I am selling everything. Ok. Almost everything.

I consider myself to be ‘divesting’. It is all very odd and different since I spent much of my life ‘collecting and holding’.

I wrote once about letting things go that you hold due to love and memories. I still adhere to that lesson. I recognize that ‘things’ are not people and ‘memories’ are not ‘things’. Therefore, I get the fact that by letting things go, I have not let go of people and memories that are important to me.

I am in new territory. Things I have owned and used for years and still see huge asset in owning. Point here is someone else should own them. I have had my time.

I have a shelf unit. My husband hated it from the get-go. During a time of particular stress in our family, I moved in with a relative to help him save his house. This shelf unit was almost our “un-doing.” The fight about this dumb thing was huge and scarring. My dad came to me one night, explaining that he could ‘cut the bottom of the unit’ to make it go to the basement and fit. That was heartbreaking to me. Nevertheless, I was the intruder. Saving the house did not mean I was welcome. We cut the poor shelf unit. Nobody would ever know it had been changed. I lamented. It was my custom-built shelf unit.

When my husband realized I was bringing it along to our marriage, he balked. I was surprised to recognize his dismay over my shelf unit. It has a drop down desk in the center, beautiful oak, cubbyholes, and all of the shelves fit onto dowels so you can mix, match, and create any design you desire, with your changing needs. What’s not to love? I just did not understand his upset. It ended up in our daughter’s bedroom. She could use the desk. She had lots of books and stuffed animals. It worked. We moved again and it was too tall for the ‘basement’, which we refer to as the ‘lower level’. So again, I allowed it to be cut. Again, I am the only person aware of the cut. This thing has been impervious to pain.

In one place I lived, no wall was long enough for this unit. So, I disassembled it. I put the desk into my bedroom and used the two rectangular shelf units in the living room, on each side of my picture window. Worked just fine. Perfect. I do not see the problem with this unit. Every time I move, and I have moved 6 times since I got the unit, I just work the puzzle of the thing to manage my new space. However, in the meantime, since it goes together immediately, sitting on dowels, I can get about 16 boxes off the floor, to create space. When you move, that is a huge deal. I love this unit.

Now, I am divesting. The shelf unit no longer suits my life. I know I will miss having the ability to get so many boxes off the floor in my next apartment or house. That was always a lifesaver, making a pathway through so many boxes. But. I have grown. I don’t use 70’s shelf units anymore. The fact that this is relegated to the ‘basement’ of several houses says everything. I am letting the shelf unit go.

Someone looked at it and suggested $80. I almost threw up. A contractor came over, looked at it, and said there was probably $200. of good wood. Well, now we were talking! The problem, he explained, was how the wood was all tied up with this shelf unit. Oh.

It took me another 6 weeks to digest this. I am now asking $80 for the shelf unit. Someone will get a great unit, or a bunch of good usable wood.

Am I crushed? No. I finally saw the light: I have had use of this shelf unit for 34 years. If I get ANY money for the wood or the unit, I am way ahead of the game. It is like selling a house. When you are leaving, you need to disengage yourself from what the next people might think or do. It is not longer important because you are ‘selling’, “divesting,” moving on.

I am moving. It is time. I am ready. And whatever anyone wants to buy, I will be willing to part with so that I can move forward. Looking into my past has not served me. Looking forward, to what I might create next is the only logical step I can take.

I love a bargain.

What am I missing?

I worked from the age of 16. I paid taxes, paid into social security. I gained skills, increased my income, continued to follow the rules, paying into a program that we have been warned will soon collapse.

I have seen people ‘game’ the system. I see people paid to do nothing. I see people using social security as their ‘fun money’ because they really do not need it. I see very wealthy people, still taking social security as it becomes due because they are due. I see elected officials make laws about our social security that cannot touch them. They pass laws; they do not abide by the same laws as those of us who put them into the position to represent our rights.

Today I learned that I cannot claim disability. I have a brain injury. I have 3 broken places in my back. I have a broken knee, wrist, thumb, and finger. I jammed a leg evacuating an airplane in the 70’s. That leg has caused me problems with my foot, ankle, knee, and hip. I have a broken pelvic bone.

In spite of this, I continued onward. It wasn’t hard. I was young. As I reached my 60’s it became harder. However, I was lucky. I married the man of my dreams. We agreed that I would sell my holdings, pay his debts and we would live on his earnings, which I knew would increase. I had faith and confidence in him.

Now we are divorcing.

