretty young when we would go see them at their home in Waukon, Iowa. Now, my Auntie Hazel was something out of a Better Homes and Gardens Magazine circa 1955. She always wore a pretty cotton house dress with an ever present apron. She had eye glasses that she must have gotten in the mid-50's and just kept from that moment on. They were dark brimmed with a slight cat eye. She was always  cooking in the kitchen when we visited. A kind soul, soft spoken and very sweet. Uncle Bill was even quieter. He was a short roly poly balding man who always seemed a little grey in every way. He would smile at Auntie Hazel as if the sun rose and set in her very presence. I recall one summer, on our annual trip to see them, that his eye sight had gotten very bad. He was going blind and it was hard to watch him enter a room, unaware anyone was there, and flip the light switch on and off and on again in the hopes that he would suddenly see better with the light on. That summer was hot and my cousins were no where to be found. I don't quite remember where they were but I was a little bored and a whole lot hot. My Dad, Mom, Auntie Hazel and Uncle Bill's daughter Julie were all playing cards. Uncle Bill couldn't see well enough to play. I lazily wandered out to the front porch and sat, bored, on the porch swing. A short while later the creaky screen door opened and Uncle Bill came out and sat next to me. He had two large glasses of ice cold lemonade. The good homemade kind with real lemons. We sat quietly swinging for a while and then he said, "A little boring here, isn't it?" I agreed. Uncle Bill took my hand and led me to his car. Yes, even though he was legally blind he was still driving! No kidding! There was only one place he drove to anymore and there was absolutely no traffic on the lonely country roads he took. He was driving me to his farm! Uncle Bill had a farm house and a barn and a bit of land not far outside of Waukon. It was in a pretty isolated area so there really were no other cars on the road. He rented the farm house out to a family who looked after his animals there. When we got there we went into the barn and he started to saddle a beautiful pale horse. Even though he couldn't see much anymore, he instinctively knew how to do this. I got to ride that horse all afternoon while Uncle Bill waited in the shade of a nearby tree. He didn't care how long I road and I was never happier! That was the highlight of my trip! When we got back to Aunt Hazel's a few hours later, my Mom and Dad were frantic! They knew Uncle Bill could barely see two feet in front of him yet he had driven me at least 15 miles to the farm! Aunt Hazel poo-pooed the whole ordeal claiming, "Oh everyone knows to get out of his way if they see him coming!" I'll never forget my Uncle Bill for recognizing a little kid's boredom and making it a day to remember!

2. Mr. Freeman -
From the time I was born until I was about 10, we lived above my parents bar and restaurant, Kelly's Tavern. Right next door there was a small auto garage run by an African American man named Mr. Freeman. To get to my best friend Janet's house I had to pass his place every day and very soon I took to stopping in to say hello. This was in the late 60s so a little white girl and a grown black man were unlikely friends. But we were. Every time I stopped in his shop, he would stop what he was doing and chat with me. I could tell him anything and ask him his opinion on anything. Things like "what do you think about a mom and dad that won't get their daughter a new Barbie" and "if you wanted to go to Paddock Lake with the neighbors but you knew you had chores what would you do?" Mr. Freeman was a font of knowledge and advice to me. Somedays, I would take two bottles of Coke from the bar and take them to Mr. Freeman's. He would open the bag lunch his wife made him and share half with me and I would give him a Coke and we would talk and talk. He never made me feel like I was intruding or like I was a kid! One day his son came in. He was in his 20's and was, what you might call, a "militant" black youth. He looked at me with a cold stare and started yelling at his father about "white honkies" and "little white bitch". I assumed he meant me and it scared me. Mr. Freeman got very loud and told his son to leave. After he was gone, I sat very quietly for a while. Mr. Freeman told me that in his lifetime there have always been people who hated him because of the color of his skin. He said that was very wrong and that everyone should be able to be friendly and get along. He said he never wanted me to be afraid of anyone because of their skin color and he hoped that I would always have friends who were different than me. Then he added, "Just like me!" Mr. Freeman walked me next door to the bar where my dad was working. He told my dad what had happened and how scared I was. I watched as my dad and Mr. Freeman shook hands. Then, when he was leaving, he gave me a hug and said, "See you tomorrow! I think we're having my wife's meat loaf for lunch." Mr. Freeman was the first person of color I had ever known and his kindness and readiness to spend time with a little white girl taught me a huge lesson in love, tolerance and acceptance. He's the reason that, to this day, I am appalled at racism and hatred that still exists in this country. Life's way to short to pass by the opportunity to have a dear friend like Mr. Freeman just because of the color of his skin. And I hope that somewhere his son learned this lesson too.

