Old Age Day by Day December 27, 2010

I was at the dentist promptly at 8 am today to get my crown. It's amazing how thrilling it can be to be able to chew on both sides of my mouth again. It's the little things that count. I'm very excited about my friend coming to visit. Lots of ideas for baby trips are whirling around in my head, and there are kids to see and food to eat and movies we could watch. But the best, of course, is just the talking, checking out our lives with each other. Now we do that once a week by phone, but it's never quite as good, especially with this annoying call waiting which always beeps when I'm on the line, and half the time I pick it up and the other half I don't, but it's phonus interruptus either way.

I know which bed she likes to sleep in, what she wants for breakfast, her favorite wine, what she likes to see. I feel her feelings before she expresses them, and we have the ability to get pissed off at each other and square it almost instantly. We genuinely admire each others children and granddaughters, and love to hear more about them. How many people can you say that about?

So it's a good week for me. I know that already. A great way to start off the new year. And we won't do anything big, just be together, which is, the rarest and biggest deal of all.

Old Age Day by Day December 26, 2010

Christmas is past, in a whirlwind, a delightful one, and though the decorations are still up, I feel the pull of longer days, spring bulbs, new buds on trees and the new year. As much as I love Christmas, it's really a bit much for me to handle. I get overwhelmed, breathe, then think of another person I could call, a project to finish as a last minute gift, an urgent need to buy more eggnog or wonder if we have enough fruit. Now the holiday has landed, and the guests departed and only the photos to document the events.

I think I will enjoy my sewing projects more now that none of them were completed in time. I can work on them at my leisure, and give them for birthdays or just no reason. I like that better. I like the process more also. So the little felt birds which need their sides stitched and their button eyes sewn will fly from the nest, just not as soon as anticipated.

I will listen to my Spanish songs CDs, and read my new books, and pamper my skin with my new beauty products and admire my gifts, now in their appropriate places, and think of the fullness of my life, with generous friends and family so abundant.

Old Age Day by Day December 24, 2010

I've already made cauliflower soup and am about to tackle popovers, before I put the pot roast in the oven. It's another beautiful day, and I look forward to friends and family being here this evening. This has been a relatively easeful build up to the holiday. I take the stresses more calmly, and gratitude is ever present now. I won't always be here in this world and be doing this, and it feels good to have been so blessed in my life and so lucky. I have good friends, healthy and delightful family and good enough health at this moment in time, and I want to take time to feel it fully and appreciate my life.

And when a friend sends a silly UTube of animals singing Deck the Halls, well, it's icing on the cake. I'm going through changes and aging, but I'm not doing it alone. My husband sang Some Enchanted Evening to me as I was stirring soup this morning, and it doesn't get any better than that. Fun, laughter, and food. May all of you get a generous helping of each.

Old Age Day by Day December 23, 2010

It's a gorgeous sunny day today, and I'm hoping to make the most of it. But I have a lingering sadness because of the horses and ponies in Ireland. I had seen an article in the online New York Times, and today it was in the local paper as well. With the economic downturn in Ireland, people are abandoning their horses and letting them out to roam and starve and die. Every time I think about the poor creatures I feel so sad. They have done nothing but love their owners, and now they are sick and dying.

I'm going to try to find out how to help them. There must be a group that is aiding them, as there was one picture of people carrying a minature horse in a blanket to get medical help. I'm worried in general about Ireland, and in particular my relatives there around Dublin and Cork, and now, somehow, all that grief is being channeled for me into these horses. Bankers and brokers play games of risk, and sentient beings pay the price. It is cruel and unfair and unjust. We suffer for the addictions and compulsions of people without moral conscience.

I hope Obama can get some real reforms to rein in these wild animals, so that the innocent animals of the world will not die in the name of capitalism/gambling. I think we should all write a letter to him. And then find an organization which will aid these horses before it's too late.

Old Age Day by Day December 22, 2010

I had a lovely day yesterday. I had brunch at my friend's house, just the two of us, and though we didn't intend it, we talked about the past year and changes in our lives and practices. It put a gentle perspective and overview of what is so subtle that I often forget to notice. We thought our relationships had eased in a good way, we saw our efforts bearing fruit. And we gifted each other with a special book. As well as being Buddhist swim buddies, we are reading buddies, and art buddies.

Then, in the afternoon my younger daughter and I saw "The King's Speech", which was equally gentle and touching, with complex human beings on view , and without judgment. We saw a movie worth seeing, for a change, and felt elevated afterward.

Well, to continue the gentle theme, my husband and I watched "Miracle on 34th Street", just to get in the holiday mood, and the kindliness of Edmund Gwenn, as Santa, was worth watching and emulating. He could see beyond what people said straight into their hearts. I believe in that kind of wisdom, and I know a few people who practice it.

So, all in all, a good day, and today the sun is out after a night of rain, and I'm lucky I can feel the positive effects of the season.

Old Age Day by Day December 21, 2010

Yesterday I had a chauffeur! My husband offered to drive me around to do my errands, and I accepted. I went to the bank, to the post office to buy stamps, to drop off presents at various houses, to buy blank CDs and DVDs, and he patiently waited in the car each time. It wasn't necessary, which made it a luxury. Today I'm meeting with a dear friend for brunch and then going to a movie with my daughter. I love this part of the holidays - the visiting and doing things with friends and family.

This is the shortest day of the year, which means the days will be getting longer! I hold fast to that idea, and it gives comfort during the overcast and rain. I don't know how light sensitive I am, but it affects me as much as the next person, at the least. I look forward to a time when I don't have the impulse to go to bed at six pm, and to eat fat, and hibernate. Right now, the pies and cakes and baked goods are mighty tempting, and I sublimate with grapes and clementines and too many nuts. I'm sick of my squirrel persona, and am ready for my swimming fish splashing in the sea guise. It can't come a moment too soon, if I'm to continue to fit into my jeans.

Old Age Day by Day December 29, 2010

Tonight is a total eclipse of the moon around midnight. I'm a realist, and know I can't possibly stay up that late, but I'm thinking of going to bed, setting the alarm for two hours later and witnessing it. It will be on the Solstice, which seems full of import.

What I should worry about is the symbolism of the basement flooding yesterday, and the age of our house, and the rain predicted for the rest of this week. Mud, retaining walls, roots entwined in pipelines - these are few of my least favorite things.

