still May

I think it's coincidental. I think there's no truth to the idea that it's somehow deliberate. Maybe I'm amassing data to support a theory, because I've already bought into the veracity of this theory. Still, it does seem to me that the most beautiful month, which in Wisconsin has to be May, often strives to remind us that beauty comes with challenges. Serious life's challenges. My four gravest illnesses all came at me in May -- just as an example! And this year, I have my mother's cognitive decline to grapple with. All of it, this month, an otherwise perfect month, a merry month of flowers and sunshine and butterflies and meadows.

Much of the morning is devoted to my mother: several phone conversations with staff members, a visit -- all in an attempt to figure out what's behind her stream of acute criticism that's coming seemingly out of nowhere. One theory is that she suffered what's called "hospital trauma" where something went wrong and she spiraled it into a big event and then it spun out of control. There are other theories, irrelevant for Ocean purposes, though I'm fairly certain that I am right now a contributing factor to her woes. I'm pretty sure that my unwillingness to accept without reservation her assessments of her sorry state is a major blow for her. I always tread on thin ice when I do not feed into her iron-clad narrative. In the past, when I broke down and pushed back against her stream of complaints, it's never ended well. I discussed with the staff whether perhaps I should just accept all her stories, because, well, she is 100 and if that will bring her some satisfaction, then why not?

I suppose the answer is one that the social worker gave me: I need to protect myself in all this as well. Feeding into a fiction seems, at least in theory, harmless, unless that fiction is completely at odds with my own feelings about what is real and what is just an imagined story, unsupported by the reality within which we have lived for a long, long time. I've always thought it's best to just stay quiet, to listen without commentary, even when attacked. And now here I am, thinking that maybe staying totally silent in the face of all that's thrown at me, at the staff, is perhaps not the right way to proceed after all. Maybe I shouldn't be such a wimp! Ed has so often told me to cut short and walk away from any conversations that I don't like. Just hang up the (proverbial) phone -- he'd say again and again. And most often, the wimp in me would say -- it's more trouble to do that then to just listen. Total wimp!

I did have a few minutes in the garden in the early morning, not much more than that. (It did not help that the rains returned in the afternoon...)

And I did have a nice coffee with a friend downtown. And Ed and I ate breakfast bowls of fruit in the afternoon and pretended it was our morning meal. Sweet guy, not used to so much emotional craziness, he is nonetheless a good person to have at your side.

And then it is time to focus on the grandkids, who just loved the fact that it was hat day in school today!

Snowdrop has her Shakespeare lines to memorize every day now and so we work on that. So far she is full of enthusiasm and not buckling under the pressure (154 lines by July 15th!).  May her resolve stay with her!

In the evening, I read about the Diverging Diamond Interchange. What -- you've not heard of it? I'll link to a story describing it, only because the picture there gives you a visual map of how this works and I myself needed the graphics to fully get the set up. It's an idea developed by a guy who all his life loved to imagine and create traffic patterns. Even as a little kid, with Matchbox cars. And he had this great inspiration -- to avoid the hazards and long waits in a left turn, he suggested a diamond like pattern, where you go to the other side of the road before you make the turn. You can see the design here.

My own car accident happened due to just such a left turn (with a rogue car coming at me from the parking lane). Imagine, a less dangerous turning option! Thanks to a guy who liked to play with toy cars. You have to marvel at human ingenuity and creative impulse.

The clouds break up. There is a stunning sunset, but our trees are too dense for us to fully take it in. How about just a tiny glimpse?

 

 

 

Remarkable month. In all ways!

with love...

Memorial Day

The unofficial beginning of summer. The day of remembrance. A day of online sales, a day of community pool openings. For many -- a day of bbq's and family gatherings.

It's a little cool, but nonetheless, it's pretty outside. Light breeze, a few clouds. Short sleeve weather.

For me -- a day to finalize all aspects of the move for my mother: go over every item and put it in one of three piles -- to add to her new rooms, to leave behind for trash, and to donate to people we know who would make good use of it. 

But before I start in on that, I go about my usuals. Yes, there is breakfast...

