Category Archives: Searching for Wisdom

personal growth stories

The Story of My Life

Posted on May 9, 2019 | Leave a comment

I have been very busy trying to take care of my husband who is recovering from total hip replacement surgery. At first he was on a walker and needed help with just about everything. But he became ambulatory and more self sufficient as each day went by.

My problem in these situations, is that I think I need to be Super Woman and do anything and everything 100 per cent–for the patient, for me, for the world. That’s all well and good until, like a spinning top, I wear down. I’m still going in circles but in a slower, more erratic path. I also depend on coffee cake and pie to see me through.

A week ago, on top of my extra duties, I decided I needed to get back into shape. I attempted to walk 10,000 steps a day. I scheduled an appointment with a trainer. I cut up apples, oranges, carrots, celery and cucumbers for quick snacks versus cookies.

The morning for the workout with the trainer came. Before I went, I wanted to make sure my husband had a good breakfast. Full disclosure: I don’t normally make breakfast. It’s a do-it-yourself meal . . . along with lunch. But, during his recovery, I was doing three meals a day. (He’s very happy this week that he can make it to the fridge on his own so he can get back to grazing.)

All was going well. I’d gotten up early so I could help my husband with his shower, etc. And with getting the dreaded compression stocking on. That, in itself is a workout! I was dressed in my work-out clothes and in the kitchen, getting eggs out of the fridge, by 8:30. Then I stopped breakfast preparations to take the dog for his walk. Outside I noticed a lot of weeds in the front yard, which I felt needed pulling right then and there. By the time I’d fed the dog, it was 9:15 and I knew I had to hurry up.

I cracked the eggs into a favorite bowl and beat them with a fork. I turned to check that the pan was ready, and that’s when it happened. Somehow, the bowl tipped and most of the eggs landed on the floor, dripping their way down the cabinets.

I just stood there for a moment, looking at the oozing mess. When I was younger, I think I would have cried. As a senior citizen, I weighed my options. Might as well take a picture of this mess, I thought. It could be the basis for a blog.

After doing an initial cleaning that at least got the surface mess up, I opened the egg carton to find only one egg. Oh well, I thought, so I don’t eat breakfast. No big deal.

I beat the last egg into the remaining egg mixture, checking the time. It was now 10:00. My workout was at 10:30. As I poured the eggs into the pan, I could hear my husband clumping towards the kitchen.

Okay, back on track, I thought. I turned away from the stove to check on the rolls warming in the oven. When I came back, I noticed the eggs had cooked nicely in the pan. It looks almost like an omelet, I thought and decided to give the eggs a flip. The result was the best looking omelet I’ve ever made.

And yes, ladies and gentleman, that is the story of my life. Sometimes from the pits of a disaster, I’ve rescued the situation to create a success. I never give up. I just keep on keeping on. Why not?

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Posted in About Life in General, Babybooming, Searching for Wisdom, slice of life

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Double Exposure

Posted on March 7, 2019 | Leave a comment

I had the most interesting experience yesterday—it was also enlightening.

On my walk every morning in Hawaii, I pass by the Canoe Club, a private facility for members of Hualalai Club. Yesterday as I chugged up the incline I noticed a photo shoot in session. Since I do the Members Blog, I stopped to take my own picture of this Hualalai happening.

Ah hah, I thought. This is the demographic they aim for: a young woman and a middle-aged man.

I took several photos of the set up and then of the silver haired photographer taking the photo of the couple lounging by the Jacuzzi. I guessed this photo would end up in a magazine, either advertising life style or the swimwear the two wore. I could see the woman was young and beautiful (although I never saw her face). Although I was at a distance from them, the man looked much older than she was.

I left and walked back home, creating a whole story about the modeling session, the models and the photographers. It was a good story with all kinds of judgments and critical assessments. I was happy with the picture I’d taken and the picture I’d created in my mind.

Then last night, I met all of them: the photographer, his assistant and the two models. It was a mind blower! I didn’t want to give up the story I’d woven for the actual reality, but what are you going to do when you’re confronted with the real people?

The man was much younger looking close up than from a distance. The woman looked just how I thought she would even if I’d imagined her.

