And So It Goes

"There is no real ending.  It's just a place where you stop the story."

                                                                     ~ Frank Herbert

This is where I stop the story of Considering the Alternatives.  For several reasons, it seems the right time to start a completely new chapter, perhaps a sequel?  

The transition I set out to blog about so many months ago is complete.

Our move to St. George is complete.  It's not just that we have regular routines, new friends, services we trust, and know our way around the city.  It's the feeling, the declaration we make when we return from a trip that "it's good to be home."  Not St. George, but home.  

Our adjustment to retirement is complete.  Well, mine is - John continues to do business via his website.  I have new hobbies, new interests, relationships that have nothing to do with past events or career.  A new structure to my days and activities has evolved.  And a new sense of direction and commitment.

So as promised in my last posting, I have launched a new blog in which to document that commitment.  Please check out                          

                                               
                                                http://justanothercandle.blogspot.com

and if you find it interesting, I hope you will follow it and tell others to check it, too.

In Praise of Procrastination!?!

"Procrastination enables us to understand the true measure of our reluctance." 

~ David Whyte 

I have struggled with procrastination for as long as I can remember.  I've examined the issue inside out and upside down.  With little more than temporary clarity and not much change in behavior.  I'd almost surrendered to the idea that "it's in my DNA" when, I came across this quote by poet and author, David Whyte, in Consolations:The Solace, Nourishment, and Underlying Meaning of Everyday Words:

                  "Procrastination when studied closely can be a beautiful thing, a parallel with patience, a companionable friend, a revealer of the true pattern, already caught within us; acknowledging for instance, as a writer, that before a book (or a poem, or a letter - or a blog?) can be written, most of the ways it cannot be written must be tried first in our minds; on the blank screen, on the empty page or staring at the bedroom ceiling at four in the morning."

Procrastination, a beautiful thing?  A companionable friend?  Not a source of angst and self-recrimination?   Even the possibility was a relief.  I decided to test his assertion by specifically examining the source(s) of my reluctance to compose this posting - (which has in fact been tried out in my mind ad nauseum for months now).  What's behind, lurking underneath, not what's wrong.  And a  bigger question - why is it such an effort to create these posts, when I easily write three to four pages in my private journal every morning?

I decided to approach my examination gently and patiently.  Just to pay attention. And possible answers emerged, slowly, unexpectedly, on a walk, while journaling, while making the bed, while reading someone else's blog, at four in the morning.  If you've ever struggled to write, you may recognize some of the litany that surfaced - maybe there's a better way to say this; maybe there's a better topic; I don't write as well as (supply anyone else's name!); this isn't clear enough, clever enough, good enough, important enough; a blog isn't private; what if I throw a party and no one comes,  etc., etc., etc.

Finally, the "AHAs".   I've been approaching blogging like a school assignment, needing to write an essay about a topic that kept changing!  Wondering if I'll get a good grade.  I do want to create a blog, but with the ease with which I journal and about a topic or theme I consider important, whether or not anyone else agrees.  

Therefore, I have decided to terminate this blog and start afresh.  With a clean slate.  With a focus on the issue that is important to me and growing more important with each passing day.  Just Another Candle will be about aging, not aging gracefully, or artfully, or with dignity or any of the other popular descriptors.  Just aging from the vantage point of one everyday, aging, curious woman.  No expert, not Jane Fonda or Andrew Weill. Observations, and questions, some insights, no advice. I'm almost ready to launch it and will post an addendum here to let you know where and when you can access it.

A final thought about procrastination - it really did provide the space and opportunity to understand the true measure of my resistance and by taking advantage of that opportunity, I could compose this post with relative ease.  I look forward to Just Another Candle.  I have lists of ideas for topics.  So I agree with Whyte, procrastination can be a revealer of the true pattern, but we have to be willing to see it, to own it and do something about it.

Now, why do I continue to procrastinate about exercise?

If at First You Don't Succeed, etc., etc.

"In each of us there is internal knowledge, a gentle voice, beckoning us

toward well-being. It tells us to let go, to stay in the river of present experience, not to dam up our lives by worrying about potential futures or bemoaning past mistakes.” 

              ― Marcey Shapiro, Freedom From Anxiety: A Holistic Approach to Emotional Well-Being

I thought I was doing a good job of staying in the present, my intention for the year.  I was working diligently to stay focused, in the here and now. Then Paris happened.  And the incessant news coverage, the constant reminder that the world is not safe.  That terrorists can surface anywhere and anytime. I was glued to CNN for hours, even as I was aware that I was watching the same interview, the same shots again and again.  My best intentions blowing in the wind.