But I have an almost unbearable lightness of being - why? - because I've wrapped all the presents! I now know what goes to whom and though I'll forget, I believe I've chosen wisely. Later today, I'll drop them off at my various friends' houses, and my teeny tiny world will be organized once again. Okay, it's never that organized, but there is a comforting illusion of order, despite the fact that we decided not to send a gift to my sister-in-law, and she surprised us by sending a lovely box of fruit, so now, the internet search begins. Every holiday, one person bestows an unexpected gift, and I scramble to reciprocate. Surprise is always waiting to see if I'm on my toes.

For today, I have the luxury of looking through cookbooks for an exotic soup for Christmas eve, and wondering how many popovers I can make, and the time required. Such ruminations are soothing, in an often chaotic season.

Old Age Day by Day December 17, 2010

It's practically a blizzard outside - it feels like sleet. I went to the school where my daughter teaches to see the children's holiday program, and it was sweet, but it was super cold inside. Luckily, I'm cooking a ton of chicken wings today, so that should warm up the kitchen, at least. We never have this kind of cold and are unprepared, to say the least!

I suppose this is the winter atmosphere we normally lack, but I'd just as soon skip it. I've got to find my gloves, if this keeps up. Next thing you know, I'll be buying snowshoes. Well, it makes the season a bit more dramatic and surprising, and throws us off just enough to get a little fun out of it. Many a joke will come from this, and since no one with any authority seems to take climate change seriously, all we can do is laugh. But there is an edge underneath. While people deny the truth about our planet, they cause suffering. If I'm feeling cold, I can only imagine what the folks in the rest of the country are feeling.

Old Age Day by Day December 16, 2010

More shopping for the party today, and then a matinee with my foster granddaughter, and dinner out. This will mean grilled cheese, cheese quesadilla or cheese and bean and rice burrito. I personally know of no other entrees she willingly eats. Oh, wait, there is chicken noodle soup, but we can't order it out because it has to be like in the soup can. Her beverage of choice is lemonade with apple juice a possible alternative, and when she wants to go wild, chocolate milk. Dessert? Ice cream, of course, only it must be vanilla. Last week she had vanilla gelato with caramel and ate the whole thing, so her tastes are broadening considerably.

She is a neat eater, and never spills, and is a great conversationalist, but if the talk does drag, we color. I find it very therapeutic. I notice my pressure on myself to color inside the lines and make the trees green and apples red. But I let myself be swayed by my granddaughter, who feels unconstrained by conventions, and produces much more imaginative and lovely art works.

In short (not a pun), she is sheer delight to be with, and amuses me endlessly. I hope I prove interesting enough for her, and must sparkle a bit (sorry, Jane Austen) tonight.

Old Age Day by Day December 15, 2010

I have to go to the store today to get sodas, beer,wine, and all the party paraphenalia for Saturday. Today is a good day to die. I have my power and my shield, and I can do this thing, I know I can. Stick to the basics - don't be looking a ornaments or stollen or fancy serving plates. Eyes to my list, I will fear no evil, and spend only what is necessary and essential.

Then, next big hurdle, is to lug it all up the front steps and into the house. At great risk to hip and knee, I will do this appointed task. It is not raining today, so the gods have spoken. Today is THE DAY.

And afterward, collapsed on my bed, I will read something light and funny and without intellectual content. The dogs will comfort me. And by Sunday, it will all be gone, but I will have feted my friends and will be happily thinking of conversations and laughter. It's worth it. Definitely.

Old Age Day by Day December 14, 2010

Tomorrow is my son-in-law's birthday. I'm afraid he gets lost in the holiday shuffle. He's a mature man in his forties, but still, it's an important marker and celebration of a life. One of my dear friend's son has a December 25 birthday, and they used to have the party in the spring or even summer, so the event got some attention. I'm a believer in birthdays. As a child, I was in May Day celebrations at our school (K - 12), and my favorite year I played the Mad Hatter and my friend was the March Hare. So I love unbirthdays, too. I still have a top hat with birthday candles on it that I wear for my granddaughter sometimes.

Christmas is about birth, and how magical and profound it feels to us. This year at my party there will be a small baby, and I love the joy of that. If we just forget all the stuff, and concentrate on the surprising, amazing fact of life, that's enough to party til dawn. (I'm a big talker, my party begins at 6 and is over well before midnight, but I'm a geezer now)

So I will phone my son-in-law two states away and hope he gets a moment to reflect and share with his wife and young daughter, despite their impending trip, the packing, the grading of papers, the cat food situation, the last minute gifts for Christmas. Because he's still somebody's special baby, as the song goes, and his existence sheds light on those around him.

Old Age Day by Day December 13, 2010

I drove to a nursery this morning after getting my temporary crown put in my mouth, and bought garlands and a few little decorations for the front door and around. Looking at all the ornaments and trees is pretty magical and soothing, even for someone of my advanced years. And my chorus concert is over, and though I made a few mistakes, I believe none were noticeable. We had a magnificent potluck afterward, and though I don't eat sugar, I sat nearby and gazed lovingly at brownie bites, lemon cookies, ice cream and other delights. We were lovers forbidden to kiss.

So I'm getting with the holiday spirit, and looking forward to the big days and little cozy moments. My hands smell of cedar from the garlands, there are visions of sugarplums dancing in my head, and the shiny, slightly loopy goofiness of the season is upon me. And I haven't had a single eggnog.

Old Age Day by Day December 12, 2010

I'm in an irritated mood. I feel prickly and have the urge to hiss like a cat. I hope this cloud formation passes soon, but right now it's raining on top of my brain. I have already been hard at work, making lentil soup for the potluck after our concert, decorating in bits and pieces throughout the house, practicing our songs, which I no longer love at this exact moment. I hope some enthusiasm sets in by showtime. I'll tell you something, too, I hate to dress up, to feel obligated to be a bit dressy and figure out what earrings to wear and what do do with my hair. I don't improve upon effort.

My undone tasks are calling me, and they all seem dreadful right now. Maybe a big sense of relief will flood me when this concert is over, and the potluck, and I can just go home and get messy and listen to Christmas carols. Maybe.

I just glanced over at a pile of sewing on the table, and had an urge to make the bird ornaments I've cut out. That is what I would really like to be doing today. I'd rather make a bird than sing like one.

