Aging

"I traveled through my history
From certainty to mystery"*

Songwriting is poetry; songwriters, poets. Listening to music is a way we are exposed to poetry even if we don't read or listen to that genre per se. We're attracted to the rhythm of songs, the instruments used, the beat, but we're also captivated by the words and some speak to us depending on what's going on in our lives. With my favorite songs, I know they're my favorites because they touched me at the precise time I needed them. When I hear them at later times, they have the power to bring me right back to where I was when I first heard and enjoyed them.

The lines from Carrie Newcomer's song describe me, describe us perhaps. I used to think I was different from everyone else; I don't any more. I see that every person goes through the same phases and cycles, and we're more alike than different.

I love aging; truly. OK, the lines on my face are just beginning to get to me, but not that much. I've earned every line. I am outside every day, in Maine, so what should I expect? I'm out in the rain, the wind, the sun, and the snow. Being outdoors is more important to me than lines on my face. And it's OK with me if when you look at me you recognize a woman who has spent a lifetime outdoors. My sister calls my Mom a Shar-Pei; perhaps that's where I'm headed due to genetics!

I like who I am and what I know now more than what I was and knew when I was twenty. At twenty, I was filled with certainty. The world was black & white. I charted my course and set out steadfastly, without a worry or concern, so certain that what I gave would yield precisely what I wanted. What aging does is soften us (even our faces). The certainty becomes a little uncertain and more uncertain as time goes on. We start out sure of ourselves; we end, sure of very little. The black & whites all become gray. Aging is turning gray....which is not all bad.



*Source: "Leaves Don't Drop (They Just Let Go)" from Geography of Light 2008 Rounder Records, Song written by Carrie Newcomer © Carrie Newcomer Music BMI Bug Publishing & Michael Mains BMI

What if everyone did yoga...

As I left restorative yoga class Sunday night, calm and relaxed, both physically and mentally in a very zen sort of place, I paused on Broadway before being able to get in my car door due to the fast traffic passing by and splashing me with muddy, snowy puddles. The radio in my car was so out of place - I just didn't want to hear the noise and chaos. I didn't need it.

As I watched all the cars driving over the Million Dollar Bridge and through the Old Port, I wondered what it would be like if everyone had just left yoga class. What if every person was in the same zen kind of space at the same time? Would there be less aggression? Would there be more kindness and a slowing down of drivers and walkers on the streets? While anger and violent images and games increase a person's adrenaline and make him more likely to strike or lash out verbally or physically, yoga could have the opposite effect.

What a dream to have a kinder, gentler world with hearts turned toward each other rather than away. Seeing our fellow men as worthy of our kindness, our civility, and our lack of judgment would create a very different world for us, wouldn't it? Can the answer be as simple as yoga for everyone? Namaste, my friend.

(Painting by Liz Brown)

Flash Mob

Not being an avid You-Tuber, I hadn't heard of a flash mob before I saw Mitchell jump into one at the Mall in Modern Family. I thought it was hysterically funny. Of course, watching Cam's reaction of not being included, in something as dramatic and fun as that, made it more funny.

And why not? How I would love to randomly start flash mobs at the Maine Mall, on Commercial Street in the Old Port in summer when tourists abound, or in One City Center just outside my office door as I head out to get my afternoon cappuccino.

I'm not really funny. I'm definitely not a prankster, but something that just got me reeling as a kid was putting a tack in someone's seat. For some odd reason, that was just about the funniest thing to me. I was giddy just waiting for the unsuspecting classmate to sit down, so unsuspecting and innocently and then wham-o, they'd jump a mile, instant reflex. I would laugh hysterically. Those who know me know I don't have a poker face so there was never a doubt who the culprit was.

Now what I think is just so, so funny are flash mobs. Of course, I'm the one trying to do the Macarena at weddings or the Electric Slide - the concentration, the music, the camaraderie are the draw.

People are caught up in their long working days, ho-hum routines, maybe a little sad or overwhelmed by whatever stresses they're holding. I can't imagine that an instant and random flash mob breaking out wouldn't bring everyone in the vicinity complete, utter joy. Just a few moments of unexpected release and yet connection with the strangers who know the steps and hand movements just like you do - connected in a moment in time in such a funny, joyous way.

Several years ago, we took a family trip to Turks & Caicos. After a delicious dinner one night, we knew there was a bonfire party on the beach. It was still early, so we meandered over to take a peek. There were at least a hundred people there, all ages, having so much fun eating, talking, listening to the island music played from the stage, teakie torches lit. The four of us walked around watching all the fun.

