of Something Else

My daughter recently cut her long tresses, blonde curly long tresses, to a Mohawk or an equivalent thereof.  She gave the long locks to wigs for kids.  But the change was shocking, tempting, inviting, regrettable  joyful, and changing.

Change continues to be hard for many and impossible for most.  Change is not tolerated well, even when it is positive.  My daughter's hair will grow, or she will cut it, but the change is hers to manage.  If she had chemo and the hair fell out, it would be a much harder change.  And definitely more difficult to manage.

Change is something that I personally excel in embracing.  New, technical, exciting, improving, shiny, fun are all words that I generally associate with change.  Nervous, scared, out of control, unplanned, harem scarem are all words that my son would use to describe the same experience.  He doesn't like surprises, even the good ones.  He likes predictable, measurable, planned.

So it is amazing to me that I am amazed when change at work is perceived as negative.  It doesn't matter whether the change is successful. And every time that I or someone else introduces something new, the response is the same: negative. Bad. Why?.

When I went to graduate school, I had lots of courses on change, but when it really matters, most people don't want to change or to manage change.  They don't accept it, they don't want it and they damn sure don't appreciate it. Like the movie Groundhog Day they want the same day over and over. Get up, go to work, go home, repeat.

So when the morale falls in the toilet for the change agents, the marketers, the accountants (yep, they change according to the rules) and the HR folks, who is the problem? why not them. not us. not anyone, except her. or him. or the government. or the stupid apple people or the wierd google plus people.

First impulse is to look for new jobs, second is to complain to your friends and look for a new job, third is to get mad and look for a new job.  Lastly, I think the true change embracers do what they do naturally, they embrace the search for a change, a solution.  So I am going to try to resist the temptation to complain and whine about the foot draggers.  I am going to lead by example and tell them over and over, like the lessons of kindergarten, that change can bring good things. Some change is good.  New things and approaches and products and classes help people stay interested and help companies compete.

But I will say this for the foot draggers, you at least gave me a topic to write about and that is a good change for me.

Doctor's point of view

Temple Grandin: Rising to be Compressed

Probably everyone has heard of TEMPLE GRANDIN, Ph.D. She is the amazing animal husbandry expert with autism.

"When I was age 3, I had standard autistic symptoms such as intolerance to being touched, inability to speak, tantrums, and stereotypic behavior. I would stiffen and pull away when people touched me, and I was oversensitive to both touch and sound (Grandin 1989a, Grandin and Scarino 1986) Magnetic resonance image (MRI) scans have revealed that my cerebellum is undersized, and I have a slight balance problem.  I will describe here a deep touch pressure device ("squeeze machine") that I developed to help me overcome problems of over sensitivity to touch, and that allays my nervousness. Reactions of other people to the squeeze machine, including children with autistic disorder and attention-deficit hyperactivity disorder (ADHD) are also reported."   How Compression can help

There is so much in this little paragraph.  The symptoms, the intolerance, the imbalance and brain issues and the comfort of compression.

And that brings me to the comfort of compression.  The comfort I am speaking of it the compression of a hug, a touch, a squeeze of your arm.  The compression I am speaking of is the compression of life between generations, between work and family, between family and family.  It is compression of time and compression of love.

My mother has some things in common with Dr. Grandin.  Her memory is challenged and her cerebellum is certainly affected.  Her balance once challenged, has improved.  But her gait is definitely slow and wide.  She knows everyone and almost all fine details, but she struggles with time and sometimes place.  She knows who Marco Rubio is and what The Affordable Health Care Act means - at least as much as any of us do.

 So the compression in her case is the move to a retirement community.  She did not like any part of it, comparing it to jail and calling the residents inmates.  She felt trapped and alone.  She felt compressed, in a not good way.  She felt confined and "dumped" by her family.  Although we all visited every day, she felt duped and abandoned. She said we were plotting against her.  I felt the Betty Davis compression of Baby Jane.   I assure you the entire family weighed in on the support of my mother and she is better now for having  gone there.

The staff get her up every day and give her breakfast and medicine. They make sure she has a bath and they wash her clothes.  They prepare meals ( with choices I might add); and,they have healthcare, activities and music.  They also have my mother on the floor with the memory challenged.  Our healthcare system which is modeled after the industrial revolution of assembly-line care, is not staged for a little bit impaired. Its all or none.  Either you are on the memory unit or not.  I bet you, she is the only one on the third floor who knows who Rubio is.  He should go thank her.  She talks to everyone and repeats his name frequently. And his website is as dark and gloomy as her attitude!

