I rarely have trouble falling asleep, but if I awaken during the night, I have difficulty getting back to sleep. Especially if there is something stressful going on in my life that my brain thinks it needs to "work on." As much as one portion of my brain shouts at the other that the middle of the night is not the time to ponder possible solutions to some dilemma, the other portion just keeps cranking out ideas. Tonight I have not one, not two, not three, but four major issues, any one of which could keep me awake. Dealing with one of these problems over the next few days is potentially going to prevent me from dealing with the others.
So...how to cope?
Before I went to sleep last night, I followed my normal habit of reading out of the Bible. I do not usually read more that a chapter, but last night I got into the story in Numbers 22-24, which by the way, includes a talking donkey. As interesting as that is, what stood out to me was a message from God spoken through the prophet Balaam.
God is not a man, that he should lie,
Nor the son of man, that he should change his mind.
Does he speak and then not act?
Does he promise and not fulfill?
Can I trust God to take the necessary actions to solve my problems? Can I believe that He is already working? Will He give me the guidance to come up with the right solutions, at the right time? Will He give me the peace to wait for His leading?
Does he speak and then not act? Does he promise and not fulfill?
Back to bed I go.
Tuesday, September 27, 2011
Tuesday, September 13, 2011
Toy-ta-toy-toy
I'm not sure how it got started, but ever since I was a very little girl, my Uncle Roy and I have had our special way of closing a conversation. Certainly, it would seem odd to anyone else. We point at each other, making a circular motion with our index fingers and say, "Toy-ta-toy-toy."
Yeah, I know...it doesn't mean anything, and it's ridiculous. Except that for us, it is infused with rich meaning. "You'd better behave yourself," or "So long, it was nice to see you," or something else that isn't easily defined, but we both understand.
I am 66 and my uncle is 91, and we still continue this foolishness. Today I talked to him on the phone. He is in a nursing home, has cancer, has been told he cannot tolerate any more chemo and is refusing any other interventions. His voice was weak today. He could barely hear me, although I was shouting as loudly as I could.
He said that he was tired. I told him that I didn't want to keep him talking too long, that I just wanted to let him know I was thinking of him.
My uncle: "I'm thinking of you too, sweetie."
Me: "I want you to know I love you."
My uncle: "I love you too, sweetie."
Me: "Good-bye"
My uncle in barely a whisper: "Toy-ta-toy-toy."
I burst out laughing. I couldn't believe he remembered to say it given his condition. In recent years, it has become a bit of a competition to see who remembers to say it at the close of the conversation. He won, leaving me to add: "Same to you."
My uncle: "Thanks, sweetie."
Each time I talk with him now, I wonder if it will be the last time that I hear "Toy-ta-toy-toy." A silly, silly phrase conveys the warmth of more than six decades of family relationship, mutual admiration and concern for each other.
No other words will do.
Yeah, I know...it doesn't mean anything, and it's ridiculous. Except that for us, it is infused with rich meaning. "You'd better behave yourself," or "So long, it was nice to see you," or something else that isn't easily defined, but we both understand.
I am 66 and my uncle is 91, and we still continue this foolishness. Today I talked to him on the phone. He is in a nursing home, has cancer, has been told he cannot tolerate any more chemo and is refusing any other interventions. His voice was weak today. He could barely hear me, although I was shouting as loudly as I could.
He said that he was tired. I told him that I didn't want to keep him talking too long, that I just wanted to let him know I was thinking of him.
My uncle: "I'm thinking of you too, sweetie."
Me: "I want you to know I love you."
My uncle: "I love you too, sweetie."
Me: "Good-bye"
My uncle in barely a whisper: "Toy-ta-toy-toy."
I burst out laughing. I couldn't believe he remembered to say it given his condition. In recent years, it has become a bit of a competition to see who remembers to say it at the close of the conversation. He won, leaving me to add: "Same to you."
My uncle: "Thanks, sweetie."
Each time I talk with him now, I wonder if it will be the last time that I hear "Toy-ta-toy-toy." A silly, silly phrase conveys the warmth of more than six decades of family relationship, mutual admiration and concern for each other.
No other words will do.
