Do you ever just say "thank you?"

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Just put it out there in the universe for the good karma that it returns to you and others?

So, seriously, probably two decades ago I was listening to an interview on talk radio (OK, yeah, NPR. Say it with me…”I heard it on NPR”). The interviewee, an author, was talking about her exploration of her spirituality and how that adventure transformed itself nicely into her recently published book --- now, there’s a miracle.

An example of the confrontations she encountered as she pondered this issue (and as I recall 20-ish years later. WARNING: paraphrasing and extrapolation ahead), she 

found herself in line with a friend at a coffee shop listing and complaining about everything that had already gone wrong with the day.

The friend, applauding-ly brave and direct, interjected, “Do you ever just say 'thank you'?”

We, the listeners, felt the author’s stunned pause before she defended with: To whom? For what? I don’t believe in God.”

The friend, (still recalling here) suggested that she didn’t have to believe in any one god to take inventory of the good that happens each day in her life and put a “thank you” indiscriminately out into the universe for it.

I can’t tell you another thing about the interview, the author or the book, but I have practiced that lesson multiple times a day ever since --- like when I do find my car keys.

I do identify as a spiritual but not particularly religious individual. There is some higher power out there for me because I do believe I, and those around me have benefited from some minor (in big-picture mode but major in our lives) miracles. Not all of my requests (prayers) have been honored though or some very important people in my life would still be here working their own miracles on others and me. But that’s the balance, I guess.

I just don’t happen to believe in organized religion. I think they are cults organized by men with too much time and power on their hands. I don’t think God had anything to do with these organizations. It’s OK; my family knows my position, even a close relative who is a minister. I think he politely excuses me as the family eccentric. ;-)

I admit I talk to my God several times a day, usually to ask for a favor (AKA prayer) or just say “thanks” for something good that has happened, and usually when I am not talking to my cats. Both are very good covers at my age lest anyone think I’m talking to myself.

I was raised Christian by practicing parents (I think my late-dad would guffaw heartily if I were to suggest here that my mom was probably the better practitioner than he. My mom would quietly, confidently nod slightly in agreement and ignore my dad altogether…which would earn another hearty laugh). As far as I knew and witnessed, most of my relatives were also churchgoers. It was a model in our lives that we were expected to follow. When we were confirmed in our church as young adults, my parents did what the church claimed to intend --- they gave us the choice to continue as members of the church or not --- I chose not.

Still, over the years, I’ve recognized the charmed (blessed?) life I’ve been granted and have made an effort to acknowledge it, put it in perspective, and pay it forward (much better book than movie). And, I’ve noticed others’ attempts to get a handle on how to focus energy on the good of their lives rather than the bad. (We waste so much energy complaining about the problems rather than focusing that same energy on the solution.)

“Ah ha moments” one facilitator called her approach. She encouraged her workshop participants to take an inventory at the end of the day of the good that happened to them. Make a list.

When I turn out the light each night, instead of a prayer, I say “thank you” to God for each of the good things that did happen that day --- from getting me home safely to having the resources I needed to get something done, to friends and family, and yes, to finding my keys. A bit of an inventory does put daily life in perspective and helps us let go of some of the stress that accompanies the challenges.

No one is going to argue that the longer we live, the more we may have to be thankful for. Nor will they argue that longevity gives us perspective on the comedy and tragedies of our daily lives. The first world issues versus the real issues. Maybe instead of teaching our younger generations to practice some man-made religion, we should be modeling ways to value the blessings of our individual lives and how to put the daily challenges in perspective. Somehow collectively building up universal karma fueled by appreciation rather than complaints. Maybe that universal karma can benefit us all.

One friend responded to this post with:
Donna
I started thanking each individual atom this morning, I did not get past some dark stuff under my fingernail. I'll try again tomorrow. 
-T

Another:
As children we are taught to say, "Thank You" some adults have a hard time saying it. Here are some effects... "Thank You" has.....it makes smiles, it make you feel helpful, it tells you,grand job, what you feel that, what you do counts.

Thank You is a powerful reply. The way it is said can also make you feel uneasy. 
But most of the time it is a verbal hug....So say Thank You to everyone.....
-S


What are your thoughts and experiences?

