I CAN WORK WITH THAT

I CAN WORK WITH THAT

September 2016

Blogs are meant to reflect one’s relationship with reality; our world as we see it, understand it and relate to it.  For the past two years I’ve periodically put down in writing my thoughts, experiences, lessons learned, missteps, successes and challenges. I chose the blog format to allow me to record my experiences, learn from them, and hopefully help my readers as we jointly face our journey in aging.   I’ve called it Adapting to Age. The timing couldn’t have been more auspicious.  I’ve had an extraordinary two year journey, facing challenges of illness, a broken heel and ankle needing surgical intervention, a car accident that involved my car accelerating and flipping over on its roof:(yes a manufacturer’s faulty system as the cause); shock trauma care for me and my passenger and the anxiety of purchasing and driving a new car.  I’ve also faced and survived an infection in my brain. 

During those two years, I persevered through the incredible support of my children, family and close friends. I also turned 75; reaching that entry into aging as an inevitable stage of life. 

Given the vicissitudes of aging, and the likelihood of future limitations, the next stage was inevitable: it no longer made sense to live alone in a three story house, with way too many stairs, unused rooms reclaimed for storage; patios and decks needing upgrades. Selling my home of almost 40 years, alone without my husband, friend, supporter and realist was a momentous undertaking.

But wait, as they say; there’s more:   moving alone for the first time since my marriage in 1961; selling a second home in Florida and currently in process of purchasing another Florida second home.  (all this in one blog sentence; weird).

My blood pressure needed constant attention, anxiety driving loss of control; my spatial memory for directions, locations of the offices of various doctors has lessened, leaving me feeling lost and even more anxious. And this was way more than the occasional, “what did I come into this room for?” or “where did I leave that piece of paper with directions on it?”  Small things, like a blister on my arch, a small basal cell cancer on my nose, shingles in spite of taking the vaccine, all gained in importance, raised my blood pressure once more, so both needed interventions with rest, other medicines, some of which interfered with current medications, leading to complex med management and often restrictions on activities.  I know you can get the picture. Or you will when you put on your bifocals. 

Just to test how well I can handle stress (yes, it does feel at times like a test); my left ear developed a fluid backup, hearing aide in left ear not at all effective, and the loss of context and meaning in conversations, watching films and plays, conducting the normal life functions (shopping, asking for directions) all slowly float out of hearing.  The most trying experience is loosing the content in conversations with friends: it adds to the anxiety, which raises blood pressure, which causes nose bleeds......ENOUGH!!!!!

The challenge, once I veered too close to emotional paralysis, was how to stop; change the tempo and tension of my days. take deep breathes and new steps.  I took an hour to survey the many books on my bookshelves; on memory and mindfulness.  What a treasure trove, and all on one shelf:  Peace in Every Step( Thich Nhat Hanh; 8 minute meditation, (Davich); the Power of Now( Eckhart Tolle); Keep your brain alive,(Lawrence Katz): Moon Walking with Einstein, (Joshua Foer).  I also spent valuable time with a therapist, testing my assumptions, taking stock of my inner and outer self’s needs, slowing down.

Using these as guides: remembering to breathe, looking for ways to improve my memory, start early planning for my next move to a new winter home in St. Petersburg all are being to help me settle into my newest self:  75, independent, managing to maintain good health, fix what doesn’t work well,( like hearing aides); exercising regularly, accepting limitations:  I CAN WORK WITH THIS.

Now, if only I could control the election, I’d sleep much more soundly!  

technology thy name is ( expletive deleted) but fun to read

INTERNET, I-PHONES, UNIVERSAL CONNECTIBILITY WORLD WIDE.

The transition generation:  unplugged, plugging in, and learning new languages.

We are the last generation who remembers a world without instant communication; (Seniors, over 65, still alive and very much kicking),  without the constant tweeting and tweeking; sending words across hemispheres.  We had to go home or to a free standing telephone “box” in the street to make contact. I remember having to actually write a letter, mail it and wait for a response!

Our home entertainment was a single, small size television screen.  Yes, a BIG change from radio only.  Most stations were filmed in black and white, and to change stories (or channels) you had to walk over to the set and twist the knob.   But there were only a few channels anyway. Remote?  What was that word? Replay? Watch one show while taping another?

I’ve teased my grandkids when I tell stories of our limited connectivity.  It gives me a chance to share with them some old letters written to me by my children (their parents) when they were away at sleep- over camp.  One from my daughter reads:  “I miss you both so much, sing me to sleep daddy!”

Today I sit at my laptop (yes, a portable typewriter, holding the memory of all things I’ve written, or downloaded, or received by E Mail); an easy to carry means of communication that allows instant connectability).  My personal cell phone, too, is by my side available for instant contact across the room, across the street, around the world!  We each have one of course, and often use it for messages to ourselves (don’t forget to pick up the milk, put out the recyclables’; pay an overdue bill). If it should go missing, or lose its battery charge, the sense of emptiness, the confusion reaching for a phone which is temporarily out of order is powerful. 

If I miss my grandkids, I can schedule time and watch them at play through an “app” (application) called face time; they can show me the latest toy they got, or an A on a school paper.  (Just now, in fact, a photo of my youngest (Nick is 6 going on adolescent) and his older sister appeared on my computer screen; they actually made a long distance visit!)

I can “sync” my calendars on my phone, computer and I Pad, and get enough “ping” sounding reminders to drive me to unplug my hearing aids at times.  Yet I use my cell phone to ask the automated voice (My newest friend Siri) to direct me to my destination, and mostly she does, and I don’t have to check maps. 

And so I’ve adapted; enjoying the chance to read a book on line; doing crossword puzzles on a screen, catching up with my friends and family.  And then it happens:  the phone fails; I leave my I pad in the meeting room of our life-long- learning program, the Academy for seniors at Eckerd College, and face a long weekend without it.  I actually had to find a book on my own bookshelves (a bit dusty, but unread).  Worst of all, earlier this year, all my electronic systems went haywire in January. For over a week I had only a land line phone and pens and paper to satisfy my needs to communicate.  Prozac anyone?   Got to go now: the cell phone is ringing, and I’ve got this blog post to proof read, print out a copy, send it off to friends, and take a shower.  No cell phones allowed.

