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KING – My Horse, Kind Of

Posted in animals, equitation, horses, Uncategorized, tagged , , on September 26, 2013| 2 Comments »


King7King is the closest I’m likely to come to having my own horse.  Though I’ve always craved the special relationship between horse and human, my lifestyle isn’t suited to the responsibility of owning that majestic animal.  Days are busy and, because of career choices, my husband and I have moved a lot over the years.  So early on we decided to have no kids and no horses.

As a child I rode with my father along the Wissahickon near Philadelphia.  He rented our horses and later treated me to lessons to gain confidence on the animal I loved but was intimidated by.  When I started earning a living I continued those lessons, progressing to an ‘advanced’ beginner – able to trot, canter and jump small fences riding English saddle.  But I worked constantly and had only weekends to practice on the variety of horses designated for lessons.  There were favorites, of course, but because I didn’t own anybody I couldn’t always have my choice.  Then came King.

King3Driving around my newly relocated town one Sunday I happened on a barn and impulsively pulled into the driveway to explore.  The familiar, delicious smell of horse and hay greeted my senses.  So did the proprietor who wondered why I was walking around her facility.  Minutes later she introduced me to King, a handsome bay colored Arabian with a gorgeous, attentive face and warm, trusting brown eyes.  I fell in love.  And we arranged for me to lease King and ride him each week.

Sundays were designated King days for me and they were sacrosanct.  I looked forward to opening the barn door, turning on the lights and hearing King whinny his hello from the other end of the stable.  It was usually just he and I at the farm and he knew who was approaching; he’d been waiting.  Our ritual started with grooming as I led him out of his stall to the cross ties, smiling while he would strut – head held high, tail twitching – bragging to the others that he was getting groomed, not they.  Then he’d get playful, bending his neck around to nibble on my shoulder – or my, ahem, butt – while I reached down to brush his legs.  He was a flirt even though he knew he had me at hello.

King6We’d run through gait and direction exercises in the arena – work on our trot and canter, move left, right and practice figure eights.  Occasionally he’d act silly, frightened to death by a new weed that had sprouted, certain it would gobble him alive until he went to sniff to determine he was safe.

Each Sunday I’d arrive at the barn frazzled from a long, hectic week and within minutes of burying my nose in his neck and looking into his eyes, the tension would lift from my shoulders to be replaced by the sheer joy of communing with King.  We belonged to each other, there was no doubt in our minds.

King and I spent four years of Sundays together, until I quit my job and took a months’ long cross-country trip with my husband.  We lost track of each other until four years ago when serendipity once again brought us together through Horse Haven of Tennessee.  Turns out that this horse rescue was now located in King’s barn and when I signed on to volunteer there I’d get to see King each week.  Though he was now too old to ride, he was not too old to remember me, and our special bond.

King5

King8

KingFinal1Yesterday King suffered a terrible accident in the pasture.  Somehow he tore tendons in his rear left leg.  Prognosis was poor and his pain was intense.  At age 37 he was not a candidate for surgery.  So his family made the gut wrenching decision to send him across “the rainbow bridge,” as it’s called.

King lived a most fortunate existence as a horse; he spent his whole life with one family and sired his own family who lived with him in the same barn and the same green pastures.

King&MeFinalWe got to say goodbye yesterday – me with my nose buried in his neck followed by kisses on his nose and apples to fill his belly.  He, with the familiar nibble on my shoulder and deep look into my eyes.

I love King.  I miss him already.  And in many ways he was my horse.

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April, Lived

Posted in health, Uncategorized, Year Of Conscious Living, tagged , , , , on May 8, 2013| 1 Comment »


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.

I‘d 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?

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Men and Women Lean In Differently?

Posted in career, profession, Uncategorized, women, tagged , , , , on April 8, 2013| 4 Comments »


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.

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February, Lived

Posted in boomers/aging, hiking, Uncategorized, Year Of Conscious Living, tagged , , , , , on March 5, 2013| 2 Comments »


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?

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ONCE a Broadway musical

Posted in Broadway, musical, plays, theater, Uncategorized, tagged , , , , , , , on November 29, 2012| 1 Comment »


This musical feels more like an Irish folk pub than a Broadway musical, right from the start.  As the audience files in from the street there’s a band playing on the stage mingling with audience members as they get drinks from the stage bar.  Number after knee pounding number is played and sung until the lights slowly dim and a spotlight isolates one guitar strumming singer from the rest. Before you realize it, the house is dark, the lead is singing and an actress has entered the stage to listen.