Suddenly, limbo started and lots of people ran to get in line....as did I. My husband and sons looked at me incredulously and said, "What are you doing?" They probably thought I'd embarrass myself...or them. I knew I used to be able to do it, pretty well, too, when I was about thirty years younger and fifty times more flexible. Well, ha, just like riding a bike! The music was wonderful; I floated around the circle in a conga line in between the picnic tables barefoot on soft, white, sand, a buddy to my fellow dancers ahead and behind. My family loosened up as I made it under the ever-lower pole again and again and again. Their faces made it so worthwhile. When I was one among the final dozen left trying, my boys were laughing their heads off and high-fiving me as I danced around the corner in front of them. When I finally fell, the announcer, a native wearing face paint and a headdress, said, "Hey, man. My money was on you!" Ah. Awesome! What a fun, fun memory.

And my family looked at me completely differently from then on. "How do you know how to do that," my sons asked, and I gave them the middle-age-Mom reply, "Oh, dear....there's a lot about me you don't know. I was once young, you know!"

From the limbo to hopefully a flash mob someday. Look out Monument Square -- I'd love it!

Love is Blind

“I heard today that women are more prone to heart disease and heart attacks if their waists are more than 35 inches.”

He paused.

“You’re about a 25, aren’t you?” my husband asked.

A 25? Inwardly, I laughed incredulously. “I… don’t… think so,” I replied laughing. I used to be less than 25 inches...when I was in my twenties maybe.

The beauty of long term relationships and being with someone from when you were in your prime is that they remember you back then. Somehow time stops and their vision of you is back there when everything was beautiful, wonderful, new. There are so many fond memories of those faraway times, that those get stuck in the memory banks and replayed over and over like a DVD. My husband remembers me, remembers us, as teenagers, possibly some of the most wonderful times of our lives when the world and our future held so much promise.

And sometimes, like right now, it shows that he still believes, truly believes, that I have a 25-inch waistline. God Bless him!

That he was thinking about women with heart disease, and me with a small waistline, and that he would then verbalize his thoughts to me…wow. That is love. That is what makes me pause in my crackpot, cynical world and be grateful for all that I have. That someone in this great big, cold world might notice something, and care, is everything, isn’t it? That’s what being blessed is all about. To have even one person care matters.

In that sentence, he gave me more than champagne or diamonds or a romantic dinner out. He moved me beyond words.

Happy Valentine’s Day!

He has, so simply and quietly, given me the very best gift of all.

To Be Known

My friends’ daughter, Emily, is seven. She’s a petite, dainty, precocious, dramatic, funny girl. She is a sprite – a tiny little fairy with a big smile, beautiful blue eyes, and light brown hair. She loves attention and loves to entertain. She is happy. She is loved and knows it; she is very comfortable in her little body. She’s well behaved, kind, considerate, and giving. We see her only a few times each year, usually at barbecues or short visits. She always wants to stay with the grown-ups and sit on her Dad’s lap; she’s all ears, very interested in all we are saying and offering quips when she deems them appropriate to our conversation.

Frank saw her Dad, John, on the golf course late fall after we had gone to their house the prior weekend for dinner. John said Emily came down the next morning after our dinner and said, “Guess who I am?” She smiled and laughed, and at the end of the laugh, her voice lilted up in a unique way, kind of staccato. “I’m Kim,” she said laughing.

When Frank told me, I began to laugh….and lilted up in a unique way at the end. That she would notice that, that she would care, that she would re-enact it the next day made me wonder. I didn’t know I did that; I had never noticed. I know as I’ve gotten older, my laughing has become more hardy, more joyous, more physical in my body. And Emily noticed it. It had to have been noticeable enough that she was even able to mimic it. How cute, I thought. I felt honored she’d care.

Then, I told my son about what Emily did. Before I described the laugh (lilted up…unique), he described it to me and said exactly that! He told me how my laugh intensified at the end and then he did it on the phone. Now, I really wondered about all this. My immediate reaction was not embarrassment or concern that my laugh was a negative....a joke. It actually made me feel very good to be known. These two people were describing a habit of mine that they noticed, that they thought was a little endearing maybe, and something I didn’t know about myself. The warmth it made me feel to be known showed me how everyone wants just that – to be noticed, to be validated…..to be known.