 And before that, I do my rounds. Chickens, cats, flowers.

Like a doctor tending her patients, no? Checking their health, making sure they have the conditions to thrive. In the case of flowers -- monitoring them carefully, for disease, soil moisture, support needs and presentation, so that they may show us their best face in their period of bloom.

Showing your best face! It reminds me of when I was very little, someone (my grandfather? my father? I don't remember) said to me -- wipe that frown off of your face. Because what if your face froze now? You'd have a frown for the rest of your life!

It was a bit of a tease and I'm sure I didn't take it seriously then, but these days, I think there may be a thin layer of wisdom in those words. It's not that I think that faces freeze, but I do believe that expressions that you resort to with some frequency in the course of your life become entrenched and by the time you are old, you fall back on them with some regularity. You lose the flexibility to cycle through all options and you go to the one that has served you well in life. That scowl? It worked before, out it comes now, with some choice words for emphasis. Target and ready audience? Well, there's your daughter for example.

My mother doesn't have Alzheimer's but I did find some useful advice on the Alzheimer's Association's website for those who are with patients who are, well, grumpy. (And worse.) I read the following:  Many will experience major personality changes. A sweet, gentle person may behave sweeter after the on-set of Alzheimer's, while the “bossy” kind may become even more controlling. So, what you were before, only in mega doses. The recommendation is to not reason with them, or confront them.  I sometimes forget about the "don't try to reason" part! Still, the constancy of that scowl and those harsh words, reserved especially for me, reminded me so much of the childhood warning -- don't frown, because maybe your face will freeze and you wont be able to get your smile back.

 

Later, much later, Ed and I explored a county park we'd never heard of before -- Anderson Farms Park, just about ten miles south of where we live. We thought we had done them all and yet -- here it is, on a map, a completely new terrain for us.

Was it worth the (ten minute) drive? Yes it was. (And not only because it is such a pretty ten minute drive! Past this meadow with grasses that are almost as tall as the longhorns who graze there!)

The Anderson Farms Park itself is a little more manicured than the county park just up the road from us, but the effect is lovely. A prairie extends through its belly and right now, the wild indigo plants are putting on quite the performance!

We actually sit down on one of the benches just to look and admire it all.

There are several paths through wooded areas and these are good as well, though we are close enough to a development that we hear the sound of the lawn mower. It's understandable that someone would be running the machine on a holiday afternoon, but still, it does interfere a little with the sensual drift of a walk along a forested path.  

Yet a third loop leads you past an orchard. We could not find any fruit trees (except for mulberries and they dont really count!), but we did pass a lovely wheat field. The wheat here is used as a cover crop but for me, the associations are strong with my childhood in the Polish village, where wheat crops and potatoes dominated the farmlands around us.

We pick some of the invasive Dame's Rocket to take home for the kitchen table. The Dane County Parks encourages you to pluck these flowers for exactly that purpose. The more you pick, the prettier your bouquet, and the healthier the park meadows and forests will be.

Evening at the farmette:

There's nothing like it! The light fades very slowly. I fix us a supper of shrimp scampi and tons of asparagus. I put the flowers on the kitchen table. 

 

 

And we have ourselves another quiet set of hours at home. Sleepy from our walk, full of gratitude for living in such a beautiful corner of the planet.

rainy day Sunday and more advice which really isn't advice

Here's an admission: my mind works in lyrical form. Everything around me is a trigger to a song lyric from the past and if I am feeling good and content, I will hum the tune that accompanies the moment. My friends noticed this last week when we were working on the puzzle together. Blue sky piece? "Not a cloud in the sky, got the sun in my eye..."  Is that part of the grass? "Green grass, 'round my window, young leaves..." You get the idea. When I work in the garden, my mind stays clear of worry and clutter because it is too busy tracking songs in my head that fit the scene before me.

Sometimes, the lyrics get a little twisted and bent out of shape. Like this morning, when the rain came down (and I know it will be with us all day long), my mind launched into "rainy day Sundays always get me down..." even though the song is really about rainy days and Mondays. (Carpenters, 1971). 