Because I stopped working full time, stopped paying individually into the ‘system’, I no longer exist on the social security rolls. I was still working. I was cooking, cleaning, dealing with the kids, shopping, entertaining for his business connections, and keeping everything and everyone organized. In short: I was a stay at home wife. In 2010, that still means I did not work. In 2000, that still meant I did not work. Why? Every time a television program shows a man taking over the job of his wife, for just a few days, he changes forever. He is apologetic, he is apoplectic, and he is ashamed. It is WORK.

I used to say I would love to have a wife. I would love to have someone who would take care of all of the mundane chores, the errands, the cooking, the cleaning, and the crap. Everything I did not want to do would be ‘done’. Yes, a wife would be wonderful.

When I became ‘that’, I balked. It was a very difficult transition. I felt like someone had stamped ‘stupid’ on my forehead. I got little respect and began accepting that as the stupidity of the masses. I was the very same woman who had run a successful business, who kept her own home, who hired, fired, kept payroll and ran accounts. Suddenly, I was just ‘his wife’.

It took me almost a full year to come to terms with being ‘only that’. When I finally did, I began to recognize this was what so many women before me had done and I was lucky someone was willing to let me take care of everything else while he earned the most money. Heaven knows, I could not have earned as much.

Because of that, my social security stopped. Dead. Stopped. And because of that, in spite of the hundreds of thousands of dollars I paid into my account, I cannot use that money now. And now I really need it. I desperately need it. I cannot do what I did before. I cannot process my computer programs any more. I cannot count on getting up in the morning because of the headache that will not let me sleep until 3 or 4 in the morning, night after night. I cannot say I am capable of driving daily without causing harm to someone because my brain just does not understand anymore what I am supposed to do. I choose to stay put, keeping the city safe by my staying off the streets, away from that huge machine that I can still steer, but not necessarily remember the rules that govern.

I cannot be dependable. If I could, I would still run my business. If I were dependable, I would manage to vacuum my house constantly as I used to. If I could, I would not run out of so many things before I realized I needed more. If I could, if I could, if I could. I cannot.

And no help. Nothing. I am too young to draw my social security and I do not have the required credits to draw my disability because our income was lumped together and FICA paid out of the whole. Huge lesson. No wonder people complain about marriage taxes. I had no clue. I merged everything. I have nothing. I paid lots to the system to take care of myself in old age. Well, old age has arrived and it looks grim. Another old lady without income.

Don’t you hate it when your child is sick? They whine and complain, they ‘hurt’ but cannot explain exactly where or how, they cry, wanting more ‘mom’ time but refuse to do as you plead with them to do. They cannot understand the meds they dislike. They don’t want to be ordered about. They are not quite honest about what is at stake and how they really are dealing with the day-to-day.

You want to scream. You want to run away. You want them to grow up or let you parent. Either side would work better than what you have in the here and now.

I just visited such a household. It was difficult. Who raised this jerk? I’m sorry. I know he cannot help it. I know his mom is almost ashamed, as is the sister who had to take on the task of raising this child. However, if he will not admit something is wrong when the TV show comes on, he should not be allowed to suddenly be at death’s door when it’s time to help with the dishes or the laundry. You cannot have it both ways. Neither can a sick kid, but that’s just my opinion.

What I know is I spent a horribly frustrating time with family, some overindulgent and some just plain angry and frustrated with the attention needed by one member being under the weather. What is the solution?

The obvious one is that you wait until the illness is past. That always helps. Everyone can relax. But, what if your child is brain-injured? That child will never really ‘recover’ from this illness. Those parents don’t get the opportunity to ‘wait it out’. They live this 24×7, and have no outlet unless they are fortunate enough to have a huge support group. A huge support group. Huge.

I am seeing commercials about health care. Morgan Freeman is a spokesperson for ‘something’. I get the message. We need to help each other more often than we do. I understand that volunteers are needed. I know we should be doing more for our own. What I do not have the answer to is: how?

How does the normal family get the much-needed help when someone in their household is not going to improve but takes a majority of your time and energy? We are all so busy now. We have so many needs to fulfill.

I came home a crying fool. Afraid I had not done enough for my family unit. Sleep-deprived, angry, upset, scared. What I left behind is the mom who still has to deal with this while I fly away. I did laundry, cooked meals, cleaned the house, made beds, pushed meds on a kid who refused to take them, ran errands, and did medical appointments so that she could finally get a break. It completely wore me out. I am spent. Finally, home, I have no energy left. I have a full week ahead of me and don’t know how I’ll manage it. Tomorrow she starts with more doctor appointments, meal prep, housework, and laundry. Taking the medicine we need is not easy. He needs medicine. She needs rest, medicine, and they both refuse it because they are not capable. He needs to be fed and clothed, not simple. He wants things his way; she wants him to wear his underwear UNDER his clothes, not on top. She wants him to eat and is exhausted with the work that entails. He will not drink his juice, wants specific foods and because he is not well, she wants to provide but is close to illness herself as a result.

