The Gift of Not Giving

I’m dis-assembling my life. At the age of 65 I have looked around me and I am staggered at the amount of “stuff” I have accumulated. And I’m a lightweight compared with others.

This has been coming on for some time. I’m a widowed, recent-retiree who lives in a lovely house with three bedrooms, a large porch and a two car garage. I have no children and, so, no grandchildren. The last time I gave a party for more than five people was almost a decade ago. Why do I have all this space? And why do I have all these things?

It is, I think, a very “American” thing. I’m a nurse and have participated in several medical missions to under-developed countries including India, Uganda, and Haiti. I have also traveled to Europe, Australia and New Zealand. Nowhere else have I seen the excess that we Americans seem to take as a birthright. Perhaps it has to do with our past — the promise of endless frontiers, the phenomena of events like The Land Rush of the 1880s. Prior to World War II most Americans lived modestly but something happened as the soldiers returned to build their peacetime lives. The “little boxes” of Levittown kept getting bigger and bigger.

Baby boomers took all of this to new heights, building McMansions that were often in excess of 5,000 square feet — a tenth of an acre! There were rooms for everything — sleeping, eating, exercising, entertainment, meditation rooms, craft rooms. dens, offices, and on and on. These same boomers would also have vacation homes by the shore or in the mountains and they too would be loaded with “stuff.” I heard of one boomer whose Smokey Mountain “vacation” home was decorated in a “bear” motif. She had 67 bears in this partially used, three bedroom house. She wished she could buy another home because decorating was “so much fun.”

Well, I’m over it. I no longer take pleasure from either the space or the things. For the past six months I have been engaged in ridding myself of stuff. It’s a chore, let me tell you. Divesting myself of it responsibly is real work. I’ve consigned things, sold things at a neighborhood yard sale, given to charity…I even found an online service that takes audio cassettes and recycles them. I sent them more than 20 pounds of audio cassettes! But still the stuff is here, perhaps there is less of it but it is still here.

So what’s the answer? I don’t have it, obviously. But it did occur to me that a start might be found in the gift of not giving. Or, if you must give, make it a gift that goes away — something to eat or drink, flowers, gift cards to restaurants, extravagant tea or coffee collections. You get the drift. The gift of not giving could be the key to a simpler life.☙

May 21, 2013 0

The Big C and the Bigger D

This time of year — the last two weeks of May through the first of June — is very meaningful for me. It’s a cluster time of death. My father and a brother died on May 31 (19 years apart), my niece’s mother died on May 20, and my husband died on June 2. During my work as a hospice nurse I learned that this phenomena of “clustered deaths” is not unusual.

So I’m already primed to be thinking about the topic of ultimate termination and my thoughts are getting ample amplification from a wonderful show currently on the Showtime network, “The Big C – Hereafter.” It stars the superb Laura Linney, an actress I have watched mature from a country waif in the 1993 PBS series “Armistead Maupin’s Tales from the City” through the intelligent and worldly Abigail Adams on HBO’s “John Adams” miniseries which aired in 2008.

In “The Big C” we have watched Linney’s character, Cathy Jamison, cope with the diagnosis and treatment of melanoma. Cathy has gone through the classic five stages — anger, denial, depression, bargaining, and acceptance — in some rather unclassical ways, like buying her 14-year old son a classy, bright-red Mustang convertible for his 18th birthday. She places the car in a storage locker and then keeps adding more and more presents, all tenderly wrapped with cards. Soon the car can barely be seen under the barrage of gifts for future birthdays, holidays and major life events.

In this final mini-season, Cathy is definitely into acceptance and with good reason. Her melanoma has become more aggressive and so has the chemo. The combination are ravaging her. Linney has no qualms about showing the effects of terminal illness. Her appearence is startlingly different from the end of season three. According to an interview on NPR, she purposefully lost weight and cut her hair. Makeup helps complete the look as do her mannerisms. At one point the character develops a paralysis in her right leg. Linney’s response to this is both heart-wrenching and hilarious.

The actress has clearly thought about her role carefully. “It’s human nature to — thank God — not have [death] be the first thing you think about every single second,” she says, ” but there is a reality to it. And as I’ve been aging, and parents are dying and I’ve unfortunately lost friends who were way too young to go — you realize what a privilege it is to age. And that’s not a message we hear a lot in the United States.”