Relationships, Divorce and the Single 60

 I paid $34.95 for my spouse on Match.com

That’s $4.37 per year. Not bad really, given the fun and adventures I had over eight years.

Still, this was the second time that I thought I’d married for life. I’m fast becoming the Elizabeth Taylor of my family. As a child, I was convinced that my brother-siblings would be horrible spouses and parents.  Yet here we all are, three of us still happily married to their one-and-onlys with grown and happy, healthy kids and adventures of their own. And me, a 2-time divorcee... with cats.

We’re way past shocking people with divorce announcements. Half of our married couples nationally divorce each year. Although we still seem to mortify our families and shock the neighborhood when a couple over the age of 60 opts out of their life-long commitment. (Tipper and Al say it ain’t so!)

The collective gut reaction seems to be, “They made it this long, why start over now?”

“Because.” Seems to be sufficient in response.

My situation was one that the two of us could not recover from, still friends asked, “What if  he wants you back…???? Eek!

NPR’s Diane Rehm Show yesterday included the topic, “The Anatomy of Love” 25 Years Later, a follow up to Helen Fisher’s 1992 research and book “The Anatomy of Love: a Natural History of Mating, Marriage and Why We Stray.”

While the host and author covered the science behind our romantic feelings and love, the callers contributed the realities of relationships these days.

Two mature women callers took interesting positions that hit close to home for me. (I’m paraphrasing now.) One, who had initiated her divorce and was now fairly sure she wouldn’t go looking for a relationship again.

I’m there. Relationships are too much work. Certainly not worth the energy of all of that early exploration and relationship building, Yuck!

Another who found the baggage of the mature men (in age only, tee hee) went far beyond what we would expect --- children, health, and commonalities. Men, she suggested, at this age have returned to the age-old search for a cook and housekeeper…with a substantial bank account. You know, the items they won’t get from the 20-somethings they ogle.

Balancing again in the middle of the road on the lane dividing line, I’m not willing to declare that I won’t stay open to all of the possibilities in my life but I’m not interested in actively looking for a partner either. I now think that someone is going to have to find me, do the work and show up on my doorstep … and then go home.

I’m never sharing my closet space again.

I value closing the door and luxuriating in my space, all alone and quiet…with my cats.

Divorce is scary at any age. I was fortunate enough to have learned with the first divorce that I am fully capable of living my life independently. I watched my mother do just that. She was widowed at 59 and went on to work, volunteer and adventure in ways my father never would have enjoyed. She found her independent self. Here I am divorced at the same age and making my way in her footsteps.

As much as we feel everyone should find their only true love, I think we should also welcome an individual’s decision to seize his/her own independence and happiness…before it is too late.

Living with Bipolar Disorder

I spent all last year suffering from bipolar disorder.

Not to worry, I found the cure: Divorce.

I don’t in anyway mean to make light of this disorder or this subject. I lived with and loved deeply a man who was diagnosed in middle age with bipolar disorder and managed it well through medication, humor and great adventures.

The man I knew had (has) the biggest heart in the world. He is accomplished and brilliant --- internationally recognized in his profession. He is talented, committed, adventurous and genuinely one of the good people on this earth. His life’s commitment had been to care for others and protect Mother Earth.

Then last year, he decided that pot was more important than family and friends. And, if he hadn’t quit taking his medications (suspected) then the pot was interfering with their effectiveness. From good guy to mean, angry, selfish and hurtful. I came to call him “180” because the change was so drastic and apparent to everyone around him.

The National Institutes of Health estimate that 5.7 million American’s over the age of 18 will develop this disorder every year, about 2.6% of the population. 180 often commented on how his medications dulled his senses. He said he couldn’t feel great happiness, excitement, or sadness.

He is now, he says, living his authentic bipolar life, which on some level, seems like he has the right to do. Of course, not everyone has the right to do everything and anything they want to do at the expense and harm to others. So now I wonder if the cost of his choice is too great when it victimizes those around him, those who care?

Life changes course at times in ways we never expect. I thought (for the second time) that I was going to be married for life…that I’d found someone who “got me” and vice versa.

I did, but just for a fixed period of time.