Before I realized it, I was overwhelmed by worry for the future and caught up in the history of my childhood.  I am old enough and remember enough to see the incidents in Paris (and too many other places) as reminiscent of the rise of Nazism.  I believe that apathy, appeasement, rationalization and pervasive fear are the breeding ground for such evil to spread.  I could feel my jaw tighten, my breathing becoming shallow.  I could feel worry morphing into anxiety.

No surprise that Sunday found me dejected.  Thankfully, I decided to attend our local Unitarian Fellowship service and was pleasantly surprised to walk in on what might have been the largest gathering in its history here in St. George.  A group of thoughtful, open, concerned people who want to make a difference in this little community had assembled, many I believe, in search of some optimism - and a desire for some degree of control in a world increasingly out of control. My spirits gradually began to lift.

I then came home to see that incredible display of solidarity and courage in Paris.  I listened to thoughtful, in-depth analyses, the call for unified action, the validation that other people out there are seeing what I'm seeing. .By the end of the day, I had regained some semblance of equilibrium and enough of the news.  Maybe more than enough?!

Looking back on those few days, I easily can see how I sabotaged my intention to stay as much as possible in the present and attend to my sense of well-being.   I broke the promise to myself to limit the amount of time spent watching TV news.  Easy to see, looking out the back window.  Not so easy to interrupt in the midst of it.  

I've been tempted to swear off the news completely, and can understand why some people have.  But for me, for now, a more palatable solution is to get my news from NPR, a couple magazines...and John Stewart.  At least with John, I can laugh a little.
 

I'm Getting Off the Goal Setting Band Wagon!

"To change one's mind in changing circumstances is true wisdom. "

~ Robert Louis Stevenson

Every year, for the past 30 years, I've spent several days of the holiday season thinking about, writing about, and talking to my husband about goals for the coming year.  Ambitious goals.  Every year I've created elaborate plans to meet those goals. 

Not this year.  No goals, not even New Year's resolutions.  It's not that I intend to become a couch potato, simply veg out, or give up.  But events of the past few weeks have reminded me of a lesson I thought I'd learned when I had cancer, and then again when John did.  The lesson best expressed in that old saying,  "the best laid plans of mice and men often go awry".   

Goals focus on the future.  They contain the promises of success, satisfaction and happiness if only we plan carefully and execute with determined diligence.  If we follow the approach of any one of a variety of goal setting gurus.  Heaven knows I've tried many,  and taught a few to coaching clients. Yet, even in my most productive of years, I've not met all my goals.  

Because life has the inconvenient habit of intervening. Competing commitments arise, new opportunities, new information,  and new relationships emerge.  Then, there's the inevitable disappointments, illness and loss.  In our lives.  In the lives of those we love. Or those we know from afar. 

So this year, I've decided to focus on one simple, over-arching objective - to do something each day to add to the quality of my life and that of those I touch.  That's it.  Right here, right now - to do what I can to be positive and engaged.  To learn and explore new interests.  To take better care of my health.  Right here, right now.  Nothing grand or elaborate.  Little things, like taking that walk when I don't feel like it, or giving John my undivided attention when he comes to share something.  Little things, like turning off the TV to read (or not turning it on in the first place.)  Little things, like sending a hand written note or card to someone with whom I've lost touch or letting someone go ahead of me in the grocery line. Little things like noticing, really noticing the desert sky at dusk or watching our little family of feral cats snuggle up to keep warm.  Those little daily things that can get too easily lost in the pursuit of some future goal. The things that build resiliency and well-being, that strengthen relationships and make a fragile existence easier to navigate.

If I hadn't come to this decision over the past few weeks, I'd like to think I would have these past two days.  If you've listened to the many analysts and sports figures share their stories and memories of Stuart Scott, the  ESPN analyst who lost his battle with cancer yesterday at the age of 49, you couldn't miss the outpouring of love and gratitude  for his acts of kindness and generosity, for his humor and love of life.  This was a man who was respected for his courage and accomplishments, but cherished and valued for who he was as a human being.  He was a man who added to the quality of life of many, many people.  

So, my best hope for this new year is that it be filled with health, love and laughter, and that come this time next year I can say it was a very good year, one of the best ever.  My hope for you is definitely the same.

"Life is what happens while you're busy making other plans."

"Life doesn't know what it will be until it notices what it has become."

~  Margaret J. Wheatley

Over the years, I have reread a deceptively simple book and each time I have been struck with its relevancy to my life at that point in time.  Is this what makes a book a classic?

