Happy 50th Anniversary to Us

I was once asked,  “What’s your greatest accomplishment? What are you most proud of?” 

My immediate response was, “my marriage”.  The person asking the question responded, “Wow, your face really lights up when you say that.” 

 

I never really looked at my marriage as an “accomplishment”, but in the grand scheme of things, compared to what some other people experience in marriage, we have been very lucky and blessed that ours seems to have been relatively effortless. It’s not that there have never been bumps in the road and rough patches, those times where you look at one another and think quietly but smarmily to yourself, “GAWD, I can’t stand that you are breathing the same air as I do.” That is the reality of what happens when you live with someone. A person can not share a bed and a bathroom with the same person seven days a week for years and expect to always think they are the best thing to come along since unlimited texting.  We’re only human. And let’s be honest, only one of us is scrubbing the toilet and shower!

 

There is some personal sacrifice in every relationship and a great marriage is no exception. The ‘rough’ patches were brief and ended up being the glue that we didn’t know we needed at the time. Stuff happens. Time might heal, but moving forward as a team and a united front is one of hallmarks of our marriage. It hasn’t been hard. 

We were children when we got married. At 18 what could we possibly have known what life had ahead for us? What did we know about real life? When it’s said, “ignorance is bliss” I think it was our ignorance that became our bliss.  

 

On another occasion, a friend whose marriage was coming apart and soon ended asked, “Don’t you wonder just how long it’s going to last?” Well, no. It never really crossed my mind that being married was on some kind of time clock. 

 

Without knowing it early on, we nurtured our marriage like a family member. We ‘took care’ of each other and each other’s feelings. We were blessed with good health for the first thirty years and when illness paid us a couple visits, we took turns in stepping up and taking over the other’s role of caretaker, without pause.

 

Marriage is never a 50/50 proposition. If you’re lucky it can be 60/40. Sometimes, you get the 60. Sometimes, you give the 60. Then there are the times when it is 90/10, hopefully those times are few and far between, but it happens. Nobody is exempt. 

 

Our 50th anniversary is here. We both expressed that saying we’re married for fifty years sounds a lot longer than it feels. 

Awesome! That feels like 50/50!

 

About Harry

Very recently we lost a very dear friend to a sudden tragedy. Harry and half of his seven siblings were friends with my own siblings since grade school. Harry was godfather to my brother’s daughter. He was more than a friend. Harry was family. Harry travelled with us  on a big family trip to Ireland and Scotland.

Harry retired for the third time this past April. He was well-traveled and through much of this past summer he traveled almost non-stop and shared his possible plans for what would finally be his retired life. The next in his plans was maybe a move to Myrtle Beach, refining his golf game and enjoying the Carolina coastlands and as much golf as he could get in. 

After a visit with one of his sisters who also retired to Myrtle Beach, he could see this as his next step to a comfortable retirement. With a move to Myrtle Beach, after years in military service and a few career changes, it was a well-deserved plan for his retirement.

We came from a similar upbringing; city kids, big families, lots of interesting personalities and a daily dose of drama. We called it family dynamics. There always was and is somebody to talk about.

Harry was a single man and never married. Over the years he opened his home to one of his sisters and her son. The was a time when his mother needed end of life care and he brought her to his home. There was no way he was going to allow his Mom languish in a facility.

Harry’s sudden death left an emotional hole in many lives. For me, Harry was a regular for our weekly dinner at our local watering hole. He would sometimes razz my brother that I was his new bar buddy. We lived less than two miles from each other but my brother lives much further, like another state. 

Harry was my “plus one” for golf scrambles. He drove the ball, I putted. I don’t play much golf, but when with Harry there was no judgement, just good company and commiserating about our similar beliefs, mostly about political theater.

Harry was one of the most generous and caring people I have been blessed to know. I miss him. Harry was 66.

Black Holes and Role Reversals and a New Year

 

Black Hole image from EHT

I can’t say that 2021 was a year to forget because there are a lot of things I can’t remember. I don’t remember because I had a huge non-malignant brain tumor that was apparently affecting my personality, my walking gait, my short-term memory, instant recall and most notably I was forgetting my words while speaking. Friends and family are just recently telling me of how they felt I was “off”. Something wasn’t quite right, but they never relayed those feelings to me.

There were apparently several private conversations about me but nobody said anything to me, except my husband Mike who would repeatedly look for some material reason for this ‘slip’ in my usual daily spunky personality. His was the opinion that just one of my many pain medications was the primary cause, either that or early onset Alzheimer’s. I was and still am treating for Psoriatic Arthritis. I have come to realize and reluctantly accept that “Mister Arthur R Itis” and I have an arranged lifelong marriage. There’s nothing to do except to manage the marriage and try to find what works in finding some comfort and ease in daily tasks and mobility. I have resumed my yoga, some meditation and embraced alternative medicine and analgesics and with the start of Medicare pray that my current biologic treatment gets pre-authorized. 

Navigating Medicare is mess. I believe it’s by design to make it difficult.

The Pain management program I was prescribed is no longer the preferred supposed panacea for me.   I   must be able to function.

