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April, Lived


karmaAs I sat moaning in the chair I figured it was karma that took me down, that “what comes around goes around” thing that threatens people with payback for behaving unbecomingly.

Id recently boasted to a sick friend that I never get sick.  Then whammo the hammer fell.  Sick?  Me?  It had been years!  But there was no mistaking the progressive worsening of my breathing, a deep guttural cough that ripped apart my ribs and sternum and my foggy head that wouldn’t allow me to concentrate to read or enjoy anything on TV.  I couldn’t even sit still for long before breaking into coughing spasms.  And lying down to sleep? Forget about that; I couldn’t even fall asleep at night let alone catch a few daytime zzzzs.  Maybe the steroid was the culprit that pumped me with too much energy to relax and doze off.  Between that pill, the steroid nose spray and the doxycycline I was supposed to feel better in a couple of days.  So much for the doctor’s promise.  Instead I got worse and the upper respiratory distress went deeper and turned into bronchitis that called for a stronger antibiotic.

justicescales.jpegFor the last two weeks of April I wondered if I’d ever feel like me again.  Was I destined to fight for breath, cough my ribs apart and sound like a croaking frog when I tried to talk?  Would I ever fall asleep again?  While I wandered around the house and yard feeling sorry for myself and caught an hour or so of TV at night before retiring to my bed to sit the night away — I realized the following ….

  1. Breathing is not over-rated.  That silly comment has always been my stand by retort to my husband each time he reminded me that 5 cats and 1 dog are enough animals for 1 household.  That his asthma, though controlled and manageable, is not a pleasant experience in the pollen capitol of the country here in E. TN.  He’s used to not breathing easily.  I’m not.  And this experience is enough to make me consider relocating to a better ventilated part of the country.
  2. I’ve always taken my good health for granted.  Now in my late 50s it’s rare for me to be under the weather.  I’ve had a couple of health scares in my life, but just a couple.  OK, maybe a few and when they occur they’re doozies.  I don’t tend to get something simple, instead it’s things with weird symptoms, one series of which prompted a trip to the Mayo Clinic to discover it was cat scratch fever.  And then there was a surreal episode of transient global amnesia which lasted probably 12 hours when my short-term memory took a vacation, leaving me no idea what day it was or what any of my calendar notations meant.  Doctors still don’t know what caused it or whether it will ever happen again.
  3. My discipline comes from outside.  Who knew that my habit of snacking in the evenings in front of the TV was easily controlled by the dictates of an antibiotic that required an empty stomach for a final night-time dose.  Never mind that I’ve been trying to stop that pesky snacking for years.  Now, suddenly, because I wasn’t allowed to, I didn’t.  What’s wrong with my personal self-discipline?!
  4. I’m a bad patient.  Because I’m so rarely sick (notice I didn’t say never?) I don’t do sick well, especially if I can’t do something productive with time in the house.  Can’t read, watch TV, don’t want to eat or cook and can’t even sleep.  Yech.  Just wandering around and moaning was my activity of choice, that and feeling sorry for myself.  When I’m well I subscribe to the Buddhist notion that suffering can be avoided by accepting that life is filled with peaks and valleys and there will always be bad times as part of the human condition.  But somehow when I was sick, I chose to suffer.   At least I was able to observe that, right?
  5. Bug bites can be bad.  Who knew?  Working in the garden is fraught with potential disaster – fire ants, spiders, ticks, bee stings are all conspiring to make yard beautification dangerous.  A couple of years ago a thorn prick on my arm turned into a staph infection, again requiring antibiotics.  This year something jabbed my thigh and caused an allergic reaction.  I still don’t know what got me, though we’ve pretty much ruled out most things, leaving a spider bite as the highest probability.

AprilShell1So I’ve certainly lived April and the beautiful, calming curves of the conch shell signifying another month lived belies the turmoil in my life this month.  I suppose they can’t all be good.  And I have come out the other end, well again.  For that I’m extremely grateful.  On to May …

How was your April?