The book,  A Simpler Way, is one of the 18 books that I store on a special shelf to remind me of the authors who have most shaped my personal perspective.  I picked it up in a bookstore in the late '90's when I was looking for a book to share with my staff at an upcoming meeting and didn't have a lot of time to prepare for.  The title, the chapter headings, the quotes, the length - only 101 pages - and especially the presence of a lot of white space and photographs promised as easy read.  Wrong!  I found myself reading and rereading paragraphs, even single lines, taken with the novelty of her ideas and the almost poetic, meditative style of her writing.

I picked it up again this morning, looking for something inspirational to read this coming week when we will be in California, hoping to help a dear friend, reeling from the unexpected death of her partner, her love, her life's companion.  And this line, "Life doesn't know what it will be until it notices what it has become," was all it took for me to make my choice.

This line was all it took to finally sit down and create this post, the first in almost six months.  I didn't set out six months ago to take a hiatus from writing.  I had, in fact, several ideas for the upcoming weeks.  Then, as that other quote goes, life happened while I was busy making other plans.  The desert heat descended upon us.  I developed a vexing condition in my eyes that lingered well into autumn.  A trip didn't turn out as I had planned - etc., etc.  Events that I wasn't in the mood to write about, reluctant to complain or simply not ready or willing to air publicly.  In short, life happened.  And in the process, it has taken on a shape and texture I didn't notice until quite recently.

I haven't moved.  I haven't lost those 10 pounds.  I have the same car and enjoy the same music and TV shows and eat at the same restaurants.  But - for the first time in many, many years, I am not writing elaborate goals for the coming year.  I have committed to three projects that I want to pursue, rather than goals I think I should pursue.  I'm choosing not to finish a book I'm not enjoying even if everyone else did, have opted out of activities I wasn't enjoying, saying no with less deliberation.  I'm watching The Wizard of Oz or An American in Paris or The Princess Bride for the 20th time - guilt-free.  I'm learning about football rather than just tolerating it,  even finding the computer an interesting resource rather than just a 

necessary nuisance. I'm sketching every day, my journals evolving into art journals, filled with doodles and drawing and fancy lettering, and I actually believe I'm creative.  I'm finally, finally, learning to take each day as it comes, with all its challenges and all its gifts.

I suspect I am evolving my own definition of aging artfully, an intention I declared here months ago.  I look forward to noticing more, to sharing more, to inviting you to share with me.

It's the Simple Things

"There are only two ways to live your life.  One is as though nothing is a miracle.  The other is as though everything is a miracle."

~Albert Einstein

I've kept a gratitude journal for years.  Long before Oprah recommended it.  The practice reminds me to look for daily small miracles.  Keeps me moving just a bit more gracefully through the muck and mire that life can deliver.  Some days I can list a dozen things I'm grateful for.  Other days I simply repeat, "I made it through the day."

After a recent challenging day when I kept bumping into sad and troubling news, I sat down and pressed myself to list 25 things.  I came up with the following:

• the first Bing cherries of the season
• a single beautiful Henry Fonda rose
• the litter of feral kittens using our backyard as their playground
• enjoying a movie matinee with John
• homemade chocolate chip cookies, fresh out of the oven
• an unexpected visit from an old friend
• a glass of wine with a new friend
• the recommendation of a good book that delivers as promised
• an e-mail that brings a belly laugh
• frozen yogurt with chocolate sprinkles on top
• the new season of So You Think You Can Dance
• a phone call from my brother or sister
• a hummingbird hovering over the feeder
• a mug of iced sun tea
• comfortable shoes
• a leisurely early morning walk
• salmon sunsets
• and coral dawns
• a musical performance under the stars
• any Castle rerun
• finding something I thought I had lost
• solving a challenging Sudoku, or a jigsaw puzzle, or a crossword puzzle
• a smile from a stranger
• learning to do something, anything, no mater how small on the computer - on my own
• and always - "I love you"

Small miracles, but miracles nonetheless.  And it helped.  Now, can I come up with another 25 gratitudes?  What would John's list would contain?  Yours?

In Search of Inspiration

“Unfortunately, we don't have all that many good examples to follow. The people that our cultures label as "successful" are the ones who have become wealthy or famous or celebrities, but the truly successful people--those who have become happy and who are living happy, loving, giving lives--aren't often featured in our newspapers or newscasts. We see the politicians and the criminals and the athletes and the entertainment "stars," but we don't see the people who can truly inspire us to be happy by being just who we are.” 
― Tom Walsh

The author of this quote, Tom Walsh, business columnist for the Detroit Free Press, could be describing our current culture, at least as I see it.  And coming across his quote to a degree reassuring. I'm not just an old-fashioned prude, or out of touch - not with it.  I was beginning to wonder if I were sounding like my mother in her final years, something I vowed I would never do. But I have felt this way for some time now.

