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A Different Christmas


oh christmas tree, oh christmas treeThrough the front door there’s a great view of a decked out Christmas tree basking in  white lights, covered with snow and dripping with big sparkly white round ornaments.  A white Christmas is definitely being celebrated in this house.  But the mood is somewhat blue.

My hospice patient and her caregiver husband live here.  They’re both seniors and have spent most of their lives together –  working their family business and traveling in the RV in which they expected a multitude of road trips during their retirement years.

NEW MEXICO 2006 RECREATIONAL VEHICLE plate

Image by woody1778a via Flickr

Four years ago husband sold the RV; wife could no longer negotiate the steps to assume her role as navigator in chief.  That act signified an admission of his wife’s fatal disease and the death of dreams that had been years in the planning.  That was also the last year she spoke; she hasn’t uttered a word since.  Not because she was disappointed, but because her Alzheimer’s had advanced enough to rob her of voice.  Now husband spends his days taking care of her.

Decorating the Christmas tree is something they always did together.  In fact, she bought this very tree and the ornaments.  It came adorned with white lights and snow. This year they decorated together again.  He set it up, he added the balls, covered the tree base, wrapped the presents and carefully arranged them at the bottom.  Wife slumped in her chair, sucked her lower lip, wrung her hands and nodded off.  That’s this year’s Christmas, at least until his children join them in a couple of weeks.

Husband cherishes wife.  She’s the love of his life and when she was diagnosed 8 years ago he promised he’d care for her until the end of her days.  He meant it, despite the sacrifice it entails.

Being housebound is one of those sacrifices, except for my weekly visits to socialize with him and sit with her during the couple of hours he goes where he wants.  His spirits are high, he laughs easily, he loves big.  He embodies the true spirit of giving.  And when he allows himself to think of how things were supposed to be, the twinkle in his eye grows dimmer.

He inspires me.  He fills me with admiration.  What inspires you this season?

Happy Holidays To Friends


Christmas in the post-War United States

I love the Christmas holiday time, but only after Thanksgiving.  It annoys me to see Christmas upstage Halloween and Thanksgiving in all the commercial venues.

Halloween doesn’t do much for me now that I’m past the candy gorging years but I really enjoy Thanksgiving, what it signifies and the time spent with family.  Then I’m ready to move on to Christmas, playing my share of carols in the car and while decorating (a little bit) around the house.

English: Hanukkah menorah, known also as Hanuk...

The time span from Thanksgiving through Christmas is when I think a lot about friends, who they are and what they mean.  This holiday has no religious significance to me as a non-Christian with Jewish heritage, but it holds plenty of sentimental significance.

I don’t stay in touch well.  Not good on the phone.  Don’t entertain much.  And don’t really spend a lot of hang out time with people who are important to me. In fact, many of them live in different cities around the country. But they never lose their places in my heart.  My close friends, my “peeps” in today’s parlance, are people who date way back to childhood, college, early work years and later work years.  Each of them means something special and represents a certain kind of relationship, one that automatically resumes where we left off even it was a year or two or five or even 25 ago.  Our bond holds fast and strong and if any of them needed me, wherever they lived, I’d be there ASAP.

This is generally called a Christmas Cactus, b...

So it’s to them — you — that I wish happy holidays, whether it’s Christmas, Chanukah, Kwanzaa or nothing at all. It signifies the closing of another year. They go fast and furiously these days so enjoy every minute of them with those you hold dear.

On Meditation


During meditation this morning I started to focus on what it feels like to meditate.  How the process starts, progresses up to that point where I’ve quieted down enough to lessen my loss of focus and just be there.  Then, where is there?

As I start the process of slowing down I notice my mind racing with a million images and thoughts that accompany them, as though I’m in the middle of a collage as it’s being constructed.  It takes effort to focus on the breath – starting with my nose and then migrating to the abdomen where I can feel breathing in and breathing out.  Immediately, an image catches my attention and steals focus until I’m aware of gently re-guiding awareness back to the breath.  Then to hearing.  Then to breath and hearing as those two senses start to dominate.

Notice the blood coursing through my hands and now my feet.  Listen to my heartbeat while I become comfortable residing inside the body and not out.