March 25, 2016

addendum to moving and mail:

November 2025

STARTER LIST FOR MAIL TRANSFERS:

• SERVICE BILLS
• Rent/mortgage
• Equipment contracts (TV/cable/phone service/internet/ house alarm
• Home contracts ( alarm system; heating/cooling equipment/pest control/other

• FINANCIAL TRANSACTIONS
• All banks and accounts
• Critical service contacts and contracts;
• Medical contacts,( primary physician, dentist, and other specific services used
• Broker, Attorney,
• Federal/state/ private contacts for health insurance/social security/ work related pensions/ Medicare/brokerage accounts
• Payments for loans (e.g. house, car)

• FAMILY AND FRIENDS
• Good to use on line notifications here
• CURRENT SUBSCRIPTIONS:
• Magazines, newspapers, journals,
• ORGANIZATIONS YOU ENDORSE/CONTRIBUTE TO/RECEIVE NEWSLETTERS FROM

• NOTIFICATIONS ABOUT SOCIAL/CULTURAL/ENTERTAINMENT VENUES
• Theatres, museums, social/educational schedules
• Notification of community activities through flyers, annual program offerings.
• INSURERS ( health care, car, home or apartment, other major contacts
• JUNK Mail
• If you don’t use them, loose them if you can

Hope this helps.  Enjoy the transition!

MOVING AND MAIL

Moving?  Changing your address?

All right, so you have moved to a new home.  You’ve planned well, making the tough decisions about what to keep, what to donate, what to trash.  The newest key word in your lexicon is “downsizing”; and no, it’s not a new fad diet.  You’ve made hundreds of decisions ranging from what type of residence  you want to move into, what furniture, books, photograph albums, painting, pottery, clothing are for keeping, what will be discarded, donated, no longer part of your life. 

If you’re as organized as I try to be, you’ve made endless lists, planning where all your belongings will be moved, fitting into the floor plan; which kitchen shelves will house your pots and pans and dishes and spices....you know the drill.  And then you move!  And gradually settle in, and gain a sense of place so that you stop opening the wrong drawer in the kitchen and master the automatic reaching out for the light switches which invariably are in a different place.

A deep sigh....a sense of comfort, a fitting into your new home.  But wait:  the daily New York Times is not at your front door, and mail service is unusually light.  Of course!  You have notified the post office of your address change, but not the dozens of businesses, organizations, service contacts and contracts with phone companies, magazine subscriptions, invitations to parties and fundraisers for your favorite elected officials, notices of subscription renewals for magazines, theatres, concert venues... none of this mail is forwarded after the first month.  Arrugh!  If I had the presence to start monitoring the regular mail deliveries before the move, this process might have been less challenging, but we all know how easy it is to make logical plans in hindsight, so for those readers beginning this transition, a few hopefully helpful hints:  

·       Keep a pad handy where-ever you typically open the mail;

·       Check through your various subscriptions to make sure you keep receiving magazines, concert and theatre notifications from local venues, medical services (including insurance companies);

·       Use the time to decide whether you want to continue magazine subscriptions, store sales notices;

·       Decide which old friends you’ve lost touch with warrant a reconnection;

·       Use technology; this is one time when facebook can be your friend, to help you stay “friended” with others. 

And as for the junk mail, sorry but somehow they are typically the best at discovering your new abode so they can continue to fill your mailbox and trash can with their teasers:  buy this NOW AND IF YOU BUY ONE YOU CAN GET A SECOND ONE FREE!

staying connected august 13,2015

STAYING CONNECTED

Keeping in Touch with our Social Networks or:

The joys and perils of a tech-full world

Like most of us in my generation, (approximately those born between the late 1930’s through the 1960’s) rotary phones attached to kitchen walls served the purpose and need to communicate.  It was how we set dates for upcoming events; wished friends and family member’s holiday or birthday greetings; invited friends or family members over to visit, talk, enjoy a meal together. 

On rare occasions when we needed a phone while out of the house, there were usually public “phone booths”, although often they were out of service.  You could use them to change plans or check on driving directions.  We laughed as Dick Tracy checked his “wrist watch phone” or the “get smart” detective listening to instructions from his shoe. 

When television came into our houses, they stayed in place on a stand, and you walked over to the set to turn it own, change channels, (only a few back then) straighten the “bunny ears”; (metallic antennae that captured the reception) and resume watching your “shows”.  I still remember a conversation my late husband Ben had with our then 10 year old grandson, Alex.  Alex asked Ben to change the TV channel using the remote.  “Which remote?”  The table held three or four.  When that was clarified, Ben explained that as a child we had no remotes, he had no televisions.  Radios were the “in” thing, and of course, large unwieldy  RCA  Victrola record players, with records that were fragile and easy to break. 

The last few decades have seen a virtual explosion of ways to communicate, share information, be entertained, and keep in touch with friends and family.  You can buy virtually anything without leaving home; keep abreast of frightening or bizarre stories from around the world about almost anything. 

So here’s the unique position we as seniors face: with advanced and modernized prevention and treatment programs to ease the aging and illness processes we have begun to experience many more healthy and productive years as compared with our grandparents.  But we are slower to learn, and often need more coaching when faced with the inevitable:  if I want to keep in touch with my out of town grandkids, I should get used to using skype or face time for periodic visits.  Amazingly, so many of us in our seventies, eighties, and even into our nineties have learned to adapt better than we would have expected.  There is still the learning gap between simple checking of emails, and more complex “applications”. Yet with support, senior classes in the new technologies, we have amazingly added to our capacities to communicate. 

 It’s not always an easy path, but we seem to be sticking it out, learning more easily than we would have thought possible.  Ironically, our uncanny ability to multi-task and problem solve has aided us, but clearly for most of us the pace and the retention of data moving beyond the speed of light (and eye-hand coordination) catches us up.  Our   younger friends or family members may make assumptions that you actually do know how to open an email, read it and send a reply; “pull up” a calendar to check appointments, record new ones (when you figure out how to change your “preferences”;

(Does this mean I can order coffee with soy milk?).  Hearing a soft “ping” sound alerts us to a new message, but we are in the middle of driving, or just turning off the lights.  Check it out now, Wait till morning? What if it’s important?  Could I actually hear it if it did “ping”?

Little by little these light cell phones take over your life or at least “wedge themselves” in between you and those formidable memory keepers.  It’s ok if you forget an appointment; your phone (when programmed) will remind you “your battery is loosing power”; You have an appointment with Dr, X; remember to “fast” before your appointment with Dr X so you can get an accurate “fasting blood sugar” test. 

Friends old and new, some you may have forgotten, suddenly re-emerge in your life with the help of Facebook, an “app” with a serious case of OCD (Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder).  She lets me know who has a birthday coming up, changed phone numbers or moved.  I haven’t seen an “Obit” recently but that too may join the various and sundry miscellaneous announcements.

And we mustn’t forget the computer in its role as “weather person”; temperature today at 4 pm, weekend forecast...; I can even track weather patterns in Austin where my daughter and her brood live, or St Petersburg where I spend my winters.  Google got in the game this year, redesigning my Google screen page with pictures of birthday cakes, sparklers, etc wishing me a happy birthday.  Yes, it was my birthday that day!

I could go on, but the phone just informed me I have an appointment in 10 minutes to get my nails manicured, so I will sign off!

Before I go, I’d like to start collecting ideas from my friends, blog readers:  Tech-savvy seniors have the additional benefits of using technology to set up emergency contact information, find articles quickly on topics of note, and even have a short “visit” with a housebound friend.  Here are some other thoughts:

·       Figure out a way to include a temporarily sick friend to attend your book club via facebook.

