My Thing

What's your Thing? Everyone has a thing that they love to do, a hobby or sport. Some people, apparently me, like to be Champion of our Thing.  Some people simply enjoy the process of doing/being. That's probably wiser. I wish I was the winner...even now when I'm halfway to a hundred. If I am going to play, I sure would like to win! There's a lot in my mind about winning, being the best, doing better than the rest, still being humble and hoping. It is not easy, especially as we get older and realize other people have 10,000 hours in their Thing already.

When I was a kid and teenager in Oregon, my Thing was riding horses. I loved show jumping and I was really good at it. I won a lot of ribbons and silver platters. I even found a few old bags and boxes full of ribbons up in the attic to prove it. But back then my parents were paying for that expensive sport and when I went off to college, my horse was sold. 

At University of Redlands, I got on the volleyball team. Which felt like quite a complimentary Thing to play on a college level sport. But try as I might, we were losers. I was the "setter," which means I had the second shot at every play, on our side of the net. I loved the workout and it was fun, but in a team sport you cannot control the efforts of the other players. So after a year of repeated losses, I let it go and joined the "sloshball" team at SDSU instead, with red solo cups and a keg on home base.

Then I got married. In my twenties, I became a teacher, and worked my ass off. After our honeymoon in Tahiti, my new husband decided to try outrigger paddling and joined a team called Hanohano on Mission Bay. He loved it and was winning at the weekly races. He had so many medals, they were hanging from the doorknobs of our condo and jingling his success. I was his groupie and biggest fan, until one day I had a major meltdown. I cried, "I want a medal!" He laughed and said, "Well get on the ocean!" So my Thing was paddling outriggers for 10-15 years and I earned a bunch of my own doorknob jingling medals. I paddled to Catalina five times, jumped in/out of the ocean for 27 miles with escort boats alongside. My favorite part was steering the canoe and feeling the camaraderie of the 5 other strong positive women working together to win. At some point you realize that to be in the "top boat" you need to be bigger, or stronger, or definitely better. When my chance came to take a seat in the best boat for a race in Ventura, I saw a sunfish that was my doom. We were paddling around a giant oil rig, far far out, and "Whoa, there's a supercool sunfish!"...not 10 minutes later "Hey there's a giant jellyfish! Is that a man-o-war?" Oops, did I say that out load? Yes because the response I heard from those determined ladies, was "HOPPER! FOCUS IN the BOAT!" Needless to say, I didn't get asked to paddle in the top boat again. Relegated to the lesser crews, my chances of winning again declined. Dang it!

Then I have a baby, the cutest lil peanut ever. I'm thirty-something still teaching, working, but now our Thing is paddling Dragonboats and traveling the world! Winning races in China, Taiwan, Canada, Europe, South Africa...Les was the coach and I was the steersman. With our team of 22 paddlers from all the California outrigger teams coming together, we won a bunch of medals for Team USA. That was a really fun 15 years of competing. I had to miss the last week of teaching for the Dragonboat World Championships in Hong Kong and the HR lawyer for my school district actually says, "you need to decide between your career or your sport." I could have both, he was an idiot. So in the future, instead of asking permission to travel to races, I just called in sick and kept quiet, common ailments were food poisoning, ear aches, feminine issues, or the flu. We paddled the Yangtze River for 22 miles down from the Three Gorges damn. The adventures and races were incredible! My baby boy came along for all of it, he learned that our Team USA tent was home base and he had many aunties watching over him.

