Tag Archives: Positivity

Pride Before the Fall

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Most people that know me well, know that my favorite place to shop is Kohl’s. Much of my wardrobe spent time there before being bagged and making its home with me. I maintain restrictions on what I buy. It must come from the clearance rack and I must be accompanied by a coupon for 30% off. I make no excuses and am proud of how far I can stretch my dollar. I had put my Kohl’s shopping to rest when I retired last year. I was no longer in need of an expansive wardrobe. With my new found freedom, I didn’t miss my shopping extravaganzas. I didn’t miss them one bit until I received a coupon for a $10 savings in an email. Like an addict, I relapsed and found myself headed to Kohl’s.

I have never been one to shop for special designers or specific brand names. If I happen to buy one, that would be considered an added bonus. Since I don’t live under a rock, I am familiar with top of the line clothing, which is why I was proud to pick up this exceptional bargain. I came across a Vera Wang sweater, marked down to a ridiculously low price. It was styled like a cardigan, only longer, and its thickness would carry me into the season of winter. With its neutral shade, it would match a considerable amount of my pieces. I even managed to find yarn in my stash that would make a lovely scarf to go with it. If one could be smitten with a piece of clothing, I believe that best would describe what I was experiencing.

Monday morning came and putting my usual attire aside, I dressed for the continuing education class I was enrolled in at the community college. I put my favorite pair of pants on and a new top that I picked up previously at Kohl’s. The pants are an odd color and hard to match. My new top went with them perfectly. Before heading out the door I picked up my new sweater and wrapped myself in what I felt made a stylish statement. It would have been perfect if I felt better but I am sure my appearance didn’t give away the struggle I felt I was having with my health.

After the two hours of classroom time, I was absolutely ready to return home. Even though I reveled in my new outfit I began to realize it was probably foolish to go out feeling that way. When I reached my driveway, I took time to gather what I had in the car and then stepped out of the vehicle. It felt as if someone pulled me from behind. There was no way to stop the inevitable and I fell backwards. For the most part I thought it was fortunate that I landed on my bottom. It did nothing to erase the embarrassment. There was a slight breeze and I watched my handouts from class escape my grasp and dance upon the lawn. At some point I realized my left elbow felt wet. Initially I thought I had managed to land in such a way my elbow had made contact with my lawn, rather than the driveway. It didn’t take long for me to realize that my elbow took much of the brunt of the fall and it was bleeding profusely. Yes, there were copious amounts of blood on my new top and sweater. After seeking medical assistance and being stitched up I was left to deal with a sore elbow and a bruised ego. As an adult it is embarrassing to fall but ruining a new outfit added insult to injury. The biggest lesson I took from this episode was I should never covet any clothing, even if that clothing bears a designer name. I will put my pride on ice in the future so I don’t have to put any other part of my body on it.

Exploring

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I don’t know why I was there. The house, although still furnished, was no longer inhabited. It was clear that no one continued to call it home. It stood silent, an interior that once must have boasted a vibrant past, one full of life, now stood quiet as dust collected on every surface. Exploring buildings of this nature was not a normal activity for me. Long gone are the days that I provided disaster relief and had to enter impacted homes in order to assess and validate the damage. This house didn’t tell a tale of disaster but rather sadness. I didn’t fear my safety from a compromised structure but I did feel uneasy. The sun didn’t provide much illumination throughout the rooms and apparently there was no electricity.

Entering the hallway, I saw a large opening into a room. I took notice of the wooden pocket doors at the entrance. They were tall, thick and still in working order. I didn’t attempt to close them but someone I was with took steps to pull them together. Just as the doors were closing, I noticed a figure move inside the room. It had the shape of a human but with the swift movement I couldn’t tell if it was a shadow or an actual person. Either way I believe we were given proof that we weren’t alone in the house. The movement startled me. As the pocket doors were coming together, I was conscious that I held something in my hand. I chose to ward off any harm that might beset me by throwing it into the room. There was no time to aim with precision but my gut instinct was to show that I was aware of their presence and I would take steps needed to protect myself. As the doors were within a foot of closing all the way, I threw the object toward the doors and heard a crash.