3. Lee VanDyke -
Years later, I attended the University of Wisconsin - Parkside. I was majoring in Communications with an emphasis on Theatre Arts. I was acting. I auditioned for every show from the moment I started my college years. During my last two years there, a teacher/director named Lee VanDyke was hired. Lee saw in  me aspects that I didn't even know I had. He cast me in roles that challenged me and he made me a better actress. During the summer months, he would direct a short season of summer plays. I auditioned for those too and got cast in those as well.  It was during the run of one of these summer seasons that my dad passed away. His passing was not a surprise. He had been ill will leukemia for some time. We had just finished the first weekend of shows and had a pick up rehearsal on that following Thursday. The morning of that rehearsal my Dad passed away and I was devastated. No matter how well prepared you think you are, when you're dad passes, you realize nothing can ever really prepare you for it. I called Lee and told him. He said he would leave it up to me but if I didn't make rehearsal that night it was okay and perfectly understandable. I just couldn't do it so I skipped the rehearsal but I knew I could not skip the show. The cast and crew were counting on me as were the people who had already purchases tickets. As they always say, "The show must go on." That Friday night I showed up to get in costume and make up. I was running on fumes, numb and not really sure what I was doing. I was putting on a brave front but inside I was screaming. Before the show, Lee came to me and took me aside. He pressed a note into my hand. It said that he knew my Dad would be proud of me as he often saw the look of pride on his face when my Dad came to see me act. He also said that he was proud of me and that even though no words would ever take away the hurt I was feeling inside, he knew that I would go on and be strong and be great. And I did. I went out on that stage and before I knew it the show was over. I mean I seriously did not have a single memory of a minute on that stage. But at the curtain call, the audience erupted in loud applause and everyone stood for a standing ovation! It was the first time that ever happened and I was amazed! I had done the best performance of my college career and it was at a time that I couldn't feel much more than sorrow. I've kept that note from Lee. And I still have contact with him on Facebook. He is a very special person, a mentor, a teacher, and a friend who took a scared, sad girl and challenged her to become everything she could be. I will never forget his kindness, his humor and his smarts. He had a great influence on my life.

So there they are. Three people whom I will never forget. I'm sure there are so many more! I thank all of the great influences in my life and hope that I have, in some small way, influenced someone else in their life too.

Normal isn't all it's cracked up to be!

A friend of mine, who's going through a particularly rough time right now, said to me just the other day, "I just want to be normal!"

I've been thinking a lot about that since then. What exactly does that mean? What is normal? I know what it means in her case. She wants to have a "normal" family, and a "normal" job, and a "normal" boyfriend, and a "normal" life. For her, "normal" is based on the idealized version of what life should be like. I don't know all that many people who actually get that. In fact, I don't know anyone who actually gets that.

We are all the product of our past, our families, our behavior, our education, our trauma and our happiness. All of it shapes us into who we are today. And even though there are those who, from the outside looking in, seem perfect in every way, we are all gloriously flawed.

Some flaws are minor, to be sure. Others leave deep wounds that take years to heal. Life, if you're living it right, leaves scars. That's how we learn and grow.

Normal is not the Norman Rockwell family eating dinner at the table where the Mom happily serves the Sunday roast as Dad peers lovingly over his newspaper at the kids. I don't think that even really existed when Rockwell painted it. Sometimes dinner tables are loud, raucous places where people get a helping of bad feelings with their jello. Sometimes dinner tables are silent and cold where one person eats alone and wishing. Sometimes there's not even a table at all.

Normal comes to us when we realize we are the heart of the matter. At some point, in spite of what hurt, trauma, abandonment, rejection or smothering adoration we may have survived as children, we have to stand up for ourselves and create the life we need. Not the life we want because too often that life is unattainable - but the life we need.