It's not that there are no wonderful, courageous dedicated folks out there.  It's that we, as a culture, don't seem to value them very much, if our media is an indication of what we hold to be important and cherished.. We are inundated with stories of the rich and famous (or infamous); we are asked to vote on who is to blame for the latest assault; our respect is demanded by people who do not appear to respect others; we are "entertained" by people who dress and behave as though they don't respect themselves.  It's enough to make a grown woman cry. Or become cynical and even, occasionally, afraid.

Fortunately, there are wonderful, courageous and dedicated folks out there. Occasionally, they even show up on TV, usually on Sunday morning, or after a catastrophe or disaster.  Everyday folks who rise to the occasion or who are dealing with personal challenges with grace and dignity.  Like the survivors of the Boston Marathon bombing.  Like the individuals and communities that band together to help a family in need or to clean up neighborhoods.  And the occasional celebrity who makes a genuine and dedicated commitment to a cause - I immediately think of Gary Sinise and his support of the Wounded Warrior Project.  

We all can use good examples.. Not just children.  We need them at all stages of our lives. Not to emulate but to inspire.  To inspire us to live "happy, loving, giving lives."  Not  perfect heroes or heroines or  larger than life figures.  But people we can identify with.  People who present possibilities within our reach if only we will reach a little higher. People who strive for something other than money or image, who care about others, who treat others with respect. The neighbor who watches our home when we are on vacation or the stranger who stops to help with a flat tire.  Perhaps someone ahead of us in the stream of life.  Or someone behind us from whom we can learn or just enjoy being with.

I used to ask workshop participants and coaching clients to select five individuals, living or dead, real or imaginary,  who would serve as a board of directors for their lives.   They would find the task challenging, if not impossible.  Today I would ask a different question, one that I am asking myself.  Who inspires you from the people you know and engage with?  With great relief and satisfaction, I can answer that question - easily.  My list includes a friend who can defuse any potential upset with humor and finesse.  Another who is facing a terminal illness with awesome dignity.  My sister who has the clearest and most responsible boundaries I have ever experienced.  My brother who has an insatiable thirst for learning, not mere knowledge, but genuine learning.  My husband who really does forgive and forget....and more.

But I have to admit, I also find Dame Judi Dench inspiring!

Who inspires you?

  

  

I

What a Difference a Day Makes

"In having less, and less to do, we give ourselves a chance to feel rich with contentment."

~ Meg Wolfe

I came across this quote while in the midst of my simplification efforts.  One of several quotes from The Minimalist Woman that served as an inspiration to continue donating, consigning, repurposing, tossing.  

This particular quote, however helpful,  began to niggle at me.   For though I definitely could see that I had less and I had less to do (clearing out the stuff had prompted me to reduce a few of the obligations I had undertaken, and I am retired after all)  I became acutely aware that I  wasn't consistently content.  Oh, there were plenty of moments, but I couldn't seem to sustain it for very long.  Because, truth be told, I have to admit -

I'm a worrier.  And the funny thing is (well, not so funny), that  I wouldn't have acknowledged this a year ago.  Chiefly, because I can catch myself when I start to fret  and then bring myself back to the present.  In fact, I can do this so well that the frequency with which I do this had become transparent to me.  Until a few months ago when, in a conversation, my sister called me a worrier and laughed when I protested. Laughed, incredulously.


So, I started to pay attention and was appalled.  I hadn't realized just how often I had to brace myself against dark imaginings, or made plans for dire circumstances.  Whenever my brother or sister said they were going in for a checkup, I couldn't relax until I heard they had a clean bill of health.  Whenever John would catch a cold or say he wasn't feeling well, I had to catch myself, interrupt my immediate chain of thoughts or I'd go from thinking his lymphoma had returned to my being a bag lady on the streets - a chain that was forged within a nanosecond.  And whenever I forgot something, like where I put my glasses, or a word I was sure I knew, well, you can guess...onset dementia!

Then, this past month John returned to Houston for his annual checkup. The full battery of tests. And I waited to hear if he was still in remission.  And I worried that we might learn the other shoe had dropped - it has been nine years, after all.  Wondered whether this would be the year...  Knew he was worried too, perhaps even afraid.   Vacillated between mere worry and outright anxiety.