It was then that I woke up, safely tucked in bed. There was a soft illumination in the room as the television was on. It gave me enough light to notice that the noise in the room not only startled me but also woke my cat. Her head was up, staring in the direction where we heard the crash. Instantly I knew that I had been dreaming. It was obvious that I had quickly fallen asleep while checking out whether there might be a program that I wanted to watch. I still had my glasses on and they were propped up on the tip of my nose to allow my focus from that angle. What was missing was the remote. My right hand was empty and I swiftly recalled it was the same arm I used to throw the item in my dream, the one I used to keep myself safe. I would check for damage in the morning and locate the remote. The cat and I both settled back into a peaceful sleep. If I explored any other houses in my dreams, I don’t recall.

Dreams have always held an interest for me. I have understood that they exist so your unconscious mind can explore solutions for various issues while you sleep. I have yet to explore what the frightening exploration of that house might mean. No matter how many times I have checked into the meaning of my dreams, I have yet to find a resource that gives me a definitive explanation. Upon retrospect, I imagine that is the way it should be. We are all individuals, exquisite and special in our own right. No interpretation would suit everyone. I will continue to question the meaning of my night time visions but revel in the dreams I enjoy during my waking hours. Those are the ones I plan to fully explore, the dreams that provide my guidance to the future.

See You, Hubbell

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Lately I have noticed that entertainers that I grew up watching and listening to, are making their transition. Their names catch my attention and depending on my attachment I usually let out a slight gasp or sigh. The level of my connection usually matches the level of my vocalization, never anything loud or close to a shriek. I can’t think of anyone, outside my family and friends, whose death would truly impact me. That being said, when we lose entertainers in the future, the like of Alan Alda or Elton John, I will bemoan the loss of their talented offerings. I will remember the years of enjoyment they gave me. That is much of what I felt with the recent loss of Robert Redford. Although he was up in years, he like the others, appeared immortal to me.

I mentioned in a previous blog that I recently joined with my former classmates for a reunion. It was a landmark occasion and it has been decades since we gathered to accept our diplomas and embarked upon our adult adventures. We shared stories and laughter over the weekend. I was surprised that Robert Redford was highlighted in a few of these stories. I’m not proud but will admit we would regularly sneak into the drive in theater. We would maneuver through a farmer’s field, adjacent to the theater’s lot. I can remember going that route to see The Way We Were more times than I could count. It was worth it to see Robert Redford on the big screen. The farmer became wise to our bad habit and one night he sprang up out of his crops and pointed a rifle at us. I was just happy it came after the run of The Way We Were was complete.

That was not the only exposure we had to Robert Redford. In our senior year we traveled to New York City for a conference. Although our school won an award, none of us were present to accept it. We were making merry in the Big Apple. One of the most outstanding memories was the night we crashed the premier of the Great Waldo Pepper. What possessed us as unruly teenagers to walk into a New York theater as a premier showing was letting out, is beyond me. It net us quite the reward for being so brash. We found ourselves up close and personal with Robert Redford, Paul Newman and John Denver. Seared into my memory is how Redford flashed that famous and charming smile. So much time has passed that all three of the celebrities are now gone yet at the time of our reunion we would still have Redford for three more days.

I offer this as a remembrance of a talented individual and how I had the good fortune to have a brief experience when my life intersected with his. He doesn’t need my accolades yet in his lifetime he realized he was in a position to make contributions to aid others. Redford initiated the Sundance Film Festival to give those lesser-known film artisans an opportunity to explore and highlight their talent. Why not follow his lead? Maybe we can offer brightness and optimism to others not by Sundance but by Dancing in the Sun. It can be our way of lifting others by acknowledging them and offering praise. It won’t cost us a thing other than taking the time to share a positive thought. It would be a wonderful habit to establish. There will be no awards and no one will look at us and say we remind them of Robert Redford. Wouldn’t it be wonderful though, at the end of our lives, we could smile and say that was The Way We Were?

Reunion

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As a blogger, I consider myself fortunate that inspiration comes easily and in a timely manner. I knew this week I would be focusing on my class reunion. What I didn’t know is what emotions would be elicited after seeing my former classmates. Decades have passed since we embarked on our own personal journeys and our paths were different from one another. I have admitted to initially being a cynic where reunions were concerned. For the longest time I felt our connection was random due to being the same age and having parents with a desire to have us attend parochial school. I couldn’t imagine what else would have brought us together. Now that I have a bounty of life experience under my belt, I appreciate that what I thought was random was actually a collective of those with whom I have a shared history.

