Art gallery for a five-year old

Last Christmas, my son and daughter-in-law thought it would be fun if the four of us went bowling. It was, if you don’t count the humiliation of my score, and until the last frame of the last game, when I decided to throw the ball a little harder to keep it from drifting. I threw it really hard, and in the process, it swept me off my feet and I came down hard on my hip and arm. Let the record state, however, that with that graceful move I got a strike and applause. As I got up to drag my sore body and wounded composure back to the table, I could feel my left foot swelling.

It wasn’t until a week later, when I finally got back to St. Louis and to the doctor that I had my foot X-rayed and found out I had snapped the bone shaft of my fifth metatarsal which, because the two ends of the bone were not touching, resulted in surgery involving hardware and a cast with no weight-bearing for six weeks. My hip and arm were bruised but those healed much faster than my foot.

 No weight bearing and living in a three-story townhouse did wonders for my upper body strength, and scooting up and down stairs on my tush turned out to be a fairly aerobic new fitness program.

By spring I was back walking 10-plus miles and spent the rest of the year mostly intact. Then the holidays again approached. In St. Louis we had freezing rain which, although not a problem with the roads, left the sidewalks glazed. Two steps on a sidewalk and I flew up in the air and came down hard on my hips and my left wrist. The hip soreness went away but the wrist didn’t get any better. Finally, I had that X-rayed and yep, another break at the end of the radius. So now I’m in a rigid wrist brace for a month until the doctor is sure it is healing enough to wean me out of it.

 So the big question is: why do I keep breaking things? I take calcium and vitamin D, eat a lot of dairy and greens, and do weight training and lots of weight-bearing exercise. My bone density is normal. The larger question if why don’t I break the things people tend to break at my age and older? (See the above.) I am basically protected from the catastrophic breaks, like hips and spine. I break the little things, like wrists and foot bones because, well:

- I’m small-boned, so my wrist is small.

- Foot bones are small and easily broken. The 5^th metatarsal (the bone leading to the pinky toe) is the most common bone broken in the foot.

- For my whole life, my parents have said my middle name is Grace. It’s not, but I am challenged in that area. In college, I decided to take gymnastics as an elective to help my coordination. It didn’t work. It seemed like the last thing the instructor said as I left each session was: “Mary Jo, are you sure you are all right?”

 Stuff happens. We bang into stuff and get big glorious bruises. And sometimes we slip and break things, but we are less likely to break something that can land us in a nursing home if we do all the things I listed above. The rest of it, we say: “Oh, well,” and keep being active and doing all those things we know we need to for life to be under control, or as under control as it can be for a girl who entertained a whole slope of people the first and only time I ever went skiing!

 One of the greatest joys of getting older is the gift of grandchildren. Being a parent and being a grandparent is totally different. Being a grandparent is waaaay more fun—and episodic. Gone are the days of 24/7 responsibility. Grandkids keep us young in so many ways:

• They live in the here and now and remind us of the little joys of life
• They are so hopeful and wonderful that they balance out all the bad parts of our world and give us hope for the future.
• They make us feel like heroes—something we never get tired of!

 That being said, spending time around our grandchildren also reminds us that we live in a rarified world most of the time. Hanging out with people our own age is not likely to result in illness. They are very seldom contagious.

Grandchildren, on the other hand, share. They share everything, which includes boogers, colds, eye infections and whatever else they picked up. Sometimes they aren’t even sick, so we have no warning that they are little affectionate carriers—until we wake up with one eye swelled shut, or a sore throat that won’t quit. This, I believe, is payback for NOT having 24/7 responsibility and having to be the bad guy parent. Yep, it goes with the territory.

Life is a trade-off in so many ways, and I would never trade those cuddly adoring little people for all the uninterrupted good health in the world. They are totally worth it!

I’ve discovered Flash Mobs, and you should, too, if you like music, serendipity, and things that make you feel good. My previous forays to YouTube have been mostly to watch movies of my grandchildren posted by their mom. Then my oldest friend sent me the link to a “happening” in a food court at a busy mall, when the Hallelujah Chorus broke out. I broke down and boohooed, not just because I really like the Hallelujah Chorus, but because it was unexpected, and joyous, and made me feel good, really good.

I was talking to a friend about it and she had seen it (It’s had, like, 10 million hits) and said this was the thing, flash mobs. I had no idea flash mobs existed, and if I did, I would have thought they were unpredictable outbreaks of violence.

