These past few days have been beyond heartbreaking. Once again, our nation turns tear-stained faces to New York City, to Brooklyn, and wrap the grieving in love.
The airwaves are filled with stories about the shootings. None of them are uplifting - not possible. Not the sort of television you want ablaze around any friends & loved ones, especially the elderly. Yet it is glaring out - usually set on a news network - from the still blazing television monitors in a grannie client's senior residence pubic areas.
As a casual visitor, I can't avoid it. Imagine for a moment how it affects the residents.
Here's the thing about the monitors. First, they draw your eye. Even when you don't want to look, the lights & action beckon your attention. But all you're doing is looking - even if the sound was up (which it usually isn't), you'd be looking at it usually for no more than a minute, tops. Usually, it's a matter of seconds. But, ah in those few seconds... EVERYTHING on the screen registers in the brain, triggers countless reactions that linger long after you've moved on. All stimulation reaction angst & basically NO information of any value. Our physical being typically feels attacked, while our feelings go into overdrive.
Come on, this we know this - we all know it. On several occasions, I've done a body scan on Saturday morning, when the screens are all a'blazing, and on Sunday, when they are either usually off or turned to a music station. Night & day difference. When the monitors are on, my breathing becomes shallower, my heart rate zips upward, my sense of attentiveness dullens. Imagine if I was there for longer than walking through to meet my grannie client!
Now, imagine all this happening over the December holidays, when a debilitating sense of depression is as common among the elderly as tinsel or menorahs. The prevalence of those intrusive glaring monitors tuned to MSNBC, CNN, (usually) Fox, during these heartbreaking days gives more than pause. It's flat-out chilling.
Monday, December 22, 2014
Sunday, December 21, 2014
legacy gift
Someone at my alma mater is in charge of "legacy giving" - getting people to include the college in their will. Well, that's one sort of legacy gift, but I know one that is infinitely more valuable - when people, young or old, share moments & memories for all generations, present & future, to enjoy.
Thought about that as I posted an "ancient" 12/21/00 Mindwalker1910 e-mail that my dear old mother wrote about our Christmas tree. Gives me tender pause, realizing how clueless we were that 12/25/00 would be her last with us. No one, in December 2000, envisioned 09/16/01 & Mom being reunited with her O! Best Beloved.
How long did it take her to compose & for me to transcribe? Probably less than half an hour - and what fun those 30 minutes must have been.
What was a sweet posting when she wrote it, just a short riff on our family Christmas tree, past & present, is now a priceless family treasure.
Friday, December 19, 2014
I speak intergeneration
When Mom was alive, it was obvious that having a basically full-time chauffeur & side-kick helped her stay active - where many of her contemporaries were more or less grounded, Mom always had a car & engaging companion whisking her around the countryside. But it always seemed to me that she was as engaged & energized & LIVING as she was due to her own nature. It wasn't until fairly recently - many years after she was reunited with her O! Best Beloved - that my own role sunk into my thick skull. And then, the only contribution I could see was removing obstacles from her path, giving her more options, making her life as expansive as possible.
It took reading Mary Pipher's terrific Another Country (am 1/2 through) to see that I brought another key contribution - I speak intergeneration. For that, I thank Kevyn Malloy, Mom's incredibly gifted psychologist. She helped both Mom & I appreciate what the other was getting at - I came to appreciate the why behind Mom forever putting her own needs last, if she assigned them a place at all; she came to appreciate that it was okay, even essential, to give her own needs value.
Am button-busting proud to say that Mom had a latent natural gift for speaking so other generations could understand. One of Mary's clients was a nun experiencing panic attacks & memory problems - in her mid '60s. Her Mother Superior sent Sister Theresa for counseling, much against her will. At one point, an exasperated Mary blurted out that Sister Theresa had self-sacrificed herself into depression. The nun replied, "I was not brought up to do my own thing." (p. 96).
What memories that brought up - Mom & I trying to get off a very crowded cable car headed up Nob Hill. As she wrote about it in a 04/22/00 Mindwalker e-mail, We managed to wangle our way onto a packed cable car, but getting off near the Fairmount was another matter. One man finally said, "Lady, you just have to push your way through." Elsa said she practically collapsed when I said in my most genteel voice - "Sir, I was not raised that way." And a path immediately opened up to let me pass through and two gentlemen stepped down to help us off!
What an amazing moment - even as it happened, I was aware of being in the presence of inexplicable greatness.
It can be difficult for people of my generation & younger to understand older loved ones, friends & clients who seem to close off their emotions. It can be tough when kids of 70 & younger try to pry open an elderly man or woman's feelings, in the name of helping them get more in touch with their true self. They weren't raised in a "true self" world. The significantly older ones experienced the Great Depression, World War II, the Cold War. They were raised to make the most of what you had, to be loyal & look to the greater good, to soldier on in hardship & not dwell on difficulties. And NEVER talk outside the home about family issues - you kept "the secrets of the home" well guarded.
To many (most?) in my generation & younger, that strikes us a unhealthy. We grew up in a culture that preached being in touch with your feelings, with the importance of men connecting with their feminine side, of women not accepting being shuttled off into demeaning stereotypes.
How does someone of 62 connect with a mother who says about a serious problem or bit of difficult past history, "I don't want to dwell on it"? NOT easy!
Before I log off to bake up some Christmas shortbread, must share what was perhaps our greatest mutually shining moment in speaking intergeneration. Mom & I were at a women's retreat up in the Catskills, on a mountain right outside Woodside.