·       Start compiling with friends a list of things you’d like to do if you could do it with others, sharing driving, making it social and not a chore.

·       ...now you can add more......

AGING IN PLACE: AGING IN PLACES

JULY 25, 2015 

Most of our ancestors grew old within the circle of their family, neighbors, friends and community.  Granny was often a fixture in her children’s homes, continuing to play a role in their lives and those of their grandkids.  Cook, babysitter, story teller, soother of a young child’s nighttime bad dreams.  When seniors living in extended family settings became less and less able manage independently, needing more support while able to provide less help, home care became overwhelming, often leaping from one crisis to the next.  A new variation to an old model began to emerge.   “Modern, tech-savvy, old age homes” staffed by paraprofessionals began to flourish.  Activities, recreation, socials, visiting artists and musicians, authors and newsmakers often provided an enriched experience. This allowed the aging generation to continue not only to sustain life, but to continue to participate, supported by paid staff, receiving visits from younger generations.  Safety, monitoring of health needs folded into musical, artistic and stimulating activities.  

Changes in health care research and treatment models fit this scenario well.  The elderly were living longer with the help of a growing body of medical knowledge and methodologies designed to support extended life spans.  So we began, many of us, to live considerably longer, with better preventive health care, new surgical, pharmaceutical and treatment options, allowing more of the “growing older crowd” to bypass the generic, medical-model of “old age homes.” In truth most were neither staffed enough to provide optimum healing, nor expected to bring their residents “back to independence”. 

One of the largest growing “businesses” in America has become the modified Nursing home, often named euphemistically “ Happy Harbors”, or “New Horizons”; “Heartlands” or “Sunshine Villages”: Places that are designed to allow you to “age in place”.  When designed and staffed well, they have become a valued alternative to living precariously alone in a multi-story home or confined to a “nursing home”.

Time and testing of models should help to frame a set of programs and policies that best meet changing needs.  Many reasonably healthy seniors push back against the idea of aging in “a strange place”; that will never be your home”. But if that place in fact becomes your home, encouraging maximum independence within a safe setting a new variation of our aging model can emerge.... I am calling it living in “safe” places.   So, I no longer live alone in a three story house, where a simple task of changing a light bulb may be the beginning of a downward slope toward broken bones, hospital care, adaptive devices such as walkers and crutches.  I live quite independently, cooking my meals, tidying up, driving on errands to shop, visit friends, eating in restaurants, enjoying movies and plays and concerts.  But if a light bulb goes out, I can call the maintenance staff member to change it. 

One way to look at this transition may be that while I was trying (and mostly succeeding) in aging in place, it feels empowering to continue that process by aging in different places:  an independent apartment setting in the summer, a more multi-aged condo apartment unit with no added services in the south for the winter.  For now, the balance is working.  For now, I am aging in many places, and beginning to feel centered and calm and balanced. 

recovery

to friends and followers:  Lots of "uppers" this week:  feeling well, with more energy than I can remember having for a long time.  loving my new downsized life style.  most important, starting to write again! here's the latest.  love comments.  

Recovery:  July 2015

The room grows quiet, the rustling of pages in our prayer book stilled

As we each rise and collect the threads of our prayer shawls around our fingers....

There is a stillness and quiet that settles us....we open ourselves up and invite into our sacred space the loved ones lost to illness, accident, old age..

I’ve changed over the past months, almost lost to a series of bacterial infections.

Memory, certainty of where I am within my space, within my life is slow to return.

I have to quiet those stray thoughts, quell the anxiety, let stillness fill the gaps, trusting that I will stay rooted in the moment, the place, the experience.

Many years ago while still in College, a few friends and I  would often engage in word play at our daily “commuter breakfasts”; I wrote the beginnings of a poem one day, or one of us did, and my memory of those words has suddenly returned:  “the mirror blinked blindly back at me this morning, containing not a me.” Not sure where it went from there, but it remains a teaser to me, especially now.

So I stop and look at my surroundings; furniture, books, paintings familiar but now inhabiting a new space.  I have “downsized”, moved a short distance from my old house into an apartment complex for those of us 55 and older.  I wake up most nights, knowing where I am, (no confusion here) but somehow certain that someone else is sharing the space with me; usually Ben, although sometimes I have been extra quiet so as not to awaken overnight guests; no one is present but me, yet it takes a few extra minutes to remember that I am the only one actually inhabiting the space; the others have most likely slipped into the tail end of a dream. 

I've moved now, from three floors of rooms filled with furniture, clothing, books, art work, photographs and memories.  three weeks in, and I feel centered, in control, safe.  transitions are hard, and this one made mostly alone, no spouse to share the work, the memories, the decisions!  do I keep the dozen pictures of each of our kids and grandkids, in picture frames and binders, printed "books" and loose.  Is t his baby picture of my son, or perhaps his son?  looks a bit like my husband as a small boy too.  I've changed my address countless times, over endless "on hold" telephone calls, forms to complete for voter registration, car registration, The Nation and New Yorker mags that I want to continue to receive.  so, some lessons I've learned:

1. slow down!  not everything can be done in a day, or week.
2 enjoy the process:  unwrapping each picture and book could be done with speed and haste, but how much better to look at each, remember when paintings were bought, when trips to foreign lands were taken, when a special book was read.
3. feel free to decide if something, a picture, a wall hanging, clay bowls and plates and teapots (three which I've never used), can be donated.
4.read your body:  don't lift stuff too heavy, or try to reach a top shelf, or carry to many items to 'save time'.
5. save time each day for play:  a walk, a visit with friends, of course including lunch; meditate, breathe.....yes,that does help!
6. think of something you have always wanted to do, but never found the time:  writing, or learning a new language, or taking up a new hobby, anything from bridge, to painting, to yoga.  

oh, never forget to laugh, and hug, and share, ideas, food, time.  
June 23, 2015 ( one day short of my 74th birthday!!!!!

I have recently recovered (they tell me) from a serious, potentially life threatening major bacterial infection which affected my brain, leaving me in a state of confusion and my family and friends frightened and bewildered.  I have mostly recovered, and hopefully this poem signals the start of a new chapter.  

And yes, because I do tend to take on new challenges, and it was clearly past time to move out of my three story house into an apartment, I am in the throes of moving over four decades of stuff; clothing, furniture, books and pictures and mostly memories.  At times the task has been daunting, leaving me exhausted and fuzzy; did I really pack the only glass I had left in the kitchen?  do I want to shlepp a large cedar chest that held pictures of trips and family and friends over time?  the chest stays here, given to the family who purchased my house, the albums are neatly stored in cardboard boxes, to be studied, shared with family, hopefully they will be my children's memories in kodak- color now.  