It was good and adventurous while it lasted. Our travels took us to South Africa, Bali, Malaysia, Tioman Island, Swaziland, England, the Yucatan Peninsula, with lots of U.S explorations in between. We cooked up our own close to home adventures as well and dragged our family in…like building an igloo. I can’t complain and I don’t regret.

This is an illness that requires understanding and support. It can be controlled and suffers can have whole and productive lives by their own and others’ standards. However, that control and maintenance has to be driven by the individual with the disorder. Those around him are at times helpless to protect him --- and others --- from his actions.

So this chapter ended for me because we others around 180 couldn’t and shouldn’t sacrifice our own health and needs to the demands of his disorder.

I’m thankful for having known the good guy. I’m fine in my own place in the world.

Poop! Aging jokes aren't so funny anymore

Poop!

Well, poop!

Well, poop already!

Remember when the jokes made by “old people” about bodily functions were funny not because we understood them or experienced them, but because our parents told us it was wrong to talk out loud about them?

The shock effect made them funny.

            The they-never-get-old fart jokes ("Blazing Saddles" need I say more?)

                        and then

            The constipation and bowel movement jokes flushed out the line-up.

           

Noisy knees and stubborn backs…

           

Jokes about memory loss --- You know, the ones they remembered they’d

forgotten.

                        “Oh, you tell it.”

                        “No, you go ahead.”

                        “No, you…”

AND THEN

            Old people and “sex” jokes! Eek!

(A friend tells me that in her 55+ community farting is a common as breathing, though the resident association strongly recommends that one not be done in close promixity to the other.)

Remember, this was when we didn’t get the reality of the jokes because our bodies moved us fluently, transparently through the world. We didn’t even process that we’d just squatted, kneeled, done the splits, tumbled, danced all night, climbed a mountain. We just did what we did because we could. That’s what our bodies were for.

From new car to old car (I’m from a car state folks) eventually something’s got to give.

The bodies we trusted mindlessly, the ones too many of us invested only minimal maintenance in have changed with age, and it doesn’t feel like a joke anymore.

So let me tell you about my bowel movement. Just kidding. ;-)

(my plate-and-screws repaired arm, 2011)

We’re fortunate to live in a time when creaky knees can be replaced along with crotchety hips. We’ve figured out how to repair and replace so many other parts to keep us alive and working. We know so much more about how the body works and what it needs to remain healthy…or to get it back on the path to health.

Pain relief comes in pill and pot form, and shots (not those “shots.” Ok, those shots too.) Fitness, nutrition, and health regimes have evolved from the one-type-fits-all presumptions to programs that can adapt to the individual’s needs.

Here’s the trick. We have to do the maintenance work ourselves to avoid living another joke.

So my question is: Why didn’t someone tell me when I was young to take care of this body? If they had, I wouldn’t be living these jokes today.

…Oh, that’s right, they did. I must have forgotten.

Actually, the jokes are pretty funny these days only because I know I'm not the only one f-a...passing wind. blush.

Come on, share 'em if you've got 'em. (Jokes that is.)

Teetering on the Fence: Hiring and Firing The Older Worker

 Here’s one of those places where I am really teetering on the fence.

I spend my workdays preparing students to be the critical thinkers and decision makers for my future as well as for theirs and their kids.

It’s only fair.

I’ve taken my turn, done my work, and figure I have to trust our youth to take their turn. Hopefully, recognizing that they have a stake in the decisions they make as they contribute to their community.

And then I think about my 60-something friends who have been pushed out of jobs due to suspected ageism, or found themselves without jobs coming out of the 2007-08 financial crisis that wiped their positions off the map, took their homes in foreclosure, and their savings as they struggled to stay afloat. In 2007, these folks hadn’t yet fallen into this ageism gap and would have continued successfully in their work and careers had then economy not come crashing down on their unsuspecting heads.

Several relocated in hopes of better prospects, some tried changing careers and still others settled for minimum wage or retired earlier than they planned.

The Intern (2015)

At 59, I was newly divorced and settling into my condo when my 40-something house painter announced to me that he’d just hired a 59-year-old painter. He was, he told me, pleased and surprised by the professionalism, level of experience, and quality of work. His tone told me he had been skeptical that a 59-year-old would have the stamina for the work.