There is so much hullabaloo over Sheryl Sandburg’s book, “Lean In”that I decided to look through it to understand reasons for the fuss.

Much of her premise, that women essentially underestimate and undersell themselves, is familiar to me –  having either read about it over time or witnessed those characteristics in person throughout my career.  I’m among those of my gender mates labeled “ambitious” and have been ‘affectionately’ called a bitch from time to time because I accept authority easily and hold others accountable.  Those traits are more difficult to come by in women and I don’t know whether that’s due to nature or nurture, frankly.  But I can say that I’ve identified more strongly with men than women over the years and seem to have nurtured more professional friends of the opposite sex.

It’s true that men are raised with the expectation of earning a living and supporting their families.   The more money he can make, the better lifestyle he can provide.  They’re also taught to be strong and to assume power as their birthright.  I’m talking power over their destiny because that’s the role of a man.  Of course there are always going to be the artistic types who defy society’s expectations.  It’s my guess that swimming against that tide for those men can probably be as difficult as for the woman who aspires to take control of her life and aim for an office in the corporate executive suite.  Both are defying stereotypes and that usually involves swimming upstream.

But I think there’s a real distinction to be made between men assuming power as a birthright and actually having real self-confidence.  Portraying strength is an image they learn to cultivate.  But dig a little deeper and discover that many of those fellas don’t actually feel strong inside.  Some drink to ease their tension and muster courage.  And though Sandburg attributes self-doubt to women, there are many men who also feel like frauds internally and learn to compensate for that by networking with other men to create quid pro quo relationships.  You do this for me … I do this for you.  It’s the way of their corporate world – developing allies to protect their backs and help them succeed.  It’s their understood reality.

Sandberg writes that men will attribute their success to innate qualities and skills.  Women will say they got lucky, or worked really hard or had help from others.  When asked about failure a man will say he wasn’t interested enough or didn’t study enough where women might attribute failure to an inherent lack of ability.

I’d like to suggest that only women are telling the truth in those two examples.  Because men are raised to “fake it till you make it” it’s natural for him to continue to put his best foot forward to preserve his image while women are better able to absorb what could be the objective truth.  Nobody reaches the pinnacle of a profession alone.  Good timing has always played a role as well as people who’ve helped – either directly or as part of a team.  Think of any successful man in the world, read his bio and examine the team around him throughout his career.  Smart leaders choose the right people with whom to surround themselves.

The fact is, corporate America is used to having men in charge.  There’s a style of conducting business that’s well suited to a man’s psyche because men created it.  Women have always had to fit in to play the game.  And some women are comfortable with that role while others aren’t and there are plenty of guys who will never become part of the executive suite either.

My mother always told me that I could do anything I wanted and she ‘knew’ I’d be successful at it.  My father owned a business and was clearly comfortable being in charge.  Maybe as a combination of nurture and nature I’ve also been comfortable as a leader.  And yes, with hard work, good timing, smart choices, help from people who believed in me and success over the years I’ve achieved a professional self-confidence too.  But more important to me than climbing to the very top of an organization was keeping a close distance to the product we were creating, in my case, television projects.  That’s where I found my joy and the idea of being relegated to a business office overseeing a couple of levels of management who managed the product was not my idea of fun.  So I climbed as high as I wanted to and the money I made was better than most, certainly good enough to pay for all my expenses and all of my conservative wants.  I’ve never been a big acquirer.

So a corner office with a view in the executive wing was not what I aspired to.  And there are plenty of other women … and men … whose passions lead them in other directions too.  We don’t all have to run companies to make a difference in lives and our communities.  As long as we’re paying attention to the beat of our own drums and fearlessly living our lives, I believe we’re leaning in.

The real take away from her book might be an invitation to women to dream big, feel their fears and do it anyway.  That’s what most of the male species does and women are equally capable as they.