Old Age Day by Day December 11, 2010

My daughter and I saw the Disney movie Tangled yesterday afternoon. You'd think, after teaching 1st and 2nd graders all week she'd want an R rated film at least, but we both are suckers for the preschool cine. It wasn't great, like Beauty and the Beast or Mulan, but it was engaging. The 3D is fun. I preferred Princess and the Frog, because the music was better and there was more of it, but there are a couple of songs in Tangled that are delightful. The hero looks like Aladdin and Prince Naveen mixed with Adrien Brody - very strange. And Rapunzel is the Barbie doll one inch waisted, Keene eyed girl who resembles Speilberg's space aliens. Belle looked sort of real and had expressions, but this gal looks like she went through a spaghetti stretcher and her eyes popped out. Very creepy.

Oh, well, I'm the old lady who has Lady and the Tramp and Robin Hood in her heart. The new look is anorexia plus drug overdose.

Then we came home with tacos and found my husband watching Ladyhawke, and we settled in to see a truly satisfying movie. No special effects, but magic through and through.

See what a geezer I have become? I don't have an IPad either, and you know I can't get my photos out of IPhoto into an email. But - tah dah - I did send a song attachment to another human being yesterday, so all is not lost. He received it, and now it is translated into English, and I know what I'm singing. I love the lyrics, too. There is always hope.

Old Age Day by Day December 10, 2010

I'm so tired - last night's dress rehearsal wasn't over until ten, and my feet hurt and I was hungry, and though I went right to sleep, I woke up in the middle of the night to worry myself silly about my vocal mistakes and all the instructions flooded me with doubt. Should I just lip sinc and thereby save the chorus? This morning reason has returned, and I am just going about my tasks and whatever will be will be. My mother was extremely fond of Doris Day, and the song she sang in The Man Who Knew Too Much, Hitchcock's remake of his own earlier film (Que sera, sera). My mom looked a bit like Doris Day, with the same figure and smile, and she brainwashed me into humming "Once I Had a Secret Love" throughout childhood. I still, I must admit, love the movie the song is in - Calamity Jane. My Mom was persuasive.

Now, both Mom and Dad were severely tone deaf. Flanked by them in church, my brother and I would get the giggles, and I'm pretty certain nearby pews were equally amused. The upside of such torture is I can sing on tune next to almost anyone's vocal catastrophe without losing pitch. The bad part is I still feel like the giggles are about to erupt, and I have to make my body rigid to avoid humiliation. Last night my tenor buddy, a guy about my younger son's age, was off key during a song I know he has mastered - and I kept wanting to shout-sing over his too low third line. I mentally was lifting him up by the shoulders like a male ballet dancer lifting his partner - but it didn't work. Drowning him out was not an option. We've been warned about that. So, distracted and thinking waaay too much, I went down with the ship - better we were both off together, I felt, kind of like the Titanic. Nearer My God to Thee would have been a better tune at that point.

With a bit of luck, we'll be fine Sunday at the actual concert. And if we mess up, so what? Except, except: no giggling. My stellar career will be over if I think of my parents. Don't think, don't think, don't think.

Old Ae Day by Day December 8, 2010

I haven't walked the dogs - it's raining - and it's so gloomy in my study that I turned on all the lights and put on a Magnetic Fields CD. They always cheer me up, but I don't know about the dogs; they seem unresponsive. After a long history of playing classical music when I leave them, they do not seem to have developed any musical discrimination whatsoever. Mozart or Joni Mitchell, it's all the same to them. I have a busy day, and it's interesting to notice how I get irritated when I can't do my schedule exactly as planned. I can't walk the dogs at 8:30 am today, so it will have to be much later, as I am sewing with a friend at her house at 9:30. Changes. Even the little ones disturb, and yet, my life is made up of changes, mostly small adjustments unnoticable to others, book marked by huge shifts that get all the attention.

I'd like to say I've evolved to the point where gratitude comes up instantly as a counter to irritation, but it doesn't. I notice how petty my pathetic concerns are, and sometimes can laugh at myself, but a sudden nobility of nature has not overtaken my boring, basic patterns as of yet.

Patience. Gratitude, when it comes is welcome. Humor saves the day. And then the rain and the change of schedule - piece of cake! I'm reminded of the signs seen frequently in India - DEVIATION AHEAD. I'm on that road, but I can still enjoy the view, and my common humanity with others on a path, but with hairline detours that the mind makes, before she continues on down the road.

Old Age Day by Day December 7, 2010

I had breakfast out with a friend, and it felt luxurious and festive. She bought a lipstick, I bought some moisterizer, we oohed and aahed over things in Anthropologie, and now, in a few minutes I have to go have a temporary crown put it my mouth. The good, the bad and the ugly. Oh, well. Tonight I am making meatballs and spaghetti, and I do love the meal, ever since Lady and the Tramp. I'm not much for pasta, but spaghetti is an exception. Watching my granddaughter eat it with both hands has reminded me of the deleriously delightful worminess of spaghetti, and the spongy springiness of meatballs. Add salad and garlic bread - I rest my case.

But if I lose this temporary crown in this busy month of December, I am going to be very, very angry. The dental technician talked me into this, it is not really necessary this moment - but yes, the old crown is a mess, and she forced me to be reasonable. I hate that. I don't want to get my blood test for my thyroid either, because I just want to not think about my health for a while. A little break. Pick up the threads in January. But I'll probably break down and get the test, too, because it's reasonable as well. I just hate being reasonable.

Old Age Day by Day December 6, 2010

I saw the movie Fair Game on Saturday, by myself, and was disappointed. I was clearer afterward about Valerie Plame and what the events were that caused her outing by Karl Rove and others, but there was something about the whole movie that left a bad taste in my mouth. The fact that she offered herself up to the CIA out of college and wasn't even recruited, the knowledge she had young children and they seemed shuffled around without being anyone's first priority, the righteousness of her husband, her fear of retaliation, all seemed disturbing and slightly inauthentic. Her fear for informants and people in the field was the most moving part of the movie. I don't know if I'd recommend this movie. It seems like reading an extensive book about it would be more informative and maybe even more illuminating. The movie tries too hard to be All The President's Men, and somehow it isn't as persuasive.

But perhaps I am callous about all the breaches of ethics in the Bush administration at this time. There were so many, and they all add up to lying to the American people and the world in order to carry out actions for reasons other than those stated. So this movie, a kind of defense of the CIA, rings hollow, at least to me. I don't think anyone was on the people's side, and especially not the CIA.

And - news flash - many of us knew at the time that none of the stated reasons for going into Iraq were persuasive. We knew there was not enough evidence from enough sources to take such an action. We marched. We wrote letters to our congresspeople. So this is not a shocker to a lot of people who will go to this movie; the skeptical kind of viewer who already knows that happened, at least the big picture. The people who might benefit from seeing it will not go. And maybe that is for the best, as I can't imagine this movie changing anybody's mind about anything. But Naomi Watts sure is cute.