When I left, we all cried. I promised to come back soon. I always make that fruitless promise. I cannot afford to keep flying there but these people are so important to me. My family is so scattered. Travel is expensive and of course. I have to pay someone to care for my pet, my home, my routine, in my absence. Money. Medical. Misery. What in the world is happening in our lives? Who should be taking care of this, of us, of lives in illness when something has prevented us from having family members to do it? Moreover, with those family members, where do you draw the line? They cannot do everything. We cannot expect anyone to do anything. What is the solution?

Forgive my soapbox here, but why is our country continually working on a new health care program instead of making the program that our elected officials have, the national norm? Shouldn’t everyone have the same option at the same price? It certainly makes sense to me.

So, my stepmother will continue. I know she is exhausted. And the recalcitrant sick boy is my father. How does something like this happen? Until we find solutions for our family members whose mind has eroded, we are all sick.

I live in Spokane, WA. The US Figure Skating Championships are here, and I am normally in a front row seat. I have followed skating avidly since the mid 80’s. Fortunately, for me, attending championship contests have been constant. If I were not able to be in a great seat, I would watch it on TV, never missing a second.

Last night a very nice friend of mine took me as her guest to the championships. It was wonderful to see again.

However, what I actually experienced was not what I was accustomed to seeing.

I’ve mentioned before that I suffered a TBI (traumatic brain injury) a couple of years ago. It really has changed my life, my outlook, and my future. Last night I recognized it has also changed my past.

My mom had Alzheimer’s. Horrible disease. She lived in Fla and I lived in Colorado, then Oregon, now Washington. Farther and farther away from her, needing to be with her, hating to see what she was.

I made a decision about my visits with mom: I would meet her wherever she was. Toward the end, she had no clue who I was. I would watch her before I approached, to get a feel for how she ‘was’ at that moment in time. she would look at me, blankly, smile, and ask how I was. that’s mom. the more ill she became the more she morphed back into her ‘hostess’ mode of making others comfortable. because she did this so well, most people had absolutely no clue she was so ill. she managed to fool people for almost 5 years, with this disease eating away at her memories, her being. Now, visiting her in the lock-down ward was always unsettling. I wanted to scream, I’m ALEXA!! I’m your DAUGHTER!!. that would have done no good. she simply did not know me anymore. so, I decided to try to get her to like me, every time I visited with her. she had always helped everyone, everywhere. huge volunteer, all of her life. I decided that whenever I ‘met’ her, I would try to get her to enjoy my company. for an Alzheimer’s patient, that is no small feat. they are angry, frustrated, isolated, and tired of being bossed around. they have no clue who anyone is and they want ‘out’. I would go to her, smile, call her by her name, and beam at her, “HI”. she always responded favorably.

sometimes, rarely, she would chat, laugh, and almost manage conversation. Alzheimer’s robs people of their ability to use their words. I learned to listen to her cadence and her tone. amazingly, I usually could converse with her, on her terms. all I wanted was for her to like me. just for that ‘time’.

a brain, robbed of its use is not pretty. people do not act the way we expect them to or the way we are accustomed to them acting. when I injured my brain, my husband had his hands full. I had outbursts, my language went to the gutter, I was angry, crying, unable to do things and unable to figure out why. the doctors had warned us several times but until you live it, you really don’t ‘get it’. when I was going through this with my mom, I was still intact (almost brilliant, or at least really smart, IMHO). I just wanted her to like me. I loved her enough for both of us. I wanted her to like my company. so, we would chat. sometimes we would hold hands. she had no idea who I was. I was careful not to intrude. I just wanted to be with my mom, or whoever she was at that time.

sometimes I would visit her and it would go really well. so, I would stay longer than normal. those rare times were golden and I didn’t want to miss a second of them. we would talk and laugh, her conversations would make little sense, but she liked me. she was happy in my company and I was thrilled to almost see a piece of her, coming through. if anything or anyone interrupted her, she was lost again. sitting with a stranger. I would start from the beginning. again.

brains are pretty interesting. she was ‘there’ in pieces. the pieces weren’t necessarily the good ones. my brain was here but not functioning very well. as a result, I was difficult and unable to care for myself.

now I have the after-effects. my marriage is in shambles, over essentially. my brain has returned as much as it will manage we believe. if I am tired, I cannot form sentences. my spelling ability has completely vanished. I was an english whiz, math whiz, science whiz. now, I cannot multiply. sometimes I cannot add, no matter how hard I try. I spoke 4 languages, I seriously struggle with my english today. it’s just the way the cookie crumbles. I’m mobile, I can drive and run errands and cook and garden. I am just a bit more diminished. that’s life.