Wednesday, September 7, 2011
The Record of a Life
My dear uncle is 91 years old and the last person in my family in the generation before me. He recently moved from an independent apartment to the nursing home of the senior residence in which he lives. He skipped over "assisted living," because he stayed in his apartment until he could no longer make it to the kitchen to fix meals or even crawl to the bathroom. He has no children....just four nephews and one niece, and that would be me.
I spent the last six days sorting, packing, giving things to charity, throwing things out, and getting his apartment cleared out. I could have never done this on my own, as the task was gargantuan. I think he saved every piece of paper he ever wrote anything on. Fortunately, my two cousins and the wife of one of them, one of my brothers and his wife, and my long-suffering husband helped.
Although we were focused on the task, we were all cognizant that we were pawing through the record of a life-time. We found pictures of him as a baby, grade school report cards, his high school diploma, college notes, and letters written to him during World War II when he served on a hospital ship in the Pacific Ocean. He has no children and our generation was unaware of him ever dating or bringing a young lady to family events, but we found a picture of him with a young woman wearing a corsage definitely looking like they were going on a date.
We found sketches from his days as an engineer on cooling systems, pay stubs going back decades, old resumes, and photos of him taken when he was sent to Aruba on business back in the 1950s when most people in New York had probably not heard of Aruba.
One entire cupboard in the kitchen was filled with empty jars. Why he was saving them is anybody's guess. He apparently purchased paper towels in large quantities. The number we found would have lasted him years. The refrigerator was full of unopened canned goods. Why he kept unopened cans there is also a mystery.
We didn't have time to read all of them, but there were notes everywhere. All of his paid bills were returned to the envelopes and had notes on the outside....his commentary on the economy or a description of the phone call he had had with a customer service rep regarding the bill. Mixed in with the bills and bank statements were scraps of paper on which he had written notes about books he read or TV programs he watched. I discovered several sheets of paper clipped together on which he had rated each of his nephews and his niece (yours truly) based on our willingness to help our parents, dedication to family, and community service. I think I'd better burn that one. After rambling on and pondering leaving us percentages of his assets based on our "scores," in the end he decided to treat us equally in his will.
I expect he doesn't have much longer to live. He has been battling cancer for about 7 years and cannot tolerate any more chemo. Last week he turned down a blood transfusion and asked that Hospice be called. He told me that he sees no point in being pulled back from the brink any more. Yesterday he refused to get out of bed, saying he was too weak.
He has lived a long life....but, I'm not sure it has been a happy one. He claims he was a "loner," but he does love to talk to others. And yet, very few people in the independent living area knew him. He kept to himself. But I wonder, for whom did he write all of those notes? There were certainly some that he never intended anyone to see, but others that he may have hoped someone would appreciate.
He is and was an enigma. But, we...his nephews and niece...all have fond memories of times spent with him, and when he is gone, I will miss him.
I spent the last six days sorting, packing, giving things to charity, throwing things out, and getting his apartment cleared out. I could have never done this on my own, as the task was gargantuan. I think he saved every piece of paper he ever wrote anything on. Fortunately, my two cousins and the wife of one of them, one of my brothers and his wife, and my long-suffering husband helped.
Although we were focused on the task, we were all cognizant that we were pawing through the record of a life-time. We found pictures of him as a baby, grade school report cards, his high school diploma, college notes, and letters written to him during World War II when he served on a hospital ship in the Pacific Ocean. He has no children and our generation was unaware of him ever dating or bringing a young lady to family events, but we found a picture of him with a young woman wearing a corsage definitely looking like they were going on a date.
We found sketches from his days as an engineer on cooling systems, pay stubs going back decades, old resumes, and photos of him taken when he was sent to Aruba on business back in the 1950s when most people in New York had probably not heard of Aruba.
One entire cupboard in the kitchen was filled with empty jars. Why he was saving them is anybody's guess. He apparently purchased paper towels in large quantities. The number we found would have lasted him years. The refrigerator was full of unopened canned goods. Why he kept unopened cans there is also a mystery.