ONCE is a new kind of Broadway show, very different from the standard musical fare where the book is distinct from the songs and choreography.  Maybe that’s why it captured this year’s Tony Award for best musical. Have a listen.

In this show the music IS the show because the story revolves around musicians.  Of course there’s also a love story evolving but that is complicated.

Steve Kazee is the focus of the story and sings most of the emotionally charged numbers that rip through your gut.  He’s incredible and won a Tony for his performance.  Equally powerful is Cristin Milioti, Tony nominee, whose soulful contributions are haunting and melodic simultaneously.  The music is phenomenal and will soon join my CD collection.

ONCE is among the best theater I’ve seen where story and music are one entity and the result is an exhilarating, memorable experience.  BRAVO!

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Letting Go

Posted in health, meditation, musings, Uncategorized, tagged , , , , on November 6, 2012| 1 Comment »


It’s a good thing I voted early, otherwise I’d be hobbling into the polling station with a very stiff and cranky lower back.  It’s much wiser and safer to be nursing it with some ibuprofen and a heating pad with hopes that it feels better tomorrow.

No barn duty today either although it’s my morning to help with the horses at the Rescue.  Tuesdays come quickly and they’re usually greeted with a healthy back and ambitious attitude to feed, turn out and clean stalls. That’s actually what may have aggravated my back last week during some pretty heavy lifting in some very dirty stalls.

My back has been in great shape for years, thanks to regular exercise and yoga.  But with the cooler weather here and maybe a case of nerves leading up to the election, my back has decided to take control out of my hands and leave it up to fate.

Our bodies have a way of letting us know when it’s time to let go.  To let go of controlling things over which we have no control.

Lesson of the day and I’m listening.  Finally.  It’s our jobs to discern which things we can control, and the wisdom to let go of the others.

What is control, anyway? 

Is it the need to fulfill our expectations? 

To have our lives unfold according to our plans? 

To be right?  

To continue our personal delusions?  

To assume we know best? 

Yes, I think so.

Being a Type A personality, (actually, I like to call myself a recovering Type A), I’ve always needed to control my destiny.  My career put me in constant touch with news and pop culture and my leadership roles allowed me to be the gatekeeper I needed to be.  I had influence over content, budgets, direction, staffs and the masses.

Perfect. 

As my bank account grew with my advancements, so did my sense of personal freedom.  Money has always meant freedom to me, rather than the acquisition of “stuff,” though I accrued that too.  And with that freedom came a sense of control over my destiny.  Oops, there’s that word control again.

If you think my childhood had anything to do with that, you’d be right.  But that’s another subject.  (Or, if you know anything about the Enneagram model, and my type number, you might also realize control issues are in line with that too.)

Anyway, I digress.  Back to control…

These days the issue of control is one that I’m working to live without.  I’ve consciously started to live my life without assuming leadership functions.  Passion may describe a defining personal attribute, but that doesn’t have to lead to controlling an outcome.  A Buddhist tenet is to do what you must and let go of the outcome.  To not be so attached to the activity and its motivation, but, rather to do what’s right and give the rest up to the wind.  What will be, will be.  I’ve done my part, now let it go.

That’s what I think my back has been telling me for a few days now.  I’ve voted, I’ve been an activist for principles that guide me.  Now, just relax and let it be what it will be.

Thank you, back.

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October Lived

Posted in hiking, Uncategorized, Year Of Conscious Living, tagged , , , , , on November 2, 2012| 4 Comments »


As I substituted my Capri pants and tank tops for long jeans and sweaters, I realized that October is a month about transitions, especially here in East Tennessee where we’re most fortunate to experience four distinct seasons.  Fall here is exquisite and lasts longer than the hiccup it takes for our northern neighbors to go from hot to cold.  Here the leaves tease us before bursting forth in splendor.  The days surprise us with their fickleness between hot and warm before adding cool into the mix of “guess what you’re getting today?”  And now that it’s my job to pay attention to what this month offered my life, I’ve realized how this season created transitions of all kinds that define the rhythm of life.  October means I take one more shell out of my bowl of 12 that bids farewell to another month of my life.  Amazing how they’re flying by.  The older I get the faster they fly.  Hmmm, didn’t my  mother always tell me that?