As she wrote in a 10/23/00 Mindwalker e-mail titled Time to lift the lid:
In Another Country, another mother & daughter - Mona & June (93 & 60) - had an almost verbatim conversation. June was shocked when Mona described her life as "lucky" (p. 107) throughout her life. Her daughter echoed Mom's friend's comments at Tonche - "Mom, your life was not lucky. Your life has been hard." (p. 108)
I am forever proud of how my mother handled her young friend's observation. It made her look inward. I like to think that I helped. When she told me about the exchange (we didn't know that was strictly taboo at a women's retreat, that you never share things said in your circle), it gave me pause. I knew what Gail meant, but I had an inkling of what Mom meant, too. Praise be, somewhere in the far reaches of my memory, I recalled A Fortunate Life, a book by A.B. Facey, a seemingly ordinary Australian who was anything but.
Inspired, I looked Mom straight in the eye & said, "Gail was right, you have had a hard life. And you are right, in that it felt, looking back, as if it was easy. Easy, it wasn't. And I would not use the word 'lucky' - you've been blessed, not lucky. Mom, you've been blessed to live a fortunate life."
Will always remember how Mom beamed at me - blessed with a fortunate life. Yes, she could relate to that & we were both sure that Gail would see the truth in it, too.
It didn't occur to me to think of what I came up with as anything special. Now, reading Another Country, can see how Kevyn made me aware of the importance of stepping back, taking a moment to consider what is said from a different perspective, in this case from Mom's. Her life wasn't easy, in the sense that most people have. It wasn't hard, at least not to her. So what was it? Fortunate.
I am fortunate, indeed, to be able to speak intergeneration. How to help other youngsters, kids of 70 & younger, have a better handle on translating elder speak? A good long ponder for cold winter months!
It took reading Mary Pipher's terrific Another Country (am 1/2 through) to see that I brought another key contribution - I speak intergeneration. For that, I thank Kevyn Malloy, Mom's incredibly gifted psychologist. She helped both Mom & I appreciate what the other was getting at - I came to appreciate the why behind Mom forever putting her own needs last, if she assigned them a place at all; she came to appreciate that it was okay, even essential, to give her own needs value.
Am button-busting proud to say that Mom had a latent natural gift for speaking so other generations could understand. One of Mary's clients was a nun experiencing panic attacks & memory problems - in her mid '60s. Her Mother Superior sent Sister Theresa for counseling, much against her will. At one point, an exasperated Mary blurted out that Sister Theresa had self-sacrificed herself into depression. The nun replied, "I was not brought up to do my own thing." (p. 96).
What memories that brought up - Mom & I trying to get off a very crowded cable car headed up Nob Hill. As she wrote about it in a 04/22/00 Mindwalker e-mail, We managed to wangle our way onto a packed cable car, but getting off near the Fairmount was another matter. One man finally said, "Lady, you just have to push your way through." Elsa said she practically collapsed when I said in my most genteel voice - "Sir, I was not raised that way." And a path immediately opened up to let me pass through and two gentlemen stepped down to help us off!
What an amazing moment - even as it happened, I was aware of being in the presence of inexplicable greatness.
It can be difficult for people of my generation & younger to understand older loved ones, friends & clients who seem to close off their emotions. It can be tough when kids of 70 & younger try to pry open an elderly man or woman's feelings, in the name of helping them get more in touch with their true self. They weren't raised in a "true self" world. The significantly older ones experienced the Great Depression, World War II, the Cold War. They were raised to make the most of what you had, to be loyal & look to the greater good, to soldier on in hardship & not dwell on difficulties. And NEVER talk outside the home about family issues - you kept "the secrets of the home" well guarded.
To many (most?) in my generation & younger, that strikes us a unhealthy. We grew up in a culture that preached being in touch with your feelings, with the importance of men connecting with their feminine side, of women not accepting being shuttled off into demeaning stereotypes.
How does someone of 62 connect with a mother who says about a serious problem or bit of difficult past history, "I don't want to dwell on it"? NOT easy!
Before I log off to bake up some Christmas shortbread, must share what was perhaps our greatest mutually shining moment in speaking intergeneration. Mom & I were at a women's retreat up in the Catskills, on a mountain right outside Woodside.
As she wrote in a 10/23/00 Mindwalker e-mail titled Time to lift the lid:
On the
first full day of the retreat, during a discussion circle, I reflected on how I
have been lucky to have an easy life. Now,
we had been discussing quite a few things over the day, so the young women had
gotten to somewhat know this Ancient One.
One of them just looked at me in startled disbelief and said, "Mrs.
Lockhart, your life was not easy - it was hard." ~ ~ That
made
me think and think and think - I am still thinking. For as far back as I
can remember, putting a happy
face on events has been
more important to me than experiencing events as they were. That was a
real ground-shaking thought for
this Gramster. Doing that has helped me keep the lid clamped shut on
things that might distress me, make me uncomfortable and sad. ~ ~ There
are
so many things that I miss about Papa that I typically tune out because
of how they make me feel, so many things about the life I had before
October 1929. Maybe now - 71 years later - I can lift the
lid a bit.
In Another Country, another mother & daughter - Mona & June (93 & 60) - had an almost verbatim conversation. June was shocked when Mona described her life as "lucky" (p. 107) throughout her life. Her daughter echoed Mom's friend's comments at Tonche - "Mom, your life was not lucky. Your life has been hard." (p. 108)
I am forever proud of how my mother handled her young friend's observation. It made her look inward. I like to think that I helped. When she told me about the exchange (we didn't know that was strictly taboo at a women's retreat, that you never share things said in your circle), it gave me pause. I knew what Gail meant, but I had an inkling of what Mom meant, too. Praise be, somewhere in the far reaches of my memory, I recalled A Fortunate Life, a book by A.B. Facey, a seemingly ordinary Australian who was anything but.