We didn't have time to read all of them, but there were notes everywhere. All of his paid bills were returned to the envelopes and had notes on the outside....his commentary on the economy or a description of the phone call he had had with a customer service rep regarding the bill. Mixed in with the bills and bank statements were scraps of paper on which he had written notes about books he read or TV programs he watched. I discovered several sheets of paper clipped together on which he had rated each of his nephews and his niece (yours truly) based on our willingness to help our parents, dedication to family, and community service. I think I'd better burn that one. After rambling on and pondering leaving us percentages of his assets based on our "scores," in the end he decided to treat us equally in his will.
I expect he doesn't have much longer to live. He has been battling cancer for about 7 years and cannot tolerate any more chemo. Last week he turned down a blood transfusion and asked that Hospice be called. He told me that he sees no point in being pulled back from the brink any more. Yesterday he refused to get out of bed, saying he was too weak.
He has lived a long life....but, I'm not sure it has been a happy one. He claims he was a "loner," but he does love to talk to others. And yet, very few people in the independent living area knew him. He kept to himself. But I wonder, for whom did he write all of those notes? There were certainly some that he never intended anyone to see, but others that he may have hoped someone would appreciate.
He is and was an enigma. But, we...his nephews and niece...all have fond memories of times spent with him, and when he is gone, I will miss him.
Wednesday, August 31, 2011
Pride, Prejudice and Propriety
I am quite fond of both recent versions of Pride and Prejudice, the longer BBC version with Colin Firth and Jennifer Ehle and the shorter one with Matthew MacFayden and Keira Knightley. I have watched both multiple times and can't decide which I like best. Each has scenes I prefer over the other and supporting characters I like better.
Yesterday I used the 2 hour version to put some civility and dignity back into my life after a phone call I received in which someone directed crude and foul language at me. Of course, the manners demonstrated in both versions seem stiff and affected to us today, but there is something comforting in the pattern. No matter how much one loathes another, he or she is still bowed to and given at least a surface respect. The characters communicate their intent very clearly without profanity. There is something to be said for keeping things civil.
So, I hung up on the disrespectful perpetrator of foul language and stood there shaking briefly, until it occurred to me that I could get the nasty encounter out of my head and immerse myself in a climate of cordiality by popping in the DVD of Pride and Prejudice.
As Sir Lucas would say, "Capital!"
Yesterday I used the 2 hour version to put some civility and dignity back into my life after a phone call I received in which someone directed crude and foul language at me. Of course, the manners demonstrated in both versions seem stiff and affected to us today, but there is something comforting in the pattern. No matter how much one loathes another, he or she is still bowed to and given at least a surface respect. The characters communicate their intent very clearly without profanity. There is something to be said for keeping things civil.
So, I hung up on the disrespectful perpetrator of foul language and stood there shaking briefly, until it occurred to me that I could get the nasty encounter out of my head and immerse myself in a climate of cordiality by popping in the DVD of Pride and Prejudice.
As Sir Lucas would say, "Capital!"
Saturday, August 27, 2011
Dinner Date? No way!
Today I once again went to a farmers' market and set up an informational table regarding cancer screenings. During the course of the morning, a man stopped to speak with me. He was initially somewhat hostile. He informed me he had an "attitude" toward "you people"....meaning my agency. Except, he had no idea what we do, and it turned out he was actually mad at the Federal Government regarding a Medicare and Social Security issue, which has absolutely nothing to do with me or my agency.
He ended up dumping quite a bit of his history on me, including the fact that he had recently served jail time for DWI and that his wife of 30-some years had viewed this as the final straw and left him.. He felt badly about the impact his actions had had on her life. I asked him if he had quit drinking. He allowed that I had hit the nail on the head with that question. We got into an in depth discussion which resulted in him saying he felt as though he had been to an AA meeting right there out on the street. As he left, he said, "You are a really nice lady, Ruth."
I wondered about this interchange. I was pretty sure it would not have any lasting impact on him. He told me he wasn't ready to change.
A bit later he returned, and oh my, he asked me what my plans were for dinner this evening. I had not anticipated such a turn of events. I thought we had had a strictly professional conversation. I told him that I was married and that my husband was returning from a trip out of town, and I had a "date" with him this evening. He said, "Well, maybe you will be back here sometime....you never know." I assured him that I had been happily married for 43 years and my husband was a wonderful man, and that I wasn't going out to dinner with anyone else. He said, "Sometimes things change." He eventually left, but not until he had asked for my business card. I had my business cards with me, but I gave him one from the agency hoping it would be a deterrent, since I was pretty sure his interest was not professional.