Our gatherings this weekend were evidence that our conversations reflected our current status in life and we have not been stagnant. Years ago we spoke of higher education and opportunities. With the addition of years, we shared news of our profession, marriage and children. It is not an exaggeration to note that the greater portion of our lives is behind us. Now we speak of retirement and those who proudly wear the title of grandparent. There was such a sense of joy to be in one another’s company. No competition, no cliques, nothing but cohesion and acceptance carried us. Time has not tarnished our relationships and it was so easy to share conversation and memories.

There appeared to be an overriding opinion, spoken by many. We were fortunate to live safely in our little communities, untouched by danger and unrest. Even though the world was facing difficult times, we felt privileged to grow up where and when we did. Although somewhat naïve, we might not have recognized that there were some classmates that were challenged by issues at home. At the time we weren’t aware and if we were, I doubt we would have had resources to offer support. Everyone put on a brave face and met life with a belief that faith would safely bring us through it. Constantly reminded of the golden rule it would take years to take it to heart and develop a profound sense of empathy. Being in the company of my classmates proved that they have not only acquired empathy but admirable traits and personalities.

After all these years we made up for lost time in a period of two evenings. Laughter ensued as memories were shared and stories repeated. We recalled the times we pushed the envelope, and reveled in our immortality. We recognized the loss of classmates who were not as fortunate to enjoy a long life. The loss of parents and some siblings have become the norm. How will we choose to honor our connection in the future? I have the sense that those students, who once wore uniforms and walked silently in double file, will choose to continue to figuratively walk with one another. The scenery looks different than it did as angst filled teenagers but the unity we enjoy will help guide us through the next stages. Who better to understand than one with a shared history?

Cheated

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I believe in life after death. I don’t share that to impose my beliefs upon anyone. I do so to explain the basis of this blog and why, after a certain experience, I felt cheated. I believe in eternity and that life goes on in an energetic or soul-based way. I know for certain this is the result of being raised in a Christian home. In my case, the veil has always been thin and I know the presence of loved ones, those who have gone before, are not far removed.

I have had procedures and operations that had me flex my faith muscles and pray that I would be healthier when coming out on the other side. Never did I expect a routine examination to bring me close to crossing the line. There was a time that I hadn’t been feeling well and a friend offered to drive me to an appointment. The facility wasn’t close and I was grateful that I didn’t need to deal with the distance and traffic. Upon our arrival I left her behind in the waiting room and made my way to an examination room. I don’t recall exactly but I am sure I shared my recent health concerns with the doctor. At some point during the examination, I see darkness enveloping me and the room. Before all this darkness beset me, I faintly remember hearing the doctor ask me if I was okay. Without warning I went into sudden cardiac arrest.

While I was under, the doctor frantically called for a crash cart. He was new to this location and didn’t know where this equipment was kept. He began chest compressions on me to keep my blood circulating. My friend, still sitting in the waiting room, was aware that an emergency was taking place down the hall. In her wildest imagination she could not have envisioned that I was the one causing the commotion. The steps that were taken were successful. My heart beat was restored and I regained consciousness. As I opened my eyes, I was surrounded by a group of people that were not there when the darkness enveloped me. I felt stunned and awkward. I was informed of the events that took place and the group of people, staring at me so intently, soon dissipated.

Once totally revived I was given time to recover and become more alert. As time passed, I began to wonder if my episode could be considered a near death experience. It saddens me to think that my encounter only offered me a solo trip into darkness. My parents weren’t there to tell me I had to go back, there was no bright light, and there was no out of body experience. I felt cheated. Where was the warmth and love others have expressed upon their return? I do not have a death wish and am grateful that my cardiac arrest was reversed and I didn’t suffer any lingering effects. Still, I wonder. Did I not meet some critical threshold that would determine if I had almost died. I don’t want to think, when the reality of death should occur, that it brings a dark void. It goes against everything I have ever believed. Maybe this was not a test run and possibly my feeling of being cheated is misplaced. I don’t want to tempt fate and feel it is wise to leave this to be continued, hopefully far into the future.