Inspired, I looked Mom straight in the eye & said, "Gail was right, you have had a hard life. And you are right, in that it felt, looking back, as if it was easy. Easy, it wasn't. And I would not use the word 'lucky' - you've been blessed, not lucky. Mom, you've been blessed to live a fortunate life."
Will always remember how Mom beamed at me - blessed with a fortunate life. Yes, she could relate to that & we were both sure that Gail would see the truth in it, too.
It didn't occur to me to think of what I came up with as anything special. Now, reading Another Country, can see how Kevyn made me aware of the importance of stepping back, taking a moment to consider what is said from a different perspective, in this case from Mom's. Her life wasn't easy, in the sense that most people have. It wasn't hard, at least not to her. So what was it? Fortunate.
I am fortunate, indeed, to be able to speak intergeneration. How to help other youngsters, kids of 70 & younger, have a better handle on translating elder speak? A good long ponder for cold winter months!
Tuesday, December 16, 2014
Twisted Tolstoy
'All happy families are alike; each unhappy family is unhappy in its own way.'
Very true, in my experience. At least in so far as most happy families seem to share certain core dynamics that help them stay on even keel in rough situations. I can't vouch for that, having come from a massively unhappy family.
How unhappy? Massively barely begins to describe. Yet, to Mom, all was well & right & wonderful. She saw what she wanted, edited out anything that went contrary to her preferred reality. While she knew we were far from a happy family, Mom couldn't bring herself to see the specific places where we messed up. What you can't see, you can't fix.
My own big AH HA! moment came a couple years before Mom's 2001 passing. It hit me that it wasn't just me, that none of her children had a sense of place within the family. We were equal in our unhappiness, our sense of not belonging.
Most importantly, I realized that no one was coming out ahead, no one was happy with our hapless helpless hopeless situation. It didn't register with Mom & for good reason - her image of a whole family was blown out of the water in her late teens, when her father died & she was left with a surviving parent that made our family seem a paragon of healthy dynamics.
Most importantly, I realized that no one was coming out ahead, no one was happy with our hapless helpless hopeless situation. It didn't register with Mom & for good reason - her image of a whole family was blown out of the water in her late teens, when her father died & she was left with a surviving parent that made our family seem a paragon of healthy dynamics.
That eye-opening moment was a life changer for me. For decades, my assumption had been that if I was unhappy, surely someone else was happy it was so, that while I felt outside of the core group, the others felt part of a greater whole.
Not so.
Not even Mom was really happy. She hadn't felt part of a greater whole since Dad died at the tender age of 63. Yep, we were a group of genetically connected outsiders.
A holiday present I now give to any readers I may have is this bit of twisted Tolstoy - each unhappy family is typically made up of unhappy people. Some unhappy families might have a clever ringmaster who is made happy by pulling everyone else's strings, but I believe that's rare. From what I've experienced in my own unhappy birth family, what I sense from others I've known, most unhappy families are filled with others who are as similar in feeling broken off from a whole as they are different in the causes of their brokenness.
My best guess is that my sibs felt as separate, as invisible, as UN as I did. While that might sound awful, realizing it was liberating. Instead of seeing myself as the only dejected rejected miserable one while some unrevealed other was finding some joy in our ickiness, it was clear we were members in equal standing of the same floundering & flummoxed clan.
If you are a valued member of a happy family, bask in the joy of your holiday. God blessed you, every one!
If you are part of an unhappy one, step past the despair. Realize that the others probably feel as much or even more dejected & separate as you.
Be as emotionally generous as you can, even if others find it suspect. Don't do it for them, but for yourself. And not just one year or only at the holidays, Always. Without any hope of changing anything. The only thing you can change is you.
This holiday season & throughout the coming years, give Tolstoy a twist - remember that all unhappy families are made up of members who are unhappy in different ways. Do what you can to increase your level of happiness within your family. Don't make it depend on anyone else. And don't expect miracles. But you never know...
If you are part of an unhappy one, step past the despair. Realize that the others probably feel as much or even more dejected & separate as you.
Be as emotionally generous as you can, even if others find it suspect. Don't do it for them, but for yourself. And not just one year or only at the holidays, Always. Without any hope of changing anything. The only thing you can change is you.
This holiday season & throughout the coming years, give Tolstoy a twist - remember that all unhappy families are made up of members who are unhappy in different ways. Do what you can to increase your level of happiness within your family. Don't make it depend on anyone else. And don't expect miracles. But you never know...
thin slender thread
Both my mother & I were challenged living with someone who had such a different relationship with her children, my siblings. It wasn't that the dynamic was very different, it was our response to it, our expectations of relationship, that created the difficulties.
Mom was totally comfortable with people who seemed to assign value based on what we could do for them. What mattered to her was that they were present in her life. She didn't care about how tangential their presence was, as long as they were there.
My guess is that Mom's attitude was a combination of personality, personal experience from a young age, and the culture in which she was raised - it was always all about what others needed, never what she might need or just appreciate. It was not that she would not, but COULD not, during the many times my sister & oldest brother lived with us, ask them for help - even with something as mundane as vacuuming or drying the dishes - let alone kicking in a few bucks to household expenses. It was not in her - no option.
Once, years after I married John & Mom came to live with us, stunned at her again spinning gold out of the utter dross of what felt to me like neglect, I griped that she'd put up with anything from either of them, as long as she could hold onto the thin slender thread of hope that they'd remain in some way in her life. Will always remember her look of complete surprise that I even had to ask - yes, she'd put up with anything rather than extinquish hope, however slender it might be.