As I was packing up to leave, he returned again! He was talking to the folks in the adjacent booth, and I was ignoring the conversation. Except that I heard the phrase, "Actually, I'm interested in the lady next to you, who is packing up."
I got in my car to drive away, and there he was knocking on my window. He apparently felt it necessary to remind me once more that "sometimes things change," and he hoped to see me again.
This man has NO CLUE how fussy I was about whom I would consider dating when I was a young woman. Should I ever be without my husband, which I hope with all my heart that I never am, I would be even more fussy as an old woman! If I ever have the misfortune to run into that man again, and he tries to cross the professional-personal line, I will be explaining in unmistakable language that he is not in the minority of the male population that I would consider as a dinner date.
I am anxiously awaiting my husband's return home.
He ended up dumping quite a bit of his history on me, including the fact that he had recently served jail time for DWI and that his wife of 30-some years had viewed this as the final straw and left him.. He felt badly about the impact his actions had had on her life. I asked him if he had quit drinking. He allowed that I had hit the nail on the head with that question. We got into an in depth discussion which resulted in him saying he felt as though he had been to an AA meeting right there out on the street. As he left, he said, "You are a really nice lady, Ruth."
I wondered about this interchange. I was pretty sure it would not have any lasting impact on him. He told me he wasn't ready to change.
A bit later he returned, and oh my, he asked me what my plans were for dinner this evening. I had not anticipated such a turn of events. I thought we had had a strictly professional conversation. I told him that I was married and that my husband was returning from a trip out of town, and I had a "date" with him this evening. He said, "Well, maybe you will be back here sometime....you never know." I assured him that I had been happily married for 43 years and my husband was a wonderful man, and that I wasn't going out to dinner with anyone else. He said, "Sometimes things change." He eventually left, but not until he had asked for my business card. I had my business cards with me, but I gave him one from the agency hoping it would be a deterrent, since I was pretty sure his interest was not professional.
As I was packing up to leave, he returned again! He was talking to the folks in the adjacent booth, and I was ignoring the conversation. Except that I heard the phrase, "Actually, I'm interested in the lady next to you, who is packing up."
I got in my car to drive away, and there he was knocking on my window. He apparently felt it necessary to remind me once more that "sometimes things change," and he hoped to see me again.
This man has NO CLUE how fussy I was about whom I would consider dating when I was a young woman. Should I ever be without my husband, which I hope with all my heart that I never am, I would be even more fussy as an old woman! If I ever have the misfortune to run into that man again, and he tries to cross the professional-personal line, I will be explaining in unmistakable language that he is not in the minority of the male population that I would consider as a dinner date.
I am anxiously awaiting my husband's return home.
Wednesday, August 24, 2011
Excess vs Need
I am nauseous.
I just watched the video of a tour through Donald Trump's private jet which cost $100 million dollars. The fixtures, including the seat belt clips, are plated with 24 K gold.
Yesterday I stopped in a drugstore to pick up a travel size tube of toothpaste for my husband. A young black girl stood in front of the sanitary napkins with a sale brochure and a few coins in her hand. She asked me for a dollar to help her buy what she needed. After I gave it to her, I realized that what she had was still inadequate, and that she was planning to beg from other women who entered that aisle until she had enough. I gave her the rest of the money.
She looked astonished and said, "You didn't have to do that."
I thought of her repeatedly throughout the day, and when I woke up this morning. I thought that I should have asked her if there was anything else she needed. I wondered where her mother was. Was there no adult in her life who cared for her needs? My heart was aching.
Having watched the video of The Donald's ridiculous and ostentatious excess, I now have nausea in addition to the ache.
I just watched the video of a tour through Donald Trump's private jet which cost $100 million dollars. The fixtures, including the seat belt clips, are plated with 24 K gold.