The Black Holes are just that, blank spots in my memory and recall, some huge, some brief snippets of time, but there is much I feel I’ve lost and have no hint at what it is that I’ve lost. Maybe that is best but it is no less disorienting and frustrating.

Role reversal was something that automatically happened. My husband took the reins I usually held. I often say, He makes things happen, but I make them better. This time he did both. I found after the surgery I was just fine with this. Recuperating from brain surgery was and is major thing, a BIG FFFing DEAL.

I was not prepared to be almost totally dependent on being taken care of by another. That was usually MY job.

Patients with brain tumors usually have to become reliant in a caregiver, because they’re not always able to do as much as they want to or were previously able to do, due to the side effects from the tumor location.

The incision was long around the top of my head, held together with staples. I am a relatively fast healer and was staple free in one short week. I had the mistaken assumption that this was going to be a recovery of a few weeks, not months if not the better part of a year.

It’s a disappointment I still struggle with, but I still move on.  

I welcomed 2022 at a New Year's eve party in the middle of the eastern Caribbean, on a cruise ship appropriately enough called the Reflection. It was a fun celebration, as I remember it. 

Here’s hoping that I have fewer black holes in 2022.

Happy 2022!

 

 

Gratitude and Appreciation

 

I am thankful for the here and now.

On most weekdays, my house is relatively quiet as everyone but my husband and I has left for work or school. The noise of a full house of people and their day will descend on us in shifts from 2:30 to 6p.m.  Some days I welcome it, but sometimes in what feels like just as many days, I do not. I pine for the peace and quiet.

 The beginning of retirement was not the happy go-lucky days, as in “everyday is Saturday” that friends used to brag about to me. Although I did enjoy a trip to Key West celebrating my retirement, these last eight months were far from anything I thought or dreamed of how the summer of this retirement would be.

I had visions of weekday pool parties with some of my fellow retirees. I planned to spend one-on-one time with my younger grandchildren.

 I scheduled a much overdue knee replacement for the end of April. That surgery was relatively uneventful, rehab was challenging, more so than I and my rehab team could have imagined. Something was ‘off’. But I soldiered on, sort of, hoping to pick up with my summer plans.

Have you heard the saying, “If you want to make God laugh, just tell him YOUR plans.”?

I don’t recall conferring with the Almighty, but my plans were dashed by a Brain tumor. It was the pesky culprit that was making me seem ‘off’ and constantly falling, among other unsavory symptoms.

So, one might ask, “how can you write about gratitude and be thankful with such a scary and potentially deadly episode, derailing your summer of retirement”?

Let me tell you the upside to all this crap.

My family calls me the accidental matriarch. It’s not a role I signed up for or a club I wanted to join, it just happened and with our revolving door, and always seeming to have ‘room at the inn’, it is a place where more than a few have landed and stayed till their world stopped spinning out of control and made their way back into it. It’s what we do.

Where does my gratitude come in?

The matriarch had brain surgery on Friday the 13^th and needed constant care and attention and everybody stepped up into some sort of support role. My husband took the over and set up everything he thought I would need, from a hospital bed set up in our living room to a commode with special liners so it could be easily emptied (he was especially proud of his thoughtful and practical purchase). He took over my daily medications and being the Libra that he is, never missed a timely dose.

I am grateful for him stepping up and taking over the care I needed. He is a man that was not used to taking the reins of messy stuff like that, and he did it seamlessly. In all our years together, he never changed a poopy diaper, but never hesitated to empty and clean the commode.

All I had to do was sit back and get better.

I am grateful for the family members who dropped what they were doing and stepped in to do what needed to be done: my brother for making things happen and especially my sister, assuming the unpleasant task of keeping my nethers clean and fresh when I wasn’t able; my kids for always ‘being there’ and assuring I was comfortable and not in need of anything; my older grandchildren and their friends displayed their potential for empathy and caring for another person. It is a very rewarding feeling that our family is who we are and what we do.

I’m grateful that this bump in the road sent a timely message to my family that everybody has an expiration date, and mine came close.

I’m grateful that this episode has made my family realize that as strong as I appear and often hold others up emotionally, sometimes we all have cracks in our veneer, ‘even the tough up the middle’ matriarch.

I’m grateful for people that have offered prayers, sent get well cards and Mass cards. It’s a thoughtfulness that fills my heart.

With this holiday season, I am most grateful that I had thanksgiving dinner at my sister-in-law’s with my 86 year old Mother-in-law, who I am most confident says a second rosary in her nightly prayers, just for me, she has said so every time I see her.

Our annual family Festivus is tomorrow. We are a very boisterous bunch with lots of strong personalities that some might find overwhelming, and it only adds to our reason to celebrate.

I’ll be grateful to be there.

 

 

 

 

 

Leaves, Leaves Everywhere

 It's been over a decade since I wrote about Todzilla and Leaving the Leaves. 

It was a day that a rambunctious Toddler, named Meghan but aptly called, Todzilla, got the chance to blow off some of her endless energy and have some messy fun, much to the chagrin of her mother who preferred to dress her little girl like a prim doll. But through the years Meghan, also known as Toddy, has proven her strong will and among other things, dresses as she pleases, and it's rarely prim and polished. That day of leaving leaves in a huge pile and letting a toddler jump into it, tossing handfuls of leaves into the air, was memorable and most of us enjoyed it.