Is it any wonder that the two of us had such difficulties living together, at least when it came to family relationship. Our different approaches to family relationship wasn't the fly in the ointment of our own relationship - it was a bloodied shark.
My expectations of my sibs was always & forever... am not even sure how to describe it. Tragically opposite from Mom's is the closest I can come up with. Where she expected nothing consistently substantial from them, I expected to at least be respected, if not loved.
LOVE - the word that made Mom's world go 'round. At least what she could experience as a semblance of it. Mom always experienced love as a noun more than a verb. And she put up with anything to protect that thin slender threat of hope, including ignoring what was right in front of her. Anything to protect the hope of feeling loved.
Our pre-John Christmases were especially grim. It's because of knowing how ghastly they could be that I have no qualms whatsoever over my brother's children wanting nothing to do with me now. They have few, if any, happy memories of me, especially at Christmas.
The holidays at our house were full of angst & tension, with Mom smoothing it all over with her wonderful smiles & hopeful words. I didn't have - alas, not even in my early thirties - the maturity to not butt heads with their dad.
Mom didn't mind the tears & upset, as long as we were together. They were not happy times & I have the non-relationship with two people I love to prove it.
John changed everything. On our second Christmas, he observed my dissolving into tears over something & said, quite simply but clearly, "This is not the way Christmas is supposed to be." I looked at him, stunned. "You are not supposed to cry at Christmas," he continued.
Really? Seriously? I couldn't remember any Christmases that didn't involve at least a few tears.
It hit me that the only person I remembered crying was ME, possibly because I might have been the only person who was disappointed over how the Lockhart family celebration was going. Christmas wasn't supposed to involve tension or stress, tears & upset? This was revolutionary thinking!
That was the same Christmas that provided an astonishingly clear image of just how my previous ones had typically unfolded. Mim was staying with us. She asked if she could ask a few friends over for Christmas Eve. Sure, no problem. Unfortunately, the group of them basically - and unintentionally - highjacked our celebration. It was immensely helpful, in a perverse way, to consciously FEEL the evening become their celebration, not ours. A mega eye opener for John, who told he how weird it felt to seem an outsider in his own house. He GOT what my typical Christmas had been like - the group of them around the dining room table, with the two of us out in the far reaches of the kitchen, there but separate. He was right - this was not how Christmas was supposed to feel.
I bring this up to simply say that family relationships can be tough & it is really super hard to give any suggestions based on my experience that might help out. Tolstoy was spot on - happy families really do seem seem to be alike, to share certain core dynamics that help them stay on even keel in rough weather, while each unhappy family is unhappy in its own way.
But there can be a light at the end of that holiday train tunnel! That in itself brings up an interesting dynamic. You'd think that after Mom died, after we no longer had to invite my sibs to join us on the day or stay overnight, that we'd finally have our own Christmas. Ha! Mim didn't come - by then, she had her own Christmas traditions in New Jersey - but Peter would typically stay overnight on Christmas Eve & spend at least the next morning with us. I'd put on a slam bang brunch & we had a grand time.
It wasn't until Peter & I had The Great Fallling Out that we stopped inviting him over for Christmas. We finally got past the train wreck of family mix ups & mess ups and through the long tunnel,
Christmas isn't all that I'd love for it to be - I dearly miss contact with Peter's children, but take solace that whatever makes life work better for them is fine with me. On the up side, I get to follow my ex pat Aussie #2 nephew & his wife via Facebook (maybe visit them down in Georgia next holiday season?). And I mailed off Christmas presents to his sister, my Australian niece & her husband & their daughter, my great-niece, celebrating her first Christmas. That was comfort & joy! Her dad & mom even included a return address on their Christmas card this year (they moved in 2013), so we could send our own down to my bro & s-i-l.
As for Peter & Mim...
Well, it's December, so that's always time for Peter to reconnect. He turned 76 yesterday & Christmas is coming. Am ruefully chortling, realizing that Mom's 12/06/00 Mindwalker posting noted how much she regretted not seeing more of Peter, how delighted she was that he was coming over the next day for a visit. Right on time, I got a communication from him on 12/01/14, then another - this one an actual letter - a couple days later that managed to include two mentions of "Happy Birthday." Hmmm.... I'd been planning on doing a special delivery run of his favorite Chinese food from his favorite take-out place. Now, if I did, he could think it was due to his nudge. Then, I remembered - years ago, I decided to not let concern about what Peter might or might not think change what I wanted to do. Smiling, remembering the voice mail message of thanks that greeted us after dropping it off, tucked away with a card in a festive HAPPY BIRTHDAY bag. shhhh - will do a similar run on 12/25!!
Mim is easier. We've partnered in establishing a relationship via the US Postal Service. We write notes to each other throughout the year. The other day, I got a Christmas check from her (Mim always manages to send a lovely check, which is astonishing given her limited financial resources), and I have been sending her wildly whimsical socks with little special gifties, like the pin that states, "I dream of a world in which chickens can cross the road without their motives being questioned."
Will we see each other? No. I think that's better for them; it is certainly better for me. John & I celebrate Christmas throughout the month. Our most precious gifts to each other are memories of happy times & special moments.
Mom never changed taking whatever came at her in order to hold onto that thin slender thread of hope. In my heart, I will honor that by doing what I can to preserve the sense of relationship between my sibs & myself. I do it in recognition that we are an unhappy family - not just an unhappy me. I do it because Mom couldn't. I do it to celebrate all the glorious Christmas gatherings she longed to have. I do it because of my own deep love of healthy family relationship, which sometimes means presents without presence. I do my best to take Mom's thin slender thread of hope & spin it into the most healthy whole happy Christmas possible.