So I went to YouTube and searched for flash mobs, and found many others. Some are musical like this one, but others involve energetic dancing, and others, no movement at all. At a designated time, everyone (in cahoots) in an area freezes into a random position. Actually, that’s kind of creepy, but I really love the dancing ones.

One of them took place in the Antwerp, Belgium train station, somewhere my husband has visited. Another one took place in Accra, Ghana in Africa in an exact area we had stood a year ago. Regardless of where they happen, they are a celebration of life and joy. We can’t have too much of that.

 See for yourself:

 http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7EYAUazLI9k

 http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SXh7JR9oKVE

 http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uUtsguaGjbY 

 http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AwzN4633mpI

We’ve been friends for 30 years. Our kids grew up together and went their separate ways. We moved away from each other, but still we made the effort to plan times together. Neither our kids leaving or moving apart stymied our friendship. Then the economic downturn hit and more things than incomes were hurt. Now our friendship is struggling.

My husband and I are (at this point) making it, but my friend and her husband are struggling. She had to go back to work years after she retired. She thinks we have nothing in common anymore so she’s dumping me. At 63, I’m getting dumped by a friend of 30 years? I don’t think so. It’s time to reassess what friendship is all about. I see it somewhat as a marriage: for better or for worse. She saw me through two bouts of breast cancer. I agonized with her over the loss of two sisters and a brother to cancer. I keep in touch with her kids. Maybe we don’t have our economic status in common at this point, but we love each other, and that is the basis for a friendship, the only one we need.

At different stages in our lives, we re-evaluate our friendships, and decide which ones are keepers and worth working at, and which ones pull us down too much. She is a keeper and I’ll do anything to make sure she continues to feel loved and valued, something she is struggling with right now. Life is going to get harder, not easier. The economy shows no signs of turning around, and we are getting older, not younger. Congress is behaving badly, and our enemies want us dead. Is that the time to dump long-term friends who love you? I think not. So as much as she wants to be miserable on her own, she’s got me and better get used to it. I’m not going away anytime soon.

It’s coming…….full-blown Alzheimer’s. And the real problem is that I can’t be sure I’m kidding. Time will tell.

My mom had an eye emergency yesterday. My sister just had a revision surgery for an infected reconstruction, and she’s running a fever.

So what do I do? Walk out of the house for a full day’s activity hours from home without my purse and my phone.

Although I’ve made a career out of leaving my purse places, and invariably getting it back—intact (like Blanche Dubois, I rely on the kindness of strangers), I have never before left the house without it. Too late now.

Because I did bring a notebook and pen, I write out my checklist:

• Phone: Well, we have OnStar and it has my father’s number in it so I can get my sister’s number but she can’t reach me.
• Sunglasses: Overcast for now
• Wallet: I’m with a very nice man who will meet any financial needs I might have

The rest is expendable. So today, I will practice feeling free without the cares and responsibility of a purse—and uneasy because I forgot it in the first place.

We old people get crabby, especially when logic goes out the window. After all, we expect an orderly life. I travel a lot and it never ceases to amaze me when I go to other countries, how it never seems to occur to the locals that if they want to have an English translation for their signage to attract tourists, wouldn’t it make sense to have a native English speaker do the translation? I guess it depends on their goal: whether it is to impress us with their professionalism or to give us a chuckle to brighten our day. If it’s the latter, they are succeeding.

On a visit to China several years ago, I roared over some of the translations I found:

 In our hotel room bathroom, the tub was surrounded by a tile ledge, which, when the shower was run, served as a trough to funnel the water around and down to the floor. Wet tile floors can be treacherous, and apparently, people had fallen, so a helpful warning sign was installed: “Slip Out!” I wanted to tell the hotel staff that’s what I was trying to avoid.

 On the train to Xian, the bathrooms were not supposed to be used while we were in the station. That informative bit of information was deduced from: “No occupying while stabling”

 Other countries are the same. In Puerto Vallarta, Mexico, which is all about tourism, the spas along the boulevards had helpful signs, like the one that offered depilatory services for “hair lip.” The grocery store near several large hotels also helpfully supplied English translations for the contents of each aisle:

Galletas = Coockies

Mariscos = Seadfood

Chocolate = Chocolated

Even in our own country, no one reads what is put up on very large venues—like billboards. Has anyone ever heard of parallel construction? One restaurant billboard we passed in Kansas advertised: Mexican food! Steaks! Vegetarianism!  And don’t get me started on apostrophes.

