Hello Sandy….

I haven’t known many Sandys in my life and I’m not referring to hurricanes but people named Sandy but I’ve always been fond of that name.  It’s probably the reference to Grease, the play, or Sandra Dee in general, that makes me think positively but now we have a hurricane named Sandy.

Why do they give hurricanes names and personify them at all?  They are natural occurrences of nature but they are usually devastating events no matter where they occur.  I realize they rotate the names based on the letters of the alphabet and, to be politically correct, they now name them after men as well as women but why name them after people?

I was always told my elders, as a child, that they named the hurricanes after women because they are so unpredictable, like women, and after all doesn’t the word hurricane include the phonogram “her”.  But what about the devastating effects caused by these storms; the loss of life, the loss of personal effects?  In fact, they don’t name tornadoes and they don’t name cyclones, the other version of hurricanes, do they?

When something is personified, it is done so to add human attributes to a non human entity like Peter Rabbit but storms just don’t fit that moniker, do they?  They are not friendly, they are not welcomed, they are not indicative of human nature, or are they?

As I understand and have experienced human nature, we can be beastly creatures, unpredictable, and generally uncontrollable at times, in fact, murderous entities unwilling to stop until we peter out from exhaustion.  Well maybe I am making a case for personifying tropical cyclones after all.  We all remember the significant weather events like Gloria, Irene, and others especially on Long Island.

I live in Florida now but I find myself up in New York for Sandy.  I have personally lived through a number of these storms and was more affected by their resulting damage then their interim storm event.  Like others, I found it fascinating to witness the aftereffect of the muscle of these storms: the floods, the downed trees; the loss of power; the sheer power of wind and rain.

 Sandy is already overstaying her welcome in the NY area and I am already tired of the reporters standing in the same areas where people have been forced to evacuate.  How many times can we watch their hats blowing off; their camera lenses filled with raindrops offering breaking news of overflowing banks, loss of electric power; and reporters standing in sea foam and water?

Now I understand why they name these storms; we are all voyeurs titillated by forceful and uncontrollable characters; all this and just in time for Halloween; trick or treat anyone?

Coffee please...

There is so much I want to say in these blogs.  My life is so much more enriched as a senior citizen than it was in my youth and I feel compelled to analyze and share so that others might share this moment along with me.

 I now have the time to be gracious.  I have the time to be thankful.  I can enjoy so many of the atomic particles of happiness that I missed before with my hurried and me centered life style.

I think that the older you get, the more you slow down but that’s not a bad concept.  I am starting to sense the lovely nuances of life that I missed in my speedy, hurry up and do lifestyle.

Yesterday I had a beautiful day; we had some of our relatives over; the older set, and it was wonderful. When was the last time you sat with a World War II veteran and his bride and had the chance to laugh over the silliest of jokes?  He’s an amazing man; full of life, tender, silly, sweet; and he has to be one of the most adorable men I have ever met. So caring, loving, and still in love with his sweetheart of over 65 years who shares the same love and tenderness with him and all others.  Their bond, their love is engaging and one that makes you feel warm all over.  What’s also remarkable is that I am not envious of them because I feel included in their love; their relationship emanates such warmth to all those around them.

Don’t you want to know where all of these sweet sensitive men are; the considerate ones, the ones who wake each morning asking themselves how they can make their spouses happy each and every day?  They are all around us and yet we have trouble noticing them. I think it’s because we, as women, forget to ask ourselves how to make our spouses happy first. Is this an old fashioned concept, a fairy tale that is unattainable?

So, you might be thinking, you have to be an octogenarian to experience this type of happiness but the answer is no.  You also might be wondering if these types of relationships are fictional at best or lost to the current generations but the answer is no again.  And finally, you might believe that these story bound relationships are too rare to believe in but the answer is again no.

I know another much younger couple, Mimi and John, who have this special bond and and have had this type of mystical marriage for so many years.  What’s the answer then?  I believe the secret is twofold:  each partner has to have the same drive and intentions to want to please the other.  

We've all heard that you get more happiness by pleasing others yet our society promotes the “happiness of one” style; encourages you to forget the others in your life if they are too hard to please and just please yourself…a walkman/ I Pod mentality.  But the true joy of life comes with pleasing others which includes your strong personal relationships as well as casual strangers and this formula works for all.