Mom was totally comfortable with people who seemed to assign value based on what we could do for them. What mattered to her was that they were present in her life. She didn't care about how tangential their presence was, as long as they were there.
My guess is that Mom's attitude was a combination of personality, personal experience from a young age, and the culture in which she was raised - it was always all about what others needed, never what she might need or just appreciate. It was not that she would not, but COULD not, during the many times my sister & oldest brother lived with us, ask them for help - even with something as mundane as vacuuming or drying the dishes - let alone kicking in a few bucks to household expenses. It was not in her - no option.
Once, years after I married John & Mom came to live with us, stunned at her again spinning gold out of the utter dross of what felt to me like neglect, I griped that she'd put up with anything from either of them, as long as she could hold onto the thin slender thread of hope that they'd remain in some way in her life. Will always remember her look of complete surprise that I even had to ask - yes, she'd put up with anything rather than extinquish hope, however slender it might be.
Is it any wonder that the two of us had such difficulties living together, at least when it came to family relationship. Our different approaches to family relationship wasn't the fly in the ointment of our own relationship - it was a bloodied shark.
My expectations of my sibs was always & forever... am not even sure how to describe it. Tragically opposite from Mom's is the closest I can come up with. Where she expected nothing consistently substantial from them, I expected to at least be respected, if not loved.
LOVE - the word that made Mom's world go 'round. At least what she could experience as a semblance of it. Mom always experienced love as a noun more than a verb. And she put up with anything to protect that thin slender threat of hope, including ignoring what was right in front of her. Anything to protect the hope of feeling loved.
Our pre-John Christmases were especially grim. It's because of knowing how ghastly they could be that I have no qualms whatsoever over my brother's children wanting nothing to do with me now. They have few, if any, happy memories of me, especially at Christmas.
The holidays at our house were full of angst & tension, with Mom smoothing it all over with her wonderful smiles & hopeful words. I didn't have - alas, not even in my early thirties - the maturity to not butt heads with their dad.
Mom didn't mind the tears & upset, as long as we were together. They were not happy times & I have the non-relationship with two people I love to prove it.
John changed everything. On our second Christmas, he observed my dissolving into tears over something & said, quite simply but clearly, "This is not the way Christmas is supposed to be." I looked at him, stunned. "You are not supposed to cry at Christmas," he continued.
Really? Seriously? I couldn't remember any Christmases that didn't involve at least a few tears.
It hit me that the only person I remembered crying was ME, possibly because I might have been the only person who was disappointed over how the Lockhart family celebration was going. Christmas wasn't supposed to involve tension or stress, tears & upset? This was revolutionary thinking!
That was the same Christmas that provided an astonishingly clear image of just how my previous ones had typically unfolded. Mim was staying with us. She asked if she could ask a few friends over for Christmas Eve. Sure, no problem. Unfortunately, the group of them basically - and unintentionally - highjacked our celebration. It was immensely helpful, in a perverse way, to consciously FEEL the evening become their celebration, not ours. A mega eye opener for John, who told he how weird it felt to seem an outsider in his own house. He GOT what my typical Christmas had been like - the group of them around the dining room table, with the two of us out in the far reaches of the kitchen, there but separate. He was right - this was not how Christmas was supposed to feel.
I bring this up to simply say that family relationships can be tough & it is really super hard to give any suggestions based on my experience that might help out. Tolstoy was spot on - happy families really do seem seem to be alike, to share certain core dynamics that help them stay on even keel in rough weather, while each unhappy family is unhappy in its own way.
But there can be a light at the end of that holiday train tunnel! That in itself brings up an interesting dynamic. You'd think that after Mom died, after we no longer had to invite my sibs to join us on the day or stay overnight, that we'd finally have our own Christmas. Ha! Mim didn't come - by then, she had her own Christmas traditions in New Jersey - but Peter would typically stay overnight on Christmas Eve & spend at least the next morning with us. I'd put on a slam bang brunch & we had a grand time.
It wasn't until Peter & I had The Great Fallling Out that we stopped inviting him over for Christmas. We finally got past the train wreck of family mix ups & mess ups and through the long tunnel,
Christmas isn't all that I'd love for it to be - I dearly miss contact with Peter's children, but take solace that whatever makes life work better for them is fine with me. On the up side, I get to follow my ex pat Aussie #2 nephew & his wife via Facebook (maybe visit them down in Georgia next holiday season?). And I mailed off Christmas presents to his sister, my Australian niece & her husband & their daughter, my great-niece, celebrating her first Christmas. That was comfort & joy! Her dad & mom even included a return address on their Christmas card this year (they moved in 2013), so we could send our own down to my bro & s-i-l.
As for Peter & Mim...
Well, it's December, so that's always time for Peter to reconnect. He turned 76 yesterday & Christmas is coming. Am ruefully chortling, realizing that Mom's 12/06/00 Mindwalker posting noted how much she regretted not seeing more of Peter, how delighted she was that he was coming over the next day for a visit. Right on time, I got a communication from him on 12/01/14, then another - this one an actual letter - a couple days later that managed to include two mentions of "Happy Birthday." Hmmm.... I'd been planning on doing a special delivery run of his favorite Chinese food from his favorite take-out place. Now, if I did, he could think it was due to his nudge. Then, I remembered - years ago, I decided to not let concern about what Peter might or might not think change what I wanted to do. Smiling, remembering the voice mail message of thanks that greeted us after dropping it off, tucked away with a card in a festive HAPPY BIRTHDAY bag. shhhh - will do a similar run on 12/25!!
