A Whimsical Birthday Reflection

The doorbell rang a moment ago, and a delivery person handed me a lovely bouquet of flowers and a tin of Mrs. Fields Cookies. They were from my son, Gavin, and his girlfriend Michelle. Yay, my birthday revelries have begun. I love my birthday!!! I like to celebrate it over several days. Tomorrow, June 21 at 6:55 AM, I turn 61, a prime number, and I am so excited. What new adventures lie in store for me this year?

60 was a great year. I have enjoyed it thoroughly. It began a year ago with my realizing that I had experienced far more birthdays in my past than I will in my future. This realization led me to a major change in my life--no more reading books or seeing films because I am "supposed" to read them or view them. Nope, time is short, and I have to seize it fully now because once you hit your sixties, no matter how healthy you are, the back door of life is starting to open, and you are inexorably heading towards it. You may make a detour into another room or two, but the back door keeps opening wider each year.

60 also began with no classes to teach, a potentially sad state of affairs, but I decided, with the encouragement of my children, to write a book. I've written many scenes and acts and have wanted to finish a play, but my sort-of-memoir Dueling With Dementia: Not The Love Story We Planned demanded to be written, and I acquiesced. It was great fun writing it, though the subject matter is a bit grim, because I discovered what I always knew--I AM a writer. It is who and what I was born to be. I also began this blog, and I can honestly say that I love writing almost as much as I love reading, and some days maybe a tad bit more. My play awaits me now, and I've also begun a collection of short stories. So, it turned out that my not getting to teach classes was a VERY positive turn of events.

Now 61 beckons, and I have to decide what to wish for when I blow out my candles tomorrow night. I've narrowed it to four wishes and must narrow it to one by tomorrow. My first possible wish is for world peace. I am eager to see how people would live if there were no war. My second possible wish is to win the lottery, so my children and I can fix the financial situation that dementia has put us into. My third possible wish is to fall in love with a man who loves me back. I see my children being affectionate with their girlfriends, laughing, kissing, hugging, touching, looking into each other's eyes, and I realize that I am in need of some serious cuddling. Good heavens, it's been much longer than a decade, and we 61-year-olds like and need affection just as much as young people. Cuddling with my cats and dog, while quite nice, just isn't the same as cuddling with a loving man. My fourth possible wish is for Obama to win re-election, and that needs no explanation.

I guess I'd better wish for the one with the greatest chance of coming true. History has shown us that world peace will probably never be realized. Some one or some country always wants more than his or its fair share. The Lottery? Well, statistics show I have a better chance of getting struck by lightening, so scratch that. Finding a man I love who loves me? Hmm, the odds of that, considering that this special man would have to ignore some extra pounds AND a husband with dementia, are probably higher than winning the lottery. Lol. So, that leaves me with Obama winning re-election. That wish at least has a possibility of coming true, so that will be my birthday wish for 61. If it comes true, I will be a very happy woman indeed.

Wishes aside, what is on tap for 61? I get to teach again, and that is an excellent thing because I will be back with students. I will be teaching two English 2 Critical Thinking classes in the fall semester at Monterey Peninsula College. I am thrilled! It's a new class for me to teach, so I get to learn lots of new things too. Learning new things is always a joy. And, I get to see Shakespeare's play, Troilus and Cressida, performed in Ashland. I've always wanted to see that play, so I am happy about that. I will keep writing and reading; I will cuddle with my cats and dog; I will spend time with my friends; and best of all, I will spend time with my beloved children, the greatest joys and blessings in my life.

So, Happy Birthday to me, and Happy Birthday to cousin John in Orkney and friend Betty in Southern California, who also have a birthday on June 21. Here is my favorite birthday song by Tom Chapin. Enjoy. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mIRtrR7LW7g

Take care,

Kate

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The Secret of Simply Being

Go, go, go. Do, do, do. That seems to be the mantra of our times. We feel like a failure if we are not doing something. If we have to stay home or sit still, we say we are bored. We have music in our ears and smart phones in our hands. We have several windows open on our computers. We channel surf. We text. We call someone to say nothing important, we just want to escape the silence. We fear silence and solitude. We are, I believe, coming to fear ourselves because we no longer know ourselves as well as we once did when we knew how to simply be.