The 59-year-old me had to take a moment to let that announcement sink in. My 26-year-old mouth (and brain) wasn’t as patient.

(No, I didn’t fire him on the spot, are you kidding me? He was doing great work and he was almost done!)

I did have a bit of a “come to Jesus” moment diplomatically with him though. Pointing out that 59 is the new 49 (hitting him where it hurts ;-).

I did point out that I was 59.

I did point out that fully capable people come in all ages.

I stew over the wealth of skill, experience and knowledge that mature professionals have and the value that is lost when we let go of these people.

I acknowledge that 12-year-olds (OK 30-somethings) don’t want to hire, train and manage employees who are old enough to be their grandparents.

I acknowledge that I don’t want to work for a 12-year-old whose knowledge base and experience aren’t sufficient to instill confidence in me, let alone respect.

Both have to come to respect what each brings to the professional table in terms of knowledge about the marketplace. Both have to recognize the other for the resources they possess and the value to them individually as well as to the organization.

A forty-something student recently shared that he found campus job fairs disappointing because the younger recruiters didn't understand why he would want an internship after successful careers. Yet, like every other student seeking internships, he is in school to update his skills and knowledge and the internship is as important to him as it is to the 20-something in line behind him.

In a conversation with a media colleague recently, who was pushed out of her career position with age as a possible factor, I rattled on sagely about pitching professional maturity, experience, institutional history, etc. She all but slapped me across the face with a far more reasoned and brilliant strategy. Sheesh!

Twelve-year-olds don’t want to hear about what older applicants have done and the baggage of outdated accomplishments they drag around with them. Twelve-year-olds want to hear what the applicants --- all applicants, any applicants --- can do for them right now with contemporary work tools and resources to accomplish the organization’s mission. Older workers must be prepared to satisfy the contemporary demands of the employer.

A 55-year-old worker didn't understand why he was let go after his six-month probationary period. His employer had tracked him carefully because while he had the skills, knowledge and experience that the company wanted, the worker refused to update his approach to the work. Each time he was counseled to approach the work with contemporary practices, he returned to the work with a "I've always done it this way." Works for him no doubt, but it doesn't work for the company for which he was working.

At the same time, employers do have an obligation to their employees to provide workers with opportunities to develop their skills and maintain relative to technology and current standards within the field. Employers need to encourage this development as well. Even if, then, the older workers leave their positions for whatever reason, they have, at minimum, an understanding of the needs of the current marketplace and the confidence that they can make the changes and acquire the skills necessary to compete there.

I remain on the fence here. How do we best utilize and not lose the skills and knowledge of our aging workers?

How do we trust younger workers who we don’t quite think have enough experience and skills yet to best understand and service our needs?

How do we take down the fence and benefit from the best of both?

The Intern (I) (2015)

70-year-old widower Ben Whittaker has discovered that retirement isn't all it's cracked up to be. Seizing an opportunity to get back in the game, he becomes a senior intern at an online fashion site, founded and run by Jules Ostin.

Director/Writer: Nancy Meyers

Stars: Robert De Niro, Anne Hathaway, Rene Russo

On David Bowie and Alan Rickman

David Bowie and Alan Rickman died this week. Both 69. Both of cancer related causes. Sigh.

Although they were 10 years my senior, I still consider them of my “gen-generation” (© The Who, 70s) artistically anyway. We are so lucky to have grown up along such creative strength.

I wasn’t introduced to Rickman until “Madly, Truly, Deeply” in 1990, but I’ve been madly, truly, deeply a fan ever since.

From leading man to comedic characters, stage to screen, Rickman’s style and form always entertained and left generations of actors plenty of lessons about owning and creating the character, immersing oneself, and telling the best story.

He wasn’t a star; he was an actor.

He wasn’t a celebrity; he was an artist whose catalog of exceptional work generated well-earned attention.

I remember David Jones on the Ed Sullivan Show in the 60s.

I tracked him from early folk artist to Ziggy Stardust (1972), Aladdin Sane (1973), Diamond Dogs (1974), Plastic Soul Man (1975), Thin White Duke (1976), and his Berlin years into the 80s, and on to his continued David Bowie explorations in music and art ever since. (New York Magazine, Jan. 10, 2016)

He crossed genres and genders and just about any other line he could find to step over provocatively.