Mim is easier. We've partnered in establishing a relationship via the US Postal Service. We write notes to each other throughout the year. The other day, I got a Christmas check from her (Mim always manages to send a lovely check, which is astonishing given her limited financial resources), and I have been sending her wildly whimsical socks with little special gifties, like the pin that states, "I dream of a world in which chickens can cross the road without their motives being questioned."
Will we see each other? No. I think that's better for them; it is certainly better for me. John & I celebrate Christmas throughout the month. Our most precious gifts to each other are memories of happy times & special moments.
Mom never changed taking whatever came at her in order to hold onto that thin slender thread of hope. In my heart, I will honor that by doing what I can to preserve the sense of relationship between my sibs & myself. I do it in recognition that we are an unhappy family - not just an unhappy me. I do it because Mom couldn't. I do it to celebrate all the glorious Christmas gatherings she longed to have. I do it because of my own deep love of healthy family relationship, which sometimes means presents without presence. I do my best to take Mom's thin slender thread of hope & spin it into the most healthy whole happy Christmas possible.
Sunday, December 14, 2014
Not knowing what I know - Shiny Brites
Just a moment ago, was reminded of once again NOT knowing what I thought I knew. Or, what I thought I knew turned out to be oh so very wrong!
For years, Mom waxed rhapsodic about shiny bright ornaments. We even have it on audio tape - "A Christmas tree isn't a Christmas tree without shiny brights!"
For the last few years of her life, I set aside some of the older ornaments - never the treasures, but the ones that seemed of middling interest - in favor of the shiny bright reds & greens, blues & silvers.
Well, in doing a legacy project posting, discovered - to my chagrin & hapless horror - that for all these years, my understanding of what Mom was sharing was utterly completely totally WRONG! And the ornaments I so carefully set aside to NOT use were the very ones she so dearly loved & treasured. And, being Mom, she didn't say a peep when I'd decorate yet another Christmas tree with only a few of her very dearly beloved Shiny Brite ornaments.
She wasn't describing them, she was identifying them. By their brand name, which she knew as well as I know Kleenex or Pledge. They were the bells, the houses, the round ones with bands of color. NOT the solid shiny bright ones, mere new comers to the true collection.
How many other times, then & now, do I think I know what someone is saying without a clue that I'm actually totally off base? My assumption was that I knew what she was describing. Did I once ask her to describe them to me more fully? Never even occurred to me. How many times in who many conversations with her would I have been given invaluable information awareness insight if only I'd asked for more details, for a greater description of what she was discussing?
I pass this lesson along for all of us to hold onto, my gift this Christmas season - even when you're sure you know what someone is talking about or describing, mentally step back a pace & ask for more details.
Alas, there are those few who take a question as interrogation, rather than interest. Two of my sibs are that way. But most folks are not. Most will take a question asking for more description or background as showing interest, as being curious for more.
Whenever you're fairly sure you know what a person is describing or talking about, just remember me & Shiny Brite ornaments. What we hear isn't always what the person is saying. Delve just a tad deeper. 99% of the time, you'll learn more, appreciate more, understand more. And you won't keep the ornaments that really matter tucked away in their boxes.
For years, Mom waxed rhapsodic about shiny bright ornaments. We even have it on audio tape - "A Christmas tree isn't a Christmas tree without shiny brights!"
For the last few years of her life, I set aside some of the older ornaments - never the treasures, but the ones that seemed of middling interest - in favor of the shiny bright reds & greens, blues & silvers.
Well, in doing a legacy project posting, discovered - to my chagrin & hapless horror - that for all these years, my understanding of what Mom was sharing was utterly completely totally WRONG! And the ornaments I so carefully set aside to NOT use were the very ones she so dearly loved & treasured. And, being Mom, she didn't say a peep when I'd decorate yet another Christmas tree with only a few of her very dearly beloved Shiny Brite ornaments.
She wasn't describing them, she was identifying them. By their brand name, which she knew as well as I know Kleenex or Pledge. They were the bells, the houses, the round ones with bands of color. NOT the solid shiny bright ones, mere new comers to the true collection.
How many other times, then & now, do I think I know what someone is saying without a clue that I'm actually totally off base? My assumption was that I knew what she was describing. Did I once ask her to describe them to me more fully? Never even occurred to me. How many times in who many conversations with her would I have been given invaluable information awareness insight if only I'd asked for more details, for a greater description of what she was discussing?
Alas, there are those few who take a question as interrogation, rather than interest. Two of my sibs are that way. But most folks are not. Most will take a question asking for more description or background as showing interest, as being curious for more.
Whenever you're fairly sure you know what a person is describing or talking about, just remember me & Shiny Brite ornaments. What we hear isn't always what the person is saying. Delve just a tad deeper. 99% of the time, you'll learn more, appreciate more, understand more. And you won't keep the ornaments that really matter tucked away in their boxes.
Legacy project - holiday memories
This is a grand time for connecting with older relatives & friends. Invite them over or out for a holiday celebration - at home or at a favorite restaurant. Direct the conversation to favorite Christmas moments. Break the ice by sharing some of your own - bring pictures, if you have any. Help ease the older guests into talking about their own best Christmases past or favorite memories, family traditions. If at all possible, without making it obvious, have a tape recorder getting it all down.
One year, Mom recorded her own family memories. We know, from her own words spoken in her own dear voice, how much she loved "shiny bright" ornaments on a tree, how a tree without "shiny brights" was a mere pretender to a true tree!