Outside starts to drift away while the world inside looms large, growing more peaceful with each breath.  I notice a slight smile on my face while my tongue hugs the roof of my mouth.  Distraction comes and goes, more going than coming.  Peace settles within and my body rests contentedly.

And then I’m there.  Here.  Aware of the quiet.  Aware of sounds.  Aware of breath.  Aware of spaciousness.  Inside.  Not at all outside.

And your meditation experience?


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The Bustle of NYC


New York makes me nervous.  The constant rushing, people walking every which way, mobs of people moving shoulder to shoulder – it makes me irritable and brusque at the same time it stimulates and invigorates.

It doesn’t help to stay in the theater district during Thanksgiving time.  Broadway around Times Square is one packed people mover, everybody with their own agendas and absorbed in their own worlds.  And if it’s raining?  Forget it – expect to be poked and prodded with umbrellas – no body part is off-limits as people rush in every direction hurrying to their destinations.  Me included, by the way.  I have no patience for strolling tourists who block entries to stores and stand gawking at the galaxy of mega neon signs in high-rise city.  They stand in the middle of the sidewalk, oblivious to pedestrian traffic around them.  This is every man and woman for themselves time and I find my temperament adjusting accordingly.

When we finally make it to the hotel and into the pint-sized elevator to our closet sized room the quiet becomes a deafening respite to the symphony of noises outside.  Sigh…. and collapse onto the bed.  At home in Tennessee, every window invites a view of the woods and gardens.  Here on the 6th floor of the Amsterdam Court Hotel on 50th between Broadway and 7th – I get a peek through a dirty window at an even dirtier building next door.  There is no nature to soothe the senses until you make it to one of the many small parks – and the mother of them all, Central Park.

And yet – I love it.  For a short time it’s the only place I want to be.  Enveloped in a myriad of foreign languages, I love the direct and forthrightness of life in the Big Apple.  Listening to New Yorkers yell at each other as part of casual conversational discourse is refreshing and reminiscent of home in Philadelphia.  That’s just the way North Easterners talk to each other, thank you very much.  A brusque, in your face, no holds barred style of conversing.  Say it like it is, no hidden agendas.  Ahhhhh… home.

The sophistication, the melting pot of nationalities, the open-minded acceptance of every creed and sexual identity is what America is about.  Should be about, anyway.  And I appreciate the individual expression of it all.

But I’m also glad to come home.  To take a rest from the crazy, bustling, busy busy busy world of NYC to the woods, hills and mountains of Tennessee.  The nervousness fades, the irritation subsides and the deep breathing resumes.

Carry on…

Life On The Bus


First morning coffee always tastes better on our bus, a 36 foot RV that we call home periodically.  Nestled in the tiny back bedroom, supported by fluffed pillows on the bed and a steaming cup of Joe, life is so much simpler and streamlined.

This home is maybe 300 square feet (with the living room slide extended) and has everything we need within its fiberglass walls, including two of our six member animal brood.  The tiny kitchen has all appliances within arms’ reach making it possible to prepare real meals, which we do everyday.  By applying some creative organization, just about any dish can end up on the kitchen table.

Recreational Vehicle

Image by *Grant* via Flickr

Ever since we acquired “Mr. Bus” back in 2000, I find myself yearning for the road periodically.  Its freedom.  Its adventure.  Its simplicity.  And its interaction with “salt of the earth” kind of people.  All facades are dropped on the road.  It’s as though this private world gives permission for authentic interaction among fellow humans.

A phone book sized guide to campgrounds in the U.S. and Canada allows us to wander aimlessly and still wind up at a decent place for the night, or maybe two or three nights – depending on our wanderlust mood.  It takes us about 15 minutes to hunker down, power up and turn Mr. Bus back into our vacation home.  He’s not fussy or fancy, nor is he shiny and new – but he is comfortable  and cozy.  Within these confining walls lies spaciousness for thoughts and dreams.  Then back on the road we go to wander some more.

So as I take the final sips of coffee on my last morning in Mr. Bus before heading home from our Thanksgiving getaway, I appreciate the opportunity to be here and look forward to our next adventure.