“So here’s what I thought,” I told them. “Whoever you were shooting for, the demographics were a young woman with an older, successful man.”

“Thanks a lot, I think,” the man said.

“You look much younger, now that I’m meeting you,” I said.

He grinned, looking even more boyish.“ Now that’s good to hear.”

“How old are you?” I asked.

It turned out he was 53 and she was 40.

“Ah, so I wasn’t far off.” I gave them my know-it-all smile.

I told the photographer I’d taken a picture of him photographing the couple. “I hope I framed it well,” I said.

I turned to his assistant. “It was so early this morning it looked like you needed a cup of coffee to keep you awake.”

She looked startled and then gave me an embarrassed smile.

It turned out they were all from Oahu. The man was a teacher who worked with students from the Marshall Islands. I’d worked with students from there the year before when I volunteered at Palamanui Community College, so we chatted for a while.

As my husband and I walked away I said, “I feel like was just in a Woody Allen movie.”

“What do you mean?”

“Remember in “Annie Hall” when Marshall McLuhan shows up? That’s how it felt. Kind of like a bent reality.”

As I tried to fall asleep, I couldn’t stop thinking about meeting the real people who’d become figments of my imagination. It was interesting. But also a bit more than unsettling.

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Posted in About Life in General, Searching for Wisdom, slice of life

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Radio Morning

Posted on January 24, 2019 | 1 comment

So I did the radio interview. I did a two-hour preparation for the eight minutes, consolidating and outlining my main points. I’m not much for promoting myself but I knew this was an opportunity to push Radio Days so I had half a page just on the book. Someone advised me to spread out the pages on my desk so I could see all of them at once, which I did. But the time went quickly; I didn’t have time to look at the color coded pages. Eight minutes goes so fast that I left some important things out. Like thanking Writer’s Relief for guiding me all these years.

 Not to say I’m an anxious person, but I did wake up at 4:30 in the morning—of course I did. Even if I’m in the elderly category, I’m still a nervous jervis. As my Aunt Lil always said, “Where ever you go, you take yourself with you.”

Besides, when you’re in the senior aging department, you have more to worry about than simply failing. You have to make sure your hearing aids have fresh batteries and are tuned up. You have to make sure your voice will be clear and not hoarse. (This required gargling with salt water, drinking tea with honey and sucking on a cough drop.) Another problem I have as a senior is sneezing a jillion times. Since they mowed the grass today, I had to use the Neti Pot and take Sudafed. Also, I only get two bars on my cell phone so I had to remind myself not to move while I was talking.

One good thing though about radio—it didn’t matter how I looked.

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Posted in About Life in General, Searching for Wisdom, Writng Work Out

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Survivor Guilt 2: The Massage Therapist

Posted on September 24, 2018 | Leave a comment

 

IMG_1180Has anyone had a horrific massage experience besides me?

All of this Kavanaugh stuff is bringing up memories I’m not that fond of. The massage happened when I was forty. My kids were 17 and 13. I thought I was old.

My back went totally out that year when we were on vacation visiting my parents in Palm Springs. “Get a massage,” my husband suggested.

The only massage therapist was male and I said I didn’t care. I just needed some relief.

It all started fine. He was very strong and could get at my tangled muscles.

Then he said, “I can’t believe you’re forty. Your body is perfect.”

I should have heard the warning bell clanging “DANGER” but again I say, I thought I was old so I ignored the comment.

A few minutes later, he had pushed his body so close to my side that I could feel his erection.

That caused all kinds of alarms to go off. What the hell? I thought and scooted towards the center of the table. I tried to be subtle about it, nice girl that I am. I didn’t want to hurt his feelings.

He moved to the head of the table–it was not good. This kind of thing continued until I was scared to death. “Just let this be over,” I said to myself.

I didn’t know what to do. Now I would have said, “What the hell do you think you’re doing? Get out of here.” Then I started praying that my husband would come to meet me.

Which he did. The massage was over and I was standing in the room (I have no recollection of what the room looked like or what I was wearing, etc. ) when I heard my husband’s hearty voice at the door. I’ve never been happier to hear him because the massage therapist had just told me to hug him.

I was a well brought up, polite woman. WHO DIDN’T KNOW HOW TO STAND UP FOR MYSELF. I needed my husband to rescue me.