Bing Crosby will soon be encouraging  us to “count our blessings” as the holiday season descends upon us but I say create your blessings; show the people you love, real love; think of them first; do something small, gesture like, and make sure when they say they love you; tell them you love them more and mean it.

Happiness One Day at a time: Facebook is our new collective memory…

Happiness One Day at a time: Facebook is our new collective memory…: I know I am getting old because I spend a lot time reflecting; looking backwards if you will.  My memory of certain days in the past is sk...

Facebook is our new collective memory…

I know I am getting old because I spend a lot time reflecting; looking backwards if you will.  My memory of certain days in the past is sketchy at best and I rely heavily on others with their sketchy memories to fill in the blanks for me…that’s where Facebook comes in.  It’s the new collective truth about the past.

Joe says the best times of our lives are behind us and he has fond memories of his childhood even though his occurred in Carnarsie of all places.  He liked the 50’s; I didn't.  It was a great family time for him and a bad one for me.  I prefer to live in the 60’s and a little bit of the 80’s in my reveries. 

I like all of the “remember when” references on Facebook.  It gives me a jolt to my memory and allows me the option of dredging up childhood memories that I choose to think about.  I also enjoy the “pile on” effect where lots of people add to the memory chain and refer to their own personal experiences.  I can picture the smiles on their faces as they comment on the sweet thoughts that they just shared with others.

Some people have fabulous collections of their past.  One friend, Luke, has an amazing history in pictures of his past and shares them willingly with everyone.  I envy his collection and I spend hours staring at the small black and white photographs to see the many faces of people I know, knew, and encountered in my past.  You can see the essence of who someone is in these early pictures; their smiles seem to always stay the same (or their lack thereof); the part in their hair; the people they are clinging to in the photo; is there a dog in the frame? What street are they standing on? What’s in the background?

The other day someone put a video of a parade online and I actually saw myself as a careless 14 year old marching down the street.  I barely recognized this young teen version of me and it seemed to catch me totally unawares.  Who was that girl?  Where is she today?  Is that me or is that some girl I don’t know… Did that girl really grow up to be me?

It’s difficult to say how much I resemble that 14 year old because that seems like another lifetime away from me.  I could see how haunted I looked in those days even though I was smiling faintly.  How I wish that I could be that 14 year old girl looking at my 60 year old picture today and drawing conclusions.  What would I see?  What would I think about this older woman?  What conclusions would I draw?  Oh Facebook, did you mean for these thoughts to occur or is this an accident of happenstance. Either way, thanks for sharing everyone; keep putting those pictures up so we can all see and remember what once was.

In the wee small hours of the morning...

You know that time of the night when it’s morning to you but not to any one else?  That’s the time that I have a myriad of conversations with people in my head.  I argue, I love, I cry, I think….too much.

It seems to happen more now that I am older and I am positive that this effort is a totally useless activity.  I say all the things to the ghosts of people present, past and probably future that I want to say, need to say, feel obligated to say.  Now there is nothing wrong with this except for the fact that I assume what these people would say back to me and I am usually wrong in determining their responses.

Our perceptions of what people think is usually full of misunderstandings and so we torture ourselves with what we believe other people are thinking with very little evidence to support our beliefs.  Example:  I haven’t heard from my friend in a while so she must be angry with me for some forgotten promise?  Not true, she is just busy with her life as I am as  I learned yesterday.

Nighttime presents some unusual opportunity for these one-sided conversations. The nighttime darkness actually seems to lend itself to this suspension of belief and allows my mind to wander off; spiral off in multiple directions down alleyways of directionless and really mindless channels.

After I argue all of my pointless points with the ever unpresent, I feel no better, no more resolved than anyone would sporting a one-sided conversation should.  So why do this?  Well this self-inflicted game is no more controllable than assuming you can make the sun rise faster. 

What I have learned recently is how to break the syndrome when I realize that I am caught in this web of regret and pointless offline discussion thread.  I reach across the bed and put my arm around Joe.  Touching him, feeling his warmth and comfort seems to relax me; in fact, release me from this struggle and makes me realize that all I have to worry about is making his lunch for work…is that bad?