When we simply be, we notice things like the blue belly lizard doing push-ups in the warm sun on our front porch. We notice people walking by us and nod a greeting. We notice the taste of the food we eat. We hear the birds chirping at midnight. We are attuned to the world around us, and if we listen, we might hear, and if we hear, we might know, and if we know, we might change, and the world might become a better place, but first we need to spend some time simply being for a while.

When we simply be, we imagine. We see shapes in the clouds; we consider ideas not previously considered; we dream when we are awake, and when we dream, we can make new realities, but first we have to dream, and to do that we have to simply be for a while.

How do we stop this whirlwind we are caught up in? How do we learn to embrace silence? How do we learn to be? Often times, we learn the joy of being when we are sick. Then, we rediscover the simple joys of our mother's chicken soup and listen to the music of the wind through the trees or the rain drumming on our roof. 

One of the loveliest women I know, my friend Orlagh (pronounced Orla) in Ireland, has had to learn to simply be due to a baffling, debilitating disease. In the fall of 2002, Orlagh caught a seemingly simple flu, but she never got better; instead, she developed myalgic encephalomyelitis that endures to this day. Before her illness, Orlagh ran marathons, taught women's studies all over Ireland, and was working on her PhD. Now, my dear friend spends her days husbanding her strength in order to tend her beloved animals and garden. A short trip to the market can leave her exhausted for days. By necessity, she rarely sees anyone but her neighbors, and she rarely talks on the phone because it drains her energy. My friend Orlagh has had to make peace with simply being because it is impossible for her to go and do anymore. 

This is not to say Orlagh is happy about her situation, but neither is she angry or frustrated. She has, as they say, come to terms with her situation. Orlagh and I had the great joy of talking together last week when she felt strong after a nap. She allowed an hour for us to talk, and we chatted and laughed, filling each other in on the nine months of our lives since we last spoke together. Orlagh touched my heart when she told me that she read every page of my book Dueling With Dementia: Not The Love Story We Planned. It is very difficult for Orlagh to read much these days. She gets headaches, and her eyes can't focus for long, so her reading my book was a special gift, a treasure to cherish.

We got into a discussion about how neither of us is living the life we thought we'd be living when we first met in the hospital twenty-two years ago when she brought my one day old son Grant to me from the hospital nursery. Orlagh was a nurse, and I noticed her name and asked if it was Gaelic. We began to talk excitedly about Irish myths and legends, and we became fast friends, and our friendship has grown and strengthened despite the thousands of miles that separate us after she returned to Ireland. We knew exactly what each of us had planned for our lives, and we know how very different our futures turned out from what we'd planned. 

Orlagh was a bit wistful about how little she can impact the world these days. But I told her that she makes a huge difference in the lives of everyone who knows her. She demonstrates grace under pressure every day of her life. She cherishes her animals and treats them as family. She grows a lovely garden of vegetables to feed her each year. Her home is charming. She always has a friendly wave for a passerby. She has learned the secret to simply being, and that secret is being the best you can be in the moment you are in. If all you can do is smile, then smile with a light in your eyes because that light might chase away the shadows in someone's soul who is passing by. And when Orlagh smiles at you, she shines so brightly that not a single shadow can withstand her light.

We, too, can learn the secret of simply being, and we don't need a debilitating illness to do so.  First, we need to embrace silence and solitude. Only then can we hear truth whispering to us, and after we hear what truth has to say, we can begin to go and do again because we will know how to use our going and doing to make the world a better place.

Take care,

Kate

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The Many Faces of Kindness

When people who are mentioned in my Acknowledgments read my book Dueling With Dementia: Not The Love Story We Planned, one of the comments I frequently hear is, "I don't know why I'm on your list of Acknowledgments because I didn't do anything to help you with your book, but thank you." Oh, my dear ones, you did more than you can possibly imagine. Your kindnesses throughout the days and years made it possible for me to write my book because you shined light into my darkness, and you kept bringing me the real world that dementia wanted to blot out. 