March, Lived


mtn-snow-pano2March came in like a lion and left like a bear.  It’s cold here!  The local weather guy says it’s the coldest March in 60 years.  No kidding!  Even though I have only been here for 17 of those years it’s usually flowering by now and serving up bike riding days.  Instead we’re living life inside a snow globe and the flowers are shivering.  I’ve broken out the bike a couple of times only and I’m itching to get back in shape and shed these pesky 5 pounds I’ve added over the winter.  Fat be gone!  I’ve had to cancel 2 hiking trips to the Smokies.  Enough!

Here’s to the beginning of April!

I’m writing this blog at the tail end of the month, on my mother’s birthday.  MomIf she was alive she’d be 88 today but instead she died before the age of 70.  It was such a long time ago that my nephew barely remembers her except to know that he was a little boy and that he loved the time they spent together.

It’s fitting that I write this now since the bulk of March has been spent thinking about jewelry and she loved it as much as I do.  MarchShell2She also loved the beach and the ocean so the shell that comes out of the bowl, signifying another month lived,  also makes me think of my mother.  During one of my visits to the beach as a young 20 something, I bought a decorative bottle and scooped sand into it along with some shell fragments to offer as her souvenir when I returned home.  She loved it and displayed that treasure on the window sill of the den where she spent hours staring out at the woods through the jalousied windows surrounding the room.  Eventually we had to throw it away after many years of accumulating either mold or mildew inside.  But it pained her to do it.

MomYoungWhen she died I inherited a lot of her jewelry, mostly bracelets, all of which she wore together on both wrists.  Every time she bought something new she chose an arm and added it to the collection.  ”They’re too hard to put on and take off,” she’d say, “so once they’re on they’re on.”  I seem to have inherited her jewelry gene only I don’t wear everything at once and I take them off each day.

My mother would have lusted for the opal I bought a few months ago and I thought about her the whole time I mulled over how I wanted it set into a piece of jewelry. EthiopianOpal1 It’s among the most beautiful stones I’ve ever seen, and having worked for a jewelry shopping network I’ve seen many.  It doesn’t resemble the opal I had years ago as a kid.  That had a blue-green hue to it with plenty of fire within.   My father got it for me when I couldn’t tear myself away from the display case  where it was showcased.  I wore it constantly, carefully tucking it away each night.  Evidently somebody else noticed it too and ransacked my room to find it.  Out of the four bedroom flat I shared with three other friends, my room was the most torn apart and my ring was among the very few things stolen that day.  It ripped my heart open and I haven’t owned a “real” one since.  Believe me, I looked for just the perfect stone – for years.  But the ones I loved I couldn’t afford and the rest were a milky white with barely a hint of fire.

OpalNecklaceThen I discovered the Ethiopian opal.  Actually I didn’t “discover” discover it, just picked up my jaw from my chest when I saw them displayed on air on Jewelry Television.  They look like solidified gel with a raging fire inside.  Rather mystical, actually, the way they look so fluid and appear to be lit from within.  Because they’re so light you can get a sizable stone with a relatively low carat weight.

As serendipity goes, a meeting inside Jewelry Television brought me face to face with a display case littered with one glorious opal after an other.  My friend pulled a chunky round one out for me to admire – and that was Kismet.  I was hooked and could not part with that stone.  So I didn’t.

I knew immediately it had to become a ring though that’s not wise to do.  Opals are soft and can easily crack if they’re banged on something in the offhanded way we tend to use our hands and forget to pay attention.  But this stone had to be placed in jewelry I could see and pendants are on display for others.  I wanted it simple and in a humble setting that placed this fiery beauty center stage.

A gold bezel setting would complement the fire within and a simple silver shank with a dark patina would give the two toned metal look that I prefer.  OpalFront

OpalSide

I’m in love.

And I believe my mother would be too.MomFullLength

That was the bulk of March for me, a month memorably lived.