Old Age Day by Day December 5, 2010

Well, our holiday party invites are out and the online shopping done. It's beginning to feel a lot like Christmas. Especially since the weather is about as Christmasy as it gets. It's only fit to go out for movies. I've got to find one I want to see today. And they didn't have the sweater in my size I wanted online, so my husband and I will have to look in an actual store. Luckily, it's a little store and nearby, so if I find something, he's taken care of me for Christmas.

What I love to do is make gifts, so I have a picture of a bird mobile I'm going to attempt to replicate, and need to go to a fabric store tomorrow. And if I finish the quilt tablecloths I began last summer, that will be some homemade stuff. I also have been knitting in a frenzy whenever I watch a DVD, and it's adding up. Nobody needs these things I make, but it feels like one of the truer parts of the holiday for me.

But my party is the heart of the matter, because I get to feed my friends and see them and wish them well. I like the connections that occur over the season.

Old Age Day by Day December 4, 2010

Yesterday I tried to make a quiet day - no driving. Luckily, my daughter drove us for a bit of shopping, and that was fun. New lipstick is an amazing morale booster. It ought to be part of everyone's health regimen. I order some things online, tried to find Christmas stamps at yet another post office, and laid my Christmas cards out on the dining room table - symbol that I am getting cracking at this holiday thing big time. And - tah dah - I picked the date for my holiday party. Now if I can just get the actual invitations out!

I am a firm believer in several tasks a day until Christmas Eve is here. Bite the bullet, then go do something else. The biggest tasks are getting and decorating the tree, and getting ready for the party and cooking. Those require the whole day, and advance forays into the insane world of holiday shoppers. The driving at this time of year is scary, really, really scary. People do very strange maneuvers, and a parking space becomes a recipe for terror. People who are nice the rest of the year turn naughty, very naughty, and I hope Santa sees them.

This is the season of rage, and you get to witness it in yourself and others. It is not a pretty picture. I do a lot of long breath breathing and try to notice the anger as it arises and falls away. The rest of the year I like to pretend I'm calm, but this season all the volcanic underbelly bubbles up and I see my darker self, suppressed, perhaps, but not vanquished. But constantly doing the gratitude practice aids me in behaving better than I might otherwise. I have a mantra when shopping - I have all the time in the world, let others push in front, who cares? Remember there is instant cocoa at home and my new gadget that steams milk, so I can have a frothy, calming hot drink when I get back.

Equanimity, here I come!

Old Age Day by Day December 3, 2010

Yesterday was not my best day. I witnessed an accident in the morning, and if I'd not been reticent moving into the intersection after the light turned green, I would have been hit by the speeding huge white van instead of the poor guy to my right who turned left and got smashed. It threw me into a surreal state, which made my voice lesson difficult, and had me worrying the rest of the day. I wondered if I should have stopped, despite the police car being right there, and if the people in the cars had been hurt. You never know.

Then, getting in the car to go to chorus last night, I backed up into my own garage door. I'd neglected to open it. I was ready to quit at that point, but knew it was the last rehearsal before dress rehearsal, and I should be there, so I drove over, and took great care choosing a parking place where I thought I wouldn't be hit by another car backing out. I was jumpy, very jumpy.

I guess I was destined yesterday to have a car mishap, and luckily, I had the lesser one. Life can be just too weird some days.

Old Age Day by Day December 1, 2010

I still feel like I'm in motion, after a two day drive back from visiting our daughter and her family for Thanksgiving. It's good to get away - it's good to get back. I don't have the dogs picked up from the kennel yet, so I went out early this morning to get groceries, and discovered I was too early for either store! It was weird. I took a little walk, sat on a bench in the sun, and finally was able to buy what I needed. Today, being the beginning of December, means the roller coaster ride to Christmas has begun. Before that event are two birthdays in our family and my holiday party, and somewhere in there sending Holiday cards. Okay, I can do this. I've done it quite a few times. I even like doing it. That's how crazy I am.

Our Thanksgiving was delightful, with a two year old setting the standard for joy, all four of our kids together and both spouses, as well as my best friend and her sister. Every bit of food was yummy, all three kinds of pie. We had leftovers two days later and that was a scrumptious dinner as well. We went with our granddaughter and daughter and son-in-law to see the lights at the zoo at night, which was magical. I feel so blessed with my family, and the sense of loss I used to feel with everyone dead in the generation above me has dissipated in the growth of our kids' signifigant others and our grandchild. The family feels full again. I truly enjoy being with them all and I really have fun.

Old Age Day by Day November 22, 2010

This is the last day before our week long trip, and I have all those details stirring around in my head like the sugarplums the night before Christmas. It's going to be really cold, so I've been hunting up clothing, and searching for batteries for flashlights, and we spent yesterday at lunch wondering whether we should buy chains for the car. So, of course, last night I woke up in the wee hours and could not get back to sleep. When I finally did I had a nightmare. Why does it seem there are so many things to do to get away? Because there are.

My guilt about leaving the dogs is warring with my excitement at seeing our granddaughter and being with the whole family. I bounce from wondering if I should bring another book for her, to wanting to be sure the dogs have walks at the kennel. I'm a yoyo with the string wound too tight or all tangled up.

When we get on the road, I'll settle down, because I'll have done all I can, and what has been forgotten was not really important, and most things can be fixed by a stop at Walgreens. And I'll be sleepy on the ride, and curious about the landscape and grateful for the goodness of my kids and their generosity.

But for now, I'm a wind up toy bumping into walls.

Old Age Day by Day November 21, 2010

Early evening yesterday a stupendous thunderstorm hit our area with much lightening, thunder, buckets of rain, and generally all the drama of grand opera. I was in a small cottage with other chorus members trying to rehearse when it hit. I felt frightened and vulnerable, and trapped. There were windows all around and the floor was vibrating. I used to live in Colorado, but it's been a long time, and my nerves were not prepared. Then I drove a chorus member home, and accidentally ended up on the freeway, whereupon I promptly hit a wall of water in my lane. Thankfully, the car plowed through, but I knew I had no control. Powerless. Another little reminder.

Then it cleared up, we went to a nearby cafe for dinner, and I calmed down. Okay, I had one glass of prosecco, which helped. It was cosy and warm in the restaurant, I was surrounded by other people, and life went on. Except that shakiness has lingered a bit. My body is on a a high alert. I can feel it.