When we can accept that our parents won't always be there for us in the way that we need them to be, When we can recognize that sometimes we are creating our own drama and if we just stepped back and saw it for what it was we could get rid of it once and for all, When we realize we can make decisions that are in our own best interest in spite of what other's might think of those decisions, then we have reached our "normal".  There's something to be said for taking a good look around sometimes and realizing that we may not be able to rely on our immediate family but we have a vast number of people who know and love us and our rooting for us every step of the way. That's called growing up and once that happens, the world becomes a much better place for us. Because we all have flaws and hurdles we must pass, we need to realize that this is what is normal for everyone!

In my family, I have been blessed with siblings that are closer than most. Yet, when we come together the natural birth order just takes place  and we all get right into our "spots" without a word. Even though we all have families of our own, we are not without skeletons in our closet. We have all been through losses, traumas, break ups, sorrows and survived. We have all had to define ourselves in this world and rely on each other to accept who we are. In that way I know I am lucky.

But I also know that I have people, unrelated to me, that I can always rely upon for support. My friend does too but she cannot see it for what it is. She feels alone. She feels abandoned. Yet, she is not. I wish I could open her eyes to that. Instead she is reverting back to relying on someone who time and again has disappointed her because she so desperately wants a "normal" life. She will be disappointed again and it will devastate her all over again too. I wish I could convince her to stand up, on her own two feet, and see her life for what it is - totally and completely normal!

Normal is as we each define it. It's how we choose to live it. My normal cannot compare with yours because normal is so individualized. And that's why when someone is calling out that they wish they could just be "normal" I always tell them, YOU ARE! We all are!

In the holding pattern called life..

My mom's not doing so well. She hasn't progressed as the docs and therapists had hoped so they are now saying she will need a nursing home. On the one hand, that means she will be coming closer to home. On the other hand, it means she will be forever altered.

I guess I should have been ready for this. I mean, after all, she is 93 years old and I've had plenty of time to get ready for the inevitable. But I am not ready and I am angry that life throws these damned curve balls at us and we're just expected to deal.

But, I do find comfort in thinking about the things my mother accomplished in her life.
1. She taught elementary school for over 25 years and never had a sick day unless she was in labor.

2. She gave birth to 6 healthy children and raised us all to be good decent caring people.

3. While raising us and teaching, she was the cook in my dad's restaurant. This meant she taught Monday through Friday, cooked Thursday, Friday and Saturday and then spent all day Sunday preparing her lessons for the following week. Yet we never felt she wasn't present in our lives from working too much because she made sure we had great family times - picnics, trips to the zoo, swimming at the lake, etc.

4. She made sure that we all got great educations and encouraged us in whatever we wanted to try. And she was always there to hold us up when we failed. And she never said, "I told you so."

5. She had and has so many people who love her, whose lives she's touched, whose hearts have been shared with her. I know once she's back in Kenosha she will have a never ending stream of visitors.

6. She taught me shame. She taught me to recognize that there is some behavior, some ways that I could choose to act, that would bring shame to myself...and to her. And that's the one thing I would never want to do.

7. She knows that laughing and having a sense of humor about yourself is more important than being the smartest, the prettiest or the richest. If you can laugh, no matter what your circumstances, you will be happy.

8. She taught me that inner strength can take me through the toughest times.

9. She told me she loved me every single day of my life. And she meant it. Even now, not a day goes by, when me and my siblings or my husband don't say "I love you". We end every phone conversation with that. When we leave each other's homes we say it. And we mean it.

10. She taught me that being happy...truly happy...doesn't come with wealth or power or prestige. It is simply knowing there are people I love, who love me back, and always will. I wish everyone could feel that in their lives.

My mother is a remarkable woman. She has been the pillar of our family forever. And, even now, she still is. We are all just a little lost while she is in this condition. We're all still looking to her at the moment to know how to deal with this. It's slowly dawning on us that her time to lead us may be coming to an end and we will have to remember those things she taught us, those gifts she gave us, and carry on together, taking care of her now as she took such good care of us all.

I love you Mom. Always have. Always will.

Someone I'll never forget...

(This is another one from the past...1998 to be exact...)

There was a point in my life that I felt I needed to earn more money than case management was paying me. I left the agency and took a job as a Program Manager for one of the larger corporate run residential service providers. Half way through the year I worked for them, they purchased two homes from another agency and set them up as community based residential facilities. The homes opened in mid-June of that year, understaffed and not ready. As the coordinator, I was called on a lot to come in and work full shifts with the residents.

