20131029 – Euphoria, Face Time and Unintended Consequences

Yesterday, following a weekend of wind and rain which resulted in a bumper crop of walnuts, it seemed appropriate to rethink my previous decision to just mow over them, wisdom being the better part of valor, and all that. Facing the prospect of a bone jarring, tooth rattling, glasses-cap-hearing protector shaking ride, I grabbed a rake and headed into the walnut laced perimeter to do battle.

I rather quickly discovered the unintended consequence of my previous tactic. While I mowed I certainly did a good job of husking the walnuts, and an even better job of pressing the remaining nuts deeply into the soft soil of the yard where the tines of a leaf rake were of little use. After one broken rake and two sore shoulders I abandoned the attempt and contrived my new approach.

Today, after my euphoric experience and a little face time (more to come on those two counts) I returned to the great outdoors, this time armed with two rakes including one of the stiff-backed, steel-tined garden variety. Step one; rake the leaves and loose walnuts with the leaf rake. Step two; switch to the garden rake and re-rake the entire the walnut perimeter, using the tines to pry the embedded walnuts out of the sod. Lesson learned: rake first, then mow. Price: double the original cleanup time before this mowing. Result: much smoother and stress free mowing experience, plus several hundred calories burned. Well, on to more pleasant thoughts.

Not that I would categorize a Stress Nuclear Heart Exam as a pleasant experience; but strangely enough, I felt rather euphoric during the drive home. I had obviously been stressing about this stress test for several weeks. My blood pressure was way up, I was feeling edgy, and I was asking all sorts of questions of the technicians even though I’d been through this test at least four times over the past several years. Last year’s test uncovered more coronary artery blockage and resulted in a new stent.

What would they find this time? Nothing. Fully restored blood flow. Bright clear images. Clean bill of health. Driving home I’m feeling pretty good; better than pretty good; relieved; great; euphoric. Hmm…good word, euphoric. Guess I’ve used it more than enough for this post.

Having arrived home after four hours with the cardiologist including drive time, I prepared a non-savory lunch to avoid temping my spouse to violate her pre-colonoscopy routine. For a little distraction she called our daughter to chat a bit. Speaker phone setting is mandatory to include the grand-kiddoes in the conversation. Our voices almost immediately prompted a request from Lil C to play with Meema and Pop-pop, meaning a switch to Skype for a little face time. Hey, who are we to pass up this opportunity? Who cares if we can’t touch the dolly as long as C puts the doll’s basket right in front of the camera and demonstrates how she cares for and tucks in her little friend? And proceeds to tell you all about it, and sings little praise songs she learned from her dad, and throws in a verse or two of “It’s a Small World”.

Interrupted by E’s demonstration of his prowess with nearly a quarter of the alphabet, C stated, “I need to practice my letter skills too,” remarkably articulate for a three year old don’t you think? She proceeded to pick up each letter E had just identified, repeat it and show it to us before getting back to our play time with the doll.

Words and letters from E, play time with C, and a chat with K; all in all a nice bit of face time with the family. That, some good news and a healthy bout of exercise made for a good day…

Another good day of life in the sandwich…Pops

20131022 – What Do I Do With It All???

A few years ago John Ortberg wrote a book titled When the Game is Over, It All Goes Back in the Box. The title is an obvious reference to the idea that when we die we don’t get to take anything with us; but there is much more to his book than the title. Right now though, I’m fixating on the title, particularly as we deal with all of D’s Mom’s stuff following her move to assisted living. The box isn’t BIG enough!

I’ve spoken a few times in this blog about boxes; thinking outside of them, putting stuff in them, sorting through old ones, well you catch my drift. Anyway, D and I hauled a large assortment of boxes out of her Mom’s place last weekend, most filled with cherished photographs and old scrapbooks, not to mention things like seventy year old transcripts and grandparents’ birth, baptism, confirmation, and death certificates, deeds, mortgages, D’s Dad’s photography studies and Army Air Force memorabilia. It was enough to fill the back of my SUV!