Let’s start with the colors because our landscape of forested mountains and meandering rivers invite tourists from around the country to leaf peep with us.  I often marveled to my hiking partner, Jo, that “we live here!”  After calling ETN home for 16 years I’m still breath taken by the kind of scenery most people vacation to see.

Autumn in the Smoky Mountain National Park should be considered among the natural wonders of the world.  Each Thursday in October Jo and I drove an hour to reach a trailhead for our 7 plus mile hike.  The most talented landscapers in the world would be challenged to match the natural magnificence we experienced each week.

The streams, wildflowers, forest and waterfalls offered the kinds of pictures that inspire great painters.  It’s awe inspiring to recognize that no human put this landscape together, other than to clear out debris blocking trails.  In fact, cascading falls are so impressive that a tourist was rumored to ask a ranger when the water gets turned off.  Surely something so impressive couldn’t have just appeared!

Paying attention put me in touch with the awe-inspiring power of nature and the recognition that we are of it too.  Like the natural landscape, humans go through changes when we allow our bodies to dance with the season.  So do animals.

Horses at the Rescue started growing their winter coats.  Their turnout shifts changed from staying in to escape the daytime heat to going outside and loving up the chill.  Horses become quite playful when temperatures drop below 50 as though their sleeping pills wore off, freeing them to kick up their hooves in glee!

My 11-year old dog Pogo came alive too.  He had a resurgence of energy on his morning walks, running up and down hillsides as though his joints no longer ached.  Nine years ago he was the canine version of the Energizer Bunny, running all day only to finally collapse into sleep.  Crisp fall mornings allowed me to experience this joyful pup again.

I also found that my interest in heading to a favorite greenway with my bike seemed to wane, even on the warm days.  Instead, my walks grew longer and my yoga classes more frequent.  Beverages changed from ice water to hot decaf, and for lunch, soup replaced a sandwich.  I traded my sandals for shoes and socks and pulled my jackets out of their hiding places for those chilly mornings.

Traditional Chinese Medicine practitioners have long recognized body changes with the seasons.  So do yoga practitioners.  I’ve found that by paying attention, I’ve felt those transitions too.

What did October bring you?

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September, Lived

Posted in Uncategorized, writing, Year Of Conscious Living, tagged , , , on October 3, 2012| 5 Comments »


Madison rolled on her back, legs splayed wide, teasing me to rub her belly.  That’s not something she usually does; she has to know we’re alone and not in danger of intrusion from her brothers and sisters.  We enjoyed our quiet 20 minutes together while she wrapped the nook of her paw around my wrist and wriggled under my tickles.  I thought she’d choke on her purrs while she wrestled my hand in sheer uninhibited pleasure.

She’s the newest addition to our four-legged family, joining us several months ago when our fostering morphed into full-time adoption.  We’ve fallen madly in love and every time she’s near I’m awed by her startling beauty and sweet temperament.  She’s a blue point Persian, my first pedigree animal and she’s nothing like the snooty elitist I imagined she’d be.  She’s just a cat that wants to be loved, groomed, fed and sheltered and reciprocates with warm affection and devotion.

In fact I find all of our animals to be appreciative of our family.  They’re all rescues of various backgrounds with unique stories of how they came to be ours.  At this writing we have 5 cats and a dog, Pogo, the first canine in my life.  Their energies are completely different from each other and so is their interaction with us.

My tickling session with Madison happened while I was collapsed on my bed after a vigorous morning at the barn.  Each Tuesday I volunteer at Horse Haven of Tennessee, an equine rescue that rehabilitates those horses that suffered abuse and neglect.  They come in starving and distrusting people and they leave hundreds of pounds heavier and ready to be ridden.  As a life long animal lover and an aspiring horse owner I choke with emotion at the difference we make in their lives.  And they know it and appreciate.

This morning, like most Tuesday mornings in September, I loved on Toby.  He’s a Tennessee Walking Horse who’s become the latest object of my horse ownership fantasy.  He’s steadily gaining weight, muscle filling in the gaps between his protruding bones.  Because I’ve been grooming him we’re forming a friendship that eventually I’ll have to break when he’s well enough to have a new home.