The other compression that is ongoing is the emotion of the family.  She is mad at my father. My brother and I feel helplessly hopeful; my kids are asking if I have plan for my care.  We are all compressed to add the emotional support.  We all are adding in the stop off at the apartment to see Mom.  We all have so much going on: entering the peak of our working years, hoping for the peak of our retirement years.  

My Mother needs support, though not the all or nothing support.  She doesn't need to be in the memory care  full time.  She needs part time support to ensure her meds are taken appropriately and her daily upkeeps are done  timely.

She needs to have conversation and interaction and walks in the sunshine and porches for the rain.  She needs my father, her spouse of almost 60 years.  And he needs her. And the system isn't designed for a spouse with different needs.  Nope.  We have to compress the elderly in a box of convenience.  Did I address the issue of healthcare being stuck in the assembly line management style?  Oh yes, I did.  I say we should compress that idea, and use the Affordable Healthcare Act to change the way we treat people, and focus on their humanity alongside their medicare number.

Wish we had a research paper on the efficiency of providing what the client needs and not what is convenient for the provider. This is the quandary of the transition back to families with generations in the home (what a great idea that was) or the transition to real transition and not choices of block one or block two.  Imagine if we approached not only elder care, but education as a service for an individual and not for a giant system of mass production.

This sounds like a Ted talk community conversation  that I should hold.  Hello TedTalks, call me, I have many thoughts on redesigning "retirement".

So back to compression.  I had to travel out of town all week and guess what I am thinking of?  Who is going to see my Mother?!  The move to the retirement facility put her squarely in the path of my home to work commute.  I have seen more of my Mother in the last two months than I have in the last three years.  She is accessible and can be part of my day. She can be a smile on the way home and a hug at lunch. Compression of my day  includes seeing her on my way home.  Compression of how many years into a few minutes of a visit. I thought the days of a her being in my life had changed permanently.  But luckily for all of us, she is improving.  She still needs help. She still needs her whole family.  And my Father needs some compression too.  Because sometimes compression is a good thing.  Indeed a good thing.

Thank you Temple for helping us understand that.

Rising to the Occasion of Three?

Staring at this blank page, I wonder how to tell you the difference between a fabulous trip and a fabulous trip.  But there is a difference.

The last two trips with my daughter, we went off to Seattle and then to San Francisco.  It was girl out extravaganza   We went everywhere on foot, bus and bike.  WE exhausted each other and then exhausted each others' ideas.  Foot travel, cocktails, scenic views, heights and horses.  Just a meal difference in mood and outlook.  I can tell you that there is nothing I treasure more than the stressed out, fun loving, active, challenging cross country weekend with my daughter.

Flash forward. First trip with number one son and the daughter.  Dynamic changes. Winds shift.  Fun happens without me, then around me, but not me. Fun happens with me, with them, with the food.  But then, fun shifts and there is fun with one and not the other, and fun with the other, and not the one.

Though the energy required is the same, the effort felt is more with three.  Not just three.  Three with one male.  I can't help but think if it was three gals, we would be arm and arm down the street, moving our legs in unison, this way and that.  The swag, the sway, the together movement of female time. But the guy, oh the guy is there, even if he is the brother.

And then there is the dynamic of the MOM.  Yes, adult children do return to the children in the presence of the MOM.  Children return to competitive persons.  Mom's return to the boss.  The people who were three flying separately across a nation to be together, seem farther apart than three planes in the air.  The past, the present, the gender, the gap, the competition, the time change.

Not the most relaxing weekend across the country that I have had, but certainly one to remember.

The capitals, the space needle, the five course wine pairing dinner (oh the five course dinner), the stroll on the campus of PSU and the shopping at the used clothing store.  The brother takes the sister to the mountain, through a town named Corbett and the water falls.  The brother goes with the sister to Powell's Bookstore in Portland.  The brother follows the sister to the campus and the fresh produce music art filled student fun market and the mass transit that is everywhere.

But then there are three and there is distance and space that wasn't there before.  Burgers bring us back together. Simple burgers and fries.  So american.  Then ice cream.  Too much ice cream. And some hurt feelings and some great laughs.

And I am reminded of the joy of motherhood, the wonderful human beings that are my children and the gift that they give me of their time.  Frustration, tension, trust to be that way.  Love no matter what.

Rising to another cross country weekend.  Love it all!

Rising to the Occasion of Motherhood

God

I am the kind of mother who touches her children every night and prays to god in heaven to make them smarter, braver, stronger, and better than the way they were the day before.