We're about to take a trip to our daughter's house for Thanksgiving, and there may be rain and snow, and though I don't have to be body searched, it is a lot of driving and unknowns. Somehow last night made the risk palpable, and I am reminded to be careful and aware on our trip. I can see why ancient peoples saw such storms as signs from the gods. Without strong shelter, electricity and news, the whole experience would have symbolized something vast. Maybe it still does. I know the earth is suffering from our abuse of the planet, and such fierce weather is likely to become more the norm. It's almost as if Mother Nature is very, very angry.

And when she is, we are still often helpless. We can turn on the weather, but we can't shut it off.

Old Age Day by Day November 19, 2010

I stayed after rehearsal last night with some others to practice more, as our director was unhappy with our progress on the songs. I worked hard, and my back is bothering me today, and in a way, if I leave my ego out of it, I don't really care about our performance at all. I just love learning songs that I can sing to myself or my granddaughter. I like the process, not the product. I also am too old to worry about what the director thinks of me. By my own standards, I've learned a lot, sound good most of the time, and am off book for all but one Spanish song. I love practicing with the recording on my computer, and I adore the people in the chorus. That's it for me.

The director has to worry about how she looks as director of us. She feels she will be mortified. Then she should cancel the concert and wait until June, when we will have mastered the songs. We are grown ups, we can take it. But I think she is afraid of losing some chorus members or us not getting "our money's worth". She's torn, and disappointed and maybe even angry. These are her problems, not mine.

My job is right effort towards the concert, and yet, for me, the middle way in all things. I am not clinging to the concert, with nebulous expectations. I am in the present, grateful for learning these songs, the camraderie of the chorus members, the passion of the director, the daily pleasure of practicing and singing. In our culture, that is a bad attitude, but in my life, it leads to equanimity.

Old Age Day by Day November 18, 2010

My daughter informed me of a wonderful, delightful thing yesterday - one of our oldies but goodies radio stations has begun with the Christmas music. Let the season begin! I may have trouble with the decorations before Halloween, and the forty seven catalogues in my mailbox each day, but I can never get enough of Christmas carols. I drive my husband insane, and thus, often, the wise thing to do is listen in the car when I'm by myself. This prevents my husband from committing an act it might regret or be severely punished for.

Now, when I go out into the world seeking groceries or stamps or dog food, I can cheer myself up and belt out songs to my heart's content. And no CD's necessary (I am of the generation where putting in a CD while driving is a terrorizing act to the roadways). Yes, I could plug in an IPod, but only if I possessed one.

So Joy to the World, and you better not pout or Santa's going to find out who's naughty or nice.

Old Age Day by Day November 17, 2010

Well, another huge distraction from the economy and the war in Afganistan - Prince William is getting married! Now, for the rest of my life, there will be news flashes at the checkout counters, covers of Kate for eternity, an industry arising to analyze her every move and look. It wasn't just Princess Diana who was hounded, so were we all. And it's a teensy tiny bit difficult to be happy for her. Him, maybe, he's got an ally and a female presence he has been missing. But her? What a deadly life! It's like life in prison without parole.

Oh, well, there are benefits, if one likes attention and expensive babbles. I don't, so I can't see the sunny side.

And she will never be able to do what Greta Garbo did, just leave it all. They would hunt her down. It's a different era now, with no pretense at respecting privacy. We're all over exposed, and have no secrets. Not protecting each other leads to an inability to protect ourselves. We are in a culture that does not teach us we have a right to say no. Invasion of the body snatchers has already happened, but just as in the movies, nobody has noticed, and nobody can fight it.

Old Age Day by Day November 16, 2010

One of our dogs is in an inner tube. She looks like a dog about to go for a swim, but with a disgusted expression on her face. We now think she got sap on her butt, which caused chewing, which caused bleeding, which caused scabs, and, since she was about to bury herself in the back yard, I raced out and found this tube thing at a pet store, and she's been in it 24/7 for over two weeks. Who knew it took so long for a butt to heal?

The cone was a disaster, because she couldn't get in or out of the car, or up the brick steps in back to our yard, or drink water out of her dish or eat. She looked like Little Bo Peep turning into a werewolf.

I wouldn't call the tube sophisticated, but at least it looks kind of like she's a lifeguard at the beach, except for the lack of sand and water.

Would she restrain herself from chewing if the tube was off? Can a zebra will itself to be a solid color?

So, every time I look at her I feel guilty, she has those eyes, and I also have the urge to laugh. She is not amused.

Old Age Day by Day November 15, 2010

I've been reading a book about Cahokia, the great ancient Native American city around St. Louis, Missouri. It makes me want to visit, and see the ruins and what has been excavated, even though most of the huge mounds have eroded or been removed. It was a site like Teothihuacan outside Mexico City, but during the Eisenhower years freeways and subdivisions were built over a lot of it. Americans think they have to get on a plane to see ancient ruins, but Mesa Verde, Chaco Canyon, Canyon de Chelly, and many other sites are still preserved in the Southwest, due to dryness and lack of aggressive development, as is the case in Egypt I feel there has been subconscious vested interest in not seeing Native peoples here as having anything cultural to offer, because they the guilt of their decimation is lessened.

But we have these treasures in our own backyard, and we often don't respect our own history. History here didn't begin in the 1700's, it began over 10,000 years ago.

Old Age Day by Day November 14, 2010

Well, the Janecek opera last night, The Markopolos Case, was amazing. I was the only one who felt so. My husband, son and his wife were not riveted. It's dark and brooding, and has some big philosophical ideas stirring around. I like that. The music was sublime and the soprano was the whole show. I like that.

It took some of the sting out of my college team losing and the residual effects of seeing the movie Inside Job. Today is another glorious fall day, and I'm going to brunch at a friend's. And seeing an old friend of hers who is visiting.

My husband is having such back problems, and I feel so helpless. He's frustrated as only a man who's been super healthy all his life can be. He sees himself in pain for the rest of his life. He can't get past what is so right now, yet, in this case, some distracting thinking could remind him things change. I haven't experienced the pain he is, unless I count childbirth, and that has an end that helps you through to the other side. I'm his witness, and his sounding board, but I can't physically ease him.

So there is this balance in my body right now - somebody I love is suffering, but I myself am fine. How to be grateful for my own good day, without being insensitive to my partner, who is having a very bad day. Ah, the challenges of marriage!