No, I'm not down. Not at all. But I think about those who are and how they got themselves into that tailspin (so often not of their own making, but sometimes maybe just a little of their own making). Foul moods are frequently out of your control. The National Institute of Mental Health states that more than 8% of all American adults have had at least one depressive episode in their lives. I bet that number is even higher. My hunch is that many people feel and act depressed and they don't even recognize it for what it is.

I don't know anything at all about these things. No training on these issues, no inside scoop. But I do know about the effect it can have on a person to be around someone who just cannot get their emotional state to rise above the depths of despair and displeasure. So that you're always on the receiving end of their felt or imagined crises. It feels like you can never escape it: that person's negativity is always threatening to flood you and drag you down with them. What to do? Shore up your defenses. And do all you can to build your own happy world.

So, on this rainy but not gloomy day, I throw out yet another piece of advice: I've long known that it's on you to learn how to be happy,  (Ed will remind me of this periodically, but I know it without his prompts.) Possibly the greatest skill you can develop in life is to accept full responsibility for  your own emotional well being. Yes, it may be their fault that you're anxious or dispirited, but don't wait for the fix to come from them. It's on you to then learn how best to live with joy, despite everything. Don't get sucked into making excuses and pointing a finger at the one who pushed you to the brink. Find a way to rise above it. Don't just engage in the blame game. Which, by the way, rhymes with the "Name Game!" You know, Nina Nina bo bina, banana fana for fina, fee fye mo mina..."

 

So, rain, eh?

A brisk walk to the barn. The cats aren't happy, the hens aren't happy. But it's a gentle rain (for now), so I can pause for a picture or two without getting very wet!

I drive then to Batch Bakehouse.  I like their cakes for celebratory occasions and I ordered one for this day because it is (actually was, but plans are for me to celebrate it today) Sandpiper's birthday. Chocolate with strawberry frosting. I used to whip these up by myself, but honestly, I just haven't the time these days to bake much of anything!

(While there, I could not resist some more breakfast treats.)

Breakfast is in the kitchen. Cozy trumps wet and cold. Two cats join us.

And eventually I again check in on my still anguished mother. Some of the care providers think she may be calming down, but I dont see it. She always saves the best for me. The one who "doesn't understand," who let her down, who is allowing her "to die in misery," who attacks her, abandons her, who talks too quietly ("I cant hear you!") and then too loudly ("stop shouting"). Who for a short while was "a miracle child," but is no longer much of a miracle child at all. Briefly "beloved," now merely the "cruel" one.

Still, the hope remains that she will return back to her old ways, such as they were. Once again I wish I could scour her old room to see if I neglected to bring some items she may deem necessary to her survival. Sometimes something as trivial as a box of toothpicks can be seen as life-changing. I know some of such items, but not all. Again, I get no help from her and so I return home, knowing that I have one more chance (tomorrow) to bring over something we may have inadvertently left behind in her old room.

 

At home, I cannot take out the tractor and hack away at burdock because it's been pouring rain. I consider a stiff drink. Well that's not a healthy response! Instead, I turn my attention to fixing dinner for the young family. 

 (here they come!)

 

 

 

It's a birthday dinner!

 (Sandpiper, at the head of the table)

 

Sandpiper is now officially three.

Sandpiper: you hear so little about him here, on Ocean! Luck of the birth order. The geography. The age of the grandparent. He was born when I was a fresh 68. He is thus three to my 71. I move, think, behave differently now than I did, say, when Snowdrop was three. I'm reminded here of my conversation with the girl two days ago when she asked me during one of our numerous car rides together -- gaga, would you rather take a car trip across the country or go on a trip to a European city? I said, without hesitation -- a trip to a European city. (The kids looooove playing "would you rather" games!) I felt I had to explain: Snowdrop, I have taken hundreds of road trips. Mostly as the designated driver. Across America, to the coasts and back, with little kids, alone, with big kids, with u-hauls, many many times. After a while, when you're driving, the highways all look the same. At a European city, I could go to a cafe and sit and do some serious people watching! Add a museum, a park -- it all sounds great!  Snowdrop responded -- you are such a perfectly correct grandmother! You fulfill the image of a sweet old lady so well! 