Lessons From My Father-In-Law


It’s Thanksgiving and we’re visiting my father-in-law and the rest of the clan on his side of the family.  The yearly tradition brings between 16 – 20 of us together to catch up on the year’s events and see how old the kids are getting – now that many of them are starting to have children of their own.

My father-in-law spends the day beaming as he visits each of us.  He loves watching his brood grow and he takes his place at the head of the assorted tables cobbled together to make one long dining space that stretches from dining room to living room.

For him it’s bittersweet.  It’s the one time of year we all come to visit and feast together.  And in years past he would catch the eye of his wife seated at the far end of the table and blow her a kiss.  This is the second year that chair will be empty.

Dean was married to Susie for 63 years before she died, leaving him alone and unprepared to continue life without her.  For some reason he was blindsided by her passing, even though his kids had been expecting it for years.  He assumed she’d  come home from the most recent hospitalization just like every other time.  This time, though, she didn’t.

He’s been grieving for more than two years now, still heartbroken over losing his one great love. He tells us he talks to her every night to tell her of the day’s events.  He says he apologizes to her for not doing enough for her all those years they were together.

Myrtle Beach, SC Spring Break 2007

Image via Wikipedia

That confession astounds me.  I can’t imagine him doing anything more for that incredibly fortunate woman.  He created and maintained a beautiful garden in their backyard so she could see it through her kitchen window.  Bought a condo in Myrtle Beach to winter there because she loved being near the ocean.  Bought the house she loved in Pennsylvania because she loved it.  To me, their marriage was what fairy tales are made of, built on love and mutual respect.  And now – he bemoans what he thinks he didn’t do.

What he didn’t do is say goodbye to his wife of 63 years.  For him, she suddenly died.  While she was living he never said…

Thank you for a wonderful life together.  Thank you for our four wonderful, productive, achieved kids.  Thank you for working and supporting our household while I was earning a Ph.D in metallurgy.  Thank you for moving where my jobs took me.  And thank you for your never-ending support, friendship and love over the years.

Had he realized she was on a dying path for the last three years of her life, perhaps he might have taken the time to say to her then what he says to her every night now.

The lesson my father-in-law is teaching?  Don’t ever wait to say thanks to the people you love.  And tell them that you love them.  Today, tomorrow and future tomorrows.

Season For Thanks


This weekend finds us tending family fires, both the cozy and the more crackling kind.  After all there are few families who resemble the Waltons, all warm and fuzzy with never any cross words between them.  My family is more like the Bickersons, actually, we all have much to say and if it gets a bit heated at times, ah well, that’s life.  Yet beneath the prickly surface we are bound to each other deeply and unconditionally.

My husband and I don’t see our respective families often; we live hundreds of miles from them, and have since we left our homes for college.  On Thanksgiving we all make the effort to reunite – first with his family then with mine.  It’s the one holiday that is sacrosanct and I love the tradition.  Parents, brothers, sisters, spouses, nieces, nephews, and now their spouses and children, all pilgrimage to a family house to squeeze around a growing assortment of tables and feast the day away.

Thanksgiving isn’t one of those hallmark card holidays, you know the ones whose only purpose is to lighten our wallets.  Hey, it’s very good these days to boost the economy, but in our family Valentine’s Day, Mothers’ & Fathers’ Days pass us by without fanfare.  Thanksgiving is different.  It offers a genuine opportunity to take inventory of our lives and devote a day, or even a weekend, to reflect on our personal good fortunes.

I’m among those who hold an optimistic perspective about life and tend to view the proverbial cup as half full.  The way I see it – each individual is on this planet for a finite period and what happens after that is up to personal interpretation.  I’ve been around long enough to know that a few problems will give way to better days and there will be gorgeous sunrises and sunsets that bookend each one regardless of the content between.

Research shows that an attitude of appreciation helps boost the immune system, which keeps all kinds of nasty stress causing ailments at bay.  And while money may help lower stress, studies also find it is not the panacea some people like to think.  Generally speaking, altruistic acts foster personal well-being.  As His Holiness the Dalai Lama says,

If you want others to be happy, practice compassion.  If you want to be happy, practice compassion.

