Showing posts with label Aging. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Aging. Show all posts
Tuesday, January 9, 2024
Get Your Head Examined
The most severe insult on the playground? "You need to get your head examined!"
What does one do when that is precisely what has been recommended?
I guess one goes in and has her head examined.
One allows herself to get hooked up to a variety of wires and instruments all used to measure the functions of one's brain.
Talk about a Wake-Up Call.
Welcome to my world. I am facing the reality that although my physical body seems to be aging adequately for most of what I am called upon to do. On the other hand, my brain is not. I find myself struggling to keep track of the day in and day out "normal" requirements of life.
Oh bother....as Winnie The Pooh would say.
I suppose this is the perfect time to count my blessings instead of counting my challenges.
1) I chose very well when I was looking for a spouse. Brian is the most caring man I have ever known. He is patient, and loving, and generous. He is a spiritual giant, knowing from where our blessings come. He knows how to encourage me, comfort me, and care for me.
2) The Lord sent four of the most amazing human beings to be in my care as their mother. They now are taking turns encouraging and caring for me.
3) In my world, JOY is spelled: G-R-A-N-D-C-H-I-L-D-R-E-N.
4) My mother is still an important part of my life. I thank the Lord everyday that she remains an anchor of strength, love, and support.
I guess that is a pretty good beginning.
I hope I can learn how to do all the brain exercises I have been assigned to do. It is a little daunting. I used to think I was coordinated.
Thank you for listening. God is so good. He has His eye upon the sparrow, and He has them upon me as well.
Monday, July 22, 2013
Die With Memories, Not Dreams
I was startled by this quote the other day: "Die with memories, not dreams."It caused, as great quotes do, some introspection. I asked myself, what memories do I have tucked away as the treasure of my life? And which are in danger of existing merely as dreams, never to be fully realized and converted into memories?
I dream of a place to gather my growing family. I thought the BeachHouse was to be that place. After some experimentation I have come to believe that that was shortsighted. Once every seven weeks is not reliable nor flexible enough. We need a place that is available 365 days a year; 24/7; for better or for worse; in sickness and in health. Not to mention in quickly encroaching old age.
We need our home to be that place.
Much conventional wisdom would lead the empty nester to believe that down sizing is the answer. For many it may be. For one who dreams of a gathering place, that would seem to be shortsighted too. Why would I move to a home which is devoid of memories, and is also insufficiently sized to create new ones? My present home has been the growing up place for my children, as well as the growing up place for my own immaturity and weakness and foolishness. My children have come out on the other side of their childhoods with confidence, assurance, and courage to face lives as adults, and hopefully many happy memories of time spent together as a family in our beloved home of the past seventeen years.
I believe that I too have come away from my time spent here with experience, with lessons learned, with faith in a still-bright future, with hope for many more years of family gatherings and one-on-one time with grandchildren and hobbies to be pursued and wisdom to be harvested and things to be beautified.
So it's time for movin' on my friend.......
No. Really.
It is actually time for moving on. We have worked very hard to polish and shine our beloved old homestead, which will soon bear one of those dreaded "For Sale"signs. Family pictures have been removed. Our characters have been erased with neutral walls and neutral floors and neutral decor. It is very lovely. But the rooms, for the most part, don't feel the same anymore. And that is intentional. Staging a home for sale is purposefully about inviting the lookers to be able to imagine it with their own things and their own families, not being distracted by our distinct stamp of ownership.
Our memories have been carefully tucked away, but not to remain in boxes forever. Plans are already in the works to build that gathering place of which we dream. It will include minimal stairs, because let's face it, this will be our last home and we're not getting younger. How about a glass studio with sufficient power outlets to fire up a kiln? Undeniably.
We are taking with us the important things of a home, things which will never be as prosaic as rooms and painted walls and gardens. We are taking the people that we love, and we are taking our treasured memories of the sweetest childhoods that ever were.
And any other dreams acquired along the way? Certain to be resolutely converted into long lasting memories.
I dream of a place to gather my growing family. I thought the BeachHouse was to be that place. After some experimentation I have come to believe that that was shortsighted. Once every seven weeks is not reliable nor flexible enough. We need a place that is available 365 days a year; 24/7; for better or for worse; in sickness and in health. Not to mention in quickly encroaching old age.
We need our home to be that place.
Much conventional wisdom would lead the empty nester to believe that down sizing is the answer. For many it may be. For one who dreams of a gathering place, that would seem to be shortsighted too. Why would I move to a home which is devoid of memories, and is also insufficiently sized to create new ones? My present home has been the growing up place for my children, as well as the growing up place for my own immaturity and weakness and foolishness. My children have come out on the other side of their childhoods with confidence, assurance, and courage to face lives as adults, and hopefully many happy memories of time spent together as a family in our beloved home of the past seventeen years.