It was the kid's turn to chase his champion thing, so as a Mom in my forties, I settled in to support, watch, feed and cheer on my boy. He played waterpolo, paddled kayaks, surfed, anything water related. We tried soccer and little league baseball, but he finally said to me, "I don't really like land sports; I like the ocean stuff better." So to keep fit and de-stress, my Thing became jogging...then running, because I heard you could win a medal for it. Ha! A 5k here, 10k there, whatif I ran a marathon? Do I have to train, or can I just do it? Yep to both. I wanted those big ass medals. I see the triathletes wearing them around San Diego. We lived in the best place to be a runner. I trained around the bay, around Fiesta Island, around Sea World. And then I ran the Carlsbad Marathon, the Rock 'n Roll Marathon, La Jolla Marathon, America's Finest City Marathon and Kona 1/2 Marathon. And you know what? You get an extra medal for doing the Triple Crown in one year! Woohoo! And you know what else? You don't even have to win these things, just finish and get a medal! Except you know what else? Running 26.2 miles repeatedly really hurts your legs and hips. It was not a long term sport for me, but I am glad I got out there and ran for more medals to hang on the doorknobs.

Which brings me to now, in my fifties halfway to a hundred, with an empty-nest. I need a new Thing. I love love my husband who says to me, "Why don't you get a horse, ride again like when you were a kid?" Oh I love love my husband. That's my new-old Thing! Back to my passion of riding and show jumping. This may take awhile to tell, because I am still in it, and trying to win it, right now. I buy in big, which means I pay to import a beautiful, 17hand warmblood gelding from Czech Republic for $24k named Lancelot. He costs alot, but I do love him alot, Lancelot. I join the show barn at Osuna in RSF and pay for training with Hap Hansen, the legend. It is a neat community. We show for a year, he rips a tendon for a year, then...now we are showing again. I went to the A-rated show Thermal in the desert, The Oaks in San Clemente, and recently Temecula. We get ribbons in almost every class. This is my Thing. I'm good, we are good, but there is another facet to be great and win this Thing. I see it now, like I didn't see it when I was a teenager. There are fancy horses, expensive horses worth a hundreds of thousands of dollars. Like the cost of condos with four legs! There are riders with so much money they go to all the shows and rack up all the division points, amateurs in my division. I see the politics of competing against a horse for sale, when the judge has been paid to win so it's worth more money for the trainer. It doesn't matter. I memorize my courses and walk the distances between every jump. I'm doing my Thing to the best of my ability. But there is always one fence that isn't quite as smooth. It is so hard to be perfect, every jump, every time. Is that what this Thing is all about? Perfection? My leg slips back over the fences; it's a minor fault, but against this caliber of competition, it is noticeable to the judge. So even with a perfect round, I get third instead of first. My trainer used to say "just have fun" comments before going into the ring, but now he sees I really am trying to win, so he says "gallop your horse, add more outside leg, right heel down, left thumb up, head straight over the fence, a bending line is precise, shorten your reins, get off your fat ass!" Ha! I nod and breathe, but I am so stressed! What's the course again? 12 jumps; left, right, in & out? But after...oh the sweet adrenalin and accomplishment is divine. I did it. Many times I did it. I won first place three times! I qualified for the PCHA and the USEF Medal finals. So I am happy, but wow the anxiety of competition is real. It is healthy to feel and focus on this Thing. The question lingers, do I love just horses and riding, or do I love the competing and showing? In the back of my mind, I am adding up the expense of horse show jumping. $1000 to the trainer for the week, $1000 to the show grounds for the week, $1000 for the stall and hay, $1000 for the trailer ride and braiding for the week. $1000 to the grooms and gear. It's a lot of money for this Thing. Maybe running and paddling was more affordable? I am glad I got to do this and remember my passions of youth, but I think it's not a sustainable sport unless you are elite uber rich. And now, just this weekend, my horse Lancelot has ripped the tendon in his other leg. It's only because I mentioned I might sell him. He instead wants to be my forever horse in Montana. Which fate has decreed is our next Thing.

What to Do?

WHAT to do, what to do, whatodo... 

 Now that Halfway to a Hundred is here, I find myself wondering, "What to DO?" But not in that bored whiny teenager voice. I am truly so excited. I have worked hard for 30 years, raised my child and 4 dogs, bought and sold 5 homes, and now being retired I can look around and do anything I want for a change. All the shoulda woulda coulda's are on my doorstep! Shel Silverstein is waving at me... go get it Susie.