Thanks to Linney and the writers at “The Big C” it IS a message being conveyed in this brief four-episode season. The last episode is Monday night and I know that I already want more. I’ll miss Cathy’s quirkiness and her lovable extended family. But that’s how death is. All too soon it takes what we love. Thankfully Laura Linney will go on, hopefully long after Cathy Jamison has left us. It will be a privilege to watch her continued growth. ☙

May 18, 2013 0

My Buddy

I have a new buddy…that’s him to the left. His name is Tango and he is a six-year-old Australian Shepherd. He came into my life in the most unexpected way. He’s a service dog and his primary job is to make me walk. I have two medical conditions that can benefit from vigorous walking therapy hypercoaguable blood–I can develop clots easily–and herniated and bulging spinal discs. When I asked my doctor if it might be good to have a service animal she was enthusiastic and agreed to authorize it.

So, the next question was: what kind of dog? Ideally I should walk 3-5 miles a day. So Yorkies were out of the running as were most other small dogs. I was drawn to Aussies and talked it over with a friend who has bred and shown dogs. She thought an Aussie — the right Aussie — would be great. She found a breeder in Orlando who was expecting a litter in the spring with summer placement of the puppies. That sounded ideal (I was thinking I wanted a puppy…not the smartest thought but that’s where I was). It was then that I began to learn about the world of breeding dogs. In this case the female dog was going to be inseminated with sperm from a top-notch Aussie who lives in California. I quickly realized we were talking about royalty and I can’t afford royalty.

But wait! Turns out this same breeder has a 6-year old Aussie, an obedience champion, fully trained and certified as a service dog–Tango! According to the breeder, Tango is “over it” when it comes to competition. He goes through the paces and does it all very well but … he’s tired of it. She had been looking “to place” him in a good home, a place where he could leave behind the pressures of competition. In a sense, retire. Well, I’m retired and looking for a service dog. A perfect match?

Well, yes, it is. Tango and I have a great time together and we are walking a lot. Each of us has lost weight since he arrived (which is a good thing) and there are times when I’ll take him out and say, “Okay, just a short walk.” but we end up walking much more than I expected. It is absolutely more fun to walk with a dog than it is to walk alone.

And he a great help with other things. My spinal problems can cause instability, especially upon bending. Tango gives a good assist in those situations. And he can pickup any item I tell him to.

When I learned last December that I had this hypercoaguable blood disorder I was a little low but life is funny. There’s that saying about a door shutting but a window will open. There is also the lovely expression, “When life hands you lemons make lemonade.” I love lemonade…and I really love Tango.☙

March 11, 2013 4

At last! A job for the cat

Everyday I visit the Free Kibble website (www.freekibble.com) where they have an amusing trivia question about cats and dogs. Play the game and 10 pieces of Kibble are donated to rescue animals. You don’t even have to get the right answer and 10 Kibble bits are donated. What have you got to lose?

In today’s FreekibbleKat question I learned that for a year, a cat named Orlando chose stocks by throwing a toy at stock choices… and made more profit than the pros! Perhaps that explains the recent upturn in the market. The pros have stepped aside for the paws.

Now, all I have to do is teach Rainbow, my cat, how to throw her toys… or I could keep buying the lottery tickets.

January 31, 2013 0

Do you like the AIDS Quilt?

Of course you like the AIDS Memorial Quilt. Now you demonstrate that with a simple click of the mouse. Read on …

In October 1992 The Names Project brought the AIDs Quilt to the Washington Mall. Panels of love and remembrance for those who had died from AIDS covered the hill that holds the majestic Washington Monument and then stretched westward down the Mall to the sobering Lincoln Memorial.

The AIDS Quilt on the Washington Mall, October 1992.

It was estimated that more than 200,000 people visited the Mall that weekend! Robert and I, along with a handful of volunteers, manned an exhibit table for our group MARS (Marijuana AIDS Research Service). All of us came away changed. I don’t know that I will ever be in a place again where there was so much love. It was almost palpable.

It was the third time I had seen the Quilt and each time it rocked me to my soul. It is a brilliantly conceived work of art. Part remembrance, part protest, totally love.

I recently had occasion to visit The Names Project website. They maintain the Quilt which, at last count, has 48,000 panels.

As I scrolled through the website I encountered the ubiquitous “Like” button for Facebook. I was shocked to see only 3, 440 had taken the time to “Like” the Quilt. Can we improve on this folks? Please? It doesn’t take much time and it doesn’t cost a cent. The good folks at The Names Project deserve better than this. AIDS may have faded from the spotlight but it is still out there and The Quilt helps keep that fact present in our hearts and minds.

Here is the link: http://www.aidsquilt.org. Just click on the link and you’ll go to the Names Project website. Scroll to the bottom of the page and click the “Like” button. And then please ask a friend to do the same.

Thanks.

January 5, 2013 0

Fawn Hill – A New Adventure Begins

It has been quite a year but on Friday, December 14th there was a definite high note. On that day my sister and I acquired an acre of land in Franklin, North Carolina. The land has a large (3 bedroom, 2 bath) modular home, a shed, a satellite dish, three apple trees, and a backyard with a zealous population of poison ivy.