Because I’m a sentimental old packrat we already have a ton of this kind of stuff in our house and now we’re bringing over another ton to rummage through while we’re getting the condo ready for its next tenant. I’m thinking, “How can I possibly sort through all of this and decide what to keep and what to pitch?” It all has meaning for someone, but in what way and for whom?

There is a wealth of advice on the ‘net about sorting out and shrinking down accumulations of stuff, and organizing important papers that you should keep; but this stuff is a little different. It’s a huge archive of historical information and documents which have little or no legal or financial significance once wills have been discharged and real estate and investments distributed to their new owners.

Since I’m a bit of a genealogy nut I decided to try looking at this whole process from that perspective. And you know it actually started to get a little easier. Here’s my approach.

First I ask myself what’s important about what I’m handling. Is it relevant to a significant event in or a characteristic of the life of the person it represents; i.e., me or another family member? Would it help in telling that person’s life story? If not, it can go. If so, is it a duplicate or a lower quality version of something else? Then it can go. If not, is it the object or the information that’s relevant? If it’s the information then it can be transcribed (scanned, copied, etc.) to standardized digital formats and stored on CD or DVD and the original object can go. If it is the information and the object together, for example, an heirloom and its associated written lineage, then it’s a candidate, once properly protected and preserved, for display or retention in the associated memory box. (See, I did get back around to boxes, eventually.)

Having completed this process I’ll be left with a small (I hope) box of assorted artifacts meaningful to anyone interested in the family’s history, and digital collections of any documents, photographs, videos and audio recordings that with today’s optical storage technology (CDs and DVDs) will fit in a shoebox inside that same memory box. I suppose if there is a lot of audio and video the number of CDs and DVDs could be significant. At any rate, I’ll have enough relevant material to write a biography about each family member or family unit that can then be attached to our digital family tree. Oops, I think I just appointed myself family historian.

Seems like a good place to try this approach is with D’s family’s stuff since she’s an only child and her Dad was an only too. Plus right now most of that stuff is together in one place. Unfortunately that one place is our home; the rear entry, the living room, my office, the family room, our bedroom, the basement…hmm.

Well, please feel free to weigh in on the idea, and give it a try if you think it might work for you.

Meanwhile, I’ll be testing the theory…Pops

20131015 – Another Cadence and Caring for Number One

I suspected it would be a busy Tuesday with Terry, and it hasn’t disappointed. Mom-in-law said, “yes” to my breakfast invitation necessitating a bit of extra driving and adding to the schedule of events which already included stops at the attorney’s office, the bank, home to make copies, then the post office and finally lunch and blogging time. Driving the great circle route and making as many right turns and as few left turns as I could plan into the trip resulted in the rather fortuitous choice to stop for lunch at the “other” McD’s in town to enjoy a premium grilled chicken wrap, chilled beverage and some serious writing.

I say fortuitous because it appeared that I may have walked in on “take your grandkids to lunch” day at the one McD’s in town with a play room. An unscheduled but frequent happening, these things often occur on Tuesdays for some reason, perhaps coincidence, or perhaps “God-incidence”, and most often when I need some good fodder for pondering.

Sealing the deal was the mother who, two booths down, called to her daughter, “Cadence, Cadence!” I cast a startled glance in their direction and there were little Cadence, her sister, her mother and dad, and her grandmother, all reveling in her birthday celebration. I said hello and, after an OK from Mom she immediately said, “See my crown?” It had her name printed out in her mother’s nice and frilly handwriting. Holding up two hands, each with all five fingers extended she proudly announced to me that she was five years old. I explained that my granddaughter had the same name and just had a birthday herself. Then I thanked them all for triggering some good memories of our visit with our own Lil C less than two weeks ago.

At least three other tables and booths contained grandparents and grandchildren, and the playroom echoed with the laughter of several other young folk who managed to fit beneath the height restriction and found themselves firmly ensconced in various compartments of the elevated maze.

At one table sat a portly grandpa with his two grandsons, both dressed in identical blue golf shirts and jeans. They hurried through lunch, chatting with grandpa all the while and yet eager to hit the play room. As soon as he gave the OK they were off. He quietly cleared the table, grabbed the tray of trash in one hand and his portable oxygen device in the other and made his way to the trash bin, carefully placing his machine on the counter so he could use both hands to dump the tray. Then he walked slowly and cautiously back to the table and began to patiently wait for the two boys to wear themselves out.