And again I felt guilty. What was the matter with me that things like this happened? What was I doing wrong?

Did I report this man? I thought about it but I didn’t. That’s what I did wrong.

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Posted in About Life in General, Searching for Wisdom, slice of life

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Survivor Guilt #1

Posted on September 24, 2018 | Leave a comment

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Surviving sexual assault brings with it another load for survivors to carry: guilt. People demand to know: “Why didn’t Dr. Ford  come forward right away? Why can she remember some details and not the others.”
I can’t answer for anyone else but me.
I can tell you this: you never forget the fear.
I was 22 and I can still feel my revulsion as his stubby fingers came at me. I was lucky. I was not raped–I was barely touched, but I get a sick feeling to this day when I think about it.

I was teaching at Meany Junior High in Seattle. Someone had been sending me notes for weeks, each getting more suggestive. I ignored them, thinking if I did that it would all go away. The last note demanded that I meet the sender at a coffee shop. I didn’t go, of course. But what if I had? (Interesting, I remember the notes, but I don’t remember if I threw them away. Did I tear them up?)

The next morning before school, my classroom door was flung open so hard that it sounded like a gun shot when it hit the wall. I looked up. This man I considered my mentor came rushing towards my desk, shouting. He grabbed me, still shouting. He accused me of leading him on. Then he tried to kiss me. I struggled to avoid his lips. Luckily I was hardly touched. The bell rang and a student came into the room. Talk about being saved by the bell.

I was not raped physically but I knew if the situation had been different, I might have been. But had I inadvertently been leading him on? Maybe it was my fault.
I didn’t tell anyone for 25 years. It was the Anita Hill hearings that induced me to tell my husband and parents. My mother had said, “Oh, I don’t think that’s true. Why wouldn’t she have said something over all these years.”
I said so quietly that they didn’t hear the first time, “It happened to me and I never said anything.”
I remember some of that morning fifty years ago, but details have faded. Like I said, I remember the fear. I don’t think I had bruises on my arms, but I can’t remember. I wanted to forget it had happened. So I buried it deep.

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Posted in About Life in General, health and welfare, Searching for Wisdom, United States

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As American As The Fourth of July

Posted on July 2, 2018 | Leave a comment

Last Saturday morning, we gave up our usual recreational pursuits to gather on a street corner with other families in Thousand Oaks, California. What a great American morning! We were there to protest children being separated from their parents as they tried to seek asylum in the United States. And also to celebrate the ideals of the Red, White and Blue.

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Over a 1000 of us were also there to support the sanctity of family and American values, the ideals of freedom and equality for all Americans, and for the humane treatment of all people and families.

Signs were everywhere. “We Welcome The Hungry and Poor,” one sign said, referencing Emma Lazarus’s poem about the teeming masses yearning to be free, and to the fact that we are proud to be a sanctuary city. “I Care. We should all Care,” said another sign.

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We ran the gamut of Americans from the youngest to the oldest. For a lot of us, it wasn’t the first time we’d sung “We shall Overcome Some Day” and I think we’ll be singing it again. Cars driving by honked in solidarity, raising our weary spirits.

 

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It was a patriotic event with many American flags waving. It reminded me of a 4th of July celebrations we’ve been attending for years. Below was Westlake Village in 2003.

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People milled around, exchanging greetings and actually smiling.

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Congresswoman Julia Brownley gave an impromptu and impassioned speech that came from her heart.

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She held back tears as she said that our being there gave her so much hope. Once, her voice filled with anger and tears as she talked about the plight of the little children, and that we must do something about it!

As the morning wore on, more people streamed to Thousand Oaks Blvd. We congregated on the sidewalks and the grass. It was the first time I had a sense of peace in days.

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Standing between my son and my husband, I couldn’t help beaming from ear to ear. I kissed first Dave’s cheek, then Moe’s. (I know, I know. I’m so mushy. It just happens.)

Will our public stand together make a difference? I don’t know. I’ve already been challenged on my Facebook page: “Did you march for homeless Americans or just non-Americans?” someone asked. I wrote back: “Yes. We were marching for all in need. We were marching for vets who are homeless, for people with illnesses without health insurance who lost their homes, for people who lost their jobs and have no way out. We marched for people who are our neighbors and who aren’t our neighbors. We marched against injustice and cruelty. We marched for helping those who need help. Do unto to others …” and I add, we marched for the best of what is in America’s heart.