I believe that I too have come away from my time spent here with experience, with lessons learned, with faith in a still-bright future, with hope for many more years of family gatherings and one-on-one time with grandchildren and hobbies to be pursued and wisdom to be harvested and things to be beautified.
So it's time for movin' on my friend.......
No. Really.
It is actually time for moving on. We have worked very hard to polish and shine our beloved old homestead, which will soon bear one of those dreaded "For Sale"signs. Family pictures have been removed. Our characters have been erased with neutral walls and neutral floors and neutral decor. It is very lovely. But the rooms, for the most part, don't feel the same anymore. And that is intentional. Staging a home for sale is purposefully about inviting the lookers to be able to imagine it with their own things and their own families, not being distracted by our distinct stamp of ownership.
Our memories have been carefully tucked away, but not to remain in boxes forever. Plans are already in the works to build that gathering place of which we dream. It will include minimal stairs, because let's face it, this will be our last home and we're not getting younger. How about a glass studio with sufficient power outlets to fire up a kiln? Undeniably.
We are taking with us the important things of a home, things which will never be as prosaic as rooms and painted walls and gardens. We are taking the people that we love, and we are taking our treasured memories of the sweetest childhoods that ever were.
And any other dreams acquired along the way? Certain to be resolutely converted into long lasting memories.
Thursday, October 28, 2010
Working on my Bucket List
There is a lot of talk these days about bucket lists, mainly due to a popular movie with Morgan Freeman and Jack Nicholson. Great movie; I enjoyed it. A few years back I bought a book called "1000 Places to See Before You Die." It contains a huge selection of the most valued experiences a person can have, according to someone's opinion anyway. And then awhile ago I bought another book called "500 Things to Eat Before It's Too Late." Are you seeing a trend? I have been buying into this idea that we should all be living life to its fullest because eventually we are all going to kick the "bucket" and don't want to have any regrets.
Even with all this outward stimuli, I never really sat down and wrote a bucket list, though I certainly was adequately armed with all those "don't miss" suggestions. But I have always dreamed of places I wanted to see and adventures I was certain would give more meaning to my life.
Then it happened. I was given a dose of reality. I was forced to look straight in the face of my husband's mortality, and consequently, that of my own mortality. And I was startled to see how much they go hand-in-hand. Our lives are so intertwined that as I saw the threat to his life, I felt it as a threat to my own; certainly to my life as I know it, that of being with a companion that offers love and livelihood and laughter.
So I decided to think a little more about a bucket list, a list of all the things I want to experience and accomplish before I kick that darn, rusty bucket. As I did so, armed with paper and pen, an interesting thing happened. I thought I would write fast and furiously, anxious to get on the paper all the amazing destinations I have yet to see.Didn't happen. Instead, my mind turned to an interesting process of prioritizing. Suddenly the most important things became time with family; and trips to meaningful places. There are a few personal accomplishments that I would still like to see happen, but realistically, I feel satisfied with most of the things I have filled my years with. I have educated myself, in lieu of a formal college degree. I have studied the scriptures and taught many lessons from what I have learned. I have explored my creative side, using a variety of mediums to beautify and chronicle my life. Most importantly, I have nurtured four amazing children into adulthood, and fostered significant relationships with a wonderful group of family and friends.
Here is my bucket list, so far. It isn't long. It is filled with my lifelong dreams of exploring the homelands of beloved book characters and authors. Some are just traveling to places that have intrigued me for one reason or another. Nothing is frivolous. Everything is reasonable, I think.
- Write a book, and get it published (This one is close!)
- Tour Great Britain by car
- Serve at least one mission with my husband
- Visit Hilton-Head Island, South Carolina
- Visit New Orleans, Louisiana
- Visit Chicago, Illinois
- Take a thorough Church History Tour
- Nurture a personal relationship with each grandchild
- Revisit painting--take a class again
- Learn to use Photoshop
- Take a train trip to Vancouver, British Columbia, in a sleeper car
- Visit Paris, France
- Cross the English Channel at Dover
- Explore Plymouth Harbor; sail in a tall ship
- Take a riverboat cruise down the Mississippi River
- Take a New England Fall Color Tour
- Go back to Wichita, Kansas someday
- Have a family reunion in Hawaii
- Explore the Alps of Switzerland
- Visit the Holy Land
- Sure, we better throw in there Mt. Rushmore...
Saturday, October 16, 2010
The Autumn of My Life
It recently occurred to me that I am now smack dab in the Autumn of my life. The days of 'younger than Springtime' are so long ago and far away I can hardly remember them. The Summer of my life, when things were at their busiest, raising my children, having lots of energy and lots of big dreams, seems to have faded and been replaced by Autumn.