I took it as a very beautiful compliment.

But Sandpiper is just barely three and he is lively and as demanding as any three year old. He flies through games, finds joy in many toys, often all at the same time, and he is adventurous in just the ways grandparents find terrifying: he will scale furniture, climb rocks, swing high with feet flying. It is small surprise that I see him mostly when there is another grownup to help with the supervision, especially when the two sibs are also in the picture. 

 

(grandparents are for getting their grandkids very large stuffies!)

Still, today is his day in my book! With all that liveliness comes a heart so full of love, a face so radiant and bursting with smiles, that your heart melts at the mere sight of him.

Happy happy year ahead, little guy!

And the rains come to an end and the day does as well, with Ed, on the couch, loving every minute of our sweet, quiet time together.

advice, but not really advice

I am sure you have read a ton of articles, books, listened to a million podcasts, heard a gazillion stories about how the one sure fire strategy that we should all employ to reach a ripe old age is exercise. Move your body. Work your muscles, pump your heart, expand your lungs, practice agility, climb those steps, walk, run, bike, swim -- do it all and you will have a better old age.

I don't disagree. Physical movement is good for you in too many ways to count. But I think in focusing on physical exercise (as a strategy to a good senior life), we're not paying attention to something just as important. Perhaps, dare I say it -- even more important?

Here it is (and you can tell everyone you read it on Ocean first, that source of worldly wisdom!) (just kidding):

If you want to have a healthy and happy senior life, you have got to practice happiness with just as much vigor and commitment as you practice physical dexterity. Because if it's not your thing at middle age, believe me, you will not suddenly develop happiness skills in your senior years. Worse -- all those simmering feelings of self pity and disrespect toward those who aren't like you, who don't look, act, think like you, that "I know better" attitude, all of it will fester and grow and soon it will be like sticky willy weeds -- it will consume and choke you and you will not be able to climb out of your world of judgment, anger, and despair. Happiness is like a muscle -- use it or lose it.

Just sayin'...

It's a gorgeous day today! Simply stunning!. Weird how we flip from bad weather to great weather! Yesterday's storms and rains were actually worse for our flower fields (and for those of real farmers) than the storms that pounded us on Tuesday. Peonies fell. Irises fell. Meadow flowers groaned under the weight of the relentless rain. It didn't last long, but it was a menace. 

Still, I think the fields will recover. Those peonies still look... okay.

The flower fields will bounce back. And they surely do look lush right now. Last year May was really dry. Not so this May -- we've had sunshine, we've had rain. On balance, we're doing well!

I am now in the habit of getting up very early on Saturdays so that I can be at the downtown farmer's market just a little after seven. On a day like this, the early market is one big piece of heaven.

My list is small -- asparagus, carrots, mushrooms, flowers. But I peer into each stall and watch the progression of produce as we move briskly through the season. Spring is way too short in my opinion!

Of course, there is also a stop for me at Madison Sourdough. 

 

 

 

For fresh breakfast treats. On the porch, with Ed, shortly after.

Yes, for sure, there follows an hour of weed pulling. You know the equation: rain plus more rain equals weeds. So I work on that.

But at the lunch hour, Ed and I drive over to my mother's new rooms to check in on her and to maybe get her to help me decide what else she might need from her old room. (Ed is there to do the heavy lifting, should the need arise.)

Unfortunately, I get nowhere with that. She is convinced that everyone is "cruel" and working their hardest to make her life miserable and of course, who better to share this with than me. But not only me. I think the staff has heard plenty from her on the subject!

Will she improve over time? I don't know.

Thinking that perhaps an arrangement of pictures and familiar objects put in front of her might help, I get Ed to lug a bookshelf up the hill and we place this in her line of vision with some arrangement of photos that would belie her complaint that she has nothing but a wall to stare at (as she sits by a floor to ceiling window with a beautiful view toward the forest).