In a booth around the corner sat two women, one a stocky thirty-something and the other a petite and spritely sixty plus with curly gray hair. As they talked it became obvious that their children/grandchildren had found the playroom and were whooping it up with the rest of the temporary tenants. Joining the two in the booth just a few minutes later was a tall, trim and tanned grandpa, with a full head of gray wavy hair, and dressed in jeans and a denim jacket.

I contemplated my own health as I contrasted the two granddads I just observed; one who could have just dismounted a horse after a morning herding cattle; the other for whom lunch alone was likely the limit of the physical exertion he could stand for the day. Hmm, I’ve got to take care of myself so I can be a caregiver to others. Wasn’t that just what I was thinking about earlier today?

I think about that a lot, especially since I’m a sixty-plus overweight diabetic with a heart condition. But even healthy caregivers need to not only think about it but do something about it. We’re not any good to anyone else unless we first take care of our own physical, mental, and spiritual well-being. Every book for caregivers advises the same thing. And this includes moms and dads as well as grandparents and grandchildren.

We tend to think of the term ‘caregiver’ as applying to professionals and the sandwich generation like us taking care of aging parents. But it really applies also to moms and dads taking care of their children, and sometimes parents taking care of their grown but incapacitated children, or their capable adult children adversely impacted by tough times.

Every one of us can find ourselves in a caregiving role, planned or not. And families are just one big caregiving unit, raising children, supporting each other, and lending a hand to the aging and often the less fortunate. Very few of us avoid finding ourselves in a caregiving role at some point in our lives.

Back to breakfast this morning when my friend Jim briefly joined Mom and me, his breakfast crowd by chance having selected the very McD’s that Mom and I frequent on our Tuesday morning outings. Ever the gracious and kind gentleman, and a long-time friend of Mom and Dad’s, Jim welcomed Mom back and chatted at length about how he and Connie had missed seeing her in church, and missed Dad since his passing. Jim has been a caregiver himself and his wife has cared for stroke victims for the past thirty years. She’s turned her attention to Jim since his lung transplant more than a year ago and Jim has bounced back to remain the same caring and compassionate man he has always been.

It was obvious that the conversation provoked some thinking on Mom’s part because after breakfast she said something simple and yet profound on our way out the restaurant door, “You take care of yourself and make sure that D does the same!” I will Mom, I promise!

Well, I’m making progress on the healthy living front; losing weight, getting the lab numbers into normal ranges, exercising (but not enough yet), and spending some good chill time with the lovely and gracious soul mate of my life. With our roles flipped from the stereotypes we grew up with it is a challenge for us to take on each other’s typical tasks and responsibilities, at times frustrating, and at other times very satisfying. It’s also tough to anticipate each other’s needs and care for each other with all the busyness in our lives. And we’re not where we need to be on the “taking care of self” front, but we’re making progress there, too.

Want to be a good caregiver, no matter whom you’re caring for? Are you an inactive grandpa, or are you a sports-loving dad? Are you a cowboy? Or are you in less than the best health you can be? No matter where you’re starting, start! Start taking care of number one! And while you’re at it, remember to give yourself and your significant other the gift of time…together!

Doing the same…Pops

20131008 – Walnuts and Wonders

I spent a good chunk of this afternoon engaged in the ab-twisting, fat-jiggling, nut-shucking twice-weekly endeavor otherwise known as mowing the lawn. I use those carefully chosen modifiers to describe the experience of driving a lawn tractor over a prolific crop of walnuts provided by our particularly fertile forest, umm…grove, well actually – pair of walnut trees likely approaching 50 years of age and apparently in the prime of their lives.

Seeing a lawn at least eight days past its due date for mowing I couldn’t stomach the thought of spending three hours to first rake and/or pick up all of the walnuts that had fallen since last the lawn was mowed. That would be twelve days ago, but who’s counting? Plus, I had to tighten up my mowing pattern to double cut the seven inch long grass and avoid leaving clumps instead of mulched grass blades all over the place. I reasoned that mechanically shucking the walnuts by driving over them would make them easier to rake later, assuming the squirrels hold up their end of the bargain and bury or eat a few before I get to them.