I certainly didn’t think this would be my third “March” of the year. I’m a babyboomer senior citizen…I should be on a porch somewhere rocking in a chair. Yet none of us can just sit by while children, all children, are being harmed. My children and grandchildren are safe right now, but we’ve all read history. There are no guarantees.When will we get the knock on the door?

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Letters, emails, tweets and phone calls to our Congress people are essential. But there is power in the visual image. Standing shoulder-to-shoulder on a sunny June morning, we proved we were willing to show up. And gave notice that we’ll do it again. And the world knows it.

Happy Fourth of July to all. Enjoy the parties and the fireworks and let’s remember what the holiday is about.

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We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness.

 

 

 

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Posted in Babybooming, freedom and justice for all, an American ideal, racial justice, Searching for Wisdom, United States, World Situation

An Ode to Spring!

Posted on May 30, 2018 | Leave a comment

 

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In my infatuation with autumn, I’d forgotten my old love: Spring. I was so into Fall colors that I left Spring in the dirt. (Pardon my capitalizing the seasons. I just can’t help it. I start thinking of things like “I get a spring in my step when it’s spring” or “I can fall when I slip on fall leaves” and I end up capitalizing Spring and Fall because it just seems right to me.)

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I do love autumn: the cooler days after a long, hot summer. I love the brilliance of the leaves and the signs that although the days are shorter, we’re getting ready for cozy evenings at home.

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(You’ll notice no mention of football in my Fall loves. I know this is heresy, but football is not high on my list of priorities. Sorry.)

But this Spring has been different. Perhaps it’s because of the rainy days of winter, but I don’t think so. By slowing my life down, I’ve been more aware of what’s happening in the moment. (It’s been quality versus quantity.) Along the way, I’ve remembered how much I love the awakening of nature around me. It has been a pleasure.

It started in my own backyard. I watched as the trees began to leaf out.

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By the way, here’s that same tree last Fall.

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Then I began to see Spring wildflowers peek up their heads.IMG_0379.jpg

 

I’m fortunate to walk most days so it wasn’t difficult to see the progress of renewal in the season. I was in awe of the colors of the flowers and plants. Being cognizant that theirs’ was a short season, I knew I had to focus on their beauty or I’d miss it. They’d be gone soon and only a memory.

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In other neighborhoods, I saw fruit trees put out their blossoms.

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When I walked by the lake in early Spring, I  watched the geese follow their mating rituals.

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and then, later, how they raised their young.

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In late April, I  went to Seattle to visit and was treated to a cornucopia of visual Spring delights. I think I drove my daughter crazy because I had to stop every few minutes to click another shot. But I just couldn’t get over the special beauty of the season.

Every tree and plant was bursting with new life:

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Fruit trees were decked out in their finery.

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Bluebells flocked to greet me in the woods.

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Back in California, I continued on my Spring Quest, aware of quickly the season was passing.

“It’s the middle of May,” I said to my daughter one day.

“Mom, it’s only May 11. Don’t push us ahead,” she said.

“I’m not, but you know, in a moment it will be Memorial Day.”

And it was.

The swans have had their babies now.

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The irises are still blooming but are losing a little of their freshness.

Time continues to march on even if we don’t want it to.

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All Spring as I walked outside, I kept hearing the phrase, Hope Springs Eternal, in my head. Even when we and our family and friends were having health issues, I saw with my own eyes that nature’s message was one of hope and renewal. Maybe everyone could get well–we shouldn’t give up hope.

But Spring also personifies the impermanence of life; its ephemeral qualities. Nothing is permanent and I should know that by now. I need to cherish what I have now–not look back, not look forward. My autumn years may be waning, but I’m not into winter yet. And I’m going to enjoy the last days of Spring without bemoaning how fleeting it was.

My plan is to gorge on peonies while they’re still is season. Short as it is.