Moving, relocating, even if nearby has changed from a relatively smooth transfer of furniture, clothes, books and pictures.  Decisions are relatively easy; will I still need all those winter clothes when I head south every winter; I haven't used that (bowl, silver services, etc) in twenty years, so pack or donate?  

An added element is present in today's tech, google, facebook, I- everything world.  Its not enough to move the television, you have to return the electronic DVD box to the content provider, order a new one from a different company that is wired in the building and have a computer buddy restore cable cords and boxes with new equipment.  Mail to be forwarded, address change to regular providers of services( alarm system; plumber, heat/air conditioning company, etc.  Newspapers need to be rerouted, trash pickup days re-learned. the list is endless.  but each day that I empty a closet, fold clothing or linens or toiletries into boxes I edge closer to walking away from the physical reminders of 37 years of my life.  Making the move as a widow is particularly hard.  Who do you turn to and say: "remember when we bought that print?  Eight years gone and your bathrobe is still on a hook in the closet, time to wash and donate it."  checking the back of shelves in the kitchen, I come across six or seven "chicken wishbones" dried, wrapped in paper towels, saved for luck? habit? 

And finally, the lists, endless lists: changes to make, calls to stop or reschedule services, notes on when a particular company will come to turn off one service or another, while neighbors stop by to offer a lunch break in a local restaurant, Off I go, remembering to stop at the new apartment house management office to pick up my keys.  I am almost 74 and this is the first home I have ever had with only one occupant, me.  how odd.  

LAND OF LOST TIME

I’m not quite ready for poems that rhyme,

For cute little ditties and such.

My (hopefully) short slide into the land of lost time

Has shaken me right to the core.

I’ve managed my share of medical crises,

Broken ankles, a rotator cuff tear.

I’ve had surgery on more toes than I can count.

Now, that certainly was unfair.

I’ve gained a partial third set of teeth, through crowns, implants, and caps

At least now my smile is reasonably normal, with no obvious gaps.

I pulled through managing Crohns’ disease

In spite of a rare burst colon.

I’ve followed the orders of doctors and dentists

Treated quickly anything swollen.

As much as I love food that’s salty or sweet

I try to contain my weight

It helps to practice the art of Tai Chi

With a focus on feeling fit and great.

So how did I happen to meet with such a daunting challenge?

Silent, no symptoms, no signs.

That managed to totally consume my mind

Bacteria on my brain had designs!

“Let’s not let her realize how dangerous we are,

We’ll sneak into her bloodstream, swim near the left ear,

A bit of deafness to start”.

“We’ll hide in the coils and twists of her brain,

Mess up memory so she seems to be addled.

We’ll short-circuit her recall, her store of knowledge

With confusion she will be saddled.”

And best of all, we’ll be hard to find, and harder to understand

Until a team of great Docs, MRI’s and blood tests

Ferreted out the vandals.

With high powered medicines, lots of rest, to be sure

This was something I could handle.

My memory is slowly reasserting itself, so I’ll know who you are if you call.

I still stop at times when I forget to remember why I’m standing in the front hall.

Of course, the Times awaits outside, and I need that daily crossword

And yes, I walk slowly; walk carefully on side walk and lawn,

The last thing I need is to lose balance and fall.

So to all of my friends, The Florida crew, the Columbians I’ve known for years,

My family, my children, my neighbors.

Without your support I could never get through

To what I hope is a fruitful life, with poems and classes and movies too.

And I sit now, indoors, with my house in a shambles,

Moving boxes, filled with stuff, empty walls surround me.

And outside the woods, the stream and the brambles.

But they’ll be close by my new abode

With no stairs! One level!  A treat to behold.

I’m moving, downsizing, to an apartment that’s right sized,

For myself and my lifestyle today

But I carry my memories; they all fit in my heart,

And I’m only a few minutes away!

May 23, 2015

Susan Kleinberg (I think)

lost and found

Lost and Found

When we suffer the loss of a loved one we grieve, often retreating to memories of moments in time; the sound of a whistler on an empty snowy street in Greenwich Village in the early morning hours; turning a corner in Paris to see the Eiffel Tower lit with thousands of sparking bulbs as the sun set; watching our son brave the ocean waves for the first time, watching our daughter in awe at the birth of five tiny kittens under our dresser. Moving from a house called “home” for 37 years has reopened older worlds of loss but also of laughter, memories of our Christmas ritual of cheese, salami, chips and monopoly with the dog bent on resting atop the game board, displacing the carefully placed houses and game tokens. 

As I packed each book or painting, making decisions to keep some in a downsized apartment, pack some for Florida, donate the rest, I often found myself reliving the experiences attached to each.  This home has been witness to all our transitions: children leaving home, sometimes returning after a change of job or boyfriend, or school; rooms changed from bedrooms to dens or home offices; CD’s replacing dozens of albums of music; basement rooms mostly abandoned and empty.

By the time I checked the house a final time before leaving for Florida, it was a shell of its former self; bookshelves empty, kitchen counters uncluttered and bare, walls devoid of pictures and tapestries and their memories, closets empty but for random hangers. 

Two days later, after a long train ride down the East coast, I reclaimed my car and drove through warm Florida towns to my Condo apartment in St. Petersburg.  What a welcome!  Here was my other home base, one acquired 15 years ago and fully furnished by Ben and me to reflect our changing status as a two-some; shared office and guest room, photos and albums open and waiting to be scanned again, filling memories.  I moved through the familiar rooms, shelves filled with books most recently read, paintings and art work purchased only within the past decade, I came across a sketch of a Spanish style house Ben had drawn sitting on the grass of our favorite Bayou, watching birds swoop and dive for dinner.  I have returned there as well remembering past visits.

I have revisited the beach again, able finally to walk with comfort and certainty, watching the tide tease the many seabirds with its foam and fragments of shells.  There is a bell hanging on the deck of the beach patio.  It is, by tradition, rung each evening by a volunteer to signal the end of the day, sending the birds home to dinner.  Ben was recruited one day to be the toller of the bell, and more recently, after his passing, Zackary, our grandson was visiting.  I asked the women in charge of this daily tradition if he could have the honor that day, and like his much loved Poppy, he rang the bell with energy and gusto.  

This second home, our joint sharing of time within its walls and on its nearby waterways, has embraced me, welcomed me into its midst. I feel in balance again, centered and home within myself and my memories.  

BLOG POSTING 

October 5, 2014

Journey through the past: downsizing and discoveries.