Cancer Strikes Such a Nerve in All of Us

After my recent blog describing my son and sister’s diagnoses of cancer and what it has meant to me, I received literally hundreds of responses.  I was overwhelmed with the messages of support but more importantly, I was stunned with the number of response stories of cancer in other people’s lives and what it has meant to them.

An oncologist told me recently that we all have cancer cells or irregular cells in our bodies and there are a myriad of factors in each of us: genetics, eating habits, and immunity factors, which drive the potential for these irregular cells to grow and be labeled as cancer.  So I ask, is there more cancer around today or are we just more aware?

It seems that we all know someone close to us with cancer and I began to wonder why.  Is it because we are living longer and our immune systems seem to wane as we age?  Is it because we eat so much junk?  Is it because we forget to exercise?  Is it because we inherited it?  The answer seems to be yes or all of the above and none of the above.

If you don’t have a loved one diagnosed with cancer then you are the exception these days and count yourself very lucky.  In my age group of the 60 something’s, I can’t find someone who doesn’t have cancer in their close circle.  What’s important to glean from this factor is not fear but strength.  The more cancer appears in our medical universe, the more research, surgical improvements, and general health improvements there are as a result.  Remember when AIDS was a death notice? 

Although there needs to be so many more improvements: obviously the best would be the clear prevention of the multiple layer generic description known as cancer; science and the medical community have made many advancements to prolong life for those afflicted.  What strikes me as funny is the fact that cancer is such a broad based description of multiple diseases which are extremely unique and definable in so many other terms.

Cancer makes us all recognize the fragility of life; the importance of the quality of life; and the current limitations of the medical establishment.  With more genetic testing identifying prominent factors that encourage cancer to grow in each of us; one has to wonder if these mutations of cells is escapable or an obvious result of aging.  Now that we can improve our life force chances with the early detection of cancer cells, one has to speculate as to why we all don’t get tested on a periodic basis to determine our hidden cell damage.  I guess it must be too expensive and I have heard from some people that they just don’t want to know if they possess the gene that may cause cancer.

I remember in college, a thousand years ago, when one evening when we were pulling an all nighter supposedly studying and someone waxed philosophic and asked each of us, “Would you want to know when you were going to die?”  I can clearly recall my answer as “No.”  I was concerned that such information would dominate my life and make me think of nothing else.  For me, this would be true; I would be obsessed with such information. What I would prefer to know is do I have a time bomb in me that could go off in the near future? Could I prevent the bomb from exploding if I just did something different in my life to prevent it?  Well maybe and that’s the rub.  We don’t know what really prevents cancer is some and not others.  We only know what to do in hindsight.

So for today, I will exercise, eat better, and wonder about my genes donated by my ancestors and be as vigilant as I can or just eat chocolate instead; that seems to work too.  I guess we all have to decide for ourselves; most of us just prefer not to think, I think.

My son has cancer….

No matter how many times I say this to myself; it seems unreal but it is true.  My son is 30 and he has cancer.  I have watched him go through the stages from afar.  I say afar because he lives on the opposite side of the country and having mom around is just not an option at this point.

What do you do while you wait patiently for updates?  My son is an adult and is managing his healthcare very appropriately with his wife and I am sitting on my hands trying to keep from calling him everyday.  I was always the chief healthcare support person as he grew up and now I am not but that’s as it should be.  We, mothers, have a tendency to say the wrong things to adult children because we still think of them as children and they’re not.  We want to cradle them again and that’s no more attractive to them than it is trying to cradle a porcupine.  It’s not that he’s prickly but the resulting image of returning to a child when you’re facing such a live changing illness makes things worse; it takes his power away.

This has been a difficult lesson for me but I am learning and doing better each and every day.  My son has been through multiple operations for a late stage colorectal cancer diagnosis including a permanent ostomy. He suffered through radiation but complained very little; he is learning to manage his new body part and loss of other body parts and now he is in the final stages of chemotherapy and realizing the cost of that procedure.

He is very brave by my standards but says very flatly, “It’s not like I have a choice.” My sister has breast cancer and I watched nervously as she proceeded through her therapy with a stiff smile because she was in control not the cancer and now I am watching my son do the same.  My sister gives me some sound advice because she understands cancer and I don’t.  To me it’s a thief in the night, dark and brooding, stealing life instead of silverware, and leaving an indelible mark.  To her, cancer is abnormal cells that grow and as they grow, she won’t allow them to take over her life or her body without a fight.