Chocolate Peanut Butter

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My friend and I had stopped at a local coffeehouse for lunch some time ago. The location was named for the trainline that ran through town. The atmosphere there is warm and inviting.  An old house was converted to become one of the town’s newest eateries.  If you are fortunate, while dining, you can experience the train traveling at a high rate of speed almost within arm’s reach.  That particular afternoon we chose reasonably healthy meals.  Before we left, mainly out of curiosity, we checked out the dessert menu and witnessed the most fabulous creation of baked delights: chocolate peanut butter cake.

The description of this cake demands a paragraph all its own.  First, the cake was more of a layered torte.  It was cut to the size of a graham cracker, although much thicker. Upon the first layer of cake a decadent filling of peanut butter was piped in a swirling fashion.  This was capped with another layer of cake and peanut butter, until there were a total of three layers of cake. Upon witnessing this dessert offering it was no longer the train ringing in my ears, but rather the ethereal voice of angels.  Yes, as cliché as it seems, it truly appeared to be a heavenly feast.  At that time the feast was for our eyes alone, but a plan was hatched.

I have always considered chocolate peanut butter the best mood altering substance.  It can be candy, it can be cake, it can be ice cream, it really doesn’t matter.  It simply has to be a combination of chocolate and peanut butter.  Although my thighs think it should be outlawed I feel pleased that my vice is not illegal.  Knowing that the coffeehouse has such a fine example of dessert I knew it would not be long until there would be a rationalized excuse to consume a piece.  We agreed, not only would there be a future order, but we would make it our meal.  Gleefully we left the coffeehouse knowing that one day we would return to find a stacked confections of chocolate and peanut butter alongside steaming cups of coffee at our table.

That day arrived and we were seated just prior to lunch.  Several of the tables were taken and no one took notice as our coffee was brought and our order was placed.  The waitress was a bit concerned that the cake might still retain its chill from refrigeration.   After all, she stated, no one has ever ordered the cake so early in the day.  The chatter among the other diners was brought to a halt as two plates stacked with the sinful indulgence made its way to our table.  The waitress, aware of the diner’s thoughts, announced that we were having dessert for lunch.  Whispers were exchanged and heads turned.  Those who followed the stride of the waitress settled on us with looks of both humor and envy.  Our escape to find comfort among the calories did not go unnoticed.  I suspect that our mission, so successful in our minds, might have a life of its own as others either recounted what they witnessed or chose to one day follow in our footsteps.

As we left the coffeehouse the sky opened and the drizzle turned to rain.  With our goal met we understood that the issues in life would remain but our diversion was helpful.  Our lips found it just a bit easier to curve into a smile and laugh at the world with the remnant of that cake upon them.

Iron Man and Rusty Tears

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Those who have been fans of Ozzy Osbourne might recognize the title of a Black Sabbath song and make the assumption that this blog is a tribute. That could easily be a misconception as I was never a fan of Ozzy’s. Heavy metal, head bangers and biting bats never had a place in my life. As a teenager, behind my bedroom door, my orange stereo with the polka dot speakers would play a more mellow genre of music. I think my brothers might have thought about planning an intervention to lessen the grip of Elton John and have me give equal time to some of my other favorites. Without admitting it, my brothers’ constant guitar riffs might have been a way to drown out my selections. Again, Ozzy was never found among my choice of James Taylor, Carole King and the harmony of America. So now, upon his death, why do I find myself crying?

The media has been inundated with Ozzy’s life story. Unless you have been living under a rock, there has been no way to miss the good, the bad and the ugly. He has led a life of extremes. He is not the only one who has fallen down as a result of addiction and infidelity. His language was salty enough to make a sailor blush. Yet when others have walked these paths, they are not the fodder of major news stories. Ozzy’s mistakes were made on the world stage and the admissions he made were just as large. What I missed by avoiding his music and reality show was the man behind the entertainer. It turns out the Prince of Darkness was actually a generous and loving family man. He especially relished time spent with his children and grandchildren. Is the Osbourne family unique? In many ways, yes. Who among us find cameras following our every movement? I am certain there is no one in my circle who boasts the same balance in their bank accounts. Yet, even as a proverbial rock star, he appears to have been very human.