I spend time as a hospice companion and it’s a great teacher for the practice of “count your blessings.”  Offering friendship to people facing the end of life is proving to be a priceless gift to myself where I’m privileged to witness profound, yet simple examples of genuine appreciation.

One patient’s caregiver is grateful for each morning he’s able to maneuver his wife’s increasingly rigid limbs to dress her for the day.

Another patient eagerly waits for my visits so I can read the day’s news events because her eyes no longer cooperate with her habit of voracious reading.

And although taking care of her mother until that final breath keeps this caregiver virtually housebound, she is filled with gratitude for the opportunity to share such an intimate journey with her hero.

IMAGINE BEING THANKFUL FOR SUCH HARDSHIPS IN LIFE.  

The late Steve Jobs said,

Remembering that you are going to die is the best way to avoid the trap of thinking you have something to lose.  

To me that means live your dreams, have no regrets and be thankful for the opportunity – all the opportunities, in fact.

I move that each day be designated personal thanks day.  All those in favor …?

Broadway Feeds The Soul


NY - the BroadwayEvery year or so we head to New York for an orgy of theater, one performance after the other.  We see more shows in 4 or 5 days than some people experience in their lifetimes.  It’s my favorite thing to do and fills me up until our next visit. Theater has always been my first love and I dreamed of being a star on a Broadway stage one day.  But reality took over and eventually my sensibility caught up to the realization that performing was not my strength.  That didn’t dampen my love for the performing arts, though, and attending top quality theater is necessary fuel for my soul.

This trip takes place pre-Thanksgiving, 2011, when we attended 7 stage shows in 4 days.  Here’s a snapshot to tickle the taste buds for the rest of you theater lovers with plans to visit the Great White Way.

Fantasticks has been around for 50 years and this is the first time I’ve seen it.  What a delightfully intimate experience in this small off-Broadway stage where our front row seats had the actors practically in our laps during some of their leaps.  It’s a sweet love story built around a contrived feud between two neighbors.  Songs are lovely and the performers are real pros.  Pop star Aaron Carter is in this show and while he’s adequate as the young love interest, he’s the weakest link on the cast.

Radio City Christmas Spectacular is a feast for the senses, in fact, it’s actually an experience of sensory overload.  Of course there are the Rockettes– but their backdrop is a 3 story high screen on which runs a variety of technicolor scenes from stars of the Milky Way to a computer generated tour of NYC streets.  More than 1200 costumes are worn in this show, all color coordinating with the sets, backdrops and lights.  The double-decker “tour NY” bus seen in one scene is 34 feet long and 12 feet high, yet is dwarfed against the scenes running on the LED screen behind it.  It’s an amazing show, impressive in every way!

Hugh Jackman at the X-Men Origins: Wolverine p...

Hugh Jackman on Broadway might have been my favorite experience this year.  This man can do it all – act, sing, dance, ad-lib and his breezy, natural showmanship is a sheer delight.  He’s supported by 6 gorgeous “dream girls” whose voices provide beautiful harmony and whose dance skills add sexy flair to his choreography.  Jackman is on Broadway for just 10 weeks before he leaves to film the role of Jean Valjean in the movie version of “Les Miserables.”  If you can swing it – his show is not to be missed!  Hugh Jackman on Broadway

Sister Act is a high energy musical after the first 20 minutes or so.  It was a good show, not my favorite.  The acting disappointed me and wasn’t Broadway calibre, in my opinion.  But once the music and staging kicked in I started enjoying myself, especially the large ensemble numbers.  Actress Patina Miller (Deloris) is the real reason to see the show.  She belts out song after song with a strong stylized alto voice that epitomizes a Broadway star.

War Horse is a stunning play staged at Lincoln Center depicting the 8,000,000 horses that were killed during WWI.  This is what theater is supposed to be.  Inventive and effective staging offer the perfect blend of “see what’s being said” vs. allowing your imagination to tell the rest of the story.  The Irish brogue is flawless and the horses … ah the horses…impressive life-sized puppets, each operated by 3 people who control all movements both large and small.  Subtle ear twitching, snorting, trotting and galloping all accomplished by the humans beside and underneath – yet all any of us see are horses.  Live, spirited, muscular, living-breathing horses.  Uncanny and incredible!  Definitely deserved its Tony!