It sits on Fawn Hill. The elevation is about 2,000 feet. A nice change from sea level. At the top of the Hill lives my friend Boni and her partner Gail plus Gail’s cousin Suzy and Boni’s 90+ mother, Lola. Boni and Gail acted as our agents at the auction. Doris and Bob also live on Fawn Hill. We haven’t met them yet. They showed up at the auction to make sure no riffraff bought the place. I hope we pass muster.

I’ve dreamed of owning some land for a long while. The four properties that I’ve owned have all been condominiums. Where there are condos there are Boards of Directors. It is wonderful to think of owning a home and land that has just two restrictions: 1) keep the right of way open to the neighbors, and 2) don’t build a mobile home park. No problem.

Marty, Gail & Boni on the right-of-way to Fawn Hill. Our new place is on the left.

Closing will be around the end of the year. There are ten days for an “upset bid” to be made. We’re hopeful that won’t happen but we’re pretty sure the riffraff won’t upset the process. ☙

December 16, 2012 1

A Funny Thing Happened to Me on the Way to Retirement

Less than a week ago I used this blog to announce my intention to retire.

Four days later I was laid off.

My position was eliminated during a “strategic realignment” of the organization. I was not alone. Three other colleagues received the same message as me. And there had been earlier realignments in the organization. It was a matter of time before they got to our department. I guess I’ll never know if I was chosen because I had announced my retirement or because my number came up. Either way, c’est la vie. (That’s a French way of saying “it is what it is.”)

The next day, as fate would have it, was my birthday — my 65th birthday. When I was a child that was the expected retirement age, 65. But things have changed along the way. My full Social Security payment will not kick in until I’m 66 but I had made up my mind I wouldn’t wait another year. I made application for Social Security on-line and in a few days received a call from a nice agent who informed me that I qualified to receive my late husband’s benefits — which are substantially higher — even though we were common law for many years. I’ve sent her the proof that Bob and I presented ourselves as husband and wife. She made it sound all very simple. Let’s hope.

On my birthday I awoke and immediately thought of the day before when I had been laid off. As I lay there thinking of the week’s events I couldn’t help but think of my good fortune. Certainly not everyone who has been laid off has that thought. But throughout the week I had been thinking how I would like to be retired by the end of October. Answered prayers! Not the way I would have crafted it but it is, nevertheless, an answered prayer.

I rolled out of bed thinking “Well, Alice, it is the first day of the rest of your life.” I smiled broadly and headed off to Alafia River State Park where I photographed mushrooms with the help of my sister. Here’s a sampling of the day’s work.

This little guy was no more than 1/2 inch in height. He was beginning his new life … and so was I. ❧

September 29, 2012 2

Retirement

Just a quick post to tell everyone that Alice will soon join the ranks of the notorious 47% when she begins collecting Social Security retirement next month. I’ve given notice at Tidewell Hospice that I would like to be out of there no later than Dec. 28. If it can be arranged I hope it will be sooner. I’ve worked at Tidewell for seven years and have seen, first hand, that life is shorter than we can imagine. There are too many projects that I have delayed because of my job. The good Lord willing I will have time to finish those projects and find a few more. In the words of songster Donavon Frankenreiter, “I’m looking for life, love, and laughter/Everything in between/And what happens after.”

Time to move on down the road.

September 23, 2012 2

A Consumate Hero

Neil Armstrong died recently. The first human to walk on the moon slipped quietly into that Great Beyond. Godspeed, Neil Armstrong.

For me the name of Neil Armstrong will be synonymous with two events. The first, of course, is his landing on the moon. I was “there” along with several million others as we became transfixed before the television sets on July 20, 1969. How incredible it was. Television itself was barely out of puberty. Most of us still had black and white sets. In various extensions of family, friends, and human kind we huddled together, collectively holding our breath as Armstrong and his co-pilot, Buzz Aldrin, skillfully piloted the Lunar lander to THE spot on the Moon…Tranquility Base. I’ve always loved that…Tranquility Base.

I was with about a dozen friends, splayed out on the floor of our rented house in Lutz, Florida. I was about to enter my last year of college. The times, they were a’changing — an early Dylan song made all the more potent by the events of, well, the times. We were all pleasantly stoned on marijuana and marveling at the sights on the “boob” tube. Just eighteen months before several of us had traveled to the East Coast of Florida to watch a Saturn 5 rocket launch Apollo 8 to a historic rendezvous with the Moon. Apollo 8 would not land on the Moon but it would broadcast some incredible pictures that helped, for the first time, to put our place in space in a true perspective. A blue, tantalizing dot in the midst of blackness. It was all we had imagined and more.