Word to the wise - it took A LOT of attempts & a bit of good luck before Mom was at all comfortable talking with a tape recorder getting it all down. That surprises everyone who knows her - they expected she took to audio recording her memories without any angst. HA! Every time I hit record, she froze. Couldn't remember a single special time. It took secretly taping her in a conversation & playing it back for her to realize how special it was, to have those moments recounted in her own voice.
Be advised - most of us, even the most naturally talkative, tend to freeze at the very thought of being recorded, including Christmas memories. But what a wonderful legacy. when you do!
One year, Mom recorded her own family memories. We know, from her own words spoken in her own dear voice, how much she loved "shiny bright" ornaments on a tree, how a tree without "shiny brights" was a mere pretender to a true tree!
Word to the wise - it took A LOT of attempts & a bit of good luck before Mom was at all comfortable talking with a tape recorder getting it all down. That surprises everyone who knows her - they expected she took to audio recording her memories without any angst. HA! Every time I hit record, she froze. Couldn't remember a single special time. It took secretly taping her in a conversation & playing it back for her to realize how special it was, to have those moments recounted in her own voice.
Be advised - most of us, even the most naturally talkative, tend to freeze at the very thought of being recorded, including Christmas memories. But what a wonderful legacy. when you do!
Saturday, December 13, 2014
depth perception
As in depth of perception, one of the gifts we youngsters get from being with oldsters, especially with elders. They've been around the block more than a few dozen times, can often put even the direst situation in a more leavened light.
Got to thinking about that yesterday, waiting in the main foyer of a grannie client's senior residence. It was more or less impossible to avoid watching a television monitor - there are no less than four oversized ones within about 40' of each other! Thought I'd positioned myself to avoid eye contact, only to discover one was reflected in the large mirror across from where I waited for my g.c.'s arrival.
It was, as usual, on Fox News. Five commentators were sharing their views on some topic. No idea what, since the sound was turned down - picture only. It dawned on me that Neil Cavuto, at 56, was the oldest one of the people gathered around the table. Fifty-six might seem ancient to the others there, but it still seems pretty young to me for any depth of perception on current events.
The most trusted commentator of all time was Walter Cronkite, who was known & honored for his deep background of experience & the value of his insights. A problem we face with so many young people - most under 50 - being today's talking heads on most of the news networks is they just don't have enough life experience, they lack even a semblance of the gravitas which we need in these challenging days.
It is my great honor to be part of a current events discussion with a group of older friends, several of whom fought in World War II. We often disagree, but they have the ability, learned from many decades of LIFE, to step back & consider. Most have the hard-won gift of discussion, of weighing, of realizing that their opinion might not be the only one worth considering. While so many of us youngsters see them as having their journeys nearing an end, many of them realize in ways we can't imagine that new journeys have just begun. I look around the room at the Thursday afternoon discussion & see so many faces beautifully etched with years of living every sort of joy & sadness. I look around & feel sorry to be the only "kid" in the group.
Just as I bring an interesting perspective to that discussion, older commentators would bring great gifts to the youngsters at CNN, FOX, MSNBC. When we only look to the young & middle aged as our thought leaders, we put ourselves in the precarious position of being more reactive than responsive, more short sighted than having a long view.
Greater depth perception - that's what our network news channels need to add to their mix of talking heads. One with more than a few grey hairs, a face lined with experience & a mind more inclined to wisdom than witticisms.
Got to thinking about that yesterday, waiting in the main foyer of a grannie client's senior residence. It was more or less impossible to avoid watching a television monitor - there are no less than four oversized ones within about 40' of each other! Thought I'd positioned myself to avoid eye contact, only to discover one was reflected in the large mirror across from where I waited for my g.c.'s arrival.
It was, as usual, on Fox News. Five commentators were sharing their views on some topic. No idea what, since the sound was turned down - picture only. It dawned on me that Neil Cavuto, at 56, was the oldest one of the people gathered around the table. Fifty-six might seem ancient to the others there, but it still seems pretty young to me for any depth of perception on current events.
The most trusted commentator of all time was Walter Cronkite, who was known & honored for his deep background of experience & the value of his insights. A problem we face with so many young people - most under 50 - being today's talking heads on most of the news networks is they just don't have enough life experience, they lack even a semblance of the gravitas which we need in these challenging days.
It is my great honor to be part of a current events discussion with a group of older friends, several of whom fought in World War II. We often disagree, but they have the ability, learned from many decades of LIFE, to step back & consider. Most have the hard-won gift of discussion, of weighing, of realizing that their opinion might not be the only one worth considering. While so many of us youngsters see them as having their journeys nearing an end, many of them realize in ways we can't imagine that new journeys have just begun. I look around the room at the Thursday afternoon discussion & see so many faces beautifully etched with years of living every sort of joy & sadness. I look around & feel sorry to be the only "kid" in the group.
Just as I bring an interesting perspective to that discussion, older commentators would bring great gifts to the youngsters at CNN, FOX, MSNBC. When we only look to the young & middle aged as our thought leaders, we put ourselves in the precarious position of being more reactive than responsive, more short sighted than having a long view.
Greater depth perception - that's what our network news channels need to add to their mix of talking heads. One with more than a few grey hairs, a face lined with experience & a mind more inclined to wisdom than witticisms.
Friday, December 12, 2014
mirror, mirror...
The other day, a grannie client & I enjoyed lunch at Scoogi's, a favorite spot in Flourtown.
As soon as we walk through the doors, the hostess at the end of the hall breaks into a big beaming smile, It seems to always delight people, seeing a significantly older woman - she's 93 - out & about, having a grand time, with a good appetite for food & life.