last night I realized I don’t know a damned thing about skating. that was astonishing. my friend had gone with me as my guest years before. she evidently relied on my knowledge to help her understand the competition. it made me remember the first month I was here in Spokane, the championships were here (Skate America, I think) and I took my very best friend to every event all week. she was an athlete but knew absolutely nothing about this sport. so, I explained to keep her appraised. last night, I could not answer the most basic questions. that was stunning to me. I simply don’t know anything much about this sport I have spent thousands of dollars on for 25 years or so. I’m a newbie.

so, just like my visits with my mom, I decided to just be ‘there’. I decided I don’t need to be in charge, don’t need to know the answers, don’t even need to know the questions. I could just be there, with my dear friend, watching a program of great challenge and superior athletes. I had been here the month I moved to Spokane, and now, 8 years later, as I am making my plans to depart, I was here again, but a different person, in every way.

and it was ok.

I am often afraid. I fear so many things that haven’t happened. I fear things that ‘could’ happen. the relationship between the first and the second are huge.  there is the possibility that nothing bad could happen at all. irrational fears.

I am afraid of spiders. I don’t know why. many are so tiny. I try to help them. I know they are afraid of me. then, the bigger ones: ok, I’m frightened to pieces. no clue as to why. I think I am afraid of things that ’scurry’:  mice, rats, big bugs (roaches), spiders, and the like. again, they have never bitten me. I am just uncomfortable. afraid.

but why am I afraid of people? not many people, but certain people doing certain things. why should I fear them?

I am pretty fearless generally. it is not the person I fear, but what that person represents (as my stepdaughter taught me) me (CALL ME ANYTHING). I fear what I cannot predict. how many of us don’t?

of late, I am afraid of my future. I fear being without funding. I have only been that way once in my adult life and I managed by working 7 jobs a week. I was also 38. huge difference. now, I find myself without income and I feel old and withered, fretting about my financial future.

how different from a spider or a rat or mouse is this fear?

I know a wonderful woman. she is frightened to pieces of fire. I will hope to understand that fear before I leave her company. she consistently cuts trees, thinking this will prevent her family from burning. during the time I have known her, she has given way to both of her children leaving the nest, moving onward with their lives. she still fears that fire. she has more than one home. she is constantly cutting trees to prevent the danger of a dwelling being lost to fire. we all watch and feel for her dread. no one person will be able to put that to rest. only her. only this woman can prevent herself from the slashing of trees and shrubs, homes to so much wildlife, because she fears fire.

I’ve known her 10 years. I have yet to learn what was killed, or  lost  in a fire, in her life. I gather she lost something or someone precious. but, maybe it’s an irrational fear.

I fear sharks in the ocean.

I was raised in the ocean. my brother and family swam in the Atlantic and the Gulf for years. at times, our mother would call out to us: “sharks! , be still.  now, come slowly to me.” we learned that sharks were a danger. we were afraid but not terrified. when I saw the movie “JAWS”, I became very frightened. that was different. now, I’m afraid. now I’m frightened. now, I can be terrified.

but that’s me.

don’t we all have something? everyone is afraid of something. we all have our terrors. our worries. it doesn’t matter if they are things or stories or memories. they still frighten us sufficiently. we are afraid.

how interesting that so many of us decide that what one person fears is silly, yet inside we fear something. isn’t it time that we all recognize that everyone has fears and no fear of one person is any less than the fear we carry? personally, I think it’s past time.

it’s STUFF. we all have it. nobody is exempt. without fears, terrorism could not exist.

I don’t know about the rest of the world, but when I get on an airplane, I kiss myself goodby. I say my prayer to my guardians, my family, my loved ones and I put myself into the hands of ‘everlasting hope’. whatever happens after that is whatever happens. I have warned my family that if I were to perish in a plane crash then I was meant to, I decided to, I chose to. because, as a crew member, if I did not get out of a plane, there was a very good reason. I decided I needed to help someone else, I decided my life was over, I decided. yep. I decided.

so, what is your fear? do you acknowledge it? do you try to pretend it doesn’t exist? we all have it. no one person is exempt, no matter their posturing. everyone has fear.

overcoming that fear is a huge step forward.

my fear of sharks dissolved several years ago (that’s another blog). my fear of being left is dissolving now. (I’ll manage) my fear of spiders is a work in progress but I’m gaining on it considerably. i still dont’ like roaches but I realize now how long they have survived and try to acknowledge that as I do my best to kill them, standing as far away as possible. roaches are scary.

we are all so busy. it’s that time of year. holidays bring more and we all react. Re-act. good word. We aren’t quite ourselves if we ‘re-act’ are we? so many expected examples, traditions, and issues.