I tried painting, not the most talented, but can I copy someone else? I tried harmonica, which apparently takes a musically inclined soul, plus a lot of in n' out breathing? I tried horse show jumping, but my horse tore a tendon and now he's just a big expensive pet? I tried golf, which is a lovely long walk chasing a ball?  I tried organizing the house/garage/kitchen and just stopped cuz it's not fun at all! I tried a class in glass melting, and made 6 wildflower appetizer plates which I'm quite proud of! I tried yoga, running, reading, pickleball, swimming laps, knife throwing, getting up early, sleeping in late, and now...here I am, I'm trying blogging, look at me doing it right now, write now...Halfway to a Hundred. Woohoo!

There are so many things to DO! I want to be good at something. I want to win again, like I did when I was young in school. I want to do something big and meaningful with my life. Who doesn't? 

WHAT to do, what to do, whatodo... 

awww go climb a mountain, that always helped me sort it out.

I have climbed Mt. Whitney in California, Mt Kilimanjaro in Africa, the alps in Spain, the Tavan Bogd pass in Mongolia...I need to find another mountain to climb and get in shape.

Maybe I should hike the Pacific Crest Trail? Or ride a horse on the PCT? That would be cool. 

WHAT to do, what to do, whatodo... before I'm a 102? Shel Silverstein is still waving at me...

Thanks Old Guy

 Halfway to hundred... as I was driving up this morning to stay another week with my Uncle Chip. It's my turn to be his live-in caregiver. I've been on for 2 weeks a month for 3 or 4 months now. It's a lot, to say the least. Which is an oxymoron. 

To think, before I retired last June, I used to rack my brain thinking up examples of oxymorons for my students, to help them understand the conflicting meanings of word use or word choice. Now I am halfway to a hundred and life is full of conflicting choice and meanings. As I was driving -it takes two and half hours to get to Uncle Chip's house btw- I was pondering the purpose of this blog. And how do I post? Who is my audience? I always suggested to my 3rd graders, as well as my 6th grade classes, know who your audience is, so that you may better choose your words for their ears. But you know what? I got stymied. Which is a clever word for stuck, My poor students. I am sure they felt the same way. Am I writing this paragraph for my teacher to grade it? for my classmates to laugh at? for my parents to approve of? or for a contest to win? The stress I caused those kids!! I am sorry. 

When I shared my concerns over blogging to my own son, now grown and perfectly halfway to my fifty, he said simply, "Writing is art Mom. All the best artists create for themselves. They don't care what others may think about their art. And people, whomever they may be, will appreciate it all the more." My son encouraged me, "Just write for yourself, damn all the others. It will be way more interesting to read." 

So as my laptop battery shows a tiny red margin depicting "low & sleep mode imminent" I will gather up my lady-balls and just write whatever shit is in my head. 

Which means... as I was driving up this morning to stay another week with my Uncle Chip, I am not that excited or happy to be doing so. In fact I found myself lingering at the halfway gas station for another fifteen minutes to play Wordle on my phone. Which I got in 3 lines! STARK was the 5 letter word. Shall I search for meaning in that word of the day? Life is STARK at halfway to hundred. Yes it feels so, when I sit here watching an old man sleep in diapers 22 hours a day. I want to run and play and surf and swim and ride and gallop and fly and hike and wonder and wander and BE OUT IN THE WORLD, LIKE A FINALLY FREE, RETIRED FROM WORKING 30 VERY GOOD YEARS IN THE CLASSROOM, PERSON SHOULD BE DOING! But I do love my crazy, clever, witty old uncle nonetheless. And perhaps I would wish for someone to do the same for me when I am old. But do I? REMEMBER! I AM GOING FOR A 100years! And the best advice I have heard so far - just last week, from an old guy sitting next to my Uncle in the waiting room, at the cancer doctor's office- "just keep living, and helping and doing and thinking...look at me! I'm 90 and still got my wits. I don't tell people I'm sick or they will treat me like I'm sick." He was an inspiration and I never even heard his name. Thanks Old Guy!