February, Lived


FebShell1Another month has gone by and now six months have passed since I started this year-long conscious living project.  The shell that comes out of my bowl of 12, signifying a month lived, is dangerous looking and prickly.  The little sea animal that used to live inside did its best to stave off predators.  Any one bold enough to try to snack on this creature risked injury in the process.  I guess it’s sort of like life in that you never know what each day will bring.  It could bring joy, sorrow or danger.  It’s filled with risk of varying degrees.  One day you’re healthy — and the next, maybe you’re not.  Of that I’m acutely aware.  A little farther down you’ll read why.

FebShell2This month though, more than the others, has come and gone with little hindsight awareness of how I spent my time.  I know I enjoyed each day and meditated at the start of most.  There was time spent at the horse rescue, with my hospice patient and her husband, celebrating my husband’s birthday, exercising, reading and other assorted mundane activities of daily living.  And I spent quite a bit of time with my dear friend who’s living each one of her days with a keen awareness of the cancer in her body and wondering what that will ultimately mean.  Talk about awareness of life!

Mostly what I feel these days is appreciation for my health, my life and everything in it.  Turns out that my age has something to do with that.  Research shows that wisdom and a sense of well-being grows as we age, with the middle-aged brain reaching its peak potential in those areas.  In fact that research shows us 50 somethings to be happier in this decade than others.  You can find out details in Barbara Strauch’s breezy read called “The Secret Life Of the Grown-Up Brain”   She covers health and medicine for the New York Times and has written other books on health related subjects.  You can hear a lecture from her here.

It’s soothing to know that as we age our brains respond less to negative stimuli and, according to Strauch’s book, lean towards accentuating the positive as an almost automatic reflex.  I like that.

Barbara Allen

Barbara Allen

I saw it in action in early February while attending a lecture by Barbara Allen who, at age 71, recently completed more than 2100 miles of the Appalachian Trail.  Alone with a 30 pound back pack.  She told us that her friends tried to dissuade her from the solo hike by pointing out all the potential dangers for an, ahem, older lady hiking alone.  She told them, and us, that she’d rather die doing something she loved than be paralyzed by fear and alone in her house.  That’s quite a case of accentuating the positive, wouldn’t you say?

You can read a story about her here.

And see some photos from her six month adventure here.

She was a captivating woman who inspires me to continue hiking, though I doubt I’ll ever do a solo expedition like that.  I’ll continue to succumb to my paranoia about being eaten by wild animals and attacked by scary people.

But I do live my life my way albeit on a less grand scale.  Even before I started this awareness project I’ve known that after a finite amount of time my experience as a human being will be over.  And the older I get the faster the time seems to fly.  Instead of my whole life looming ahead of me like in my 20s, now I hope to get 25 or 30 healthy, vibrant years under my belt before whatever’s next comes next.

What I know today, different from a few years ago, is that making a connection with life, many forms of life, is what draws meaning for me now.

So long February.  May March continue to bring health, happiness and a peaceful brain.

And you?  How did you spend February?

January, Lived


JanShell1This month’s shell is pristine enough to be sold in a beach souvenir shop instead of where I found it, lying among other scattered shell fragments on a beach somewhere in Florida.  Shelling is a favorite past-time for tourists in Florida, for locals too I think.  It’s what I seem to do when walking the beach with my eyes glued to the sand to avoid stepping on sharp things.  I can’t help but pick up pretty shells to later put in one of the decorative bowls in my house.

FullBowlShellsThis one came from a specific bowl that I filled with 12 shells, each one signifying one month of life.  My intention is to stay aware of each month so I can appreciate the relationship of time and my life.  With this one gone, there are eight months left to this particular year.  When looked at that way, it becomes rather glaring that my days of life continue to tick away.  My how a year goes by quickly.  And what do I do with that time?

 January, was occupied by friends, mostly, and if not being with them then thinking about them.  Maybe that’s because of the underlying thread of death and dying that confronted me this month.  Of course there was my ongoing hospice work, but also a very dear man I know dropped dead suddenly, and a different very important friend is facing health challenges that threaten her longevity.  During times of losing someone or potentially losing someone the importance of relationships take center stage.  Or rather, threatening times make you realize how important relationships really are.  When facing death people don’t wish they’d worked harder or longer hours.  They tend to lament the amount of time spent with people they love.  So I’m taking time with good friends while I still live in blissful ignorance of my eventual demise.