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Posted in About Life in General, Aging with Grace, Nature, Searching for Wisdom, slice of life

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Regaining Faith in Humanity

Posted on May 19, 2018 | 1 comment

Another school shooting. More people’s lives ripped away. More acts of religious and ethnic hatred. You see so much meanness coming from people nowadays, sometimes you begin to lose faith in humanity. Mine was restored a little today.

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As I rounded the bend on my walk, I saw a man standing on the grass, looking at the lake. Then I saw a tiny naked bird running around near him.

“Oh my goodness,” I said.

The man turned and smiled at me.

“He’s got to be brand new,” I said.

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“Actually, he’s a couple of weeks old,” he said. “He’s an orphan we found down by the weeds. He must have been the runt. You can see he also has a problem with his feathers, so they must have abandoned him.”

I shook my head. “That’s so sad.”

“I know. We picked him up and took him home, hoping we could save him.”

At that moment, the gosling started running away from us, flapping its wings. It looked like a wind up toy.

“Hey, where you going? Come back over here,” the man called. He looked at me. “This is the first time he’s ever left my side.”

The gosling came running back, stopping to peck at the grass for a moment before he returned close to the man.

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“He comes when you call?” I asked.

The man nodded. “Yeah, and he likes to cuddle under your chin.”

The man explained that they were raising him to get strong enough so they could to try to introduce him to a clutch that has goslings his age. They’d tried once already but he was rejected. “We’re hoping when he’s older it will work.”

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In the mean time, they have a set up a crate for him. “We’ve got stuffed animal geese in there and a mirror,” he explained. “The vet told us a special feed to get. He’s skinny, but eating and active.”

“He’s so cute,” I said.

“And look,” the man said. He pointed to the little guy’s chest where soft golden feathers were beginning to appear.

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The man’s smile was wide, filled with pride and compassion. “I think he’s going to make it,” he said.

What an inspiration, I thought as I continued on my walk. It goes to show that you should never give up. And that it’s not always the survival of the fittest if there’s a helping hand.

We need more of this in the world. Acts of kindness just because you can.

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A Tribute to Barbara Bush

Posted on April 21, 2018 | 1 comment

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I’m very lucky that I got to meet Barbara Bush. She was just as everyone is describing. She was no-nonsense and warm. She was gracious, but you knew instantly that she didn’t suffer fools for a minute. She was full of fun and full of dignity. She was funny and irreverent, serious and dedicated. And she was real.

I wasn’t going to tell my story because it’s private, but the first time I met her was such a perfect example of who Barbara was that I can’t resist.

It was in Kennebunkport twenty years ago. We were back there with friends who were close with the Bushes. Four days before we left I was told that I’d being playing golf there.

“But I don’t play golf,” I said.

“You better learn fast,” my husband said.

Let me say here that I’m not the world’s greatest athlete. Nor is golf an easy sport. After twenty years I’m mediocre on a good day. But my first 18 holes was played with Barbara Bush, God help her.

We met at their club, Cape Arundel, me still tearing the tags off my golf attire. It turned out that the Bushes were hosting a cocktail party for 70 that evening at the Walker estate — Barbara was supposed to get a chance to relax and play golf that morning. Instead she got me.

Graciously, she invited me to ride in her cart. I’m not sure who she thought she was getting — I did come with a Hollywood couple, after all, who played golf all the time . She couldn’t have known I’d be a school teacher from Seattle…who’d never played golf. She soon realized the last part as I sprayed balls right and left. One hole of Cape Arundel borders a street and my ball almost took out the windshield of a Secret Service car driving along side. Guns drawn, two men in black leaned out of the car to make sure the former First Lady was not under attack.

I was in awe just being there–pretty tongue tied as well as embarrassed at my inability. I’d hit the ball and then scurry toward it, trying not to hold up play. Barbara must have been going crazy, but she didn’t say anything. On one hole, I actually was running to my ball. Barbara drew up in her cart and said, “Hop in. You don’t have to run. We all started somewhere.”

I rolled my eyes. “But why is my somewhere with you when you have 70 people coming to your house tonight.”

She laughed and patted the seat next to her. And I knew, just like that, I was okay in her book.

On the ninth green, I said, “Mrs. Bush, you can go ahead and putt out.”

A voice from the next hole called out, “Who’s calling my mother, ‘Mrs. Bush’. No one calls my mother, ‘Mrs. Bush.’ It’s Barbara.”