Sons of the Prophet, a comedy that does provoke a number of laughs with the twisted perspectives of its characters, is well acted and interestingly staged.  But its story of relentless dysfunction among its characters grew tiresome for me – partly because the 1 hour 45 minute play had no intermission and partly because its circular story seemed to go nowhere.  At one point it just started, and at a similar point it simply ended as though the entire play was just a lift from a typical dysfunctional series of events among the participants.  I must say that there wasn’t a weak performance among them though, including Joanna Gleason who’s been seen in many TV series and movies in her career.

Billy Elliot is a really powerful musical about the dancing dreams of a young boy despite his non-supportive working class mining family.  This show has it all – strong story, powerful music, quality voices and effective staging and set design.  There are 4 boys who play Billy; we saw Peter Mazurowski who’s a killer little dancer at 11 years old but whose forte is not yet singing.  You’ve got to hurry to catch this show because it closes in early January.

Excellence at its finest is what Broadway is all about. It doesn’t matter if a show is happy or sad, you’ll usually find me crying in the audience overwhelmed by the sublime.

Divorcing Now?


According to a news story I just read, boomers are apparently the new favored children when it comes to divorce these days.  Their break up rates have more than doubled over the last decade and researchers expect that percentage to increase.  Right now one out of 4 divorces is a couple over 50.  To some extent, that’s surprising information.   After-all, you’d think that after so many years of understanding each other’s hot buttons and living through the early career days and the challenges of raising children that it would now be time to rediscover the reasons you fell in love in the first place.

LOL Just divorced. And no, that's not my car.

Image via Wikipedia

From a different angle I think it’s cause for celebration.  Looking at it through a woman’s eyes (why not?), we are not the women our mothers were.  Societal expectations are, thankfully, different.  Career opportunities have expanded over the years for women and a lot of us are financially independent and independently minded.  We’re not looking for men to “take care of us,” but instead, to be friends with us.  Confidantes.  Lovers.  Sounding boards. And if that’s not working anymore, then it’s time to move on.

My parents separated when I was 15 and it was a subject not discussed outside the house.  It was taboo then and it made me feel like our family was the pariah of the neighborhood.  I adopted other families to hang around and fantasize about what a happy family would actually feel like.

One particular favorite couple was my girlfriend’s parents.  After synagogue on Friday night we’d walk back to their house to commence a weekend filled with family activity.  I loved her parents; her father was always flirting with her mother and it seemed to me like he adored the pants off her — literally.  We all read books together in the evening and her parents would engage in actual conversation about those books and even current events of the day.

Many years later when my girlfriend and I were grown and catching up over breakfast one day she said that her mother had “finally divorced her father.”  I was stunned silent, left with a gaping mouth full of bagel and cream cheese.  Shock soon gave way to deep sadness.  WHAT??  My heroes?  My role models?  What happened?  She laughed and said that the “lovey dovey act” was for my benefit and her mother would role play until I went home on Sunday afternoon.  That for years they weren’t getting along and that she’d finally found the courage to say no more.  My friend knew I’d be in shock, but it was time I found out.

That moment marked my rude awakening to the realization that people stayed together for the kids and endured the misery of their lives together until it could be changed.  And it was also the moment I was grateful for my mother’s personal truth of “no more.  This isn’t what I want and so I’m moving on.”

Coming from a broken home I can tell you that it does no favor to the children to live amidst vicious fighting and cold body language.  My parents rarely demonstrated physical affection or pleasure about being in each other’s company.  There was no warm sense of family in our family.  And it certainly taught me at a tender age that marriage was not aspirational.

Somewhat surprisingly, I am married and have pets for children.  We were together 8 years before tying the knot and now married for 26, but I can tell you that if it ever stops working for an extended period of time, neither of us would be interested in staying put.  That’s not to say that marriage isn’t worth working at.  It is and a healthy union requires a lot of work.  From both parties.  But there’s no doubt that I’d rather make it alone and enjoy friends, than suffer through a dead marriage.

So I say kudos to those boomers who find the courage to move on when it’s necessary.  There are much worse things in life than staying married to the wrong person.

What say you about marriage?