I have bats living above my bedroom, in a crack in the roofline. I like what bats do. I dislike what people still believe about bats. I was raised to believe that bats would swoop down into my hair if I were walking in a field at dusk. odd. yet, people believed that. I do realize that bats are some of the most voracious insect eaters on the planet. our chemicals are destroying them. they are becoming endangered. like butterflies, which we love, they and bumblebees, which we require, are being destroyed by the chemicals we use in our landscape.

the nights I can’t sleep, I turn toward my bedroom window and hope to watch bats, zipping around, and catching insects. I know that mosquitoes will not be biting the next day. I enjoy watching them swoop, stop on a dime and swoop in a different direction, catching their prey. I find it interesting.

I’m waiting for the moose to amble into my yard. they always come in the winter. I am awed by their size. opposite of  bats, the moose seem to just destroy my landscape because they are enormous and will eat anything they reach. they reach very well. but, because they are moose, they are forgiven being so incredible in size and not so often seen. and, moose are rarely said to dive at your head at dusk.

then I have that damned skunk. she (yes, I know) comes regularly now. when I was still an idiot, I tried to run her off one afternoon. you don’t do that twice. she comes in the evening. she eats fallen birdseed, next to my hedge. she began digging a hole. I put a stop to that. I do not want a den of skunks. they are hard to shed. and, in most states, it’s against the law to kill them. I am not the type to kill animals. I am more interested in trying to shoo them away. I’ve tried most things with this skunk. she scoffs at my efforts. cute, but not welcome. nor is the raccoon.

that’s the point, isn’t it? things we love and things we don’t. some are welcome, some are not.

traditions are welcome. the strife that comes along, not so much. family, always welcome. typical fights, no. trying to make things ‘just so’ because people are visiting: don’t. it’s just too much stress and reaction.

I remember one evening at my folks’ house. we had almost the entire family visiting. 3 brothers, 2 sisters, spouses, 2 nephews, one niece. I walked into the kitchen to put dishes away from the deck. we had just finished an incredible dinner. when I came in, my mom was madly scooping cookie dough onto sheets, ready to slam into the oven. the look on her face as I walked in was almost terror. I’ve never forgotten it. she was scooping about 15 per minute, it seemed. I offered to help. She tersely said “no, and don’t’ you DARE tell anyone I’m making cookies”. I went back outside. I knew the tension. she wanted this to be fun and easy and obviously it was nothing similar. she was frantic.

when she presented the cookies, on adorable trays, napkins ready, she was beaming and would not look at me. it was too much knowledge. she wanted it to ‘happen to be perfect’. I’ve never lost that lesson. it’s ok to just be ‘ok’. it’s fine to just relax and let people gather, laugh and pitch in. you don’t have to do it all.

so I am starting to decorate for Christmas. I learned yesterday that Christmas is a week from now. ooops. I’ve had no clue. my mind is clouded with so many things. I just knew it was ’sometime’ and thought I might actually decorate. I was planning to put lights out this weekend. well, I’m not doing THAT now. good grief. by the time I get them up, it’s time to take them down. I have lost track. I don’t have time to react. I had also realized this is my last year in this wonderful home and setting. that makes me sad. that made me decide to really do one last Christmas so I wouldn’t regret it later. ohwell. traditions change. I will make Christmas in my next house and be just fine.

so, while I watch the bats, shoo the skunk and wait for the moose, I realize that everything is really ok. I am not going to change the axis of our planet by what I do or don’t. the big wheel keeps on turning.

I have sworn off the stricken look I saw that night in my mother’s eyes. I have sworn off the rush and need of a calendar. I do things because I enjoy them, not because it’s expected. expected by me or expected by others. they are the same. I need to keep specific appointments, medical appointments, and lunch with friends. not much else is really that important. when I begin to work again I’ll keep those appointments as well. otherwise, I am now on ‘alexa time’ and the living is really not so bad.

I have more time to act.

I’ve been thinking quite a bit lately about things we treasure and things we need to keep and want to buy.

my husband spied a small milk jug one day in a bargain store. it was just a quart milk pitcher, worn and scuffed from years of use, glass, with a handle. it was just a small pitcher. he had to have it. he said it would be to keep our milk in, in the fridge. women all over the world know why that open pitcher to keep milk in is not a great idea. additionally, the only time he used milk was if he had cereal in the mornings. I was the one who drank milk. we got the pitcher. once I had washed it, he dutifully poured our milk out of the milk carton and into the old glass pitcher. there! the trace of a smile went across his mouth. all was well in his world. mine was less well.