 I guess we have to take our crabbiness and just put it away, even though such things offend my writer sensitivities. That is easier for me than most. I just wrote 120 Christmas cards wishing everyone a “joyus holiday season”

I’m constantly losing things: my car keys, my coffee, my mind. You too? What we really, really hate losing, though, is friends, but lose them we will, whether from death, relocation, or diverging interests. So what are we going to do about it? If we have any hopes for a robust fulfilling life, being friendless is not an option. Time to find some new ones. It’s work, but well worth the effort.

 Making New Friends 101

When we’re young, shared interests and attitudes are all we need: I’m popular; you’re popular. We both have straight hair. Let’s be friends! (Okay, we’re not so popular and both our heads look like giant Brillo pads when it’s humid. Let’s be miserable together.) We both adore (or loathe) Justin Bieber.  Voila! Friends. Youth, good health and high energy are givens.

 Making New Friends 201

Later in life, the rules change; hence: Making New Friends 201. The givens may include loss of family and old friends, messy divorces, financial problems, and health issues. How we view our world and our control over it have a different tint; and we bring all that baggage to any new friendships.

One thing is the same: we still want friends who are fun. And we don’t want them to be much slimmer or younger-looking than we are, or have a better plastic surgeon. So even though we weren’t born yesterday, we want to have fun with our friends and feel comfortable around them. Then we can safely share anxieties and catastrophes. But if we go looking for friends we can unload on, they won’t be around very long. They have their own woes.

Think of new friends as an audition. We are trying out for a role on Friends and trying to decide if we like the rest of the cast. Do we make the cut? Do they make our cut? Stage fright shouldn’t be part of this. Life shouldn’t be that hard. Besides, friendship building is a gradual process. We start at the beginning and see what happens. Before we know it, we’re part of the cast!

Start with a shared interest. Join a group that does something you like to do:

• Writing
• Quilting
• Golf
• Volunteering for a charity
• Church
• Walking
• Working for a living

 The other members of those groups already have something in common with you. Start from there and get to know members who strike you as interesting. Whether an actual friendship blossoms depends on several things:

• Whether they have truly annoying habits (don’t we all)
• How good we make each other feel when we’re together
• Whether we have the same warped sense of humor
• Whether we make the effort to seek them out, rather than waiting for them to come to us

Friends don’t necessarily have to share political or religious views. If we’re friends, we can agree to dance around those! I have this notion that I’m going to live to be a very old age, so having friends of different ages will be important for me. Some of my friendships with much younger men and women take on a mentoring perspective. I remember how older friends in my life helped me when I was starting out, so it’s an honor to pass that on. Friends my parent’s age still have much to teach me and can be great fun. But the friends my own age are a hoot! We can be silly together, and yet push each other to follow our dreams.

 Don’t discount relatives when looking at friendships. They know all your warts and if they still like you that’s a great basis for friendship. I have a cousin I keep in touch with. My three sisters are some of my best friends and will hold my feet to the fire if I try to cop out on something or play the age card.

 It’s by cultivating dear friends of all ages that we can share both our joys and sorrows with someone who really cares. We don’t have to go through life alone. Whether we’re email-inclined, send letters, or pick up the phone; we share a common lifeline that enriches us every step of the way on this all-too-brief journey.

We can all recite our parents’ mantras growing up:

 “If it’s worth doing, it’s worth doing well.”

“If it isn’t a challenge, you won’t feel like you’ve accomplished anything.”

“Success is its own reward.”

And my personal favorite (and one I taped to my son’s desk):

“If you don’t have time to do it right, how will you ever find time to do it over?”

 Well, here’s a little secret: your parents didn’t know that stuff until they were grown up. Even though their parents probably told them the same things, they didn’t really believe it until they had some years, experience, and challenges under their belts. And by the way, they are right.

I think about this more and more in my sixth decade, when things suddenly seem to be harder than they should. So when the going gets tough, do the tough get going, or go shopping? It’s about keeping your comfort zone large. Every time you pass on doing something because it’s hard or scary or you think you might fail; if you listen carefully, you can hear your comfort zone shrinking.  Before you know it, it has become shrink-wrapped around your little life.

 If, instead, you push yourself to do something that scares you a little, and you do it, there is, just like our parents said, a sense of accomplishment—and competence. And you can take that to the bank.  