I ask that they be kind and direct and courteous and love their parents.

I ask to make them better at what they love and put music in their hearts in the morning.

I pray to make me a better mother, but if only one prayer can be answered, I want god to care for them.

I am the kind of mother that weeps when they fail.

I shake when they are on stage and I gasp when the spaces of breath are too long.

I am the kind of mother who waits patiently for them to figure out the math.

I am the kind of mother who says wipe it up, I’ll make more.  It doesn’t matter.  Breathe.

I am the kind of mother who explains boys don’t get it as fast as girls and that the pamphlet forgot to say ask permission to touch any one under any circumstances.

I am the kind of mother who said you can save yourself for marriage.  It is always an option.

I am the kind of mother who says you will need your brother one day don’t talk to him like that.

I am the kind of mother who cries secretly, fearing their future and praying I did enough.

And ten years after writing these words, I am still praying.

The Inspiration: The Original Rising

Sometimes in life you make deals.  Deals with God that you’ll be forgiven or you won’t be discovered.  Deals with people that let you down or deals that are kept and honored.  Occasionally, there’s the deal within the deal—unchangeable—a hidden charge to your soul, an ongoing accounting. 

My friend was diagnosed with prostrate cancer in 2000.  His name is Fred,Ted, John, Steve.  His name is every man.  He is 58 and single, divorced actually, relatively short and a little thick in the waist these days.He is an all-American guy with an interest in sports and a hope of getting laid. He says he is charming, witty, intelligent, and an Italian stallion.

Now, there is this cancer.  And a deal has to be made--a charge to his soul, the compromise of his life.  He would live and live longer but not as he had lived nor loved not ever.  The deal within the deal.

He was devastated, of course, by the news.  He asked those whom he chose to tell, not to tell anyone else.  That never works. He consulted many folks on which approach to the cancer he should take.  There was the cut from the front, the cut from the bottom, just radiation, or chemo.  Different surgeons, different hospitals. 

He is the analytical type who researches everything. He had two major concerns: losing bladder control and never having sex again the way he had before.  Live longer; live without this part of life.  The scale of fate.  The bargain.  

He’s reminded of a movie with Jane Fonda, some one whom he, a Vietnam vet, would not ordinarily care to remember.  Something tells him deals have a code, just like the codes in naval intelligence school. A code to understanding the charge to his soul he had not counted on, at least not where it mattered. 

He rented the movie with Fonda and John Voight or was it Kris Kristopherson?  Doesn’t matter now.  He walked away with something of value from the movie, although the main character never walked again.  Yet another deal for the soul, serve your country at the cost of never feeling below your waist.  Then, there is an opportunity that could only be present because the deal had been struck.  The deal is you have to love someone in more than one way.  Sometimes, we don’t know what love is until we have to give it under unusual circumstances; sometimes love is present in ways we don’t expect.

There are new opportunities, if only we can see them, but they aren’t told in advance. Soul bargains, the deal behind the deal. We can win if we are patient and true to ourselves. 

He has won two years of cancer-free checks, and though he is not restored to his former self, he is a person with a renewed sense of life and friends, of integrity and strength. He plans on running the 10k on Easter, and he tells himself running 6.2 miles for a recovering cancer survivor ain’t bad.

He tells himself the deal isn’t complete.  He is looking to challenge the hidden bargain, but that will have to wait until after the race, after he has mastered the code.

Today, he was told that his good friend has pancreatic cancer.  He went to see his friend and console him.  He took the code with him, hoping to break another encrypted message from above. 

He rose to the occasion.

Again.

of becoming your mother's care giver

I have had many challenges in my life, but none so hard as realizing that the last ever care free shopping trip with my mom happened in June.  She is facing heart issues and other stuff and isn’t carefree right now.

But I can tell you, amongst the grief and anger and emotional upheaval, is a group of incredibly strong staid women who face those like me and my mom every day.

I can tell you that the woman named Jackie, that washed my mother while she was in physical rehab, made her happy.  My mother said she had never been so clean and refreshed.  And when I told Jackie, she blushed and said thank you.  Humble, kind and reliable.  Jackie is the true meaning of the everyday elder care hero.

Then of course there is Martha, the stalwart, who knows how care should be and takes it personally and takes pride in her investment of time.  Martha is the queen of "I can get her to eat again" folks.  She has already proven herself with the yogurt that she made mom eat.  Martha makes companies like Hope Well be successful.