Eventually, after reviewing everything with various staff members we leave. 

I think Ed was a little taken aback by the whole visit, but I wasn't. I've been listening to this far too long to be shocked. Though I admit it, it's not easy to be on the receiving end of someone's never ending unhappiness with life. 

It does take me a while to regain my feeling of peace after the visit. But this, too, is my "normal." I've had years of practice! I know what to do: it's back to the garden! This time I'm motivated to take out the tractor-mower to carve out good paths on farmette lands. I hack away at the thistles, the wild parsnips, the burdock and by the time I'm done and I shut off the loud engine the world feels grand once more.

 

In the late afternoon, Ed and I bike to our local park. I haven't seen the prairie move into its season of bloom. (So it's a bike-hike-bike!)

It's incredibly beautiful. The Golden Alexanders dominate, but the white wild indigo is starting up as well as is the purple Spiderwort. But as always, its the entirety that wows you. 

You look up and down and you feel just so good to be there on this sunny late afternoon in May.

And the cranes holler and the red tipped blackbirds dart to their perches and you do not need much else to feel happy. 

At the hike's end, we lie down in the cool grass. Sooo good, Ed mumbles. Feels so good...

 

 

Yes it does.

with love...

and then...

Hello, rains and storms! Haven't seen you since... Tuesday! 

Here's my thought on this day: everything about it is less severe than the days leading up to it. The rains hold off for a bit, so that my morning walk is pretty and very calm...

(the lushness of the Big Bed after the rains...)

(one out of my seven clematis climbers)

(peonies and purples)

(driveway bed: blooming Weigela)

(driveway bed: first daylilies)

(driveway bed: siberian irises)

(the Big Bed and its new extension)

(annual offerings)

(yellow false indigo)

Breakfast is quiet, on the porch...

And then I touch base with my sweet friends -- in Poland, in New Mexico, in Florida. They always make me smile. Really, always.

The rest of the morning has a lot riding on it but it's mostly out of my hands. My mother does not want to move. My mother has to move. You cannot in this world choose to stay at a Rehab facility as long as you want. The rehab docs (along with Medicare) decide when you're ready to roll.  They say now, so now it is. To their credit, they stipulated that will need more help going forward -- hence the transfer to a facility with round the clock help. 

In all this, I marvel at her enormous good fortune. She is old, but without the crippling illnesses that ruin the last years of so many lives. I have had luck in securing her a place at a terrific facility that cares for their residents at all stages of their advanced age. Given the long wait periods for nursing homes of any quality at all, especially for seniors who are short on cash, this has been an incredible piece of luck! Unbelievable, really.

And yet, I cannot remember the last time when she has wanted to spend a happy moment with me. Or when her smile would be part of our world. As always, I step in as the problem solver, something that has been in my courtyard since the day my dad left her nearly fifty years ago. Since then, I've been called lots of names by her -- cheerful, helpful, crazy, irresponsible, selfish, miracle daughter. Most recently I'm back in the negative box again, but I probably wont stay there because she needs me too much. For pretty much everything.

The wonderful staff at her retirement center succeeded in transferring her and she is now settling into her new and frankly very beautiful digs. Big floor to ceiling windows, looking out at a forested patch of land. I peek in again, but she is resting and I leave her to it. By the accounts of the staff, she is still unhappy with everyone. She will have let me know as much on tho phone when I finally reach her in the evening.

In the meantime, I pick up the kids. PJ's again. And rain. Again.

Briefly at the farmhouse, then delivered, in pounding rain and crashing thunder -- to a lesson (Sparrow), and to wait at a coffee shop for lesson to be over (Snowdrop). The girl's mom is with her. I'm in it for the ride! 

(Some of us are very wet from another dump of heavy rain.)

Then home again. It really isn't chili season, but we have last year's tomatoes still filling our freezer downstairs, so chili it is. Comfort food, even though, at the moment, my comfort and contentment are on overdrive. I'm so relieved that the day was smooth, the transfers were completed, the storms were lighter, and that the week ended with a gentle patter rather than a  great big crash.

With love...