Like, Like You

 My favorite moment of realizing we had an empty nest at Halfway to a Hundred was looking at my husband and saying out loud, "I still really like, like you. How lucky are we!" I know it is a rare thing to still madly love your husband after 33 years, but I do. And I am pretty sure he loves me back 100%.  I know I am lucky beyond measure.  Our goal is to make it to 62 years of marriage and beat my grandparents record of 61 years before they died. I will be 84 years old and Les will have to make it to 90. If we get all the way to a Hundred...then we will have been married for 72 years!! That would be so awesome, maybe even better than being in the Olympics!

My own parents called it quits when 6 of us kids left the nest. There's a LOT to unpack in that story, but in essence, my mom said that without the busy-ness of raising kids to keep her distracted, their lack of love and intimacy became more pronounced. So away she moved and my parents separated, I was a freshman at University of Redlands if I recall. My youngest sister was a junior in high school and they took us to Maui for spring break. As we climbed on some big ass bicycles with mega-hand brakes, on a Cruiser Bob tour coasting down down down Mt. Haleakala for 4 hours... "Oh girls! Your Pop and I are getting a divorce! Wheeeeee!" WTF? I think they were both Halfway to a Hundred.

But Wait! There's more! This is their story of being Halfway to a Hundred:  Mom was drinking and drinking more and more. Just wine every evening, not like she was hiding alcohol in the hamper, but a goodly big bottle or box of wine went down her gullet. When she decided divorce was better than drinking. Mom joined an AA group. Went to many meetings. Found her people. Funnily, she asked me to go to AA meetings with her because I was drinking. But Hello, I'm at college and away from home, so I told her, "I am supposed to drink and party at this age! Let me go get a problem first, ha!" Mom had a reason to drink it turns out. And coming clean with your demons is part of the AA process. So she tells my Pop, "If you don't tell them, I will." Meaning tell the kids, us, all 6 needed to hear her truth, Pop's truth. Because at this point, my three brothers were blaming my mom for leaving my dad. They felt she was unfair, mean and hurtful breaking our family apart like this. Mom told me and my younger sister this, since we were still close to home and all sharing our heart hopes. Poor Mom. She raised 6 lovely smart young humans and was finding her own independent way, alcohol-free, fifty and sober. 

But Wait! There's More! My Pop was gay. He's Halfway to a Hundred and had been gay all along. She didn't know it when they were first married. He did. To be fair though, Pop was born in a time when he couldn't be gay, at least not out loud. So he married Mom as a camouflage, or do they call her his beard?  Somehow he managed to have sex with her four times and get four of us kids. Two of my brothers were adopted. So we are three girls, three boys...like the Brady Bunch. I am Jan (middle girl). We grew up knowing our dad loved to decorate and remodel the homes we lived in and moved often. I went to three different high schools! Hmmm... I wonder if we moved often because he was having secret homosexual affairs and we had to get out of those towns before his secrets were revealed? I doubt I will ever know, since Pop has long since passed away from heart failure, so his straying antics will be forever concealed. 

But Mom knew. Her gut instinct knew something wasn't right in their marriage. As I said after the busy-ness of raising six children wore off. She told me that he "didn't ever know how to push her button?" Poor Mom never had an orgasm in 28 years of marriage! Now that's a tragedy of the times, right? She was a proper girl and couldn't confide to her mom or friends about her feelings in 1960's, even if it was the hippie era. So she gulped her wine and smiled through it all. She kept busy with our horse shows and the boys' motorcycle races. Until the empty nest...she made Pop tell us the truth, or she would tell us all. It was quite liberating for him actually. At halfway to a hundred, he "came out"...Pop was probably more like 60 by then since he was 10 years older than Mom. He moved to Hillcrest in San Diego, a notoriously gay neighborhood. With bars named Pecs or Hole or Flicks. Pop became a sugar-daddy and found his young Adonis. I'm not making this up, Pop called him his Adonis, paid off the guy's loans, paid for his tattoos to be removed, teeth whitened and paraded him around. Pop was dating a man 30 years younger, my age actually. Poor Mom. 