People who are dementia caregivers live in a surreal world. Nothing is as it seems; nothing is as it should be. Up might be down, and right might be left. Alice's adventures in her Wonderland have nothing on the adventures that we who live with a person who has dementia have. The most bizarre images that Surrealist artists bring to us, like ants crawling out of a hand in Dali's Un Chien Andalou, make total sense compared to what a person with dementia can come up with because the artist is most likely sane, so his images come from his imagination. A person with dementia comes up with things not derived from imagination but derived from fractured synapses in his brain. We caregivers often gasp in disbelief or stand with our jaws dropping almost to the ground, as our heads spin, trying to make sense out of some behavior that can never make sense. The brain is a wondrous thing when it works well, but it is a terrifying thing when it breaks.

What keeps this terror at bay? What dispels the darkness of dementia caregiving? Kindnesses of all shapes and sizes. Kindness is a light that vanquishes darkness and fear. A word or action that might have been taken for granted or met with a smile and a thank you in the good old days before dementia, now takes on greater meaning in our daily lives. Small kindnesses, like someone letting you go ahead in a grocery line, can make your whole day because sometimes that quick trip to the grocery store is the only break you have from your loved one and his dementia, your only connection with the outside world. Large kindnesses, like still being included in lunches with your work friends even though you no longer work with them, can brighten your life for a week or more. Whatever the kindness, it matters more than you know, and it makes a valuable difference to us caregivers.

So, thank you, dear friends and family, for making this journey not only bearable, but also sometimes surprisingly fun. I couldn't survive this unexpected (and, if the truth be told, unwanted) adventure of dementia caregiving without you. You are, for me, the many faces of kindness, and I hold each and every one of you close to my heart. Thank you.

Take care,

Kate

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Orkney Captured My Heart

Only two times in my life have I enjoyed a vacation longer than a week. The first time, I was in my early twenties, and I went to Wisconsin to visit my boyfriend and accept his proposal to marry him. Well, we were young and both a little foolish at that time, and our words and actions tripped us up, and instead of getting married, we became lifelong friends, which is a very good thing, a relationship to celebrate in its own right; but I can't say that the visit, which included a lovely time in Chicago, was a very good indicator of how one spends a two week vacation.

In 2007, when I unexpectedly inherited some money, enough for a two week vacation for two to my dream destination, the British Isles, my elder two children, Amy and Gavin, encouraged Grant and me to go. They would watch their dad, taking turns around their work and college schedules.  Wow, how exciting, but the question was, where should we go? We tossed around the idea of Wales and Ireland--Wales because I love all things about King Arthur and Ireland because my best friend lives there. However, Orlagh couldn't have visitors at the time we could visit Ireland, and I was afraid that I had too many romantic notions in my head for Wales to live up to them. So, we decided on Scotland.

I am one quarter Scottish, and my children are 5/8 Scottish, so Grant and I decided to explore Edinburgh, a place I always dreamed of visiting, for our first week and Orkney Mainland for the second week. Naturally, on our way back home, we would stop in London for a couple of days to visit the British Museum, British Library, and Westminster Abbey.

I can almost hear you asking, "Why Orkney? Where's Orkney?" Orkney lies off the northern tip of Scotland, where the North Sea and the Atlantic Ocean meet, and is made up of several islands. My husband's grandparents came from two of its islands, Rousay and Stronsay, but our destination for our week was Orkney Mainland. We had two goals--the first was to visit the archeological wonders like Skara Brae, Standing Stones of Stenness, and the Ring of Brodgar, and the second was to search for family.

Our first week in Edinburgh was a dream come true. I vividly remember the sense of delight and freedom and joy that I felt when I awoke that first morning in Edinburgh, and Grant and I roamed the streets on our way to the castle. Both Grant and I felt like we'd come home. That may sound crazy, but everything felt so natural and right. The week flew by. We loved every minute of it and rued the fact that we barely scratched the surface of Edinburgh. We vowed to return.