One of the residents was a man who had previously lived in his own apartment. He was born with Cerebral Palsy. He had lived a full life and, as his abilities slipped away, he became angry. Many people refused to work with him because be could be a real pistol. He would say the meanest, most hurtful things to the staff. Or he would say things steeped in sexual innuendo which made the staff uncomfortable. The horrible irony of it was that his disability made it impossible for him to do anything. He could not even feed himself let alone act on any impulse he may have. When he came to the home he was decidedly not happy that this was the course his life had taken. Once able to drive, study, teach and lead a life full by any standards was now limited only to his imagination and fading memories. And to make matters worse, the disabilities of the other residents made him feel like he didn't belong anywhere.

Larry made it difficult for many of the staff to work with him. He was demanding. He wanted things his way and let everyone know it. Most of the staff were very insecure about dealing with him. But I found that he appreciated those people who didn't cower when he bellowed. Once you established a no nonsense attitude with him, he was fine. He was also extremely intelligent and just plain funny. One of the most truly genuine funny people I have ever met. He was a virtual encyclopedia of amusing anecdotes. He had done more in his life that I had done and I was fully able. He was also a bit of a hell raiser!

One rule in the home that Larry detested was BEDTIME. He knew there was a shift change at 11pm and understood it was necessary for all personal care to be completed by then. But he had never done to bed before 10pm in his life and he saw no reason why he should start now. Since he was unable to do anything for himself, his cares demanded that two people be present. It involved a lot of lifting, shifting and tugging. Must to the chagrin of my staff, I altered the bedtime rule for Larry. He was able to stay up until the third shift person came on duty and then the second and third shift person would do his cares. This meant Larry could stay up until at least 11pm. Everyone else in the house was in bed by nine. They didn't even want to stay up later than that. This meant when I was working a second shift I got to spend a couple of hours each night just talking to Larry. Larry smoked like a fiend and we would sit on the deck while he smoked. Over the next 5 months, I realized that Larry was more than just someone who lived in a group home - he was a friend. Of course, as a social worker, I kept my professional boundaries but if circumstances were different and Larry was not disabled, I think he would have been someone I could have easily been friends with.

Unfortunately, the circumstances of the job were not good for me. I was working non-stop and I knew I needed a change. I went back to case management. Oddly enough, Larry was on my case load! But, it was only a short time later that I got a call from the group home. Larry had passed away. It was sudden and unexpected. And so sad.

I learned a lot from Larry. I learned that you really can't judge a book by it's cover. I learned that when you have no faculties to do anything physical for yourself sometimes your voice is your greatest weapon. I learned the true meaning of dignity and grace. Oh, he could be a pain in the ass and I mean a TRUE pain in the ass! I even learned to appreciate that. I still think of him often. And I know I will always miss him.

Good news? Bad news??

My sister got the results of her recent PET Scan. The cancer has spread to her pelvis, ribs, lungs and one shoulder. That's the bad news.

She has to have some more blood tests done tomorrow to see if her particular type of cancer is estrogen related. If it is, then she won't have to have intravenous chemo but rather would take pills and get an injection of bone strengthening medication every two weeks. So, she wouldn't lose her hair or have the usual sickness that comes with chemo. That's the good news.

She was also told that her cancer didn't just appear overnight but has been with her a long time now. She hadn't been to a doctor in many years before this and so they couldn't catch it earlier. She was also told that no matter the treatment the best they can do is hope to prolong her life. She is incurable. That's the worst news.

They can't tell her how long "prolonged" may be. That will all depend on how effective the treatments are and if the tumors shrink. Her husband is upset that she didn't go to a doctor sooner. Her daughter is distraught at knowing she is losing her mother. I am torn between seizing my life and living it to it's fullest and facing what will be the greatest loss of my life. I feel guilty for my moments of happiness and sad that she may not be here to share them with me.

But we are going on. My family is planning our Thanksgiving holidays and then Christmas and beyond. We're getting up, going to work, talking with friends and doing all the things normal people do. But this isn't normal. This is wrong. Because what we really want to do is scream and cry and hit something...hard. But Terry is forever optimistic. So what right do we have to be otherwise? My other sister thinks she is in denial. But I think she knows there is nothing good to come from shutting down and shutting out life. So she goes on. And that is the lesson of strength we will all learn from her.