When my mom died, my sister and I went through her condo, packing and discarding most of her "stuff".  We each kept some mementos but would never know the stories behind these donated objects; photos and books and vases, with no dates recorded, no history of their purchase or meaning. Lost memories.  My generation, born during or just after WW II has lived through many momentous changes in the world, transitioned from the age of radio and live entertainment, books with hard covers owned or borrowed from local libraries.  Communication changed from rotary telephones, often with party lines, and written letters to the multidimensional world of computers and smart phones, e-mail, scanning and twitter and texting; instant and encompassing information.  
I am now in the process of going from a three story, four bedroom home we moved into in 1977.  I had considered the option of moving to smaller space, but it remained a sketchy, vague plan.  I came home from Florida with a swollen foot, which ended up needing major ankle and heel surgery.  Instead of a summer filled with friends, and trips and thinking more about moving, I found myself  confined to a bed or sofa in the living room for more than 10 weeks.  The need to shrink my living space and move toward a one floor, accessible apartment became suddenly real.  Exhausted after surgery, feeling helpless and vulnerable, I returned to my home, now retrofitted to allow for single floor occupancy.  The kitchen, front door and small bathroom were all on this floor, only a bed was needed.  I would not, could not rent a hospital bed.  I had watched as my darling husband spent the last 6 weeks of his life in that same corner, penned in by his illness and the multi-runged side rails.  So there I was, lying in a bed purchased hastily to be able to stay on the main floor. I spent the first night in anxiety, sleepless and drained. How would I, could I stay in this state, using a knee-propelled scooter to get from bed to bathroom to kitchen. Opening the refrigerator, maneuvering to reach in for basic foods like milk and bread without tipping the scooter over, took time, patience and care. 
 Friends, family, neighbors quickly filled in the gaps for me, visiting regularly, acting as my legs to move things closer, put in a wash or empty the dishwasher, bring in the mail Mostly they came to visit, bring food and talk, share stories and life histories.  Such quiet, intimate times might not have happened in our ordinary, busy, complex lives. I am grateful for that opportunity. 
And yes, I also needed to sort through all the stuff in my house, my life; 2 five drawer metal filing cabinets; 5 book shelves filled with an enormous variety of books and reports read and written by Ben and I, preserved and available but rarely visited anymore.  How much easier it is now to google Shakespeare’s plays, or Cummings poetry; Jewish history, a compendium of all the major world religions, Art books by artist, or genre, or both, even the Diaries of Anais Nin. (Yes, crossword puzzle addicts, we know this book probably without reading it, because it’s so often used  in clue construction.) The most incredible find was a book written in the 1950’s, a mock chronicle of a broadsheet newspaper of the days and events in 1200 BCE through to 500BCE,  complete with OpEd columns, travel specials, caravan sales, and gossip.
The most memorable finds have been old photographs, letters and poems written I’ve written throughout my life.  The earliest find was a poem my sister and I wrote to our parents on their Anniversary in 1955 when I was 14 and she 11, and an A+ paper I wrote in creative writing class in high school, adding a chapter to a Jane Austen novel.  I found a poem I wrote the night before my son was born, in early labor, welcoming him into the world. I found sweet notes written by my daughter, who was then nicknamed the Kleinberg Turtle, for her propensity of slipping into our bed from the footboard, slowly creeping upwards to our pillows. I even found a photograph of my grandfather, as a young man with a beret, standing in a field somewhere in Poland.  Context and content make this available to my children and their children. 
I am sorting, scanning, saving and sending much of these finds to my children and my sister.  I know the stories behind these memories, the context and meaning of a place or experience captured in film or journal entry. If I had left the task of sorting out my life for my children to manage after I passed away, I’m not sure if their import, their context would be apparent.  I sit now, again able to walk through the house “un-casted” among boxes of books, bags of recycled papers and pamphlets, old tax returns to be shredded. 
I am ready for the move, ready to keep treasures with me for now, knowing I can explain their context and meaning to my children now, hoping they will share them with their own children. 

The rhythms of Healing

Almost two months past surgery and Ive thankfully graduated to walking with a removable boot cast, being mostly independent around the house. I can finally drive again and I’m working with a physical therapist to strengthen my ankle and associated tendons and bones.  I relish my daily showers and find joy in small steps forward, such as bringing in the mail and morning newspapers.  Using a shopping cart as a walker, I ventured out to Trader Joe’s and was able, carefully, to transfer the packages to the car trunk and then a rolling shopping cart into the kitchen.  And yes, exhaustion crept in and it was clear a nap would be next on the agenda.
So I go through the days with increasing optimism, looking forward to a nearby time when walking becomes an unexamined routine and forgetting something on another floor an “oops” rather than an “expletive deleted” as I trudge back up or down the stairs slowly.
I find it hard to settle into a rhythm, a steady movement through space and time.  Waves of sadness can devour me, leaving me longing for the nearest bed or couch.  Will this ever end?  Will I ever be able to move through space led by my muscle memory and not my hyperactive awareness of space and its many roadblocks?
On a good day, moving through the house with purpose and plans to pay bills, do the laundry, read a book or write a poem, I’m filled with optimism: look how much I can do now. I’ve been cleaning out old files, work long finished and out of date; reports written for programs I helped start to provide mental health services to children and their families; planning for and overseeing the construction of a new, state of the art pediatric rehabilitation hospital; minutes of committee meeting to create a way to transform one Maryland County’s drug abuse services from jail time to rehabilitation.   I can still think, and stay invested in making improvements in health care, turning my focus to adults like me, facing new sets of challenges. 
And then it hits me without warning and I suddenly feel helpless and hopeless, looking at how much I still can’t do given an aging body and a very broken health care system. When I’m lowest, I try to remember what a young boy said to me when he was leaving the hospital with the prospect of a life lived while tethered to a ventilator so he could breathe.  “I can do more things than I can’t”. 

So can we all.  Carefully, one foot at a time, one task at a time, one life breath at a time.

September 7, 2014

THE THREE “R’S”

August 24, 2014

Repair, Reboot, Rejoice.  Finally fitted with a removable boot, I can now ambulate with a walker, navigate the stairs and, blessedly, take a shower.   This has been a remarkable eight weeks, adjusting to strict limits on my activities, the frustration of reaching for most things that are too far away, too high up or too close to the floor.  Using a gripper to extend my hand helps me retrieve fallen papers, boxes of tissues, items deep in the refrigerator.  The only challenge was the day the gripper fell out of reach! 

Confinement, combined with a drastically narrowed range of activity and mobility can set off an array of emotions:  frustration, depression, boredom and loneliness, low energy combined with anger at myself for being hasty, impatient and unproductive.  So much that needs doing; dirty dishes piled in the sink, newspapers read and discarded and left on tables and chairs needing to be transferred to outdoor recycling bins.  Easy tasks, except when you can’t independently move the rolling scooter over the doorway frame and overreaching can lead to a tipping of the scooter dangerously close to the sidewalk. I’ve watched as the summer weeks slipped by, an abundance of thick-leaved trees, the birds visiting my bird feeder in vain, the sudden darkness as another thunderstorm approached. 