Our week at Orkney began well with Susan greeting us at the airport and taking us to our car rental. Then she guided us to their charming guest cottage at Blinkbonny where Grant and I would spend our week. The late April day was warm and sunny, the sky the most brilliant blue we'd ever seen. After dropping off our bags, we decided to go exploring and buy provisions. We had chosen Blinkbonny for the gorgeous views, the neighboring cows, and the fact that we could cook many of our meals. 

Off to the market we went, and, as I've done throughout my entire life, I got completely lost. Grant tried to save the day by telling me where to turn, but it turned out to be a one way street, and we were going the wrong way. With a car headed towards me, I reacted instinctively, completely forgetting I was in a British car on a British road, and crashed into a wall. Suddenly, all I wanted to do was get back to our cottage. I was mortified. The only way we could get to the street was to keep going the wrong way, ignoring the stares of the people walking along the street, and making our way to what we hoped was the correct road.

It was not. Before we knew it, we were driving on a narrow road with land, sea, and cows all around, but not a house in sight. I pulled to the wrong side of the road, again forgetting I was not driving in America, and had a total meltdown. I was crying and frightened at being lost. Here I was surrounded by beauty, but I no longer could see it.

Grant, very sensibly, got angry with me. I came to my senses, and we somehow got back to the cottage, where I curled into a sobbing ball of misery. I felt like such a failure. How was I going to drive Grant and me to the archeological sites if I couldn't even get us to the grocery store? I decided we would have to go home. I called two friends for help, but thankfully neither was home. Grant, meanwhile, called Amy and Gavin. Gavin called me and was very sweet. He told me to rent a favorite movie and drink some wine and not make any decisions until the next day.

So, that's what we did.  Grant and I made our way, successfully this time, to the grocery store. We parked and walked down the main street of Kirkwall. We found a movie rental place and rented some movies. On our way back to the grocery store, we found the library and checked the internet and our email. At the store, we bought steaks and wine for dinner and headed home to our cottage.

The next morning dawned grey and drizzly. We decided to visit Saint Magnus Cathedral, the Bishop's Palace, and the Earl's Palace, which we could get to by parking in the grocery store parking lot and walking the rest of the way. Well, this is when Orkney captured my heart. I'm not a fan of grey, drizzling days, but somehow it didn't bother me that day. Grant and I explored and had a marvelous time. All the people we met were so nice. They were charming, commonsensical, and delightfully a tad whimsical.

The next day, Grant and I explored the town of Kirkwall, and I spent hours in the library with the people working in the Archives looking for Gordon's grandpa's relatives, and I had fantastic success, or so I thought. We found Shona, whose husband owned a store in town. One of the archive ladies directed us to the store, and Grant and I cheerfully announced that we were relatives from America. Roy burst our bubble by telling us that his wife did not have American relatives. I was crushed. I was so sure I'd found a cousin.

Finally, I got my courage up to drive to Skara Brae. It was another gloriously sunny day with brilliant blue skies and tulips lining the roads. We stopped at the Stones of Stenness first, and then we got to Skara Brae. My imagination was completely captivated by the people who had lived there 6500 years ago. I felt a longing to know them, to understand them. It was a feeling I had not felt before.

One thing that tickled our fancy was seeing how many people had scratched their names into the stones at the Ring of Brodgar. I was struck by what is an archeological wonder to one person is merely a stone another person has grown up seeing every day, and what better place to carve your and your beloved's names than in one of the stones. It's all, I guess, a matter of perspective.

Grant and I got into interesting conversations with many residents and learned one amazing fact--everyone we met wanted to live on Orkney for the rest of their lives. One young woman, a waitress at the amazing restaurant Foveran, told us that she wanted to go to Glasgow for a couple of years to party, but she wanted to return to Orkney when she married because she said Orkney is the best place in the world to raise children. Several others, too, said that they would leave or had left Orkney for a bit of fun, but they always wanted to come back to Orkney. We marveled at the hold Orkney had on the hearts of its residents.