Yesterday I stopped in a drugstore to pick up a travel size tube of toothpaste for my husband. A young black girl stood in front of the sanitary napkins with a sale brochure and a few coins in her hand. She asked me for a dollar to help her buy what she needed. After I gave it to her, I realized that what she had was still inadequate, and that she was planning to beg from other women who entered that aisle until she had enough. I gave her the rest of the money.
She looked astonished and said, "You didn't have to do that."
I thought of her repeatedly throughout the day, and when I woke up this morning. I thought that I should have asked her if there was anything else she needed. I wondered where her mother was. Was there no adult in her life who cared for her needs? My heart was aching.
Having watched the video of The Donald's ridiculous and ostentatious excess, I now have nausea in addition to the ache.
Thursday, August 18, 2011
Putting It All Together
I just assembled the weed-whacker which has been sitting in the box in our garage for months. The yard is in serious need of something a bit more tailored than mowing accomplished via a rider. I guess I should have known when we purchased it that the assembly job would be mine. Tradition would make it a job for the man in the house, but....
When I was in high school, we took a battery of tests that were supposedly designed to help us determine a career path. The guidance counselor laughingly told me that I had bested all the males in the class on the test of mechanical aptitude. Given my strong math ability, he probably should have suggested that I go into mechanical engineering, but thinking about women in that type of field hadn't quite hit the social landscape. I headed off to nursing school.
During the early years of our marriage, my husband assembled toys for the kids and furniture and whatever else. However, I noted that he found this very frustrating. He is a perfectionist, and if everything didn't line up correctly or a screw was missing, the project really bogged down. Eventually I decided that I was better equipped for the task. I think it started over thirty years ago with a sandbox that had seats and an awning.
I actually enjoy working through assembly instructions. It is rather like solving a puzzle. My husband is very good at jigsaw puzzles and Sudoku. He just doesn't see assembling things as a game or a challenge.
We needed a new lock on the back door of our previous home. We purchased the new lock and it sat in our kitchen for months....probably close to a year. He was certain that the screws in the package were too long, and he refused to get into the project and problem solve along the way. Finally, I tackled the job while he was at work. He was right. The screws were too long, but the instructions said that if you found that to be true, you could break them off at a line which had been scored for that purpose. I was not physically strong enough to break the screws, but I knew there was a vise and a hacksaw in the basement. When he came home he said, "Oh, you found someone to fix the lock."
So today when he comes home, he is going to trip over the weed-whacker just outside the back door. Fortunately for me, he actually seems to enjoy yard work.
Marriage partners should divide tasks by what they do well and enjoy. Forget about tradition. If neither of you can do a project, hire someone. It's worth the price to avoid conflict.
When I was in high school, we took a battery of tests that were supposedly designed to help us determine a career path. The guidance counselor laughingly told me that I had bested all the males in the class on the test of mechanical aptitude. Given my strong math ability, he probably should have suggested that I go into mechanical engineering, but thinking about women in that type of field hadn't quite hit the social landscape. I headed off to nursing school.
During the early years of our marriage, my husband assembled toys for the kids and furniture and whatever else. However, I noted that he found this very frustrating. He is a perfectionist, and if everything didn't line up correctly or a screw was missing, the project really bogged down. Eventually I decided that I was better equipped for the task. I think it started over thirty years ago with a sandbox that had seats and an awning.
I actually enjoy working through assembly instructions. It is rather like solving a puzzle. My husband is very good at jigsaw puzzles and Sudoku. He just doesn't see assembling things as a game or a challenge.
We needed a new lock on the back door of our previous home. We purchased the new lock and it sat in our kitchen for months....probably close to a year. He was certain that the screws in the package were too long, and he refused to get into the project and problem solve along the way. Finally, I tackled the job while he was at work. He was right. The screws were too long, but the instructions said that if you found that to be true, you could break them off at a line which had been scored for that purpose. I was not physically strong enough to break the screws, but I knew there was a vise and a hacksaw in the basement. When he came home he said, "Oh, you found someone to fix the lock."
So today when he comes home, he is going to trip over the weed-whacker just outside the back door. Fortunately for me, he actually seems to enjoy yard work.
Marriage partners should divide tasks by what they do well and enjoy. Forget about tradition. If neither of you can do a project, hire someone. It's worth the price to avoid conflict.
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