I’ve been blessed to have an array of family, friends and neighbors offer their help, drop by with gifts of favorite foods, call from supermarkets asking if I need more milk, or bagels, or fruit from a farmers market.  I’ve written in earlier blogs about the gifts of both giving and receiving, and find I am trying hard to live out what I suggested then.  So when I ask for help, I try to match my request to the capacity, ability, interest, comfort level of friends or neighbors.  So some of my visitors have cooked meals for me, some have instead brought food from our favorite restaurants; some offer to drive me to the Doctor if my son is not available; all regularly call to check in on my status.

At times, a friend would appear at the door, just to visit and within minutes, another friend arrived, as well as my neighbor with the day’s mail.  Often, these unplanned drop-ins led to amazing discussions among us; about world events, books we have read or plan to read, updates of family plans. I’ve cleaned out filing cabinet drawers with help from an old friend since moved to New Jersey, but visiting for the weekend. We shared memories of actions taken to change children’s health care services, finding reports and draft legislation in old dated notebooks; projects planned and executed, notes from a weekend convention or conference dating from the 1980’s. When two members of my book club dropped by, we looked through one of my many bookcases talking about the books we had read and how many we have kept over time.  Among the lessons I have learned is the one I call “ask for help now, so you don’t need it later”.  I used this when a friend’s husband came to pick her up and I asked him to carry a bulky package that had arrived in the mail to my bedroom.  Or asking the man who delivered my “order by computer, food delivery service from a local supermarket” to reach deep into a high shelf in the kitchen and retrieve a large bowl.  I had a friend once who said “It’s the little things that get you down” and I find myself reframing it: “It’s the little things that make life worth living, that ‘get you up’”.

For now, my biggest challenge will be to keep myself from catching up; overdoing things, moving in haste, and the dreaded: doing two or more things at once!  Three more weeks with a large boot and a walker, enjoying the pace, moving away from multitasking to making each task, each activity an end in itself. Making peace with myself and my body.  Just being.

the power of friends

The Power of Friends

Throughout our lives we relate to others, meet and make friends on all the paths we walk; early friendships on the playground or at parent-planned “play dates”, school friends from early day care programs through high school, college and beyond.  “Friends” are those we invite to parties and sleepovers, visit beaches and parks with our parents, meet at school and in the neighborhood.  Friendships form the roots of our social life, our networks and connecting links as we move from childhood to adolescence to adulthood.  All friendships are unique, but there are some common features; likes and dislikes, favorite games, similar interests in theatre or the arts, politics and sports, school subjects and mostly a sense of safety:  friends “have our backs”; they are our supporters in times of danger or stress and we can trust them to guide us if needed; to hold us up, or calm us down but mostly to be there.  

Beginning week three of my (very) slow recovery from ankle and heel surgery, still in a cast, still unable to ambulate without my mostly trusty roll-about I have had a lot of time to spare and spend.  Living alone and limited to one floor with tricky corners and turns, I’ve had more than enough time to reflect on the power of friendship, the dance between friends of giving and taking, asking and doing, following and guiding and mostly just being there.  Friends call to check in and ask what they can do to help; some remember a favorite food I usually purchase at one of our many grocery outlets and call to ‘take an order.” Others stop by to delivery the mail, or share fresh fruit from a local farmer’s market.  The most helpful moments are the ones when a friend calls to ask:  What do you need? What can I do?” I’ve found that this is the time for me to take stock of what I do need, what I can do alone, and honestly ask for specific help.  At first I felt uncomfortable making specific requests, such as: could you wipe down the kitchen counter and put away dishes in the dishwasher; or could you open that case of water and put a few bottles in the frig.  Some requests seemed too personal, such as help with getting clean underwear from the upstairs bedroom, doing a laundry and remaking my bed or shampooing my hair.  What I have found is that I can and now do make those requests with simple statements:

 “Can you take a few minutes and bring me something from upstairs: or “My hair feels so dry, could you do a quick shampoo?”    

One rule I learned early that has helped me a lot:  I am usually very specific about what I ask for, making sure it is comfortable and doable for the friend, and I am careful to check when they visit how long they can stay. If I am clear that I need a nap in an hour, say, or have someone coming later, the time lines for each visit fall naturally in place.  Likewise, its helpful to clarify what a friend can, wants to do when visiting, and how long they will stay. 

The most satisfying times come when a friend joins me for a meal, and we share stories about our past lives, decisions we made, how we got to where we are today.  At other times, a friend will drop by with my favorite sandwich from the health food store, grilled Portobello and eggplant, and other friends or neighbors stop by.  In effect, I feel a bit like Dorothy Parker at the Algonquin roundtable, listening, adding a thought or two, and enjoying the stimulation and the support these visits provide. 

I’ve got two weeks to go before the cast is removed, and yes, I am chaffing at the bit, wanting to get out, to be more independent.  Learning the art of patience is, for me, harder than any other skill.  I remember back in the 1980’s when my Crohn’s disease acted up again and I was briefly hospitalized.  One morning I got out of bed, washed up for the morning, and found myself simultaneously pressing  one remote to put the TV on while the other hand held a remote to raise the head board of the bed.  Multi-tasking at 8am with nothing more to do the whole day! 

Today is Sunday: papers to read, crossword puzzles to decipher, a friend bringing lunch to share.  Another day crossed off the calendar. 

Waiting to regain my balance

July 4, 2014

I sit here today, Independence Day in America, counting the days before I will temporarily lose a great deal of my own freedom of movement.  I am preparing for foot surgery in less than a week, followed by an extended period of discomfort and limited use of my left foot; no sudden turns or missteps that end in a loss of balance and a potential fall.  I've spent these days preparing my house and myself to adapt to new or different functions.  For the house, it has meant a new arrangement of spaces for work and sleep, meals and personal hygiene.  The purchase of an “on sale” twin bed with box spring and frame to stay on the main floor; moving furniture and throw rugs to assure open safe pathways to the bathroom, kitchen and front door; turning half the dining room into my home office; removing the annoying front screen door to avoid tripping.

I’ve gotten great advice from my visiting physical therapist about how to set up the kitchen for safe meal preparation; small closed plastic bottles to carry in the walker’s basket with water or juice; individual packets of snacks, fresh fruit near by.  Moving, turning, walking, standing up or sitting down, I will need to give them all complete undivided focus.  No multitasking, or impatient actions, as if this clearly logical behavior is at all doable all the time for some of us.  I look back on a day in the early 1980’s; I was hospitalized with a recurrence of my Crohn’s disease, and at 8 o’clock in the morning, I found myself simultaneously changing channels on the TV remote with one hand while raising the bed’s head board with the bed’s remote in my other hand.  A full 24 hours to pass, with no agenda, no “must do’s” and I was multitasking.  So no, I will learn from my past. 

Mail and newspapers are being brought to the house daily by great neighbors, since I cannot miss out on my daily addiction to crossword puzzles and news on broadsheets and not computer screens.The trash pails are being moved for pickup.   Family, friends and neighbors have begun to rally around, assuring me that I will not be abandoned indoors, bored, lonely or hungry.  I do worry that this regimen may end up with me regaining my lost ten pounds. 