I have been wondering why I, so new to all this information, have had such a strong reaction to his death. I sobbed as I watched the family make their way to Black Sabbath Bridge. Their pain and loss was so clearly evident in their countenance that I believe anyone would be hard pressed not to be moved. Seeing this video repeated several times over brought the same reaction. I had an overwhelming feeling that my tears had been stashed away, lying in wait for the appropriate time.

Tears bring us into this world. A mother excitedly waits to hear that first cry. Childhood tears can be the result of skinned knees. Those that might make themselves present during the teen years can express hurt feelings from not being accepted by a certain social group or maybe a fleeting first love. Adult tears may be produced from an entirely profound depth. The tears I found coming so easily to the surface due to Ozzy’s death were unexpected but still profound. It’s as if they were rusty, returning to the surface deep from the well. There are those, like Ozzy, who leave something tangible behind for the world. That is countered by the reality that fame and money can’t buy you health or a longer life. Then there are the rest of us who were also given the precious gift of life, whose lives might not be as grand but are every much as important. Life is fleeting and there comes a time when do-overs become rare. If I have learned anything from Ozzy’s transition is the importance of doing what you love. Now is the time. With this knowledge I will wipe my tears and instead give a salute to Ozzy and be a Dreamer going through Changes.

More Than Skin Deep

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What you see is what you get. I have finally made it to the time in life where I am not chasing fashion trends. If the truth be known, I don’t think I ever spent much time in that category. I have reached the stage where I choose to dress for comfort.  Some might say I look like a grandmother, although I am not one. My hair is gray and it is a simple style that doesn’t require much upkeep. I am well aware that I carry more weight on my frame than I should. I dress like my mother did. I don’t shy away from pants with elastic or embroidered tops. I prefer flats to heels. I have never had anything so important to me that I would sit and endure hundreds of pin pricks for a tattoo. My only piercings are the single ones in each ear lobe. Translated: I would like to think I am relevant but my appearance doesn’t equate to being cool.

Before I retired, I had the opportunity to work with a new hire. She came in as a manager and it was my responsibility to mentor her. I worked for a behavioral health organization and we were very accepting of those who felt comfortable in their skin and often marched to the beat of their own drum. The new manager fell into this category. Her style of dress was a bit on the goth side. I don’t recall seeing her in any color beyond black, deep purple or navy blue. She had invested her time in piercings and tattoos that exemplified what she found important in life. She had a verse tattooed around her neck and try as I might I could never read the entire script. Finally, I had to ask her what it said. I share this with you so you can picture the two of us working together. To say it was enjoyable, was an understatement. There was a camaraderie that formed quickly. What could have been a challenge was never an issue for us. It wasn’t long before we learned we shared an interest in the paranormal and an appreciation of Freddie Mercury.

It may be cliché but you truly can’t judge a book by its cover. I was in the yarn aisle of a craft store and found myself in conversation with another customer whose appearance greatly differed from mine. She had bright pink hair and several piercings. She brought out her recent project and explained she needed more of one of the colors. She was there trying to find a match. Together we went up and down the aisles comparing colors and blends. I have heard that in the future handcrafted items will be a thing of the past. I thought it was refreshing to see a younger woman be so accomplished in crochet. Another recent trip I did come across an actual grandmother who shared some commonality with me. Through our conversation I learned that she had been assisted by the disaster relief agency where I had once worked. She also mentioned she was interested in having her grandson receive services from the agency from which I had recently retired. It makes me smile to think about what pleasant conversations I might have missed if we hadn’t reach out to one another.

These encounters also bring to mind the good fortune I had of working with another staff member who called me her work mom. Although we are different races and generations, we developed a close relationship. We do share the same values and appreciation of family. Once she asked me how old I was and then declared I could actually be her work grandmother! I have learned that being judgmental could rob me of welcome experiences. Additionally, I am grateful that others have been open minded to see that I too might just have something of interest to share, something that goes beyond skin deep.

Unconditional

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I have often heard if you want unconditional love, get a dog. I am going to ask your indulgence to also include a cat in that statement. Throughout my adult years I have had cats as pets. It’s not that I don’t care for dogs, I do and enjoy their company immensely. I have found my lifestyle was more compatible to sharing my home with feline companions. As I age, I look at my most recent rescue and realistically consider her possibly my last. I have had the good fortune for my cats to live close to two decades on average but I can’t predict what the future holds.