Photo: Oat Nuts Park Trail, Portland

My Favorite Day

There's nothing like a hot Saturday in July at the seashore, especially if Frank agrees to sit way at the end of the beach, toward Prout's Neck, beyond the life guards and hoards of people with blankets nearly touching each other. We sit quietly and watch the sun sparkle off the waves, read, nap, chat occasionally, bask in the heat of the sun on our bodies, dream and plan future vacations or places we must see someday. I wear my straw hat.

As wonderful as those days are, if I have to pick my favorite, favorite kind of day, that wouldn't be it despite how much I enjoy it. My favorite day is pouring rain or lightly snowing, especially early in winter, before I'm sick of gray and barren and snow. It could be a day just after a holiday when all is quiet. No one calls; we've just spent lots of time with them. No one visits.

I run early in the morning. I run better in the rain or snow, perhaps because truly I'm dying to get back inside so don't stop or slow down. I was told when living in London that rain is great for a woman's skin; I always remind myself of that as cold water drips off my ball cap and rain soaks through my running pants turning my thighs beat red.

On the gray afternoons, I light candles, turn on soft lights in the daytime, and pull inward. If my chores are done, I love to while away the hours in quiet cerebral pursuits.

I write. I move from laptop to PC, room to room, chair to chair. I listen to soft music, especially Sarah McLachlan's Wintersong or Sting's If On a Winter's Night. I read. I look at pictures in beautiful books I've saved for just such afternoons. I have a cup of coffee at 2:00 and a glass of wine at 4:00. I let my mind wander and peacefully dream. I love the quiet. I love the solitude. I love the seasons that foster this introspection....for this, I live in Maine.

Children

In Patti Digh’s book Creative is a Verb, she describes a time when her husband asked a doctor who had worked with children for fifty years what was his biggest lesson learned about kids. The doctor replied quickly:

“Never, never interrupt a child when a child is speaking to you.”*

Lightbulb. (Since turning forty, I have Aha moments often.) From the time my first son was born, my husband and I were in sync in raising children without even talking about values, goals, or what we each believed was right or wrong.

This harmony hit a road bump once my older son hit high school though. All of a sudden, my husband and I had lost our rhythm. Instead of dancing in unison, we were stepping on each other’s feet and getting in each other’s way. We had different opinions of when to get involved and when not to, what to say and when, what was a reasonable gift or purchase for them and what was unreasonable, when to push and when to pull back. As a man and a woman, as a father and a mother, with very different ways of showing emotion and love, of problem solving and communicating, it was certainly likely this disconnect would occur.

One of the first ways it presented was one day when I happened to be home from work early and when my son arrived home, my husband said, “How was your day? Fine?”

My son didn’t say anything for a minute, grabbed a drink from the fridge, responded like a robot, “fine,” and headed upstairs.

At dinner, I began to ask questions that required more than a yes or no answer. As my son’s day’s events began to spill out, Frank raised his hands in frustration and said, “Why didn’t you tell me that? You said nothing happened today.”

Oh my. I saw so clearly, we cannot answer for the young man when we pose a question. If we ask a question, we better be willing to give him a few moments to respond and we’d better be open to the answer even if it floors us and is not at all what we might imagine it would be. We can never hope to have the tough conversations with our children if we’ve never opened the space to talk about the trivial. And they’ll never tell you what really matters to them if you cut them down on the small stuff.

My older son is a deep thinker and in conversation, oftentimes, he has long pauses when you ask him a question as he digs down to choose just what he wants to say and what words he wishes to use. He is by nature a thoughtful and deliberate speaker. I have seen relatives at gatherings shut him down by not being willing to give him that pause, that space. Before they await his answer to their question, they keep talking; they move on. I can tell from his expression that he’s thinking if you don’t really want to know, then why are you wasting my time asking?

I've seen the same thing occur with younger nieces and nephews who might take a few quiet tries to get out what they're trying to say. If we move on too quickly, we will have missed an opportunity to hear them...and I mean "hear" more than simply literally.

As a manager, I’ve learned time and time again that it’s amazing what you’ll learn from people if you just ask a simple question and then give them the room to respond. I witnessed it so many times in the workplace that I knew it by the time my sons arrived.

Never, never interrupt a child when a child is speaking to you.

If we pause and open that space, if we show them what they say matters, what we foster will be the development of a person who can communicate with others, perhaps the most difficult but important skill any person can acquire in a civilized, caring, thoughtful society.


*Source: Digh, Patti. Creative is a Verb. Guilford, Connecticut: skirt! The Globe Pequot Press, 2011. Print. P. 81 www.lifeisaverb.net or www.pattidigh.com