The news was different this year.  Not only were his test results good, but they were better than ever. So good that he does not have to return for a checkup for two years.  So good that his doctor is confident that we are out of the woods.  The wonderful news, the miraculous news - that was once one of the worst diagnosis - non-Hodgkins lymphoma -
now has a high degree of successful treatment with the protocol John received nine years ago.  That anyone who has received that protocol - a stem cell replacement - and has remained cancer free for over three years, need not worry about recurrence.

Not worry?!  Novel idea.  In the weeks that have passed since his visit, I have enjoyed the first crocuses, daffodils and tulips of spring. Enjoyed lunch with friends.  Enjoyed watching The Voice with John and catch-up calls with old friends.  Enjoyed walks in the afternoon and reading mysteries in the evening....in short, I've enjoyed a worry-free zone, "rich with contentment."

I am not naive, however.  I realize there will be another challenge, another crisis, just around the corner.  That this may just be a lull in the storm of life.  But for now, for now I want to enjoy it and learn how not to worry about what might be.  Worrying about what is, well, that's enough for anyone. For now, I want to enjoy our tulips.

A Reason to Celebrate

''Youth is a quality, not a matter of circumstances."
Frank Lloyd Wright

Next week I will celebrate my 73rd birthday, and I do intend to celebrate.  I realize that some folks would be aghast that I admit my age, but I'm  pleased that I'm still here, still healthy, still learning and contributing.  I may occasionally feel the physical wear and tear of an arthritic knee, or become perturbed when I can't quickly retrieve a word that I know I know.  But for the most part, I'm a happy camper.  In many ways, happier than I've ever been.

Maybe this is why it has been surprisingly easy to let go of years worth of...stuff.  Much easier than I had expected.

In the weeks since this New Year began, I've been on a decluttering, simplifying tear.  Not that we're hoarders, or even messy.  In fact, after years of concerted efforts to downsize and become more organized, I'm sure any casual observer would be impressed with the labeled organization I had already created.

What I came to recognize last fall, however, was that what had been accomplished was merely a corralling of the clutter, albeit quite stylishly.  We still had too much, way too much.   After all, we married at age 40 and combined my stuff with his stuff and eventually added some of my parents' stuff.  That's a lot of stuff.

So,  I made a commitment to pare down,  to streamline, to create space, order and freedom, not just organization.  To confront whatever would surface in the process.  No matter what.  Whatever it might take.  However long it might take. 

I approached this commitment as I historically have approached goals or projects.  By reading everything I could get my hands on.  Besides the shelves of books and magazines, there is a plethora of e-books dealing with organization, simplification, minimalism, goal setting, habit development.....Well, you get it.  One can spend months learning and not doing much.  

So, as the saying goes, I bit the bullet and started clearing drawers and boxes, baskets and totes,  shelves and cabinets, initially setting my sights on selecting 10 items to donate or gift, 10 items to throw away, and 10 items to store/use more functionally - every day!  I'm almost embarrassed to say I achieved that every day for 2 weeks.  For the last three weeks, I've settled on being  a "triple threat."...finding 3 items to toss, 3 to donate and 3 to relocate...every day - after all, I am making progress.

This is some of what I am learning along the way....

• I am not committed to becoming a minimalist...yet.  That may come in time.
• I am committed to living with FAR less than the marketing industry promotes.
• To avoid merely replacing what we are releasing requires vigilance against that same industry...tossing catalogs without leafing through them, turning off the TV or at least not watching commercials, knowing the difference between wanting and needing, challenging the constant assertion that we DESERVE every new product or service.
•  It's not our duty to fuel the economy.  It's painfully obvious that we have done our share!
• Some tips and techniques do help, so research can be valuable.  However,  many of these tips and techniques show up repeatedly, just packaged in different language, sequence, or format. (I'll recommend some of my favorite resources in my next blog).
• I'm an out of sight, out of mind gal.  So it's required diligence to avoid chastising myself every time I find something I'd forgotten I had bought, something I hadn't used in years, or something for which I have duplicates.
• The hardest things to let go of (at least for me) haven't been those items laden with memories, but those that no longer seem relevant.  Were I not  feeling relevant , this might be enough to stop me in my tracks.
• The biggest challenge has not been in letting go of the stuff, however, but in facing the thinking and habits that led to such accumulation, especially in facing what I thought the stuff meant, and meant about me.  It's a good thing I'm in a good place...maybe this is what it means to be ready.

Letting Go

"All the art of living lies in the fine mingling of letting go and holding on."

                                                                                             ~ Havelock Ellis

I've been on a letting go binge since Christmas, fueled by two things; the first, a remark from an old friend, who looking through our guest bathroom drawers for something she needed, said with a touch of awe, "Wow, you are really organized!"  The second - my internal reply, "But we still have too much stuff, it's just well-organized stuff."