I once picked up a ‘hostess set’ that was 8 glasses in a heavy chrome basket. the glasses all matched. the chrome basket was ageless to me. I had to own it and the price was great. I use it for water glasses and iced tea glasses when my guests come for dinner.

a good friend of mine has a ’sprinkler bottle’ to sprinkle her clothes before she irons them. most of us remember those. our mom’s and our grandmother’s all used them. once in a while you’ll find that little bottle top, cork intact, with holes all over the opening. we know immediately what it is for but our kids don’t understand.

the odd thing to me is that we are picking up nostalgia. not JUST nostalgia, but nostalgia from our childhood, and usually from our mothers.

his memory of the milk pitcher was the one always in the fridge when he came home from school. my memory was of my mother hosting her bridge parties, white gloves, nice card table, coffee service nearby and the glasses with ice, for lemonade or iced tea, in their carrier.

my friend remembers her mother ironing and teaching her to iron her fathers’ hankies. her parents both passed away too young and I can understand her holding onto things like this.

interestingly, after the first use of the milk pitcher, it was relegated to the shelf, by my husband. I use the hostess glasses and carrier sometimes but not as often. my girlfriend never irons. not anything.

none wants to let go of those silly items. it would almost be letting go of our parents or our childhood again. my mom has passed. I want anything to remind me of her presence. my husbands’ mother is still with us but he doesn’t want the pitcher discarded, he just doesn’t want to use it after all. when he began packing, I offered it to him. it still sits on the shelf. my girlfriend has the stopper to the water bottle in her china cabinet, with her other treasures. close but not in use.

until very recently I had a pair of my mothers and my step dad’s tennis shoes. they used to come visit me at least once a year and we all three loved to garden. instead of carrying the shoes back and forth, dirty with soil and mud, they each left a pair. I was unable to let my mother’s sneakers go, after she passed. I needed that reminder. I needed to see them and realize she might be attached to them in some way, therefore to me.

watching a show on tv one day I heard someone remind me of what we all know: they are not in ‘the things’. they are all in our hearts. they live within us. we dont’ need the sneakers, the pitchers, the sprinkler tops. we just need our open loving hearts. I think we all have that, don’t you? that doesn’t mean that anyone should rush another to discard something precious in their own minds. we’ll manage that in our own way eventually. but my mothers tennis shoes and her husbands both went to a soup kitchen not long ago. they both volunteered all of their lives and so have I. when I walked in with them, a man and woman immediately asked if they were for someone special. of course they were. a man and a woman who needed better shoes. worn, but still able to serve as footware.

I know my parents smiled. I smiled. the man and woman smiled. we all felt just a little better. and, just as I had expected, it didn’t make me lose my mom or dad all over again. it made them go even further in my lifetime.

I’m not sure how much longer I’ll keep my hostess set. I do recognize that I’m keeping it because it makes me smile. the shoes somehow made me sad. now absent, they make me feel good.

I found myself looking at some old cookie cutters recently at a thrift store.  my mom had them all. we baked cookies together. my stepdaughter and I did likewise a few times. now, I make cookies occasionally but oh those cookie cutters were calling me. as I stood there, handling the few that I have somehow lost, knowing I could again have all of the ones my mom used to have I glanced out the store window. there was a family standing across the alley at a restaurant back door, near the dumpster. a man, woman and 2 children. the man and the little girl wore shoes I could easily recognize. I smiled again, tears popped into my eyes as I put the cookie cutters down. walking to my car I swelled with the love of my family and again felt that smile.

the next day I made cookies. I made every shape possible. I spent hours baking. then, I took 5 dozen cookies to the soup kitchen, with 4 more pairs of sneakers I had stopped wearing years earlier and ’saved’. everything made sense. the cookie cutters didn’t know they were missing some of their counterparts. I didn’t notice that I was missing old sneakers. I just noticed the warm feeling I had inside, all the way down to my toes when I sat down, drinking milk out of my hostess glass and eating leftover cookies.

sometimes all you really need is love.

I have repeated the platitudes most of my adult life. “Change is good.” one of my favorites for the last 10 or 12 years has been about downsizing when you downsize you end up with the very best. Boy, I have given advice. Now, I am living those scenarios.

I find myself needing to get rid of things. we call it downsizing. I need to sell things. We call that ‘freedom from clutter’. I think of my aunt. she has way too much ’stuff’ and cannot bear to let any of it go in case she needs it later. I completely understand since my apple didn’t fall too far from her tree. but now, it’s my turn.