David Bowie was immortal to me. He successfully reincarnated himself time and creative time.

We classified him as a singer/musician but he was so much more. He tried everything to continually reshape and define the art he created. The Key: he did it for himself --- regardless of the critics --- and in doing so, he gave voice and power to so many young artists who couldn’t understand while they couldn’t find mainstream acceptance for themselves and their art.

He also stood up and expressed strong stances for equality and respect for artists across genre, gender, race, culture.

I followed Bowie but must admit to having been challenged by him, even fearful and put off. I didn’t understand the make-up and the costuming, and the flamboyance of his work in those times.

Fortunately, Bowie sustained by doing what he wanted not what others expected or preferred. Fortunately for me, I was afforded the time to gain perspective on the impact of this artist icon in my midst. Not an artist out of history books to study from beyond the grave. But one whose work was ongoing, growing and “cha-cha-changing” right along with me in my lifetime.

British Actor Simon Pegg wrote: “If you’re sad today, just remember the world is over 4 billion years old and you somehow managed to exist at the same time as David Bowie."

Bowie just released his latest jazz-exploration in the album “Blackstar.”

New York Magazine’s Dec. 28, 2015 – Jan. 10, 2016 issue included “All the Derivative Dudes,” Bowie and his characters' influence on other artists across the genres and year.

Fortunately for us, the artistic voices of our generation are well preserved even as we lose their persons. What do you think?

Lessons my mother taught me without saying a word: #1 - Mobility = Independence

Ugh. Just finished the first week of a cardio interval step class at the campus rec center and discovered that my toilet is too low.

After class, my usually brisk walk home has turned into a struggled stroll through the snow-covered sidewalks. My thigh muscles scream as I ease onto and off of the couch but going for my 1940s toilet requires the kind of squats I couldn’t get anywhere near in class. Pain and urgency – HELP! I've squatted and I can't get up!

Since the class is on campus you are correct to assume the majority of participants are 12 --- OK, 20 something (same thing).

You are also correct that their trendy spandex stretches only so far --- around their already toned bodies --- not mine. I’m the one in the back row in men’s sweats and an oversized t-shirt down to my knees. Hey, every class needs a Frump Model. I’m helping everyone else in class with their self-esteem.

I exercise for two reasons:

1.     I’m afraid of losing my mobility, and

2.     I’m afraid of not turning into my mother.

At 95, she runs --- not walks --- on her walker throughout her managed care neighborhood. I have a newspaper front-page feature photo of her here on my desk. She’s in her 70s with her leg in the air nearly over her head during a Tai Chi class.

Once she retired from running around after four children, she swam three times a week, rode her exercise bike 10 minutes every morning while singing hymns, played shuffle board, and walked all over town to pay her bills --- because why waste the postage stamp? Let’s not even get started on lawn care, snow shoveling, or just about everything else she did to stay busy.

Her independence depended on two things:

1.     Her physical mobility, and

2.     Her driver’s license.

Collectively, they were freedom and independence.

Until while in her early 80s, the earlier symptoms of dementia --- memory loss and confusion --- led to two auto accidents where no one else was hurt but the time had come to surrender the driver’s license. *

Depression quickly followed as did further decline into dementia. Her freedom, her independence had been yanked out from under her. I felt them and understood fully how stranded, powerless, even valueless she felt. I never get into my car now without understanding that while I still have another good 20 years at least, this privilege is going to be lost by necessity eventually --- and with it, my independence.

Fortunately, she’s still running strong on her walker and swimming once a week. So, while I may be late coming to the whole value of exercise lesson (She was a childhood athlete, I was not. Enough said), she modeled fitness very well.

I’ll always have her hips. Just as long as I can have her health as well.

Lesson learned.

*     Michigan has a program that allows non-family members such as family doctors to make recommendations for the state to reexamine an individual who’s driving may now be of concern. This program takes the burden off of family members from confronting the issue with elderly family members and redirects the anger away from the family as well. You may have to find another doctor but family relationships are preserved.

Michigan Secretary of State – Senior Drivers in Michigan

What lessons have your elders taught you without saying a word?