So, when I sat down to write goals for this year, I decided that it's time to complete the project I started 13 years, yes, 13, ago when I was diagnosed with cancer.  At that time, I had a concern, among several concerns, that were I not to pull through, what would John be left to deal with.  Whenever my energy levels permitted, I began to toss, to donate, to organize.  It proved to be a worthy project, not just for the results, but for the sense of achievement and control it provided at a time when I felt so out of control.

But once in remission, I slacked off.  Oh, faced with a move, I stepped in the ring for another round, emerging much better organized, but still too much stuff.  Now, just better-organized, labeled stuff.  In two homes, no less.

So, it wasn't surprising that when we decided to move into one home in St. George (within 27 days), we had boxes and crates and furniture in the garage, on the patio, and in the courtyard.  Not surprising that it has taken us almost three years to toss, and consign, and sell, and donate.  

Along the way, I have continued to reorganize and rethink our use of space, our need for stuff, how I want to spend my time - not cleaning, not packing and unpacking, not searching for something I know I have somewhere in a nicely labeled container.  This time around, I intend to simplify and focus on order and easy retrieval.  To end the year knowing that all we have is what we really NEED and USE.  That we know what we have, where it is, and how to easily retrieve it.

Therefore, I've been on a letting go binge since Christmas.  This bout, however, I've taken some time to reflect on what I've learned along the way.  To address why I've resisted this final purge.  To fess up to what this stuff means to me, about me.  (That's the next posting!)  To enroll, not badger, John for his help.

I'm still driven by my concern for leaving John with organized chaos, (and yes, I recognize I could be the one left behind), but more than this, I do not want whatever time we have left together to be spent on stuff!

In Memorium

"Memory is the thing you forget with." 

~ Alexander Chase    

Spend some time with any senior citizen and inevitably a comment (or dissertation) is made regarding memory.  Or more accurately, memory loss.  I hear myself saying, often out loud, "now, why did I come in this room?"....or "where did I put....my keys, a book, my purse, that letter," etc., etc.   

Spend time with a group of senior citizens and a deeper conversation occurs.  "Are you experiencing the same challenges?" "Do you worry that this may signify something worse?"  "I hate this!"  Nervous laughter, reassurances usually follow.  

I remember having a brain scan a couple years ago and reading the report..."a normal, aging brain."  I didn't know whether to be relieved or offended.  I did some research, however, just to be reassured that I was indeed normal.  So, for the most part, I don't worry that my lapses in memory mean anything more catastrophic.

What is more intriguing to me these days is why I remember what I do remember and what triggers the memories.  Just two days ago, while watching Turner Classic Movie's day of musicals (Fred Astaire and Gene Kelly classics), there was a memorium for industry personalities that passed away this year.  You know, the kind of tribute done yearly at the Oscars.  Well, that one I've come to expect.  This one came as a surprise.  The list itself was also a surprise - Esther Williams, Dennis Farina, Jean Stapleton, Eileen Brennan, Michael Ansara, Karen Black, Eleanor Parker, Tom Clancy, Roger Ebert, Steve Forrest, Jack Klugman,  Peter O'Toole - at least 20 names I recognized and another dozen faces I have come to know over the years in various character roles.  The number stunned me.

And with it, a flood of memories - the TV series, the iconic roles (Edith Bunker, Hot Lips Hoolihan, Lawrence of Arabia, Cochise), the people I saw the movies or series with (some no longer a part of my life), the music, and the young woman, even the little girl I was when I first encountered them.  

In the couple days that have followed, I have seen this clip again.  Now, expecting it, some of the surprise, the sadness, and the nostalgia has passed.  And what has surfaced next is the awareness that many of these names no longer mean much to people even a few years younger than I - or other fans of TCM,.  Joan Fontaine, Audrey Totter, John Kerr, Dale Robertson.  Oh yes, I know that every generation has to face this phenomenon, but it is still a bit disconcerting whenever it happens.  Yes, it certainly has struck me before - who were the Beatles? What was polio? Did you really walk to school in the snow?  You didn't have.....!!!!??

So what makes this experience more poignant?  The sheer number of personalities?  The realization that many of these names may mean little or nothing to many Americans?  Or the recognition that they do mean a lot to me and that is another reminder of the passage of time, of my aging? Of my own mortality?

Maybe I'll skip the memorium segment of the Oscars this year.

  

Let It Snow, Let It Snow, Let It Snow

"Anyone who keeps the ability to see beauty never grows old."    