But you know what? Pop finally lived his life. For that is what life is all about right? Just live it. There were some crazy choices in there. Some serious consequences for all and a few more big reveals...which maybe I will write into a saga family fiction novel one day? Because there are details, oh my...I will stop and say no more. But the big takeaway for me was...don't ever lie or try to hide skeletons in your closet. Because it will always always always Come Out one day. (pun intended). 

The gist of this message, is find your person, that you like like. If you're lucky AND you are both very honest, then one of life's greatest blessings can be STILL like liking that same lovely soulmate all the way to 100. I know I got lucky finding Les and got smart keeping him. There is a ton of strategic kindness, allowing, and unconditional grace and support involved in being this lucky. But if both sides are willing and realize what you have in your hand, then simply saying "I Like Like You" can be more powerful than Love.

Friends at 50

When you're fifty you feel like you're all alone...quite often. Your friends are busy. And when you're busy you don't notice, until you retire, take a pause and wonder what you want to do all day. Where are your friends to play with you? They are there! It took me a good long minute, or a good long year to reconnect and be in awe of the fabulous friends I have found in fifty years! Each friend is from a different phase of my life and they are still right there when I need them. It takes a Mom to die, or a significant calendar event to cross paths again closely. Bam! There she is! Aly Babba- my gutta sister from my early twenty's when we danced on tables in Mexico and camped out under the stars in San Felipe...she had girls and I had a boy so we went new directions for 20 years. But Aly is always there for a hug and "I get you because you're the salt to my pepper!" ha! We have homes on the same street in Montana and even guttered in her driveway for her daughter's 21st birthday!

Then there's Michele. -she saved me when I broke my arm and I love her weekly check-ins

Terri Shives - she saved my boy with her mother's intuition, my tribe

Terri Franklin - she paddled across the ocean with me to Catalina, warrior strength

Karey - she is my Tuaca sister, climbing mountains

Stacey - my college roomate that never let go, and excellent therapist just giver her an hour

Laura - quite politically different, but a sister alike in a dozen other wonderful ways

Kate - could be mayor of Montana, she is my example of what a woman can do, anything

New friends - Beth, Sherri, Stephanie, Mayre, Helen, Laura, Abby, Jenni

Momma always said

Momma always said, "The right one will come along when you're not looking."

Dying was a part of life...I sure wish it wasn't. I don't know if we each have a destiny? or if we are all just floating around accidental like on a breeze?  But I think... maybe it's both? Maybe both are happening at the same time. (forrest gump)

Life is Trying and trying... (chip)

Work hard, smile often and good things will happen. (honey)

There's a ton of excellent songs and quotes to reflect and listen to when I think about the meaning of life. Sitting on a rock and pondering life's purpose is hopefully one of things that we all can do. 

When I was turning 21, we were in Kona, and it was my birthday, August 22, 1988. My whole family was at Hale Iki and Hale Pili Kai if I recall, and there was a lot going on after dinner, too much for my liking. So I slipped away from the noise and sat out on the lava rock in the moonlight to watch the waves and ponder the meaning of life for a minute. I put on my Walkman to listen to music, a Bob Marley cassette. And... the world made sense in 3 great songs.  The first song was Three Little Birds, next was Redemption Song and the 3rd song was Waiting in Vain. I had happiness, strength and love on the horizon. Being 21 was going to be okay, better than okay. I could get away, take a deep breath and find life differently than my family members. Which is exactly what happened. I am different and better for that moment on the lava rock in Kona. I remember those 3 songs often, even now 36 years later, the feeling and meaning is poignant in my mind. Especially as I witness my son Noa being 26, different and better than his family. Having an empty nest is okay, better than okay. 