As we enter the main dining room, we spot an older man on the right, exchanging big smiles & happy greetings. We only know each other from the occasional Monday lunch, but it feels like we're all friends. We've seen him with friends, with children, with grandchildren, always at the same table, always having a fine time. He's seen us grinning at him like the two happy women we are, delighting in someone enjoying friends & family.
The staff doesn't bother giving us menus. My grannie client is a lock - the cajun blue burger (without the spices), medium, no pickles. I'm the question mark - meatless lasagne or eggplant parmigiana? And dessert? Always a dish of chocolate & vanilla ice creams with a little chocolate sauce & a little whipped cream for my g.c., a cappuccino for moi.
On this Monday, the parking lot & dining room was filled. One table in particular caught my eye - the LARGE round table in front of the fire place was encircled with eight or nine women, all dressed in holiday finery, all sporting smiles as big as Texas. What joy to be so near them. I pegged them as in their upper 70s. Spot on! They'd been been gathering at each other's birthdays & Christmas since their 1956 high school graduation!
Small wonder I was so intrigued by just watching them interact. To me, they were a group of older women having a grand time. But to each other... Ah, none of them saw the same thing that I did. They looked across the table & saw a young woman in the prime of her life. They mirrored for each other all the low notes of life, which they helped each other move through, and all the HIGH, the ones they held onto even more tenderly in their hearts. To the rest of the room, the looked like grandmas, even great-grandmas, but to each other... To each other, they were priceless mirror that instantly transported them to long past years.
I get to see that same dynamic every Tuesday night, when I take the same grannie client from her upscale senior residence with all its wonderful programs & facilities to our hometown's considerably more modest village. While it doesn't offer craft clubs or an indoor swimming pool, discussion groups of all types or fully equipped exercise or computer rooms, it offers something even more valuable - lifelong friends. The other day, my g.c. sat at a table made up almost exclusively of classmates & schoolmates. Oh, the verve & vigor of the laughter that rang from that table, where the youngest is just about to hit the big 9-0. Whenever we leave from a Tuesday night dinner, it's a sure thing my grannie client will have a more sprightly spring to her step & a smile as big as Texas on her face.
Friends from our youth - for me, they'd include Hannah & Marcia, Billy & Clark - are mirrors that reflect back to our older selves those younger days & younger selves. There are a lot of advantages for oldsters to move to a fine facility like the one where my grannie client lives, but there are no mirrors there to her younger self. She is blessed to be able to see her friends once a week, to reflect back to them those carefree days of youth & all the moments between then & now.
Mirror, mirror on the wall, who's the fairest? Friends of long ago help us see ourselves at our fairest! Blessings on them, whether they are mine, a grannie client's, or a circle of classmates circled around a table at Scoogi's, creating another memory to treasure in their hearts.
As soon as we walk through the doors, the hostess at the end of the hall breaks into a big beaming smile, It seems to always delight people, seeing a significantly older woman - she's 93 - out & about, having a grand time, with a good appetite for food & life.
As we enter the main dining room, we spot an older man on the right, exchanging big smiles & happy greetings. We only know each other from the occasional Monday lunch, but it feels like we're all friends. We've seen him with friends, with children, with grandchildren, always at the same table, always having a fine time. He's seen us grinning at him like the two happy women we are, delighting in someone enjoying friends & family.
The staff doesn't bother giving us menus. My grannie client is a lock - the cajun blue burger (without the spices), medium, no pickles. I'm the question mark - meatless lasagne or eggplant parmigiana? And dessert? Always a dish of chocolate & vanilla ice creams with a little chocolate sauce & a little whipped cream for my g.c., a cappuccino for moi.
On this Monday, the parking lot & dining room was filled. One table in particular caught my eye - the LARGE round table in front of the fire place was encircled with eight or nine women, all dressed in holiday finery, all sporting smiles as big as Texas. What joy to be so near them. I pegged them as in their upper 70s. Spot on! They'd been been gathering at each other's birthdays & Christmas since their 1956 high school graduation!
Small wonder I was so intrigued by just watching them interact. To me, they were a group of older women having a grand time. But to each other... Ah, none of them saw the same thing that I did. They looked across the table & saw a young woman in the prime of her life. They mirrored for each other all the low notes of life, which they helped each other move through, and all the HIGH, the ones they held onto even more tenderly in their hearts. To the rest of the room, the looked like grandmas, even great-grandmas, but to each other... To each other, they were priceless mirror that instantly transported them to long past years.
I get to see that same dynamic every Tuesday night, when I take the same grannie client from her upscale senior residence with all its wonderful programs & facilities to our hometown's considerably more modest village. While it doesn't offer craft clubs or an indoor swimming pool, discussion groups of all types or fully equipped exercise or computer rooms, it offers something even more valuable - lifelong friends. The other day, my g.c. sat at a table made up almost exclusively of classmates & schoolmates. Oh, the verve & vigor of the laughter that rang from that table, where the youngest is just about to hit the big 9-0. Whenever we leave from a Tuesday night dinner, it's a sure thing my grannie client will have a more sprightly spring to her step & a smile as big as Texas on her face.
Friends from our youth - for me, they'd include Hannah & Marcia, Billy & Clark - are mirrors that reflect back to our older selves those younger days & younger selves. There are a lot of advantages for oldsters to move to a fine facility like the one where my grannie client lives, but there are no mirrors there to her younger self. She is blessed to be able to see her friends once a week, to reflect back to them those carefree days of youth & all the moments between then & now.
Mirror, mirror on the wall, who's the fairest? Friends of long ago help us see ourselves at our fairest! Blessings on them, whether they are mine, a grannie client's, or a circle of classmates circled around a table at Scoogi's, creating another memory to treasure in their hearts.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)