As I reflect on this month I realize how prominent a role animals and nature play in my life. I need both for my soul to thrive.  That’s always been true and now that I lead a self-directed life I seem to drift deeper in that direction.

Mornings are occupied with walks through my wooded neighborhood with Pogo.  His nose works overtime picking up scents of the most recent critter that’s crossed our path.  When I’m quiet and tuned in, I notice an active wildlife community.  We have box turtles, squirrels, hawks, blue heron, snakes, deer, gofers, chipmunks, fish and insects of all shapes and sizes.  The animals we occasionally see are coyote and fox.  People go to zoos to see the animals we live among.  I’ve come to realize I love the woods and if offered a choice to live near the ocean or the woods I’d choose the latter.  Everything about me calms down when I’m surrounded by wilderness.

That’s why I’ve finally decided to hike trails in the Smoky Mountains, a National Park within an hour’s drive from my house.  This month I bought a trail book and each week I grabbed a neighbor to tackle 7 – 8 mile trails rated moderate in difficulty.  They take 4 – 5 hours to complete and the scenery along the way can be breathtaking.  We pass by rock-strewn streams and rivers, gushing waterfalls, caves, wildflowers, trees of many species and nothing but mountainsides and valleys everywhere we go.   The hike, combined with the scenery clears my head, opens my heart and makes me appreciate everything about my life.  This is where I live!  I don’t have to take vacations to visit here like most everyone we pass on the trails.  The beauty of nature is unsurpassed.

Bike riding offers a similar pleasure.  Because I ride on greenways I can usually avoid traffic and allow my breathing rhythm to be influenced by the peddling.  When the distraction of cars is eliminated the bike pace becomes amplified and the world slows down or speeds up accordingly.  I see people playing in parks, walking engrossed in conversation and fellow cyclers – many of us going nowhere fast, just out to enjoy the fresh air, scenery and exercise.

As I reflect on how I spent September one thing that stands prominent is a daily realization that I’ll never get to live this month in this year again.  Kiss September, 2012 goodbye.  Perhaps this is what the exercise is really about.  That and recognizing how much living I’ve actually done.

Achievement stands out, or lack thereof.  More recurring than any other thought was whether I’d do something substantive with my days, something worth writing about and sharing.  My inclination is to share my thoughts, to turn this adventure into a writing exercise as a way to engage creatively.  So many people I know have creative outlets like painting, music, dance, jewelry making, sewing, cooking.  None of those things turn me on.  Though I may want to feel inspired by such activities, I’m not.  I used to be juiced by making television shows about those subjects and others but not so much anymore.

What is achievement about, anyway?  Does it require payment for time spent and efforts recognized?  More on that in my next “September, lived” post.

Any thoughts?

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A Year Of Conscious Living

Posted in retirement, Uncategorized, writing, Year Of Conscious Living, tagged , , , , , on October 1, 2012| 2 Comments »


Every Wednesday I head to my patient’s house for a few hours, though I spend very little time with her.  She’s bedridden and has been uncommunicative for many years, living our her last days with Alzheimer’s Disease.  Her husband sees to her every need while she receives hospice care.  He’s home day in and day out, leaving only when someone sits vigil in his stead.  That’s where I enter, to give him necessary time away.  There’s a lot to learn about living when spending time with the dying and with those who are charged with their assistance. What I’ve learned has certainly enhanced my appreciation for life and good health.

Frankly I’ve always marveled at how my life has unfolded over the years, starting with a rocky childhood and evolving into a stimulating career for 30 years, which allowed me to travel, meet intriguing people and do impactful work.  Three years ago I left my job and decided to stop working for a while, which might last for the rest of my life.  Who knows?  I do know that I’ve been using this newly created time for personal growth – spiritually, experientially and creatively.

The key is to pay attention along the way: notice the serendipity and how one experience, book or person begets another.   Dr. Lee Lipsenthal says to “enjoy every sandwich” in his book with the same title.  Make everything in life meaningful as though it was your last experience alive.  It’s an intriguing concept, one that dying people take to heart with each final day that ticks away.