I will be moving within a year. I need to see different places and things and meet new people. this home I have loved and hoped to live in for many years is now a painful reminder of a marriage ending. time to move. selling isn’t easy; neither my home nor my belongings. I have become addicted to all of it.

as I plan a sale for my collectibles, I have cried and cursed. this isn’t fair. this shouldn’t be happening. why am I selling things when he doesn’t? my list is endless of what he is not doing correctly. doesn’t matter. I still need to sell. I need money. I need to pare down. I need to stop holding onto so many things. I need to lighten my load.

planning this huge sale has been so tiring. It has also proved to be not only emotional but I find myself unable to continue. I have stopped so many times, thinking I just cannot manage to do more. Finally, I began to assess, maybe this is a bad idea. Maybe I am stopped because I shouldn’t start. maybe, maybe, maybe.

I actually (mentally) called the sale off. I had already distributed flyers and started online ads. that meant re-tracing steps to retrieve flyers. yuk. but, as I looked at my treasures, I just could not imagine. and my husband plans to rid himself of nothing, other than me. hmmm…

Friday I stopped cold. no sale. I’ll pull everything back. this is the decision. I cannot let go of more than my marriage. just too much. I’m stopping this.

that was a godsend to me. I took Friday to re-assess. as I looked around the room, at prices on my treasures, I began to think of my future. I won’t have much space. I can’t afford to move as much as I’ve always moved in the past. I DO need to be rid of things, but which things? so I looked with a more critical eye.

I’m 61. I have no income. I will relocate to another state, find  a place to live and go through all the machinations by myself. as I looked at so many things I have held for 20-30 and even 40 years I finally got it. I don’t NEED any of this anymore. I will never want to unpack all of this again. not only will it save me money but it will save me grief and heartache. I need to let go of so many things. this is just the beginning. I can do this. Moreover, I can be proud of myself for not needing so much stuff anymore. yes, I will keep a few treasures. not many tho. I will sell what I’m able and then sell again. I will move into a much smaller place and be happy for having less to unpack. not that most people would be able to tell the difference. I’ll still have way too much stuff. but, a year from this Christmas, when I begin putting things out for my holiday, in my new home, I imagine I will not think too badly about what isn’t there. I’ll be grateful for what I have.

Change.

I’ve been thinking quite a bit about vanity lately. I had to get a new driver’s license. I have gained weight. I’m certainly older. until this license, all of my photos have actually been pretty flattering. I knew better this time. I see pictures of myself and cringe. how did THIS happen? I have lots of reasons but no excuses.

When I was ‘young’, I watched older people (the ones who are my age now) and thought the dumbest things: why doesn’t she put lotion on her legs?, why didn’t he/she comb the back of their head?, why do you always poke along, needed to look at everything?, why would you wear those shoes if they aren’t comfy?

what I was basically thinking was “who cares, you’re old, everyone can see that”. naturally, I’m ashamed. I thought I was better raised than to have such thoughts.

I wish someone had smacked me one. but, I have the answers to those questions now.

because you can’t reach your legs anymore. because you have dried out sooooo much that it doesn’t matter how many gallons of lotion you use, you will absorb it in record time and be scaly by the time you need to dress.

because you don’t see the back of your head, because you don’t remember the back of your head, because you don’t CARE about the back of your head, because your arms don’t work well in the position needed to comb the back of your head.

because you enjoy looking at so many things you didn’t bother with when you were busy. because you recognize you are on the side of life that will be less than it has, and you want to see what you can. because you are older and it takes longer to do everything.

because even though they are uncomfortable, you want to fit in, because you want to look nicer than if you wear your regular shoes, because you want to appear better dressed, even at your age because you want SOMEONE you care about to be pleased with your appearance

I have finally realized that no matter our age, we are all vain. we all want to be accepted. we all want to fit in somehow.

being insecure isn’t just for the young. we watch our children go through phases of needing to dress just like the people they most admire. we watch them needing to fit with people we know they won’t care about later in life. we watch them become part of groups to feel a family away from home.

when I started kindergarten, we lived in Louisville, Kentucky. During the winter my mom made me wear the dreaded snow suit.  the one that prevented movement of any type from any limb. we had lived in Germany for 3 years so I had several of them. when I finally managed to get out the door without that, I was in jeans, lined with soft flannel. they had an elastic waist and she bought them long so that they could be rolled up while I grew into them. that meant they had the checked red and blue flannel showing. I was mortified. I looked like a little kid! most of my schoolmates were 6. I was 5. I felt like a dork.

think about that. at the age of 5, I felt like a dork. like I didn’t belong or fit in.