The colors now are changing and fading; things are becoming dry and wrinkled and crinkly. The barometer registers regularly in the aches and pains of knees and feet and hands. But Autumn has always been a favorite time for me. I won't wish it away. I love the cooler weather that invites cozy clothes and a slower pace. The shorter days require fewer activities to fill them and encourage quiet evenings at home, hunkered down with a blanket and a good movie or a compelling book.
It certainly is a time of adjustment, but the changes are welcome. My family is growing, but without me having to do the nine-month thing anymore. I don't mind letting that task fall to others.
I intend to use this time for gathering in the harvest of my life's efforts, to draw my family to me as often as possible. And I intend to spend everyday in some form of Thanksgiving.
Summer is past. Youth is over. But I am still here, still full of life and love, ready to embrace this season of change. May it come gently and graciously.
It certainly is a time of adjustment, but the changes are welcome. My family is growing, but without me having to do the nine-month thing anymore. I don't mind letting that task fall to others.
I intend to use this time for gathering in the harvest of my life's efforts, to draw my family to me as often as possible. And I intend to spend everyday in some form of Thanksgiving.
Summer is past. Youth is over. But I am still here, still full of life and love, ready to embrace this season of change. May it come gently and graciously.
Wednesday, May 26, 2010
Confidence: Given, earned, or merely fleeting?
We spend our lives pursuing elusive confidence. It is the key to facing life's challenges with hope, with faith, with courage, with head held high. And yet, as soon as we obtain confidence, it slips away and the quest begins again.
Recently I spent a troubled night of restless sleep mourning the loss of the confidence of my youth. Some of you may not have any idea what I'm talking about. Others will. It is undeniable. There is something extraordinarily debilitating about the discovery of one's lost youth. I appreciate the wisdom that comes with old age and maturity, but I don't welcome the decline in physical appearance, strength, and stamina. How much confidence is derived from our outward appearance? What happens when time takes its toll and the freshness of youth is replaced by weariness of body and soul?
My objective has been to age gracefully, but sadly I admit that age is winning the pursuit, and no amount of special creams will keep it at bay. I have never believed in artificial methods for maintaining youth. I am a grandmother, and I am content with looking like a grandmother. But I would like to be a lovely grandmother. Is that too much to ask?
My sun worshipping days of the past are catching up with me. Frustrating age spots are popping up in uninvited places. Gray hair hasn't been much of a nuisance yet, just a few random strands, easily plucked into submission. My slowing metabolism is creeping up on me. Morning stiffness makes me move like an old woman, despite generally not feeling like one.
I can't seem to shake the feeling of being overlooked, not getting the attention I used to in my younger days. The older woman becomes invisible, ignored, disregarded. I've never been one for flashy clothes with an abundance of accessories. Is this what an older woman resorts to in order to be noticed? Some attention I don't want!
I'm certain there must be a way to tap into other reservoirs of confidence. I stumbled upon a quote by the extraordinary beauty, Sophia Loren, who if she has aged, no one cares because she is so fascinating: “There is a fountain of youth: it is your mind, your talents, the creativity you bring to your life and the lives of people you love. When you learn to tap this source, you will truly have defeated age.”
That's the key, isn't it? There are so many other things we can bring to the table that have nothing to do with outward appearance. My desire is to spend my days in quiet service, as the invisible old lady who loses her life hopefully in order to find it. So what if I have to give up some pride and refocus my priorities. My family will always love me, I think, as I mellow into the graying matriarch who is the endless source of good meals, fun surprises, and unconditional love. I may lose my teeth, my figure, my pride, but hopefully I will never lose the twinkle in my eye, the warmth of my wrinkly smile, and the faith in my heart. These are the priceless assets that draw people toward you, no matter what your age, or your size, or your stature.
What do you remember most about your grandmother? Did her wrinkly, twinkly smile make you love her less, or more? Was she fashionably dressed, or simply clean, and sweet smelling with a warm, soft, enveloping embrace? Did the aromas of her cooking fill her home, making it inviting and welcoming?
The transition is the difficult part. Watching the decline is frustrating and painful. I don't care about the aging process in others. Why can't I cut myself some slack, too? Why can't I be more accepting of my own youth slipping away? Because the pace has quickened. The decline is more noticeable. The deterioration has become steadier and more blatant. Perhaps it is time to start wearing red and purple, and saying to heck with it.
No. I'm not quite there yet.
