Changing Perspectives

As a child I looked at Christmas with anticipation. What would Santa bring? My help in decorating was minimal. Early on the tree was decorated during the Eve after we children were asleep and all presents appeared magically under that tree. The days before the holiday dragged on. A turtle could have whizzed by them.

As a young adult/teen I was focused on gifts for others....boys and other friends and my family, and what would I receive from them? Holiday parties were wrapped around what clothes would I wear, would I have a date? Time seemed to move at a quicker pace.

As an adult woman pre-holidays passed too quickly. There was work, gifts for co-workers, spouses, children and parents. Shopping and decorating took a chunk of precious time. During the sandwich years it was important to include parents in the festivities in one way or another. As my parents aged that involved lengthy drives to their home for the holidays.

Today, in my retirement years, the focus has shifted to the grandchildren. The search for the perfect gifts starts early. After all, isn't the job of a grandparent to spoil them? Parents are caught in those 'tween years"...work, children and their parents. Grandparents have shed the daily grind, have lost their own parents who once indulged them at Christmas, no longer want gifts from one another, having shed their appetite for things that may clutter their home and so, with the exception of token gifts for friends and one another, the urge for giving spot-lights mainly on those grandchildren.

Giving is a gift of love and caring for another. That never leaves, or, at least at this period in my life still tugs at my heart each time I see something that I think may give joy to another. When that certain item is spotted I tuck it away to be given or mailed to someone in my life for the appropriate occasion. At this stage of the game as parents and friends leave this world and my circle of gift-giving narrows, it is a joy to discover that special gift for the grandchildren, children and friends near and dear.

May all of you faithful readers find joy in giving during this holiday season and may you always have someone in your life that will feel special when they open that gift of love from you.

Wandering Between Past, Present and Future

It's that time of year when memories flow out like a river, at times overwhelming the present. I am writing my annual Christmas cards and I remember friends and stories from grade school, high school, college, various careers, family and places. Each year, as I get older, the memories become greater and consequently, they float in and out of one another, at times clear, and then again, fuzzy and fading.

With each card and stamp I realize once again that someone, somewhere in my life has left a mark, had added to my life in one way or another. After all my life is not in isolation. I have been imprinted by family, community, schools, friends jobs and activities.

They say to live in the past brings regrets, and to fret about the future brings fear. It is best to live in the present, which is do-able, but there are times when reaching back reminds me of how long a journey I have made and how much I have learned.

My past brings few regrets. I have learned from my mistakes, and that is what is important to me.
I often lived my life with worry about the future...will I have enough money to survive in retirement? Will I succeed at my job? Will my daughter have a good, rich life? Will I outlive all of my friends and family? Will I be alone? Will I finish my next book?

Concerns for the future bring tension. I get that from my father. He lived in the present but planned for the future. He worried, as do I. But at this time of year, looking back with each card I write, seal and stamp, I am brought face on with the realization that each person and event brought nothing but growth in the long term. Why did I worry? Too much of life is spent in worry, and not enough in relishing in the now...right now....at this time and place, writing cards by the fire in our cozy house in the beautiful Black Hills of southern South Dakota.

Where Did it Go?

Two emails arrived this week that got me reflecting about life, family and friends.

The first one was an announcement that my last surviving cousin had died. He was the end of our generation in my home town of Ely, and, as my cousin, Lois, the writer of the email noted to my brother and me, "I think you two are the last left of that generation". Those were sobering words.

Later I received another email from Mary Jean, a school friend who lives in my home town. She wrote, "Where did life go when we weren't looking?" This friend has a way with words...to the point, and with a poetic quality.