I attended high school in 2 countries, 4 different cities. one per year. it was daunting. each time we relocated, I had to retrofit myself for the next clothing trend. it was never something that carried over from school to school. I was constantly playing catch-up.

fortunately, I began a career as a flight attendant when I was 22. I learned so much about myself and self-esteem. no longer did I care if people thought I fit in. I didn’t need to. I was my own person, living internationally, dressing perfectly because I saw constant fashion change on my flights and layovers. I didn’t need a group. I didn’t need to blend. I didn’t need to wear certain things for appearance sake.

the older I’ve become, the more I have recognized how we are viewed by kids. naturally, they believe we were raised in covered wagons. I certainly thought that of my parents. and naturally, they don’t know why we fuss about appearance. we’re old. how could anyone care about OUR appearance?

my aunt is in her late 80’s. she is such a keeper. I see in her all of the very same issues. she wants to look nice all the time. she wants to wear style over comfort when she leaves home. she wants her hair to be perfect and she takes forever to accomplish anything. she has earned everything and has a right to do things her way, finally.

I am much more patient now. my kids don’t get it at all. they look at me and their dad and see two old people. one foot in the grave and the other on a banana peel, as my brother would say. they have no clue we are them. they have no idea they are us. I guess you have to get old to get that part of the lesson.

careful kids: your time is coming.

meanwhile, I would give just about anything to find a pair of comfy, elastic waisted flannel- lined jeans.

I’m not certain how easily this will come out. it’s about my mom, who passed, and the ramifications of one incident.

my mom was very very ill with alzheimers. she had not been ‘there’ for about 9 years. it was heartrending. she had been brilliant, exercised daily, worked 15 acres with my dad and used her mind. but, a gene is a gene. her dad had alzheimers. it’s all over my family. my brother and I wait and watch.

I had flown down to florida several times because she was not doing well. I live in Washington state, so the trip is daunting. but, when they call, you fly.

if you are familiar with alzheimers disease, you know that their faces become ‘wizened’, slack and empty. she had been this way for years, not knowing me, not knowing her husband, her sister, her son. she was gone except for being in such excellent physical shape. it took longer than expected for her to draw her last breath.

I was so accustomed to her appearance. I knew my mom wasn’t there anymore. we were so damned close. she and I had conquered mountains together. she is responsible for my wonderful smile and great sense of humor, among other things. I was also lucky enough to inherit her legs.

we had a pact: if ever, in any way, she could reach me afterwards, she would. we both believed it possible but had no proof because you never really see that happen.

when I got to the hospital, the family was with her. I went over, kissed her and whispered “hi mom. I’m sorry it took me so long but I’m here now. I’ll help you.”

as those words left my lips, the nurse began barking orders. my mom was going. right now. she was DNR and I said that loudly as the nurse ordered a cart. then the order was given to move my mom to another location. a room where family could be with her, less of a hospital nature. they were hurrying. I was walking alongside her, holding her hand, looking intently into her eyes, this woman who gave me everything in life I cherish.

I talked to her, explaining that we were moving to another room and trying to connect with a brain that had long since vanished.

the most amazing person took her place. I was suddenly entranced. my mother had become an absolute beauty. she and I locked eyes. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing but I refused to look away, even for a second for fear it would vanish. my mother was just beautiful. no longer the wrinkled, blank body she had been for so many years. this woman was breathtakingly beautiful, looking at me with such love. I can’t explain this better. I just kept talking to her. I told her how beautiful she was. she just looked at me, intently. I knew she knew. I knew I knew. I was looking at a soul. I have not had such an experience prior. I’ve known when people passed away and I’ve had warnings of it and even short visits as they transition. this was the most spectacular vision I have ever experienced. she was vibrant and lovely. this moment lasted for about 3 minutes. I never let my gaze change. I was enthralled.

we got her to the new room and she became ‘mom’ again. I was not fooled. I realized I had seen her soul and I would never forget the privilege.

I know when someone passes, the only real tragedy is for those left behind. we grieve. we miss having that person. but. I know for a fact that our bodies are just a ‘thing’ for our souls to use. seeing my mother that day taught me so much. I don’t grieve in the same way.  when someone passes away, I easily recognize that only their soul has moved, their body has stopped and they continue elsewhere.

I am lucky to have learned that. I am at an age when death and dying are a normal experience. I have few relatives left. aunts, uncles, parents, are leaving the planet in increasing numbers. knowing so well that they have only left HERE is a huge help to me. I have seen the soul. I know the soul. I know it continues. and I know it gives only love.

I just felt the need to finally share that.

there is more to our story. I might begin sharing that as well.

thanks mom. I love you. I miss your presence. I hope you are having a ball.