Recently I spent a troubled night of restless sleep mourning the loss of the confidence of my youth. Some of you may not have any idea what I'm talking about. Others will. It is undeniable. There is something extraordinarily debilitating about the discovery of one's lost youth. I appreciate the wisdom that comes with old age and maturity, but I don't welcome the decline in physical appearance, strength, and stamina. How much confidence is derived from our outward appearance? What happens when time takes its toll and the freshness of youth is replaced by weariness of body and soul?
My objective has been to age gracefully, but sadly I admit that age is winning the pursuit, and no amount of special creams will keep it at bay. I have never believed in artificial methods for maintaining youth. I am a grandmother, and I am content with looking like a grandmother. But I would like to be a lovely grandmother. Is that too much to ask?
My sun worshipping days of the past are catching up with me. Frustrating age spots are popping up in uninvited places. Gray hair hasn't been much of a nuisance yet, just a few random strands, easily plucked into submission. My slowing metabolism is creeping up on me. Morning stiffness makes me move like an old woman, despite generally not feeling like one.
I can't seem to shake the feeling of being overlooked, not getting the attention I used to in my younger days. The older woman becomes invisible, ignored, disregarded. I've never been one for flashy clothes with an abundance of accessories. Is this what an older woman resorts to in order to be noticed? Some attention I don't want!
I'm certain there must be a way to tap into other reservoirs of confidence. I stumbled upon a quote by the extraordinary beauty, Sophia Loren, who if she has aged, no one cares because she is so fascinating: “There is a fountain of youth: it is your mind, your talents, the creativity you bring to your life and the lives of people you love. When you learn to tap this source, you will truly have defeated age.”
That's the key, isn't it? There are so many other things we can bring to the table that have nothing to do with outward appearance. My desire is to spend my days in quiet service, as the invisible old lady who loses her life hopefully in order to find it. So what if I have to give up some pride and refocus my priorities. My family will always love me, I think, as I mellow into the graying matriarch who is the endless source of good meals, fun surprises, and unconditional love. I may lose my teeth, my figure, my pride, but hopefully I will never lose the twinkle in my eye, the warmth of my wrinkly smile, and the faith in my heart. These are the priceless assets that draw people toward you, no matter what your age, or your size, or your stature.
What do you remember most about your grandmother? Did her wrinkly, twinkly smile make you love her less, or more? Was she fashionably dressed, or simply clean, and sweet smelling with a warm, soft, enveloping embrace? Did the aromas of her cooking fill her home, making it inviting and welcoming?
The transition is the difficult part. Watching the decline is frustrating and painful. I don't care about the aging process in others. Why can't I cut myself some slack, too? Why can't I be more accepting of my own youth slipping away? Because the pace has quickened. The decline is more noticeable. The deterioration has become steadier and more blatant. Perhaps it is time to start wearing red and purple, and saying to heck with it.
No. I'm not quite there yet.
Saturday, January 23, 2010
Not Really?!! I'm having a bout with...
GOUT!!!!! Say it ain't so!! That is an old man's disease, isn't it?!
Awhile back my husband suffered a bout with gout. I tried to sympathize with him. Tried to console him. Tried to understand why he was being such a baby about a sore toe...
Oh my stars. Now it is MY turn. And it hurts like heck! Not fun! For the past two days I have behaved very badly. I even wore my pajamas all day on Thursday, feeling sorry for myself. Could not figure out what I could possibly have done to hurt my foot. I thought maybe it was fractured but I couldn't think of anything that would have caused it.
I decided I must go in to the doctor for an X-ray. When I was finally able to talk to someone at the doctor's office, the nurse's best guess from my description was GOUT! I couldn't believe it. I didn't want to believe it. But there it was, staring me in the face. As I honestly faced the symptoms, I could see that gout was probably the most accurate diagnosis.
So here I am. Realizing that even though most of the time I feel young enough to do anything I want, the facts is facts. I am getting OLD. I guess it is time to commence pining for my youth. Can I wear my pajamas again today?
Awhile back my husband suffered a bout with gout. I tried to sympathize with him. Tried to console him. Tried to understand why he was being such a baby about a sore toe...
Oh my stars. Now it is MY turn. And it hurts like heck! Not fun! For the past two days I have behaved very badly. I even wore my pajamas all day on Thursday, feeling sorry for myself. Could not figure out what I could possibly have done to hurt my foot. I thought maybe it was fractured but I couldn't think of anything that would have caused it.
I decided I must go in to the doctor for an X-ray. When I was finally able to talk to someone at the doctor's office, the nurse's best guess from my description was GOUT! I couldn't believe it. I didn't want to believe it. But there it was, staring me in the face. As I honestly faced the symptoms, I could see that gout was probably the most accurate diagnosis.
So here I am. Realizing that even though most of the time I feel young enough to do anything I want, the facts is facts. I am getting OLD. I guess it is time to commence pining for my youth. Can I wear my pajamas again today?
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