While shaking off a few pounds I began pondering why I choose to put myself through this lawn mowing process for 7 to 8 months each year. At an hour a piece, and an average of three times every two weeks, by my reckoning that works out to about  40-45 hours per year; maybe even fifty if you believe global warming is impacting Michigan weather. That’s a lot of time to spend just mowing a lawn. Then there’s the weeding and mulching of flowerbeds, several thousand square feet of them, fertilizing the whole yard including shrubs and trees, pruning, planting, and winterizing; ow, my head hurts just thinking about how much time it takes to care for a yard.

What was I doing last week at this time? Spending time with my grandchildren examining little shells, watching shore birds, listening to the surf, finding little minnows in a stream, climbing rocks, having deep conversations with my three year old granddaughter; engaging in activities that remind me of the wonder I found in so many things when I was young. I spent some of those hours playing a fishing game with Lil C using a tiny fishing pole to snatch fish from the spinning “roundy-thing”. We built a wooden train layout involving, as I understand it, “uppy-pieces” to get the trains over the bridge across the lower tracks. I got to push E around on a little scooter in the back yard, and let him do backflips off my chest. I got to soothe my sick granddaughter by rubbing her back while she watched TV in misery. I got to have some good business conversation with my son-in-law, and watch my daughter be a great mommy and wife to her family. I got to experience wonder again, something that mostly passes us older folks by.

It’s a whole lot of work and love to raise a family. It’s a lot of work and a little bit of love to keep a nice yard. The thing is, my throat doesn’t tighten and the tears don’t well up when I park my tractor at the end of the day. It does and they do when I park that rental car in the airport lot.

Shucking walnuts and wondering…Pops

20131001 – A Good Day

Today was a good day. After a horrible infection in her throat and mouth, Lil C ate solid food for the first time in a week. D and I took our daughter and grandchildren to the ocean near Los Osos CA. On the way we stopped for lunch at Subway where Lil C handled the seating arrangements and made sure she would be sitting with Pop-pop.

At the beach I played with E in the sand and carried him all over the beach. He found some little tiny shells for me to hold. Then Lil C and I sat on a rock next to the crashing waves and she told me how she was scared by the noise and size of the water, and listened while I explained that fear can be a good thing, and asked me to climb with her on the rock but not help because she could do it herself, and showed me a little tidal water puddle on the rock. After family pictures we headed around the beach to the tide pools on the other side.

At some point on the way back to the car I realized that I hadn’t noticed any heart issues all day. I hadn’t felt anything bad other than some slight instability due to my medications. In fact there was a lightness to my gait, even through the heavy sand on the beach. I hadn’t felt like a grandfather all day, I’d felt like a father. I felt like I’d gone back 30 years in my life.

We continued on up the coast to Morro Bay, watched the sea otters play in a sheltered spot along the shore, walked through the shops by the bay, bought a toy jet for Lil C (she loves planes “I really like jets!” ever since seeing Planes in the theater), enjoyed some of the best salt water taffy I’ve ever had, and shared a pleasant dinner on the ocean where, once again, Lil C handled seating arrangements so Meema would sit next to her and Pop-pop across from her.

As we drove back through the coastal mountains toward home, we spotted a whimsical herd of dinosaurs on a hillside dangerously near town. Fortunately they were frozen in time, apparently the sculpted creations of a fancier of prehistoric times. Meanwhile, Lil C and E slept soundly, exhausted by a day of sun, wind and waves, until, as we approached home, Lil C awakened and asked, “Meema and Pop-pop, do you want to come home with us? Then would you play with me? And that’s exactly what we did.

Yeah, it was a good day, a great day, a real tear-jerker of a day in the best possible way. And for a day I didn’t feel old, I didn’t feel like an aging diabetic with a heart condition, I didn’t feel like a stuck in a chair old gray grandpa. I felt like a young Dad again, just for a day.

I felt loved…Pops