The harder part of the process involves my getting in touch with my frustration, anger at my body once again betraying me, a sense of the loss of independence and balance so I can begin to reframe it as positively as I can.  A dear friend sent me a moving meditation on learning to separate ourselves from our bodies, holding to the wholeness of ourselves while allowing our bodies to heal.  My son suggested downloading a meditation called “simply being,” which I will do today. 

In 1973 I had a major medical crisis; after 4 years of successfully treating my Crohn’s disease with medication and diet, my small intestine ruptured.  I survived emergency surgery, and was told that I would have to fully heal, limit my activities and return for the rest of the surgery to finish the repair in 8 months.  How to fill that waiting time became my major challenge.  I quit my job, spent more time with my 5 year old daughter and we both joined the Y that fall; she to take ballet lessons, me to learn to weave.  Amazing!   In order to create a rug or a wall hanging, or any other woven item, you need to first line up each thread of the warp in perfectly tuned tension before threading the wool across and around each thread.  Rush, or be sloppy and the fabric will not be aligned.  I turn today to how I managed then to slow down, be at ease, and create.  

Having just written this, I have noticed that there is less tension in my shoulders, and I find myself smiling at a cardinal looking for seeds in my garden.           

The “new” prescription for R and R:

                                               

Repairing and recovering

An injury, an illness, a recurring pain, a fall or a misstep.  One minute age doesn’t matter; you move with ease, remember names, complete crossword puzzles with little help from Google. The next, you may be flat on your back in hospital, or nursing a torn ligament.  You may be in pain or have shortness of breathe without knowing how this happened to you. .  You can go from a healthy, agile senior to a patient in need of care or surgery or a cast in minutes.  So yes, I am still limping around, eying my winding staircase with dread each time I realize I forgot something upstairs, or downstairs. 

Suddenly, along with the pain or medical tests and treatments a wave of anxiety overtakes you.  Is this the beginning of old age? Is it the inevitable slippery slope downward towards disability?  Will I recover enough to regain lost skills, lost memories, the opportunity to eat whatever pleases me without thought of irritating an ulcer, or raising my blood sugar level to dangerous heights?  Am I ready to do less, to be less?  Words come to me, words I dread: being “confined”; or “resigning” myself to the inevitable.  No, this is way too depressing and may even become a self fulfilling prophecy:  I feel old, impaired; I can’t do much of what I enjoy most, like tai chi and long walks and dinners out.  ENOUGH!  There is an alternative between doing it all, and consigning myself to “sit out” the rest of my life.  So I offer my version of R and R: repairing and recovering.

My ankle, if I take special care, will heal: it will repair itself.  So how can I partner with my body to support this process?  Resting works, but used with meditation, and some basic biofeedback I may open myself up even more to healing.  Ice and a compression cast help too.  Ordering on line food delivery lets me stay off my feet needlessly wandering the supermarket aisles.  In a way, these are all forms of “assisted healing”.  Alternatively, frustration and anger and depression only add to the pain and slow down the repair needed to heal. My resistance may well act in a counter-intuitive way, creating more tension, anger and anxiety.  Not a good mix.

Recovery seems to require a different mind set.  Critical to full recovery is the body’s ability to heal and serve as a well tooled engine: ingesting food, digesting, managing healthy balances between satisfying hunger and remaining stable; moving more slowly and deliberately, especially up or down stairs and on uneven surfaces.  Ever notice how many parking spaces abut tree roots?  So, in spite of a natural tendency to do more, and do it more quickly, perhaps being only as active as your heart or your lungs or your energy allows offers a compromise.  And in the meantime, take a deep breathe, hold it, hold it, now slowly let go, breathe out, and then breathe again.  Now, curl up with a good book or a not-too challenging crossword puzzle and relax.  

Any other advise/ideas/solutions you have found that work?  Please share them.  We’re in this together.

I haven’t a leg to stand on.

There is no excuse for acting impulsively, climbing onto an airport shuttle with a deep (very deep) step up, not stopping to ask for help, not wanting to inconvenience the other passengers.  The driver had left me to stow my bag and prepare to drive off.  Clearly, pulling yourself up with all your weight on weakened tendons is not smart or safe.  No thought to ask for help, to call out for support or a step stool.  No thought at all.  And so, for the past week I have been encumbered by a severely stressed set of tendons, icing my foot often, relying on Tylenol extra strength, walking as little as possible. 

My last few days in Florida, needing to organize my papers, pack my bags (with help), prepare to drive to Sanford Florida to board the auto train home and I am hobbling around the house in frustration and remorse.  What is wrong with me? Why am I so unaware of potential hazards?  How can I be more aware without loosing my innate need for energy, for drive, for action?  I give up any planned beach walks which had become a regular routine for me every year, saying farewell to the birds, the surf, and the peacefulness of the gulf.  I attend fewer discussion sessions, trying to avoid extra walking, and can make only tentative plans for the few days I have left in St. Petersburg.  I’ll miss one last visit to the Saturday Market; one last walk around Coffee Pot Key, off a Tampa Bay inlet; one more opportunity to wander the downtown shops for last minute gifts for friends and family back home.

Wouldn't it be wonderful if we could devise a way to “program” our mind/body connections so that if we should begin at action (reaching too high for at item in the closet or supermarket; taking a shortcut that leads you down a dark, unknown street because traffic was stuck on the highway, and you just HAVE TO get home!) an inner voice would whisper: “whoops, slow down, be safe?

One of the main challenges we face is finding a way to stay healthy, stay “intact” and safe, without cowering before potential calamities and doing less and less of the things we most love.  We are in a constant state of balancing risk and opportunity, stability and safety with lost potential for growth, and fun and adventures.  For myself, I’d like that balance to be rich with new experiences, trying new opportunities for sharing ideas, concerts and theatre,  meals and beach walks, learning about the world through travel and books, mostly just being.   Given my past experiences, I also know that this approach will take a well planned ‘balancing act’: being more mindful of my body in space, avoiding distractions like phone beeps, giving up a small amount of spontaneity to lengthen independence.  So off to dance, but not for a few weeks, and not with high heels!

aging and ageism some issues and questions

Aging and Ageism: Some issues and questions

 

First the reality:  we are aging.  The alternative is not an option.  So we find ourselves at yet another developmental stage.  Yes, we have traveled that worn path from infancy to childhood, through adolescence; (not an easy one!), to young adulthood and, for many of us, marriage and parenting and working and exploring our world and ourselves. 

 

Until our early sixties, aging was something our parents did.  We were there to help with the occasional crisis, in many cases taking over the care and decisions for an infirm parent widowed early. We often watched as their world shrank and trips to the supermarket became a complex chore rather than a quick stop on the way home. They had cared for us, now it was our turn to be caregiver, or at least care manager.  