Maybe he will read this one day, and reflect on what his Momma always said? Hopefully it's relevant.

Beginning at the End?

I wanted to begin this blog with the first happy moments of being 50, retired and free. But NOPE! That's not where I am right now. I was. But then I was too busy being free and happy and yoga and horse and friends to realize that writing something like this is NECESSARY to my sanity. I will circle back to those first days of fifty. Right now though, you need to hear the wake up call! Have you ever had a favorite dog die? Or cat I suppose, if you're a cat-person? Dying gives loads of grief. Yes, it steeps you in sadness. Mostly dying creates confusion and disbelief in your once confident soul. Why were we created? ...if only to die before 100? To witness someone near and dear, in the process of aging and dying is catastrophic!

Two years ago, my mother died on August 1, 2021. OMG that was hard! I wasn't her Health Power ofAttorney, my older sister was. She was in an elder care facility, in the memory care section. Which my mom often asked "why am I in with the crazies?" I wheeled her outside to the golf putting green, played bingo, tried art classes and we went to the sing-alongs "Que Sera Sera...whatever will be, will be." Each day had something fun planned. I wasn't a fan of my sister's decision to have the nurses morphine my mom every hour, especially the day I had to leave for my job teaching school. My mom wasn't in pain, and being in AlcoholicsAnonymous for 30 years, she told me she "didn't like the feeling" morphine gave her. She died within 4 days of the increased dosage. She was 85, had afib in her heart and simply an extreme fatigue diagnosis. I had to let her go, watch her go. I had stayed with her for two months and loved loved loved her as much as possible. Losing your mother is a gut punch, and you lose your happy for a long long time.

Now I am in the midst of helping my mom's brother, Uncle Chip stay in his home and organizing his caregivers. He is 84. (Which still seems young to me? It's only 30 years away from my age.) Chip's prostate cancer is terminal now; the meds are no longer effective his oncologist tells me. He has dementia caused by the cancer spreading into his lymph nodes, bones and brain. Thank goodness he is so POSITIVE and happy about it all. If he was a grumpy old crank it would make caring for him very difficult, but my Uncle Chip is a gem! My whole life he has been there for me. In a quirky, helpful Uncle sort of way. My dad never got me- he was busy being a closet gay man (which is a whole 'nother post for sure). Uncle Chip always did his own thing. The funny black sheep of his family. He's clever, creative & artistic. He says he felt never was fully understood by his parents (my grandparents Honey & Grampy). Chip went to USC as an art major, was in a fraternity, played waterpolo and lived on campus. He had a blast! He worked on creating those ginormous colorful flower sets for Laugh-In comedy TV back in the 60's with Goldie Hawn, Lily Tomlin etc. He said that crew was "WILD!" Uncle Chip admits he tried everything... at least once. 

So now, I'm watching my awesome Uncle Chip become forgetful, gullible and wobbly. It is another round of sad and depressing. But you might wonder how we got here? Let's add some drama to this gentle Uncle's aging story. A very slippery, conniving masseuse had my Uncle wrapped in a knot with his "Ooooo Chipito! You muscles are so hard and here's some homemade salsa I made because I love you so much!" This false-friend was over the top; half my uncle's age and weaseling his way into money money money. The guy had a gig at Massage Envy at the corner strip mall, and offered to do "back therapy" in Chip's home for $300 an hour! WTF?? I didn't make that much teaching 3rd grade all day with 2 master degrees! And he was up to massaging Chip 3x a week = $900 = $3600 a month, under the table cash! That remora was workin' it for real. And you know what? IF he made my Uncle Chip happy and it helped his back muscles and anxiety, then for sure keep doing whatever it is you're doing in there behind closed doors. But the leech had to go one step further and start throwing ME under the bus. Whispering to Chip "your niece doesn't help you like I do, cut her off or I quit!" Well, the more I read about dementia and paranoia, sweet Uncle Chip believed him. I was suddenly on the "shit-list" and he wouldn't answer my phone calls...because of this slimey, worm-tongue, greedy masseuse!! What did I do?  