Where did life go? It seems only yesterday that I was young and looking forward to a future, wondering what it would hold in store. I still feel much like that person I was growing up in the north woods, protected from much of the world, running through the woods, talking to strangers, exiting the house early in the day, to return in the evening after a day of adventures. Our parents didn't worry about us in those days, even though we were unconnected by cell phones. We actually communicated face-to-face, looking into each other's eyes, waiting  for a response that included the non-verbal. We felt the world around us, smelled the scents of the forest, swam in the lakes (unsupervised), biked to the next adventure, dug in the earth, made sand castles, salted bloodsuckers, captured night crawlers for fishing, toads and frogs and chipmunks for short-term enclosure in cages, (thanks to the construction talent of my oldest brother), sprinted after the fireflies, picked wild berries, scraped our knees and played outside until well after dark.

During the inclement weather we played board games, listened to the radio shows and read, and read and read some more. We had our secret places such as forts in the woods and a crawl space on the top of the shed above the alley, where we hid from adult intrusion, and perused magazines and comics, wrote journals and secret codes. In the winter we sledded, made snow forts, sucked on icicles, threw snowballs and stayed outside until our woolen mittens and jackets became soggy with the wet snow. Shivering with cold, we reluctantly trudged into the house, suddenly welcomed by the aromas of homemade bread and cups of hot chocolate steaming on the kitchen table.

We had chores and homework, but we were sheltered from the outside world, except through the news reels at the movie theater and, when company came over, our ears plastered to the heat vent in the floor upstairs, listening to the adult conversations in the living room below. Drugs, crime, murder, wars, were only on a distant radar. We felt safe.

The teen years brought us closer to adult realities. There were the social studies classes, newspapers and greater awareness of our outside world. Still we were busy with teen-age stuff...dating, football games, gossip, malts at the downtown popular hang-out, proms, clothes and flitting contemplation of our future plans, often pushed under the covers with our busy-ness of growing up, or, perhaps, our fear of facing that great unknown...unprotected and no longer so safe.

Then we became adults with all the accompanying responsibilities. Over the years we were bombarded by the news of the entire world as our world became invaded by TV, computers, cell phones and we felt compelled to be aware, to vote, to take stands and to enter into life with all that we could offer to make that world a better place.

Where did life go? Am I really one of the last of my generation? I remember when my father moved in with us. He was almost 87 and he enriched our lives until his death at 92. I remember when he said that he did not want to die. There were so many things happening and he wanted to live to see what would happen next. He had always lived life with gusto. He supported a family in a job he detested, "underground, damp and sunless," he spent his free time in the woods he loved, and he read every newspaper and magazine within his reach, an influence on me I am sure. He gave to others, constantly helping out his neighbors, his community, his church. He led a full life, even during his last years when he moved in with us after my mother's and sister's deaths. He brought our neighborhood together, something that I had been too busy to do with work and all. He kept our fires burning during the winter, cutting the wood, piling it by the fireplace, and keeping a toasty fire 24 hours a day. After a few years he could only tend it during the day hours, and during his last year of life the wood lay uncut and the fire burned no more.

He lived life but at the end he, too, wondered, "Where did it go?" It passed too quickly and he was not ready to let it go.

He was a model and I hope to live life as he did...to the fullest and to the very end, and wonder, as does my school friend, "Where did it go?"

Where, Oh Where Can He Be?

Once in a great while during these past few weeks I thought about my blog. My energy was drained, down the sink and into the sewer, and I flushed away the thought along with other daily tasks.

Have any of you ever felt this way? I remember being exhausted during my younger days - after all, teaching and parenting have a way of doing that at times. But never, ever, have I been this wrung out, with nothing left for this blog or other personal stuff in my life.

Perhaps it is my age that gets in the way of all of my involvements, or, maybe, just maybe, I need to say "no" a bit more often.

As I lay in bed this morning, trying to review my to-do list for the day, I felt some of my usual spunk returning and the song popped into my head, "Oh, where or where has my little dog gone? Oh, where oh where can he be? With his tail cut short and his ears so long. Oh, where oh where can he be?"

Well, my life may be cut short these days, but my ears remain long. I will listen to my old body more carefully and make the effort to say no, no, no!