Old Age Day by Day November 13, 2010

I saw Inside Job, the documentary about the housing bubble crash, and it was scarier than any horror movie. I went with my friend and her brother, who is visiting, and we had a great time, with my husband joining us for dinner. It's exciting to meet someone I've heard so much about for many years. And the dinner eased away the feelings that arose in me from the movie, until my husband later asked me if the film had upset me, and I realized the movie had dampened my mood, and I'd had a bit of a struggle to chat and socialize. Most of the information I already knew, so I think it was really about seeing these people interviewed and watching their utter lack of guilt or sense of responsibility.

The new part for me was how academics supplement their salaries with consulting fees from financial institutions, and then consult our government - without any awareness that they have a huge conflict of interest and ethical responsibilities to the people they teach and advise. It is horrific. So economics seems to be the study of how to accumulate wealth at the expense of whomever gets in the way. There is no morality. They are in fact insistent that there is no conflict.

But most depressing of all is that Obama's advisors are all the same people who declined to admit there was a crash coming, and reassured the American people that all was secure. They should all be in jail, but instead, they are at the helm of the current administration as well. In some third world countries, they might actually have been prosecuted, but not here. Here they are lionized and paid enormous sums of money for past failures. And we are ruining the lives of people in other countries by our recklessness. I am so ashamed.

Let's face it, this is gambling, these people are addicted, and they do nothing but harm, because our country has no restrictions on their behavior. And there are no consequences for them, just for us.

Old Age Day by Day November 12, 2010

My friend who has been on a trip for three weeks returned and we had a good old talk on the phone yesterday. We could have gone on forever, except I had chorus rehearsal. How lucky I am to have friends who still like to actually talk to me instead of reading Facebook, or emailing. I'm a dinosaur, but with other dinos around me.

I hope to meet another dinosaur's brother today. He's visiting and I've never met him. I'm looking forward to it.

And tomorrow is our last opera. Lots of lovely anticipation, and, in the meantime, a beautiful day and lots of choices for how to spend it. What could be better?

Old Age Day by Day November 11, 2010

Baby, it's cold outside! Beautiful sun, but I'm all sweatered up. My Spanish class is freezing, and I wore my coat the whole time last night. The classroom is actually colder than outside. But luckily, I was distracted a bit by attempting to learn the numbers. We played bingo the last half hour, so the next stop is undoubtedly whatever Mexico's equivalent to Las Vegas is. Counting money is muy importante in any country, to be sure. I once passed up a lovely pair of shoes in Rome because I thought they cost thousands of dollars. When I returned home and figured it out it was about forty dollars. So knowing numbers is crucial to the shopping and eating experience.

Our teacher taught us a little song about numbers, one he teaches to preschoolers, which is about our level. It's amazing how singing something you need to learn makes it delightful, when reciting it in prose would be deadly. I'll never forget Danny Kaye singing "Inch Worm" in the movie Hans Christian Anderson (how could I forget it, I own the movie and watch it at least once a year). Two and two are four, four and four are eight, eight and eight are sixteen, sixteen and sixteen are thirty two. Inch Worm, Inch Worm, measuring the marigolds, you and your arithmetic will probably go far.

I wanted to sing one of my Spanish songs for the teacher last night, but there wasn't time. Next week. Maybe I can fit all the words into the rhythm by then. Right now, I skip a few, as my tongue won't wrap itself around some words quickly enough. And then there are the Rs. That's never going to happen. I'm too old a dog to teach that new trick. Woof!

Old Age Day by Day November 10, 2010

Today is the 25th anniversary of my mother's death. She was younger than I am now when she died. She was a complicated mix of wounded child and responsible adult. She was brave about the many things she feared. She conquered cancer twice. Both times the doctors said she wouldn't survive. She smoked and drank and abused her body in that way a lot of people did in her era and by the time she knew they were bad for her, she couldn't stop. She was funny and kind, yet a gossip and judgmental. She had a big heart, and a soft spot for other people's suffering. She had trouble when visiting India, because of the poverty and people on the streets. She had lived that kind of poverty herself. She had no education, but many friends with degrees and charmed lives. There was something genuine about her that people were drawn to. She could do anything with her hands: paint, draw, sew, crochet, knit, needlepoint, upolster, arrange flowers and furniture. She looked like a millon dollars in her suits and cocktail dresses she made herself.

She loved a boy and he died in the war, then she married my Dad at nineteen, and they fought and worked side by side until she died. She never had a life of her own. She had worked up until she married, but never again. For her work meant a factory with cotton dust in her lungs and long hours with no holidays. Her beloved sister got trapped in that work for fifty years, then retired without a pension.

She loved us unconditionally - she used to say she'd love us even if we were murderers. That was a strange thing to say, but she meant it. When she got cancer the first time, she later told me, she decided she was not going to die because we were eleven and fourteen. And she didn't. She was written up in medical journals. She fought to be there for us. But she lost something in the fight - part of her heart, maybe some damage (it was a brain tumor and she had to have surgery, as well as radiation and chemo) that didn't heal - and she was often not her vivacious self afterward. Depression knocked her for a loop, and nobody addressed it. She got nasty when she was drunk, and her words were deeply wounding so we backed off, and in a way she lost my brother and me.

I remember her as a woman defined by her attachments to so many people. Her huge family, her countless friends, the younger people she mentored. She was at her worst with her children, often, and her best with her grandchildren. I wish she'd lived to see them grow up.

Old Age Day by Day November 9, 2010

I like seeing Obama in India. He looks relaxed and happier. He did live in Indonesia a couple of years, and maybe he is more comfortable in a sea of brown faces. India is young (the population, I mean) and on it's way up in economic power and prosperity, and so is Obama. His mother loved seeing and living in other cultures, and he thrives there too. He's a global kind of guy.

I wish more Americans had the opportunity to see other cultures, and get beyond bathrooms and modern conveniences, to experience what these places have to offer. The richness of their cultures and the amazing architecture force the mind to detach a bit from our consumer driven culture. The people are often open and friendly, and they are curious. Why aren't we curious?

How many Americans have even been to Mexico or Canada? Yes, we have a vast country, with many glorious places to visit, but we need to look beyond our own KFCs and TV Channels and listen to the music and language of our neighbors. We tend to insularity, and that impulse is a force for stagnation and rigid thinking. Other people of the world have things to teach us. Things that may turn out to be necessary for our continued survival, but certainly are essential to our well being.

Old Age Day by Day November 8, 2010

I had a good weekend. On Saturday we saw a sublime performance of Alfano's Cyrano de Bergerac, with Placido Domingo in the lead. It was perfectly cast, the voices were gorgeous, as were the sets costumes, orchestra, the whole shebang. I wept buckets in the final scene. Rostand's play has more to say that I used to think, and acted well, it sings with complexity. Alfano's music was complex as well - modern and dissonant yet melodic and passionate. Very interesting.