Marilyn&MeFor starters there was Marilyn, a friend who dates back to early childhood.  Was I five when we first played together?  She lived two houses down from us and her family was my second family.  I showed up every Christmas morning, as early as my mother would allow, sometimes in my pjs to catch everyone opening their presents.  There was always one for me and later I’d asked if I could stay for dinner.  Never knew about proper etiquette back then.  Actually, I practically lived at Marilyn’s house – spent several school day afternoons each week there, summer vacations at the beach with her family (mine never took vacations), family picnics, many family dinners and countless overnights whispering the nights away together.  Her house was my escape hatch when family wars in mine became overbearing.  Now Marilyn says we’re better than sisters.  I have to agree, and it started … 50 years ago?  Oy vey!

rainbow01Marilyn is facing a serious health challenge now; it might be the fight of her life – for her life.  She lives in Florida and though I’m in Tennessee the distance is not keeping us from our necessary friendship.  She needs me and I need her; I’ve always needed her.  And we’ll get through this together, one way or another.  The first week of this month was spent at her house just when we received her mind numbing diagnosis.  Serendipity?

And then I came home to a text message from a former colleague and friend with the news about Jerry, how his wife discovered him the next morning and surmised he died in his sleep.  59 years old.  Friends, family and colleagues were stupefied by the news.  Say what?  Really?  How the hell … ?  And now Facebook is littered with photos of him and memories galore.  His wife, shell shocked.  And yet – what a way to go, huh?  One day you’re here living your life – and he lived his with gusto – and the next day it’s all over.  No pain, no suffering, no dreadful diagnosis that makes you evaluate your life.  If I got to choose, I’d make sure I enjoyed the living while the living was good – then checked out, Jerry’s way.

Well I do get to choose – at least the first half of the equation.  I do have the power to enjoy my life, love my friends and family and live with no regrets.  And so far – I’m right on target…

best_friends_sketch_by_0ouo0-d45uu73Which brings me to Judie.  She and I worked together many years ago in Pittsburgh during our radio days.  She was a reporter I was a producer and we were tight friends.  35 years later we still are – though we’ve lived separately in a few different cities since then.  Still do – she in California, me in Tennessee.  But when we catch up it’s as though our last conversation was yesterday.  Thanks to Facebook we stay in touch and just had one of our catch up phone calls the other day.  We talked about needing to get together soon and play because … you just never know, now do you?

I have a couple very dear friends here at home that I haven’t seen in a while – they moved recently and have become caught  up in their lives like I have in mine.  But that’s not a good excuse especially since we now live five minutes apart.

OK then – February will bring time together with them.

What have you done with your life in January?

Wake Up Call


Marilyn&Me1My dear friend may have just been given a treasured gift or the worst nightmare of her life – depending on her attitude.   She received the kind of news that none of us ever wants to hear.  The majority of us approach each day with a nonchalant assumption that we have infinite tomorrows.  And she’s certainly no different in that she gets to live her life and someday die.  Marilyn2The difference between her life and mine is that her lifespan now has a calendar attached while I still exist in blissful ignorance of my last day.  Though she doesn’t really know either, she is aware of medical statistics that place the odds of living a long, healthy life in my favor and not hers.

Marilyn has metastatic pancreatic cancer that’s now in her liver too.  With a cocktail of chemotherapy drugs doctors might be able to keep the cancer in check for months, possibly years if she joins the small percentage of people who do.  And time will tell, assuming her tolerance to the drugs goes “reasonably well” (doctor parlance for “manageable side effects”).

While the clock is ticking Marilyn can live each day to its fullest, prioritizing her life in a way that few of us ever do.   I’ve put myself in Marilyn’s shoes, hypothetically, and here are the questions I’m asking myself …

Am I living my life the way I want to?  If not, what do I need to change?