I blushed as I met Jeb who was playing with his dad and my husband.

Barbara, looking pleased, laughed at her son’s teasing. And I relaxed enough to laugh too.

Later that night at their house, she was the perfect hostess. Dressed in her classic style with the signature pearls around her neck, she made sure the evening, an event for MD Anderson, ran like clockwork. But it was with a calm and non pretentiousness that put everyone at ease.

We got to be with Barbara several other times. Each occasion was precious.

 

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Glumping into Golden Age

Posted on April 14, 2018 | 1 comment

images-1            Everything that happens to me lately, I blame on becoming older. Like I thought something was wrong with my ability to hear. I was listening to Morning Joe on Stitcher and it seemed everyone was talking extremely fast. I could barely understand what Mika was saying. It took me a couple of weeks, but it suddenly occurred to me to check the speed control: Sure enough, it had moved to 1.5 speed. A quick flick and I was back to normal speed. What a relief!

I’ve also been having trouble sleeping—the bane of Golden Agers. I was feeling quite anxious and blamed it not only on my life-long anxiety, but on my frustration with navigating this week through today’s health care system. I was just trying to get answers about test results and it wasn’t happening. Was I just too old to do it? I’d given up on getting a diagnosis—that seemed an impossibility for the UCLA system. They’d brought me to my knees just trying to get a human being to talk to me. I couldn’t even make an appointment in one office until the physician’s liaison got back to me. What is a physician’s liaison anyway?

“What is your husband’s diagnosis?” the receptionist asked.

I looked at the phone in disgust. “I don’t know his diagnosis!!! That’s why I’m calling to make an appointment!! That’s what we want to know!! I was an English major—no medical training here!! I’m not sure what the blood test is saying but when I look it up on the Internet, their interpretation is not comforting. And I’m pretty sure that the symptoms I’m now exhibiting as I talk to you, are indicative of high blood pressure and an oncoming stroke!!!!”

I only actually said some of the above and I didn’t shout, but nothing phased the receptionist anyway.

“Is there someone there that can give me a hint if this is a serious situation?” I finally begged her.

“No, but the liaison will call you back with 48 hours,” she said. “Is this the best number to reach you?”

I could feel something throbbing in my head as I tried to slam down my iPhone.

Seeing that phoning was not working, I tried writing another email to our primary care doctor. Just let me know what we’re dealing with, I wanted to write. I like the idea of a health care portal and that you can write your doctor a question. I really really like it when they write back. But these portals shouldn’t release test results to lay people who don’t know how to interpret them. Then you go on-line and the answers you find are always the worst case scenario. I’m tired of being scared out of my wits.

Meanwhile, I didn’t get any answers back and had trouble sleeping that night.          The next day the physician’s liaison did get back to me. She talked in a hearty way, but would give me no information either.

“Okay. I’m guessing you’d like the next available appointment,” she said.

“Not really,” I said. “I want the next ASAP appointment.”

“Pardon me?” she said.

“I want the soonest available appointment,” I explained.

“Oh, sure. I can understand that.”

What did that mean, I wondered.

We got in two days later. We could have gotten in the next day but my husband was playing in a golf tournament and wouldn’t cancel. First things first! (Did I mention that while I was working my way into being a stroke victim, he was playing golf?)

I had no idea what the doctor would be like when we met her or him. She is FABULOUS!! She quickly explained that the alarming blood test told nothing by itself. She explained that more tests were needed. She explained what could be happening. She explained that there was nothing to worry about. It would probably turn out to be nothing. “I’ll tell you if you have to worry,” she said.

Of course she had no idea that she was talking to me, the poster girl for Worry Wort in the dictionary. I worry if I’m not feeling worried.

So, to get back to my first point about blaming everything on getting older, this frustration and non-worrying is why I thought I could barely sleep last night. But I was wrong. It was more about the bombing of Syria. I know this because when I woke up and before I opened my eyes, I thought, we’re still here, we’re still alive. I hadn’t even known my psyche had gone to Nuclear Winter.

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Posted in About Life in General, Aging with Grace, Babybooming, health and welfare, Searching for Wisdom, slice of life, World Situation

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