Today Toddy is putting most of her energy towards sports, mainly field hockey and basketball. She's a small person but has the hutzpah and spunk of a beast trapped in that small body. In our family we don't have too many smallish members, coming from 'good peasant stock', and she struggled emotionally when she realized that her lifelong height probably won't go beyond 5'2". She barely reached that height this past summer. It was a time of personal celebration.

She also is growing into a striking beauty. For the homecoming dance she wore a beautiful blue dress, cut high on the thigh hemline, cascading hair, perfect make up and finished off the look with white high-top sneakers. Yup, that's Toddy. 

For me, the beauty of autumn and falling leaves is awe-inspiring as the season changes and staging the finale of warm weather preparing for the short days and long nights of winter.

Meghan noticed that big maple tree the other day and said, "Grammy, look, the tree still has most of it's leaves."

And so it does and Toddy is wearing her white high-top sneakers.

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'Tis The Halloween Season', The Picture in The Pet Store 🎵𝆔𝆔𝆔💀🖼😁

 

"How much is that doggy in the window?

The one with the waggly tail."

That song by Patti Page played a constant loop outside the pet store as I walked along Fifth Avenue. I could hear it as I left the Starbucks sipping my $5.25 Pumpkin Spice Latte.

I browsed the pet shop window watching the cute puppies wrestling with each other in their fat fluffy puppy bodies. Knowing it was not wise to go into the shop, I lost my inner argument with myself and went into the store anyway. What harm could it be just to watch them at play?

I went in.

There was a tank full of Clown fish, almost as fat as the puppies. Next to the puppies was a cubby of kittens not as playful as the puppies but just as fluffy and pudgy. A solo bird cage across from the counter held a blue macaw.

Behind the counter was a young woman who seemed to be preoccupied with a program streaming on her tablet and listening attentively through her ear pods.

The Patti Page song continued to play over and over.

I noticed a faded picture was hanging on the wall behind the woman at the counter.

The picture blinked.

I thought it blinked and then it yawned! The macaw started to mimic the picture’s yawn. I looked back to the picture and it began to grin at me.

“Go ahead,” said the macaw. 

I motioned to the woman behind the counter, pointing back and forth between the bird and the picture but she was entranced by what was on her tablet.

All at once the bird began to sing along with the Patti Page. 

"How much is that doggie in the window?

The one with the waggly tail…"

And then the picture shouted, “Oh why don’t you shut up?!” The bird continued, “I do hope that doggie is for sale.”

The picture yelled at the bird, “I don’t want some parrot that talks.” But the bird continued, ”That doggie will have a good home.”

By this time the lady behind the counter looked up, unplugged her ear pods and said, “Can I help you?” Finally, I had her attention but the bird went silent and the picture faded.

I asked what was up with the picture and the macaw and their bickering, not to mention the singing. “Excuse me?” she asked and was clearly annoyed with my question.  The picture winked at me. “Never mind”, I said and skedaddled out the door.

The song still looped outside and I heard her say as the door closed behind me, “Okay, boys. Continue.”

'Tis the season for spooky fun.

Discretion be damned - Biting my Tongue and it Doesn't Come Easy...

Reading an article in Time magazine about how to support Older Relatives during the corona virus pandemic... 

I am the older relative and understand the danger of a compromised immune system. My real concern is my 23 year old granddaughter who THINKS she is practicing social distancing, but is truly putting her own life at risk as well as the people she is casually interacting with. She has been a lifelong asthmatic. 

If she contracts Covid-19, she could die. But she doesn’t thinks so. And nobody is going to tell her otherwise.

She is considered an essential worker in a healthcare environment, and her workplace is taking precautions to limit her interaction with the patient population. But she still travels back and forth from home to her boyfriend’s family house. She orders take-out meals for the households and to support our local small businesses. It’s all very humane and generous. 

It is the community support that just might lead to exposure. I worry and not needlessly.

At this time, this pandemic has not peeked. The worst is yet to come according to the medical experts. I believe them. I have survived the loss of parents, a cancer treatment, thriving through an immune disease, the betrayal of a family friend and many more emotional assaults. 

I do not believe I could survive watching my daughter lose her daughter because she refused to pay attention to a warning of concern for her own well-being.

We suggested she pick a place to stay until things calm down, the curve flattens out. She dismissed that, repeating “I’m only going back and forth.” That’s not true. She and her boyfriend are doing what they naturally should be doing a young couple in love. I remember all too well the comfort of being in lust and love. I married at 18 and by the time I was their age, I had 2 kids and a mortgage. Life and all the trappings that go with it was all too real.

This is a difficult time on a lot of different levels. With the years of life us ‘old heads’ have under our belt it is difficult for the younger ones to believe our warnings could hold any weight of truth or experience. Life has been very good to this generation. With the exception of 911, many of this generation has not experienced the threat of potential disaster. Staying home is not a hardship if it could be life-saving.

My fear is that has made them cocksure and soft.