            Who are the important people in my life I need to spend time with?

            Who are the people I need to forgive or ask for their forgiveness?

            What do I obsess about that I need to shed?

            Is there a dream I need to pursue before time is gone?

            Are there places on earth I’ve always wanted to visit?

            What is truly important to me?

            What do I need to stop doing?

What should I start doing?

            How often to I appreciate the specialness of each mundane day?

Where do I find joy?

Marilyn:BobAnswering those questions can be gifts to all of us, including Marilyn.  The key, then, is to change our lives accordingly, if necessary, so we can truly live out our days and not sleep walk through them.  Those of us who live in mystery of the end rarely take time to appreciate the daily spoils of life.

Meanwhile, my answers to those questions are still percolating around my system.  But I’m grateful for the wake-up call and send Marilyn ongoing wishes for healing while she processes those questions too.

December Lived


DecemberShell1December’s shell looks like it could have been plucked from Lido Beach on Longboat Key, FL where I spent my last days of December.  Riddled with pin-sized holes, this shell was in its early stages of becoming one with the sandy beach but on a different piece of Florida’s coast, probably Venice where I visited a couple of winters ago.  Beaches are where I get my best thinking done while staring into the rushing waves of the ocean and breathing its salty air.  I love walking a beach; it’s usually where I become most aware of how wonderful my life is and how fortunate I am.

This particular weekend I was in town to attend a close friend’s daughter’s wedding.  This friend has been in my life for decades – as a suite-mate in college and then together as young professionals Marianne&Me2sharing an apartment to begin our early adult lives away from the safety of a college dorm.  We’ve stayed in touch since with some years offering more sporadic attention than others.  Sharing this special celebration with her and her family marked the end of December and another month lived.  It was the perfect way to kiss the month goodbye.

My month opened in NYC with my husband to attend Broadway shows, one of our greatest joys in life.  Sitting close to the stage and being swept up in its theatrics makes my heart swell to almost bursting levels.  We try to get there once a year, usually during Thanksgiving week when we head north to visit family. cropped-once-program-cover_sm.png All we do is feast on theater, taking in as much as we can in just 4 days.  We’re stuffed by the time we head for home and happy for the gorging.  Now that my life is no longer consumed by work I have the great luxury of nurturing my loves.

SunGlowIt’s dizzying to recognize how much and how little can be accomplished within a 24 hour period.  Is accomplishment, though, a valid gauge of a day’s value?  I could give a laundry list of much that happened this month between the two trips – challenges that plagued me, friends I spent time with, movies I saw, stories and books I’ve read or am reading, sorrows and joys I’ve experienced and current events that have angered me.  They all indicate hours and days within a month that I’ll never get back.  So they have been lived and experienced.  In some cases though, time was spent mindlessly and when I became aware it was a week later with minimal recollection of what happened.  Maybe it’s simply the mundaneness of life that should be considered special.

My driving work years were consumed by pop culture and current events for entertainment development.  Time was devoured by my jobs and I invested no effort in developing a personal life and other areas of interest.  Those years were thrilling, stimulating and exhausting and while caught up in that whirlwind it was unfathomable that there could be any other kind of life that could offer as much personal reward.

beach3Walking the beach and recognizing the joy it conjured made me realize how rich life can actually be and how broad its potential.  Instead of this life’s chapter concentrating on growing “the next big thing” why not allow it to nurture all the things I love, the elements I forfeited during those laser focus years.  Over the past three years that list has grown quite robust:  books, theater, music, hikes, mountains, beaches, biking, friends, family, animals, volunteer work, discussion groups, movies, food, woods, travel.  To engage in life doesn’t mean I have to accomplish something, it could mean relishing the magic of being human and all that entails.

What a wonderful opening thought for 2013.  Though December can be a heavy, dark month I feel lighter with that thought.  Happy New Year to me.  And to you!

It’s the forest through the trees.

 

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