Then we had dinner with our older son and his wife, and that was delightful. We hadn't seen him in a year. But it felt like a day, as we, as usual, had plenty to talk about.

Then yesterday my friend and I saw a touching, lovely documentary - Tibet in Song - that was educational, beautiful to listen to, and riveting with the story of a Tibetan man living in India who goes back to Tibet to record folk songs and is imprisoned for it. I'd so love to have the soundtrack.

Then the dogs and I watched a DVD of Carole King and James Taylor at the Troubador. It was an exceptionally musical weekend. And this morning, when I was walking the dogs, I found I could sing all of one of the Spanish songs from my chorus without score or words. Yeah!

Old Age Day by Day November 6, 2010

I received the good news this morning that a friend's surgery went well. Until I know, there is this buzz in the back of my head. A little worry theme that accompanies whatever else I am doing. And how my mood has lightened by the reassurances, and my breath airier. At my age, there is a lot of this sort of thing. Many friends struggle with health issues and tests where the results are awaited with fear and hope. I don't think it gets easier, but it is now a familiar world - this world of loss and pain and fear. Every day I am grateful for health. It's what I pray for most with those I love and those I don't even know. With health, all other problems can be tackled. Without it, the challenge becomes in striving for it, or some semblance of it.

Loss of a sense of control has given me a sense of the gift of health. The pleasure of walking, bending, lifting, using my hands. Last night I was knitting as we watched a pretty awful movie, and suddenly I noticed my hands didn't hurt and I could knit without a break. Gratitude washed over me ( though I was more thankful when the movie ended). It's wonderful. My hands work. They were never pretty, just short and stubby fingers, a child's hands, but they do a good job of work, even now.

And my eyes are still fighting the good fight despite a degenerative eye disease. Thanks my body, thanks for your Rocky like determination.

Old Age Day by Day November 5, 2010

I've already had a brisk walk with one friend, and am about to have tea with another, and lunch with a third. How fortunate am I? Yes, I know girls can be mean, but my women friends have been the rock upon which my life has been built. And when a friend and I drifted apart, it was usually mutual, or a gentle disentanglement from an unhealthy situation. Sometimes we remind others of a person they have difficulty with, and that plays out and then we realize it (through therapy or gradual insight) and we disengage. I used to hang onto friends out of loyalty - whether they were good for me or not. I treat myself better now. I apply the scale. On balance - is this relationship good for me or miserable? With long time friends, I tend to tuck in, roll with the punches and wait it out. Newer people, I make decisions. I trust my feelings more.

But the biggest change is being kinder to myself; being my own advocate. I have decided (fanfare) that not everyone has to like me. I don't need to twist into a pretzel to be entertaining, more loyal, more thoughtful, more wonderful. I can just be who I am. And if it's a one way street in their direction, I quit. I need some energy thrown my way. I've relaxed so much from not needing all that "love" that isn't genuine because I'm not genuine. I laugh more. I don't get my knickers in a twist.

I'm quite a pill to swallow. If it feels good going down, fine. If it doesn't spit me out. I'm waterproof now.

Old Age Day by Day November 4, 2010

We are going to the opera Saturday to see Cyrano, with Placido Domingo. I've seen him before, and he's magnetic and has a gorgeous voice. It may not be the same now he's in his seventies, but he gets all my empathy. I actually love the story so much. I was a great one for Hugo and Dumas and the romantic French melodramas as a teenager, and I adore Cyrano. I identified with him completely. I, too, felt not conventionally pretty enough to attract the beautiful people, despite being funny and smart. I knew early on looks got you farther. And I had the fatal irony Cyrano represents: I was as superficial as the people I ridiculed, for I was attracted to the gorgeous ones as well. The silent guy with knockout eyes. I imagined him with depths of feeling and smoldering intelligence. Probably he had nothing interesting to say. So here were a bunch of us having crushes on others, and we should have turned to each other and taken a good look, a long look, but we were part of the culture. At about seventeen, I started to get it - that probably some pretty interesting guys were hiding behind acne. I began talking to one in chorus, and he was funny and satiric and opinionated about everything. I was, too. I asked him to the holiday dance at school, and we went steady for the spring semester. By the time I left for college, even handsome guys somehow liked me, and I had my pick. Something had changed. Probably the glasses replaced by contact lenses, growing out my thick black hair, the clothing styles, and definitely mascara played a role. So my ugly duckling days were mostly over, and though there was always a sense that a gorgeous guy wouldn't probably want me on his arm, I now knew that narcissism was boring to be around.

Cyrano is a glorious story, but it's a story about adolescence, and clinging to beauty over substance. Cyrano's passion was for a shadow, without substance. That is his lesson to us. Roxanne is vain and not worth the effort.

Old Age Day by Day November 3, 2010

Well, the elections are over. I'm going to focus on the Giants' parade today, though I'm not going, just focusing. With politics, I attempt to take the long view. What goes up must come down, what has been learned must be learned again. Self interested people appear to triumph, but eventually the people they manipulate wake up. Having a sense of humor is essential. Work for what you want, don't gripe about it. Money doesn't necessarily trump experience. Ugly campaign ads often backfire, but not always. In an election year, Thanksgiving seems such a relief - we can remember the cooperation that allowed the Pilgrims to flourish, and the irony that they declined to show their gratitude to the Wampanaogs. NOW we are grateful, now that the saviors are on reservations. Hum. Guess Thanksgiving isn't much of a relief for us Indians.

As usual, California did it's own thing. We ain't white enough to get excited about a party of tea with pretend Indians. We aren't impressed with big bucks - after all, we have Hollywood and the attendant rehabs studded throughout the state. We know money doesn't make you wise or just or generous. Glamour is overrated.

I voted early but not often. I don't pretend to think I helped fix anything. I pray when I want to address that angle.

Old Age Dday by Day November 2, 2010

Well, the Giants won the World Series. Wow. My Dad would have been so excited. All those games at Candlestick wrapped in blankets, drinking hot chocolate, all the morning breakfast table discussion second guessing the manager, all the worship of Mays, McCovey, Cepeda and Marichal. My Dad was built like a baseball player, as is my brother, and he had the heart for it. He loved tennis, but would have adored being a baseball player. These Giants broke our hearts - Renteria alone was a whole novel, and the kid pitchers, the baby catcher (my favorite position always), the manager who said nothing and kept giving his guys a chance, including Burrell right up to the end. It was baseball drama at its best, and I didn't miss a minute of it.