                                                                            ~Franz Kafka

I love a good quote.  One that expresses what I'm thinking or feeling, succinctly, or lyrically.  One that inspires me to see the world in a new way.  Or captures an opinion with compassion or humor.  

I've started to collect quotes about aging, thinking they'd make great intros to these postings. Been amazed to see how many are out there, how many seem so apropos.  I don't memorize many - these days I'm lucky to remember why I've gone to another room!  But I glance over them now and then, usually when I'm being particularly reflective or when I'm considering something to write.  It still can surprise me to come upon a quote that seems to leap off the page, so perfect is it for the moment or circumstance.

Take this Kafka quote.  And this scene....

This is St. George.  This is our street.  This is the aftermath of 6 inches of snow, and the lowest temperatures recorded here in 74 years.  This is a city with one snowplow (assigned full time to the local airport) and many snowbirds who live here partime to escape these very conditions. A city with many  folks who don't know how to drive on snow.  Who don't own a shovel and don't want tol  Some folks who saw this storm only as an inconvenience, something to be endured.

And others who took it all in with wonder and joy.  Who delighted in watching children build snowmen.  Who took the opportunity to revisit the storms of their childhood that shut down school and brought with them tunnels and forts and snowball fights.  Who bundled up and captured the beauty as best they could.

Yesterday I attended an event where everyone was over 60 and the difference in the two points of view was glaringly apparent.  In the very absence of any negativity, any complaining from those who attended ...arriving in cars driven by those with four wheel drive.  Walking cautiously over ice lest they fall and break a hip!  Holding on to one another, and "laughing all the way." Greeting each other with "Isn't it beautiful?!"  Sharing stories of the snowstorms of their childhood or removing snow from their driveways with a broom, even a rake.  The room was filled with laughter, enthusiasm, and delight.  

This is my book club - 20 or so men and women whose company I treasure.  I would have said I treasure them because they are bright and curious, respectful of each other's opinions, diverse in life experiences, and rich in skills and talents.  They are. Today, I understand another contribution they make to my life.  They have the "ability to see beauty" and revel in it.  And so, without saying it, they refuse to grow old.  So do I!!!

p.s.  In case I don't post again before the New Year, happy holidays to all and may you be surrounded by beauty.

Aging Artfully

"The best part of the art of living is to know how to age gracefully."

                                                                                                                              ~ Eric Hoffer

It's been quite a trip down memory lane - reading the 20 year old journal that I recently uncovered.  Photos, essays, lists, images from catalogs and magazines.  Hopes, dreams and wishes for a future that is today.

Among it all a clipping about the veteran character actor, Jack Palance, who had just won his first and only Academy Award for Best Supporting Actor, at the age of 72.  And stunned the audience by dropping down and doing a series of one-armed push-ups.  I kept the article because I didn't want to lose the reported comments he made before the Senate Special Committee on Aging - the subject "aging artfully."  Comments that struck me as wise and worth remembering.

Words that strike me today (now that I am 72!) as inspirational and worth sharing.

"Unfortunately, too many of us seek solace and consolation as a reward for getting old.  Since it happens to everyone, aging shouldn't come as a shock, and it shouldn't come as a surprise.  It's a perfectly natural sequence of life, a fulfilling completion of what was designed for us in the beginning... 

"And it has nothing to do with 'getting old.'...Don't get old, don't allow it to happen.  Don't let them think of you as old - and I mean your children, your grandchildren or those well-meaning friends who want to share their own physical decline with you.  Tell them all to go to hell!

"Look, one of the most important reasons for living is to do something - live outside of yourself and put together an idea, an idea that you want to explore and complete...Awaken your creative sensitivities."

The reporter, one Allen J. Sheinman, concluded by saying that it was doubtful that Palance left his congressional audience without a fresh perspective on the second half of life.  I'd like to think so, but if it did,  I don't see a lot of evidence that it has caught on.  Instead, anti-aging seems to be the prevalent message everywhere I turn. With an emphasis on image.  Not on health, not on purpose, not on learning or creativity.  At least not in the mass media. Even Dr. Oz uses the term.

I've been searching for some time for a better way to think about this phase of my life, a way to think about it that would support effective behavioral choices.  Anti-aging doesn't work for me, too negative.  And the more positive phrases that have been coined, like Jane Fonda's Prime Time, or the Golden Years, or even the Ninth Hole (which came to me via e-mail) haven't captured my fancy.  But "aging artfully", aging creatively - love it!!  Thank you, Jack.  And thank you, Eric.

Shifting Gears

Well, I'm back.  Have been traveling.  Nothing as romantic as a tour across Europe on the Orient Express. Or as altruistic as volunteering at a hospital  in a Third World nation.  I haven't even left St. George.