Now, just a short seven months later, we had returned to the Moon, coming “in peace for all mankind.” It was as good as it gets in life.

But I said that Armstrong’s death brings back the memories of TWO events in my life. The second occurred 32 years later, in August of 2001. I was recently widowed, struggling with all the emotion and baggage that kind of event can bring. A dear cousin, in a most generous moment, gave me the funds for a trip to Australia where our dearest friends lived. Daryl, a native Australian, had spent 25 years with the World Bank. Her husband, Craig, had worked in various performing arts’ associations in Washington, D.C.

We decided to make an adventure of it and Daryl compiled a wonderful itinerary that took us to The Center, that vast portion of Australia which remains largely uninhabited. One spot she selected was The Bungle Bungles, or Purnululu, in a rugged part of the Kimberly. We stayed at a remote lodge and with a small group of travelers we explored the region, gazing at oddly domed rocks, climbing other rocks, and exploring caves, like this one.

The caves were delightfully cool and offered respite from the hot sun. As we rested one of our guides began to sing a song called “Armstrong”. The acoustics in the cave made his voice almost heavenly and the words to the song were very moving to me. You can hear it here.

When he was finished I commented to another guide that I felt the song really captured the spirit of that incredible day when Neil Armstrong walked upon the moon. “You saw it!” she exclaimed. Her sense of awe was, I’ll admit, a bit unsettling. After all, millions had seen the event on TV. “What was it like?” she asked. Her interest was sincere and so I told her what I could recall, which was a lot because it was an extraordinary time. Even the venerable news anchor Walter Cronkite was bowled over by the landing and the walk.

Sitting in the far reaches of Australia that day, reliving the day Neil Armstrong walked upon the moon. It was as good as it gets in life. Thanks Neil. ❧

August 31, 2012 0

Deer Heart

It’s no surprise that I spent part of my Sunday (August 26) at Myakka River State Park. We were under a Tropical Storm watch at the time and the River was already at near flood stage. If we had gotten the worst of T.S. Isaac I wanted to have a good record. Isaac decided, like so many storms before him, that getting to the Central West Coast of Florida is a lot of work. It is a whole bunch easier to cruise through the Florida Straits, ruffle the feathers of the Margarita crowd in Key West, and then use the wide open Gulf of Mexico to feed its fury before making in landfall in Mississippi or Louisiana.

Sunday was a gloomy day and the traffic at Myakka was slim. The water is high and lots of the wildlife is either displaced or much closer to the pathways than normal. This momma alligator is a good example.

She was a few yards off the Power Line Road, protecting her brood with a watchful eye. There were enough obstacles between her and I that I never felt threatened but I also didn’t feel like pushing any limits to get a clearer shot.

Most of the other trails were washed out for the day. I tried to navigate the Fox High Road but it was hopeless. Way too much water, not to mention the mosquitos.

So, I began to make my way home and had just crossed over the Park Drive Bridge when I looked to my left and there was this deer.

He was no more than three feet from the car and I was traveling at about 15mph so it seemed as though he was keeping pace with me. We made clear eye contact and I stopped the car. He stopped too. And for a moment we regarded each other. I finally reached for the camera and was sure this would be alarming. But he took it all in stride. Perhaps our moment of eye connection made him realize there was nothing to fear.

He nonchalantly turned to his left and sauntered into the woods.

The next day was a working one, shortened by Isaac’s erratic behavior. Our offices opened at noon and that afternoon I had a grief support group for mothers whose adult children have died. It was a smaller group than normal, no doubt owing to the storm as well as summer vacations. There was a lull in the conversation and then one of the mothers said, “Well, I have something that I need to share.”

Her son had died of a heart attack three years ago. About a year after the event she was driving home and entered her gated community. She found the road blocked by a deer. She didn’t know what to do and was startled when the deer walked towards the car and stood by the driver’s window. She lowered the window and began to talk to the deer. At one point she touched the deer’s nose. She was convinced that her son’s spirit had somehow entered the deer. A similar incident happened to her a few weeks later.

Naturally, as I was culling through these photos tonight, I thought of this lady. I don’t know whose spirit was in the deer that I saw on Sunday. More’s the pity for that. But I have no doubt that this lady’s story is true. I have heard too many similar tales — stories of butterflies and orbs and lady bugs and objects that move on their own or beloved items that appear without rhyme or reason.

Shakespeare wrote, “There is more in heaven and earth than we can know.” And while it is true that we may not be able to know it does not mean we can’t be aware. ❧

August 28, 2012 0

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