I recently adapted a challenge posed in my discussion group.   The charge is to calculate the number of years I have left to live – using family history and lifestyle as consideration points.  Multiply that by months and gather that many stones in a bowl.  At the end of each month, remove a stone for the month that no longer remains and evaluate how I’ve spent that month.  Powerful stuff.  While I’m not prepared to commit to that exercise for the rest of my life, I am intrigued to try it for a year.

My bowl will be filled with 12 shells I’ve collected from my travels.  Each month I’ll pull one out and glue it to a frame that will surround a collage of photos, each one representing something important from that month.  In essence, it will be a scrapbook from a year of my life.

These pages will be filled with musings from those experiences.  My areas of concentration will include the very things that fill my life …

Healthy eating – I spent 16 months losing the 45 extra pounds on my small frame.  It’s a challenge to keep them off.

Exercise – usually in the form of walking, biking and hiking – where I’ve been, with whom and the adventures along the way.

Hospice work – experiences with my current patient and spouse or the next one – and the accompanying, inevitable deaths.

Animals – my five cats and dog as well as the rescue horses that I help to rehabilitate from abuse and neglect.  There’s always much to learn from animals when you listen and pay attention.

Relationships – with my husband, family and others with whom I’m involved, or met.

Adventures – however that’s defined.  It could be trips in our RV or by car.  Maybe it’s something else; time will tell.

The point is to live each month consciously while my life ticks away.  I’m curious to see how it unfolds and whether I can actually stay tuned in.

Ready, set … go.  September lived, coming up.  You’re welcomed to play along!

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When Kids Become Parents

Posted in elderly, family, health, Uncategorized, tagged , , , , on July 14, 2012| 8 Comments »


We say yes, he insists no.  What’s a child to do?

Right now my 89 year old father is in a rehab unit hoping to re-gain the strength of his body.  His legs don’t work that well anymore, particularly his left leg that’s grown weaker in the 20 years following his stroke.  The same is true of his arms; the right does the lion’s share of work while the left hangs limp at his side.  He desperately wants to return home where he was about a month ago before this current crisis took place.  There he was able to move ever so slowly using his walker and also to perform the daily rituals of living.  Now he can’t get in or out of bed by himself, bathing and dressing himself is impossible and he requires the help of an aid to move even more slowly and unsteadily in his walker for yet shorter distances than before.  And yet he’s convinced himself that he’ll get strong enough to go home and continue life as before.  It doesn’t look promising, though he is improving.

The food there is good; we’ve tasted a bit of all his meals as they’re delivered.  He’s receiving excellent care, has a private room and is in a very cheerful, bright community of people with a similar cultural background as his.  He’s been accepted into their long term care household which is where we want him to live.  He refuses, complaining about the regimented lifestyle and business-like attitude of some of the nurses and aids.  They have schedules to adhere to regardless of whether he agrees.  He likens it to life in the military some 70 years ago and says he wouldn’t wish it on his worst enemy.

We’re in a stalemate.  Once his physical therapy is finished we’ll have to make a decision.  What do we use as our guide?  Our judgement, as his children, about what’s best for him?  Or his emotional insistence on the way he wants to live out the rest of his life?

Based on history, we think that if he goes home he’ll “fire” the aids after a short period of time because he thinks they’re no longer necessary.  It’s happened before.  He hates spending the money; he considers it wasteful.  He wants to die with his money intact “just in case.”  “Just in case” what?  we probe.  “I don’t know” is the answer.  He can’t grasp the idea that NOW is the” just in case” he’s been saving for.

Life at home consists of sitting solitary in a room and watching TV all day.  His only company is my sister when she returns from work and my other sister when she visits.  On many Thursdays he hobbles to his car and drives to meet his buddies for lunch at the nearby deli.  He shouldn’t, but he does.  I doubt he’ll be cleared by a doctor to continue driving.  He’s convinced we’re wrong.  He must keep his car.

When I was a kid I went to hebrew school and took piano lessons because my parents insisted they were beneficial.  I disagreed.  It didn’t matter.  I went and I practiced — for years.  And years.  And years.  Now, as an adult, I’m a richer person for the experiences.

He doesn’t see the analogy.  He sees himself as the parent who knows best.  We disagree.  Who wins?  And at what cost?

What do you say?  What would you do?

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