My journey has been an internal one, in retrospect similar to others I've taken every six or seven years of  my adult life, a journey marked by introspection, contemplation and reflection.  Marked by  reading marathons, and notebooks filled with lists and quotes and questions I didn't know I had.  Marked by a flurry of decluttering and reorganizing shelves and drawers  Marked by a sense that whatever the final destination, it would be different than I anticipated when setting out.

Years ago, Deborah Tannen labelled these journeys "passages" and her book of that title was particularly helpful during the aftermath of my divorce - and in the subsequent passages initiated by job changes, remarriage, moves, new careers, disease and the death of loved ones.  The external events that have been catalysts for the major shifts in my life.  This time, however, this passage crept up on me.  No significant external event.  

I didn't even recognize I was on the road again until I realized I wasn't journaling with my typical long hand prose, something I'd done faithfully for over 35 years.  I hadn't been blogging because I wasn't sure what I wanted to blog about.  Although healthy and busy with several interesting activities, generally satisfied, I also was vaguely discontented, aware that something was missing. This time, I decided to let things unfold, to idle in neutral so to speak, to just hang out with whatever was going on and trust that I would know when it was time to shift gears and get going again.  Not my usual style!

Then last week, during one of my decluttering binges, in the midst of culling through a box of old journals, I came upon a special volume I put together years ago on the heels of my 50th birthday, a volume of pictures and photos, of dreams and desires for what I hoped would be the future that is today.  And discovered an interesting essay, a description of how I wanted to age.  Clear, detailed, optimistic, validating - and revealing.

What has been missing has been a venue for continuing to make a difference, a contribution.  One that resonates with my values, my experience, my skills.  One that calls for stretching, for learning, for creating. That addresses something I am passionate about.  

The contribution I want to make is to generate a meaningful conversation about aging - a conversation that is realistic without becoming whiny and fearful, optimistic without being pollyanish.  I want to examine with others the challenges inherent in getting older in a society that is obsessed with youth, to raise questions and concerns that we too often avoid, and to consider alternatives with others who also want a meaningful conversation. The venue, this blog. I hope you will join me in the coming weeks.

"Don't die until you're dead!"

"Don't die until you're dead" - the theme of the movie Quartet as encapsulated for its director, Dustin Hoffman, by Billy Connelly, one of the quartet that take stage center in this lovely movie that I am recommending to anyone over 50, and anyone under 50 who is caring for aging loved ones.

Quartet tells the story of four elderly British opera singers, who reunite in a home for retired, needy British musicians.  The reunion is strained, for three of the quartet have been there awhile, have created new patterns, new friendships, have settled in.  Then, quite unexpectedly, the fourth, the diva, the soprano played as only Maggie Smith could, arrives bringing her phonograph, the albums of her glory days, and a hefty dose of discordance and unfinished business.

The members of the quartet are veteran British actors and actresses who play off one another with a grace and sensitivity that helps you believe they could have performed together decades ago.  As you are asked to believe they did - the performance, the quartet from Rigoletto.  A performance they are asked to repeat for a concert to be given on the anniversary of Verdi's birthday, designed not only to raise money for the home, but to acknowledge the contribution and heritage of the home's residents.

The challenges that each member faces in order to perform are representative of the challenges many of us have faced already or will most likely face in the future - health issues, unfinished business with relationships, loss of skills and a sense of identity, loneliness.  All are treated with compassion and dignity.  Never harsh, never maudlin, but also never pollyannish.  Humorous, but not at anyone's expense.

The cast is supported by musicians whose scenes of practice and performance are as touching as those of the quartet.  Hoffman reported in an AARP interview that some of the musicians had not been asked to perform for over 30 years and were so grateful to be included that they showed up at 6 in the morning and would rehearse for 14 hours.  The music itself is worth the admission, and in case you are not a huge fan of classical music, not to worry.  My husband isn't either, and he enjoyed the film as much as I did.  Just watching the musicians, their concentration, their dedication and the sheer joy of making music together and having their skills enjoyed and applauded was such a pleasure.

So - though I understand Billy Connelly's synopsis and smiled when I read it, I also think this movie deals with themes of friendship and forgiveness, courage and possibility.  With characters who are aging, but not old.  I recommend it because I think you would enjoy it and also because I want to support these lovely, quiet films that celebrate rather than denigrate.  That tell simple stories well, that don't rely on special effects and gimmicks.  That leave you feeling better, more hopeful than when you entered the theater.  That could even leave you clapping in appreciation, as Quartet inspired our matinee audience.