 But let’s get this straight: while it works for us older folks, it works for you five-year-olds and teens, and Gen Y guys, too. If we want an excuse for underperformance, we don’t have to look far. Here’s a big what-if: what if we weren’t allowed to use excuses? What if we had to own all our own decisions, good or bad? Then when we succeeded, we could pat ourselves on the back. If we failed, then he could look at our decision, why it was wrong, and not make that mistake again. Wow! Way different than being given a trophy for showing up! Sometime, life hurts, but if we own it, it won’t hurt as much as if we abdicate all our decisions to someone else. Of course, that gives us someone else to blame.

 Gosh, I just climbed a 14,000-foot mountain and it was really hard. I fell down and scraped up my shin, and the next day, I was sore all over. But I got to the top and saw an incredible vista that so few people ever get to see, because I did the work and made it! And I’m over 60, an age when some people think it’s time to slow down and play it safe. Good for me.

When it comes to the things we love to hate, each of us has our own personal list. While some dreaded things will make most everyone’s list, others are tied into our own personal history, and associations they hold for us. Some, I know why I dislike them; others, well—I just do:

TV Political Ads: Obviously, there are no acceptable candidates for any race. They are either the mud slingers or the slingees. Liar, liar, pants on fire. Anyone who spends good money in this economy to trash an opponent will not get my vote. He/she can’t be trusted to govern in my best interest.

Cellphone Space Invaders: Why is it we never hear anything really interesting (like a hot stock tip or an impending holocaust) when someone decided to have his loud conversation right next to your ear? Do they really think we want to hear about how much they hate their mother-in-law, or the trouble they have finding shoes for the party? Zip it or go find a cave for your conversation.

Waldorf salad: This concoction of apples, nuts, and mayonnaise with many iterations is generally liked by most people. For me, it is one of the few foods I just won’t eat, and I’m not really sure why. I know it has something to do with my childhood.

Mosquitoes: Okay, who loves the little critters? But many people are more indifferent to them than openly hostile. Mine has to do with the fact that mosquitoes just love me—for dinner. When other people are not touched or just checked out, I always seem to be the main course, and they get me in places hard to scratch—like my toes.

Scree: You have to be a hiker or mountain climber to appreciate this one. Scree is loose rock debris that can extend down a whole hillside or just the steep parts. If you are going up it, it’s like two steps up and one sliding step back. If you are coming down, you’re likely to do it on your tush—at least if you want to survive the descent.

Cart Parkers: Why is it that someone in a grocery store never thinks that someone might want to get by them as they park their cart in the exact middle of the aisle while they proceed to read every food label in a section? Hello! People, can you be aware of your surroundings for just a minute and pull to the side??

Serial Complainers: One of my dear friends and I have been walking partners for years, and we have one rule: We can whine for the first mile and then we have to fergettaboutit! No one likes to be around people who moan all the time about their misfortunes. One of the best ways to have a happy life is to have a lot of friends. To have a lot of friends, we have to be someone they want to be around, and that means upbeat and positive, fun! So now I’ve had my rant and I’m moving on to cheerier things. You should, too.

More often nowadays, I understand what my son was grappling with during his brief glimpses of mortality during his teenage years. I remember the night I was peacefully dozing in bed sometime after midnight when I had the sense of someone in the room. I opened my eyes to see my sixteen year-old gazing mournfully down at me. When I asked him what was wrong, he said, anguish oozing from his pores, “I don’t know why it matters how I do in school or what college I go to, or what I decide to do with my life. We’re all going to die anyway!”

 Of course he was right, but it was time to listen. I suggested we talk about it and that we move into his room so as not to wake his father. I listened; he talked, and gradually worked out all the insecurity that goes with the territory of being sixteen, being afraid of making wrong decisions, and realizing life is hard. No one hands you anything. That was the point of the initial outburst more than anything else. He needed me to hear him, to know that he knew.

 As years went on, he grew to be a confident, talented adult and now has a family of his own. And now, as I fall asleep at night, I hear those little voices telling me it’s going to get harder: for me, for my parents, for my loving husband, and at times for my son and his family. I feel mounting pressure to achieve, to really accomplish something with my life that has meaning, because it’s going to be over, much sooner than I’m ready. Turn around, you’re four; turn around, you’re out the door (of life).

 Little nagging age-related health issues constantly remind me of my mortality. Two brushes with cancer said it loud and clear. Having my parents still in my life at 63 is a blessing, yet a reminder that sooner than I’m ready, they will be gone. Then it’s my turn. I look at all the pain and suffering in the world and wonder if I could do more to help it. Tick, tick, tick. Better hurry.