They say cancer changes people; I always thought it mean those people with cancer but it changes all those around them as well.  I am a little less frightened now (just a little less);  I am learning to be a support person for my family members instead of the controlling one;  I am learning that cancer is only a part of the equation…that growing and changing your positive mental cells should be the result.

I feel fat today….

I don’t understand how my body concept can change from day to day but it does and today I feel fat.  Does the scale agree? I try not to get on the scale everyday and, in fact, I try to only get on the scale on my skinny days (days I feel good about my body) but like a lot of other women, I am obsessed with my body.

I get a lot of pressure from the media of course like all women (wish I had an airbrushed version of myself) but most of my negative internal feedback is just that “negative INTERNAL feedback.”

Why do we think this way?  Men can walk around with protruding bellies and take off their shirts at ballgames and think “Man, do I look good” to themselves but women, we prefer to be hypercritical and torture ourselves on a daily basis with no end or satisfaction in sight.

Two strong factors add to our mental chaos:  age and beauty.  I feel the sorriest for the really beautiful women in youth because they have even more to lose in this shameful game of self recrimination. Although beauty can sometimes escape age issues, eventually all beauty seems to be dependent upon good bones, good skin, and a decent body.

I grew up with two women I think are actually beautiful by most standards even today as they enter their 60”s.  When I saw one recently, I remarked how beautiful she still was.  I saw the pain on her face because she didn't think so.  “ I've lost so much of my looks” was her sad response.

Women are just too critical of themselves and the noises in our heads are deafening but what’s a person to do?  How do you retrain a lifetime of self criticism and angst living up to a model that doesn't exist?   I often hear shouts of let’s rebel from the Barbie doll media brand based model of womanhood but, in truth, we all succumb, no matter how we protest otherwise.

Many psychologists would say that knowing your demons is half the battle.  I say knowing your demons means you recognize their voices in your head and give them more credence so what’s a person to do?  I figure that I have two choices: accept my feelings and eat ice cream anyway or ignore my feelings and eat ice cream anyway.  What would you do?

You know all those emails old friends send you…well

At this point in my life, I have time to do some frivolous things and enjoy them.  I feel like the flower in the time lapse photography email opening with beauty and with some selective classical music playing in the background. Who had the time to take these videos; probably someone my age?

 I have time and yet very little time; if you know what I mean.

I have time to do things I have never done; what a luxury, but I am also very aware of the time sequence attached to my life expectancy.  No I am not dying anytime soon, unless you know something I don’t.  But my mortality or rather my timeless vitality is clearly in question.

Although some women have had other time reminders like that baby clock thing happening at a certain age: 30….42 (did I feel that way, I’m not sure?  I have the next sequence of time concern: the senior vitality question looming. 

As I walk the malls now, I see the early morning walkers with walkers, oxygen tanks and health aides supporting them.  What would we all do without the Jamaican health care aides who seem so sweet and caring? Will that be me in a few years?

I know I have lost some of my spark physically although I still think I am vital for 60 but it seems that I have become preoccupied with how I have shrunk (wasn’t I the tallest majorette in high school?) When I wash the floors in the house, why do I awake with aches and pains I have never noticed before; did that always happen?  My skin is…well; let’s not go there because it is too depressing especially when I brush the cheek of someone in their 20’s.

My life force is waning and I know it.  It seems when I get together with friends our age; it is the number one topic we all want to chat about.  Aren't we lucky to be so healthy (and we are)?  Aren’t we thrilled to be so able especially when compared to our parents who were really old at 45?  So what’s the problem?

I guess my generation wants it all:  youth, vitality, and stamina (that’s more of a guy’s thing I guess) and we’re not happy that age has its price.  When I was pregnant with my wonderful son, I used to say that he was tapping my life battery because I could feel the how much he took out of my system as a pregnant woman.  I guess it’s a little like that; the only difference is age is beginning to sift off parts of my life force in exchange for maturity, wisdom, and time to reflect.

Time is a funny concept measured in spoonfuls of life with mostly the luxury to reflect rather than be in the now:  I always wondered what present tense in French meant.).  So send me more of those viral emails and You Tube suggestions because I have the time…