This I do know, I am grateful that my years still allow me to join in the battles that are most important to me, even though I may slow down a bit. I will keep the songs in my heart, and remember that the little dog is around. I just need to reach out and hold him close.

Closing In and Closing Out

The sun warmed me as I sat on the back steps enjoying what the forecasters predict will be the last balmy day for who know how long. Our bees were venturing out, but fewer than usual. Everything in nature had slowed a bit, except for the birds stuffing themselves at the bird feeders.

As I sat for that time, enjoying the late aftenoon fading rays of the sun, I heard Bob closing the windows....not just the inner ones as he usually does on cooler evenings, but I heard the swish of the storm windows, doubly closing out his expectations for the cold to come.

I sighed. It has been a wonderful October, but November is rearing its head. "Get used to it," I said to myself. It is coming and it is time to say goodbye to my favorite season. I have to get my mind re-set to the wonders of the coming season, the ones following, and then, as always, I will greet my pet season once again. I do know that as I grow older, time seems to escape me faster than ever, and so it will not be too long before I will be once again warming my chilly bones on the back porch in the late afternoon rays of the sun.

Reflections from the Antiques Roadshow

After many years of enjoying Antiques Roadshow on public television, my husband and I had a chance to attend the event in nearby Rapid City. Since we lost our antiques in the Alabaugh Fire, we had little to bring, but we dug up a few interesting items. My husband, more than myself, is a dedicated viewer of the show, and was pleased to obtain tickets.

After a few hours of standing in line, he seemed less impressed, but we both admired the organization and volunteers that made the whole event more enjoyable.

It was interesting to talk to others in line, some curious, others eager to find they had a hidden gem among their possessions. There was a comradery among people who treasured items that often had a history of their own in being passed down from generation to generation. History seemed to come alive among the items that were rolled or carried in to be evaluated by the experts.

Many were disappointed at a value that was lower than their expectations. I wondered how many would still treasure the item after receiving the news that their  special piece was not as special to the judges.

It was reassuring in some strange way to realize that getting older can make something, or, perhaps, someone, increase in value. It is the unique antiques that go up in value. That is a reminder to me that getting older can be valuable. We older folks do have years of living, and, hopefully, accrued wisdom and perspective to offer those who follow us. Keeping my mind open to change while holding on to the depth of the past, can be tricky, and, at times, frustrating, but for me the fluidity of ideas and the sorting through them is what keeps me young and growing.

Not a Cane!

Thirty some years ago I had a fall that damaged my tail bone. Ever since then I have occasional problems with pain in my back, sometimes running down my leg. I managed the discomfort through natural means, including chiropractic, herbs, homeopathy, etc. Recently, on our trip to Eastern Europe, I added a case of bursitis to the mix and now walk with difficulty, especially climbing stairs.

During our trip last October my husband mentioned that I should probably use a cane. Many of our fellow passengers used one and managed better than I. My response to Bob was, "Canes are for old people."

Reflecting on my reaction I realize that I do respond to some aging issues in the same manner. "Those old coots shouldn't be driving. They don't look left or right and never signal a turn."

"Hey", I said to no one in particular the other day, "I am one of those old coots." I suppose when one has eighty peeking around her corner, she is considered an elder person.

Inside, I imagine all of us in the older generation still feel young. We have acquired aches and pains from years of living, falling, working, walking and straining our bodies, but deep inside, where we are who we have always been, we are still ageless, learning, teaching, growing.

My husband presented me with an early Christmas present the other day. It was two canes specially designed for snow, ice and regular conditions. I had a brief relapse into, "Hey, canes are for the elderly!" Then I said my thanks to my thoughtful partner. I know they will be useful, and after all of my years of using and abusing my body, I am starting to accept the fact that time has taken its toll, and I am, for now, most grateful that I am still sharing, adapting, composing, developing, and, hopefully, contributing to society in my own way.