When I rescued Molly, my most recent, I didn’t anticipate any issues. Having multiple cats previously I always took my time to introduce the most recent arrival. This time, as there were no other resident cats, it should have gone easily but that wasn’t the case. Molly could be cantankerous and defensive. In a very short period of time, I learned she has severe arthritis and her front legs are swollen and bowed. She gets a monthly shot and a daily supplement but I think she may still have some discomfort. I have excused her behavior but at times I have referred to her as Miss Cranky Pants. As time passes, she has become loving and loyal. She has made it clear that I am her person and will often let others know she has no time for their presence in her life.

Molly refrains from hissing, growling and swatting unless she feels threatened. I don’t see this behavior but the vet and others have told me it still exists. The other week I fell while at home. As I writhed in pain on the floor, Molly began hissing at me. Recently, I had the need to call for an ambulance. As I struggled to stay on my feet without falling, Molly again hissed at me. When taking the time to think about her unusual reaction, I couldn’t help but put a human emotion to her response. After seven years, her former owner had relinquished Molly to the shelter when her health necessitated a move into a nursing home. It may be a stretch to think that during my times of ill health she might have recalled her former life and it frightened her. I’ll never know as Molly’s not talking. Maybe it was that or it could have been the result of her unpredictable moods. I do know that while I was hospitalized and my son and brother spent time at my home with Molly, she acquired two new nicknames. Calling her Pissy Paws and Molly the Mutilator is not the result of her providing pleasant, affectionate company.

I make light of Molly’s moods but I do take seriously that she has been entrusted to me for the best care I can provide for her. It’s not challenging like motherhood. In the beginning, when you are so tired, you still must find the energy to provide all things to this new little life you have brought into the world. The bond and deep love you possess carries you through a lifetime. Through the years, when my son pushed the envelope, he knew it would never diminish the unconditional love I have for him. It is unrealistic to love and be loved by all who cross our path, but to open our hearts to care and accept others should be something we all strive to do. We may be met with a less than a welcoming response, one that may be the result of previous experiences and disappointments. At least we will know that we tried. Caring for a temperamental cat seems easy in comparison.  I bet Miss Cranky Pants would even agree.

Three Little Words

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I bet you think you know where this blog is going. What usually comes to mind when “three little words” are mentioned? Yes, telling someone you love them is important on so many levels. We should never take for granted that our loved ones know how we feel. Whether it be your significant other, your family or close friends, one should never hesitate to share your feelings. It makes one’s heart feel good to speak it and oh so wonderful to be on the receiving end. I am extremely fortunate that those in my close circle say those three little words often and with meaning.

Now, I will tell you about three other simple little words that can carry empathy and healing. Those you share them with don’t have to be in your intimate circle. That is the beauty it carries with it. To tell someone “I hear you” is the most compassionate and caring response. No judgement, no rehearsed comments, nothing but a sincere acknowledgement to let them know they were heard. Often it takes courage to speak up and share something that is laying heavy on your heart. There might not be a solution and often you are not seeking advice but hoping that your words are received and truly heard to help lighten the load.

Recently I learned that someone I had known decades ago was faced with a life changing challenge. He lives far from where we were as teenagers and without him reaching out, his current situation would be unknown. He didn’t share this information right away and it took courage to finally decide to reach out. I was devastated to hear his news and I knew there was nothing I could say that would change his circumstances but I did let him know that I heard him. It may be best to say I heard what he didn’t say: the frustration and disappointment that was clearly evident and very much understood. When he, in turn replied, said he appreciated being heard.

I have a chronic health condition that is not physically obvious. Those close to me know but many who don’t think I am the picture of health. I have limitations and although I have learned to live with them, I would rather not have to be faced with any of it. I have mentioned my own health but there are so many other obstacles in life that encumber us. If there were ways to cast the problems off we would do it, but in reality, many of them linger. If we carry them for long periods of time they can begin to fester and it only adds to the burden. Sharing them in the hope that someone hears more than your words is like offering a little prayer. Please help me navigate to the other side of this. You don’t have to solve the problem, but accompany me along the way. Hearing, using both your ears and your heart, is the greatest of gifts.