About Foveran we cannot say enough. We had an outstanding meal one evening during sunset. We had a window table overlooking Scapa Flow. Every once in awhile, while Grant and I were talking, we'd suddenly be silent, overcome by the serene beauty, reveling in Orkney's enchantment.

And Orkney is completely enchanting. Grant and I spent hours taking walks or sitting on the porch, soaking up the beauty and the peaceful atmosphere. One afternoon, we saw a vivid, brilliantly hued complete double rainbow. I could feel the pain in my heart (from Hugh's schizophrenia and Gordon's dementia) start to lessen. Everything seemed handleable on Orkney. I know in my head that no place is perfect, but I feel that Orkney comes close.

Grant and I finished up our archeological visits on Orkney with a trip to the Round Kirk at Orphir. It was another gloriously sunny day, and we meandered through the graveyard and walked along the pebbly beach, so very different from the white sand beach at Skara Brae. We talked about the Vikings that afternoon.

We also made another trip to the library, and I made a genealogical tree that I wrote down for Shona. Grant and I again made our way to Roy's shop. I urged him to show his wife the family tree, and we are so grateful that he did. Shona called the day before we were flying out, and we made plans to meet just before the plane left. We got to meet many cousins that day--Anne, Tina, James, Inga, Christina, Roy, and, of course, Shona, and we have stayed in touch ever since. Last year, my nephew Bob from Washington D.C. went with his wife to Orkney, and so more cousins are connected. Soon, my niece Lynn  from Ohio plans to visit with her husband. All these new connections and bonds make me very happy.

Even more than our wonderful family there, and even more than the marvelous archeological sites, Orkney itself captured my heart.  Recently, I wrote this to Shona: "Orkney captured my heart. I think of Orkney as this lovely gem with a mighty spirit that has seen thousands of years of people living on it because they discovered its special magic and didn't want to leave, so they made it their home." I long to live on Orkney for at least a year so I can begin to understand the secret of Orkney's elusive yet pervasive enchantment.

Take care,

Kate

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Becky's Ultimate Gift

Most of us moms say that we would die for our children, but few of us are ever called upon to do so. Becky had a choice to make--fight her cancer and have a chance at life with her husband and daughter or give birth to a healthy child. She chose her unborn child, and Becky died soon after Ben's birth.

Becky is a hero to me. I never knew her, but I went to high school with her husband Gary. We were buddies then, but we lost touch over the years, and only renewed our friendship about eight years ago through classmates.com. When Gary told me Becky's story, I cried for her and for her children. I felt awe for this brave, loving, selfless woman. 

Becky was happily married and pregnant with her second child. She had a young daughter named Maija, who she loved with all her heart. One day, Becky felt pain in her leg. She and her doctor thought sciatica, which so many pregnant women get, but the doctor decided to run some extra tests to be sure. Cancer was the diagnosis. I can only imagine the thoughts that raced through Becky's mind. So little time to think because a decision had to be made quickly, and there would be no time for second guessing.

What made me think of Becky today? Well, actually I've been thinking about her all weekend, thinking about how proud she would be. Her Maija has grown into a lovely women, who I've had the pleasure of spending time with twice over the years, and she graduated magna cum laude from college this weekend with her proud papa and loving brother watching. All weekend, I kept imagining Becky as a strong, though invisible, presence at the graduation, her eyes full of joyful tears at the delightful, charming, intelligent, caring adults her children have become. I imagine her happy pleasure with Gary, who honored her trust in him as the man she chose to marry by shouldering the mantle of single parent, and with the help of Becky's family, raised his two children with grace and unwavering love, even though his heart was broken by the much too early death of his beloved wife.

So, today, I raise my glass to Becky and toast her with all the love in my heart from one mother to another, and I bow my head to her in humility. Becky was one very special mom; she gave the ultimate gift of love, her life for her son's, and her unselfish, unconditional love shines on in the world through her daughter Maija and her son Ben.

Take care,

Kate

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