I drove out to Uncle Chip's house and I stayed with him for a month to assess the situation. He asked me, "Why are you here?"  I simply replied, "I am here because I love you, and need to help you." Now you're wondering why I stayed so long? It became immediately clear that this 84 year old, generous man was handing out his credit card left & right. Rapid Plumbing charged him $13,000 for a clogged bathroom sink! Ripped into drywall and proceeded to spray pipe liner gunk to stop a leak. WTF? He has a CLOG, not a LEAK! Then on Easter weekend, General A/C & Heating shows up to replace his whole system in the attic for $36,000! Not $3,600, yes tack on another zero and bump that number up up up! Chip just had it all serviced for $2000 just 6 months ago, but he didn't remember. He did NOT need all new A/C units because "they were old" on a 15 year new home? OMG, this is nuts... but wait there's more! His bank debit card was stolen off his desk in his office and used at AutoZone 90miles away for $402. Thankfully I got a fraud alert on my phone and stopped that thief in his tracks. I also canceled his credit cards, since so many people had his numbers and were freeloading on it. Oh yes get this one: 6 months ago my uncle couldn't remember his email password or logins so he called a company named Micro Store for tech help and they quickly subscribed him to $510/month unlimited elite technical help! Not $5 or 50 month, but five hundred and ten dollars a month, every month. Do you think there's a little confusion and dementia happening now? Yes, my Uncle Chip will happily tell everyone "Oh I am sorry, I am just so confused nowadays." Thus the predators start circling and nibbling. We changed his phone number last week because it literally rings nonstop spam callers. Note to self: do not move out to Palm Springs to retire! It is full of predators circling around the elderly looking for an easy payday! And sadly I see that old people are craving attention and like a little drama in their day to fret over. The plumber is coming, the dog needs his teeth cleaned, the refrigerator broke, my doctor appointment is soon... when they stop socializing, they create issues and just get taken advantage. It is tragic to see it clearly.

So you wonder why I didn't just put Uncle Chip in an elder-care home for safekeeping? Because...I promised to help him stay in his own lovely home as long as possible. I felt bad about my mom not getting to be in her own home for her final days. It was her only wish, but I wasn't in charge (her husband and my older sister were). So this time I would help Uncle Chip live better, longer, in his home. Should I hire a professional caregiver? I would if I could, but remember the Palm Springs predators are circling? An agency charges $35/hour, which seems reasonable. Until you multiply that by 24 hours a day, 7 days a week, 30 days a month, 12 months a year and realize a live-in caregiver agency for your uncle is going to cost over $300k per year!! That's quite a bit more than his income and mine could pay.

Welcome to being 50! Can I run away and forget all this? I tried...I really did, lasted just four days. It doesn't work if you have a conscience and love your people. You have to breathe deeply and BE THERE for them. Sigh... I remind myself that I too won't always be only halfway to a hundred.

I will be all the way to a hundred someday, and how would I like to be cared for? My grandma Honey always said, "just push me off the end of the dock when I get old!" Ironically, she had a stroke, paralyzed her whole left side, had a feeding tube, and pace maker, etc. Poor Honey couldn't jump off the dock and die if she wanted to. She would give me a loving lopsided smile and raise up her fist every time I visited with her. Back then I was only 40 and Honey held on to 94. Pneumonia was the sneak in the end. I loved Grandma Honey. She was my Maid - Matron of Honor in my wedding back in 1990. I made her wear a cute strappy daisy sundress. Sigh... I remind myself that I too won't be always halfway to a hundred. I will BE 100 someday and die. 

Sorry I wanted to begin this blog with the first happy moments of being 50 something, retired and free. But NOPE, not when the beginning IS a view of the end.

(pause for reflection, then scream, then breathe, then go play)