And tonight, there is Alma, the night caregiver, who will stay awake in case my mother gets up.  And she will read in her chair and listen and oh by the way, water is fine, I don't need coffee to stay awake.... Alma.

And may I tell you that there are others who helped in this process whose names I don't have down on paper.  The ones who said, "you are amazing for showing up every day and looking out for her".  The ones who came down the hall to tell me they think that there is no hope or all hope or just a hug or just a good bye squeeze.

My father asked what was her name?  I tried to explain.  I don't know Jackie's last name, but I know she has three kids and one has football on Thursday's.  I don't know Janice's last name, but her sister lives in Quitman and her mom is at home for now.

I don't know the night nurse or the day nurse or even the head social worker's name.  But I know they all came down the hall to hug me, to catch my tears or just tell me to go outside for a few moments.   I know the ones who wear red and the one's with matching eyeglasses.  I know the young one that wanted to wear green nail polish and the cranky old one who told me that he should be present to discuss how my mother behaved on medication.

I don't know the outside of them anymore than I know the outside of my mother.

I know the inside of them is warm and loving and wanting and alive.

I know the inside of my mother is still a mess.  And it may never change, it may always change.

What doesn't change is my memory of our last shopping trip and the girls day out.  And I miss her already and I love her forever.  Thank you mom, for every one you have been and everyone you are and for being my rock.  You still are the amazing woman I love.

Rising to the Occasion of the Little Red Dress

So, on the girls' trip Coast to Coast I was feeling really good.  While on the trip (BIG SECRET), I  bought a red dress. Yep, I mean RED dress.  The kind of dress that you put on when you are fifty five, and proclaim, " yes there is a young woman in this body!"  "Yes, I do have a shape!"

And of course, three weeks later, it was time to wear it in public.  The little red dress that looked fabulous in the dressing room of the  store in Dunedin, Florida, suddenly seemed so ridiculously not right.  I mean, it was a what was I thinking moment.

I should have known my confidence would wane.  First, I was with some of the best women in my life at the time: my daughter, my sister in law and my mother. Secondly, I was in a fabulous boutique that sells clothes with tags like: stop staring!!!!! So, the combination said buy it now for your work summer conference banquet!  The days slipped by. And the dress stayed in the bag.  The bag from kina kouture.

On the Sunday before conference, I asked my friend (we'll call her Tammy), to look at the dress and the other choice (another red dress) and tell me what she thought.  She said to wear the Stop Staring dress.  I was still insecure.  So, I tried on the "conservative" dress.  I think it was too snug in the wrong places.  I have lots of wrong places.

Aging brings lots of issues, not the least of which is you s-l-o-w down.  I don't mean in speed, I mean in metabolism.  The things I used to eat, now stay with me, usually on my midriff.  The things I used to do, now I don't do with the same vigor.  Now I admit, some of this is my fault.  I don't work out as much as I used to.  I don't run after the horses or the children.  I don't run or even jog or walk as a rule.  I turned into a traveling middle age woman with too much travel and not enough movement.  Working on that, but...

So, I do what wise persons don't.  I ask for a second opinion and I tell Tammy, that I was going to do so!  And as you can guess, Tammy says, "what you don't trust my opinion?" Shoot me.  Really, just shoot me.  I mean I am trying to have a middle age insecure moment and what happens?  Tammy tried to out do me!  REALLY?

Tammy is cute as a bug's ear and when she shows up in the elevator, she is take your breath away gorgeous.  She has poofy hair.  The kind of poofy hair that is styled and intended, not my kinky curly mess that is always on it's own in the Florida humidity.  She is in fancy black and pretty shoes and she smells great.  Wow, and I am supposed to compete with this!

So, both of us go out the door, me in my red dress and she in her black.

Okay, not so bold.  Haven't shown you the red dress.  But, you now know I had totally cute shoes... even the old and insecure can have cute shoes....

I had to hide the red dress with a black shawl.  Partially, the reason is the freezing temps in a hotel, but mostly, because I have a not flattering waistline.  And because the new President being sworn in is tiny and cute and the PRESIDENT! So, here is the red dress.  The middle age over weight woman in red is me.  I used to be the one with the tiny figure, so the new me is different. But I WORE MY RED DRESS.  and I showed my daughter that confidence is only one shawl away... no kidding.

I showed my daughter that you should do what makes you happy, whether it is a red dress at the summer conference or a year in Germany trying out for dressage teams or in Tammy's case, trying out being a big sister.

So why would anyone be self conscious in this environment?

And this is my view from the condo and could anyone be unpleasant in this beautiful environment?