 

The experience of living in our modern world has changed dramatically in our lifetime. Medical advances in the identification, diagnosis and treatment of countless diseases have been life extenders.  Groundbreaking research in biomedicine and the expansion of our worlds through new technologies that were unimaginable only a generation ago has become standard, though expensive, options to early death or disability.

 

We have moved from sharing a land line telephone with another customer, (Remember the ‘party line?”), to being virtually connected at all times and places.  It has even extended to having a chip implanted in our bodies to allow long distance monitoring of heart rates and blood pressure.  

 

Aging in today’s world looks markedly different than it did for our parents and grandparents.  In addition to the changes in health care, a wide variety of “self-help” options through exercise, dietary choices, yoga and Tai Chi act as both extenders to our lives as well as providing enhancements, so we can feel and look better.  We have more stamina and the ability to function independently longer.  Imagine:

• When our parents were our age, they were clearly old, or long gone.  My father died at age 54, my mother at 74 and I’m pushing 73 (and trying to lift weights too!)
• Many of us, especially women, broke glass ceilings, faced and faced down education and work barriers that were rare in our parents’ generation.
• There are fewer role models to learn from as we age and many more choices and decisions to make.  How long is it safe to live alone, or drive at night?  Do I really have to stop all work, or can I continue to consult, or volunteer to work with children, or the homeless; chair a Board or begin to take classes in life long learning programs?

 

As we move into the last phases of our lives we are facing an array of choices.  Even taking the vagaries of health and illness into account, we can find ways to affect our outcomes.  Are we beginning to face the discrimination, the denigration of aging? Jokes about memory loss and aging, even told by us, can feel demeaning.  Often Doctors or other health care professionals talk about us and our symptoms and wishes with our children, ignoring our presence in the room.  How does this make us feel?  Irritated, diminished, angry, or anxious?  And what of preferential treatment, such as senior discounts, a guaranteed seat on the bus or subway, a wise sage turned to for advice? 

 

Questions arise regularly as each of us manages this transition.  As you think of them, remember how you have made other transitions.  They may act as a guide for you as you plan your future. 

 

What drives your planning?

-With fear, a growing awareness of what you can’t do, rather than what you can? 

-Do you welcome this change with energy, enthusiasm, excitement, wonderment?

- Does planning make you anxious and thus avoiding the very idea of change?

 

Where do you fall on the independence vs. dependence scale? 

• Do you feel entitled to receive preferential and deferential treatment?  After all, you earned it, right? 
• Do you feel grateful for the outstretched hand, or, protecting your independence, do you react like a toddler pulling away and saying “I can do it myself!”
• Are you continuing to contribute; to families, communities, societies?
• Are you keeping up with the latest health/dietary/safety options? 
• Have you adapted to and adopted new ways of communication, like I phones and I Pads, texts and e-readers? Trust me, it may be complex and frustrating, but if you live far from family and grandchildren, a five minute ‘face time’ with them via computer or smart phone can make your day!
   
   Over the past few years, facing widowhood and illness, living alone and traveling I’ve learned to listen to my body, but let my mind and imagination and joy of learning grow unchained by fear of new experiences and opportunities. So I watch my step, hold onto banisters, eat reasonably healthy foods, while I explore art museums, mentor young children, finish crossword puzzles, learn about science, and health, and politics and poetry.  I share my ideas with others, and I write.   Happy graduation to a vibrant older you!
   

On February 5, 2008 I began living alone for the first time in my life.  My husband Ben died, after 47 years of marriage.

 

Born in 1941, I had shared space and my bedroom with my sister and parents until my marriage on February 22, 1961.  47 years. The first apartment we lived in had one bedroom, one bath and I slept on a day bed in the hallway.  Today, I live alone in the house Ben and I bought in 1977; three stories, finished basement, four bedrooms and three baths, rooms once filled by us, our children, and various dogs and cats fully.  In winter, I transition to a much smaller space, a two bedroom condo in St. Petersburg, Florida. 

 

That smaller space provides me comfort and convenience. I can downsize, I’ve been experimenting with it for the past 10 years and it works.   I read articles and books on aging in place; I’ve even lectured on the subject to senior groups both in Florida and home in Maryland.  At a certain age, at a certain point in time, the space we inhabit changes from a place of support, filled with memories and memorabilia to an obstacle course, filled with potential dangers; managing the upkeep and repairs of household fixtures from light bulbs to water heaters to plumbing leaks; stairs to climb, empty rooms to keep heated in winter and cool in summer, cabinets built up to the ceiling and well above the 5 foot 2 inches of the only inhabitant left. 

 

What follows is a rollercoaster of emotions: I need to downsize!  Yes, but where would I put all the furniture, pottery, paintings, tables and couches and book shelves in less space?  Each painting or drawing has its own story; where it was found, what it meant to us, what memories in evokes.  I even have a full size painted carousel horse that has pride of place in my living room.  This house is too big, too expensive to keep up!  Recently the house needed repairs to the heating system, costing upwards of $1500 dollars and shattering my monthly budget.  More importantly, why I am heating so much space, when I barely use one quarter of it, and only for 8 months of the year?

 

But there are the memories filling up the spaces, housing footprints of holidays celebrated, favorite foods cooked, birthdays remembered, our 30^th wedding anniversary, our daughter’s Bat Mitzvah reception, the Halloween ritual of eating hotdogs on rolls so we could answer the constant peal of the doorbell. The basement is now totally devoted to a potpourri of storage items long unneeded; gift wrapping papers, excess bowls and dishware and unused bedding, even a queen sized bed not used for over 25 years since our daughter moved away for the last time.  I’ve found at least 100 old record albums, but no turntable to play them on.  And books, always and everywhere the books!  Some dusty and dog-eared, some probably never read, all vying for pride of place in the front row of deeper shelves.

 

We used to celebrate Christmas day playing an endless game of monopoly on the living room floor: cheese, salami, crackers and cider eaten while the fire roared and our dog, Hersey waiting till the game was almost over to lazily wander in and walk over the game board, knocking everything over. 

 

How does one carry all those memories, pack them up, consign them to new spaces, sell, donate or gift them others, without feeling an aching emptiness? 

 

I’m usually not the kind of person who holds onto things; Ben, my husband, was the saver: olds drafts of writing, magazines by the dozens, articles to be cut from newspapers and filed away, even socks with worn out heels.  I was always the one instigating periodic sprees of organization, discarding the unused, the old, and the “we’ll never need this again” criterion for disposal.  But suddenly I find myself holding onto files or books or scarves, concert programs or pieces of pottery, not wanting to discard them, not wanting to whittle down my stuff.

 

What I am realizing now is that I do want to downsize, but only my space, not my memories.  I may end up in a smaller house or rental apartment but I am sure the walls will be covered with my collections of art work, the tops of surfaces filled with pottery, an antique mosaic tile from Spain and of course, the carousel horse. 

 

What will be missing is the companionship, the shared experiences and the stories a house well-lived in collects.  These I will keep inside.