My husband said this morning that he felt lousy, and he hadn't had even a beer last night. Well, emotion wrings you out as good as any alcohol, and I think he's exhausted from watching the game and holding his breath.

Our younger daughter watched with us, and I just want to say, Dad, you got us all hooked, even the one who doesn't remember you (maybe I helped with that, or the older kids). Our hearts belong to baseball.

Old Age Day by Day November 1, 2010

I must say, I love this technology where I can wake up the morning after Halloween and see photos hot off the press of my granddaughter and foster granddaughter in their costumes. They both looked so cute, and I got to share in their delight, even though I didn't see either of them. And the kindness of their mothers to include us makes me proud.

Today is another warm, sunny fall day. It is November now, but I've been watching the world series diligently, so summer feels not yet gone. And tonight I don't have Spanish, so I can watch the next game. Seeing so many young players is fun. There lives are before them, and their bodies and minds are making a dream come true.

It gives me back a bit of my youth, and I'm grateful for it. Not that I want to go back, but I get to relive and remember my own Halloweens, my kids' and the baseball days of summer. Nice.

Old Age Day by Day October 31, 2010

Halloween. I went to a couple of stores at eleven am today and everyone on the street was in costume - adults and kids. It is a delightful holiday. Except for the teeth. As usual, I bought candy I detest, and no chocolate. Even though I don't have sugar, candy in the house would be torture, if it was anything I remotely liked. So I have lollipops, starbursts, boxed weird candies, and licorice. Those won't haunt my dreams at night causing sleepwalking to the kitchen.

I can have 70% cacao chocolate, and I always keep a supply of that on hand for emergency cravings. Popcorn helps, too, but the dental hygenist found a popcorn piece in my mouth Friday (busted!), so I've sworn off it, at least for a few days. I don't want any broken crowns or worse.

Darn. There's just no more fun in eating. Yeah, I love fruit, but does that remotely compare to a Peppermint Patty? I don't think so. Anyway, for those of you with permission to rot your teeth, eat one for the big guy (me).

Old Age Day by Day October 30, 2010

Yesterday was unbelievably gloomy, and today started out better but is glooming up again. A good day to stay inside and read a mystery. Our female dog has a tube around her neck so she won't eat her butt, and she's as deary as the weather. She has that look that says: I can't believe you listened to that dumb vet and are torturing me this way. Of course, since she's completely untrustable, and we needed badly to sleep last night, torture it is. She sure has a stare that can make you feel like going to confession, even if you're not Catholic.

I'm lucky a friend just called and invited us to soup this evening, and she and I are going to a reading after, so I have something to look forward to, and friends to see. I think everyone has the same impulse in the face of such weather - huddle with friends, watch the World Series, eat fat foods. It's hibernation time, at least for the weekend.

Old Age Day by Day October 29, 2010

When I was hiking with my friend on the first day we were away, I noticed my boots were sticky. They had been sticky in the room, but I wasn't too concerned, but as we walked down a dirt road looking at cows and whit elk, it seemed there were a lot of pebbles wedged in in the grid of my soles. When I stopped and lifted my boot to look, and attempted to pry some debris out, the sole came off in chunks. By the time we'd returned to the room, one sole was gone, with just the black part between my sock and the ground, and the other sole was lumpy and peeling. I carefully took them off outside and sat down on the bed to figure out what to do. I couldn't walk ten miles the next day in my Danskos, They haven't the ankle support and the heel can make me wobbly. I put the problem out of my mind and enjoyed the evening, and the next morning, a beautiful morning it was, I said to my friend I was going to buy some boots, so our plan wasn't derailed, if there was any shoe store close. I asked the desk person, and sure enough, five miles away there was a general store that carried some shoes. After breakfast we drove over, I picked two styles, they were out of my size in the first and I bought the second, changed into them in the store, and walked out with the problem solved.

The boots worked great on the hike, which was glorious, and without wasting more than fifteen minutes I have new boots, and the price wasn't even unreasonable. What I'm proud of is not letting the boots upset or spoil my mini-vacation. And not soldiering through with the wrong shoes and my feet hurting. And not giving up on the walk we were looking forward to. And not thinking about it all night. And not feeling sorry for myself or generalizing. Just looking at life's little surprise and rolling with the punches.

This sounds trivial, I know, but for me, it signals a new calmness and fluidity I've worked hard to experience. Hopefully, eventually it will be a skill I can use for the big surprises as well.

Old Age Day by Day October 28, 2010

I had a terrific time away overnight with my friend, and we had a glorious long hike yesterday, even sharing our snack above the ocean with a land gull she named Hugo and I named Alphonso. Then last night I got a cold, probably from my foster granddaughter or daughter, both of whom have been around me with colds. So I'm canceling commitments and trying to head the cold off at the pass. One of our dogs has ear infections and has eaten her butt and is suffering with the cone around her neck. I feel so guilty I can hardly stand it. I may have to take off the cone soon. She just lies there looking disgusted.

So reentry into the everyday world was swift and chaotic, with my husband's back and leg worse and me under the weather. But I have the memories of a great get-away and nothing is dire, just annoying. I watched baseball last night, and that was fun and distracting from any sore throat or runny nose. Today I will make some calls and hope that rest and lots of tea and soup will fix me up. I'll baby myself, as only I know how to do.

Old Age Day by Day October 26, 2010

Last night, in Spanish class, we read "stories" and had more realistic conversations. I hadn't realized we had reached that point, but it is thrilling. Next week, I will be in the INTERMEDIATE class. Wow. Without a struggle I have learned some Spanish. I will not be reading Marquez any time soon, but I can converse on a few subjects. It helps that the teacher is funny and teaches us songs and is unfailingly upbeat and supportive. He never makes us feel stupid. And because he is originally from Mexico we are absorbing quite a bit of Chicano culture. I like that. I was born on the border between U.S. and Mexico, and I have an affinity, you might say, for all things Mexican.

Who knows, next year I may learn Italian, and after that, Irish.

Old Age Day by Day October 25, 2010

Yesterday was a high vegetation day. It was pouring rain, and though we did manage to go to an art museum, otherwise we were reading, watching a very terrible movie or just plain stumbling around in zombie like fashion. Day of the living dead. Now, today, it is sunny and beautiful, and the earth looks half drowned but in a satisfied way. Leaves are strewn everywhere, and I had to watch my step as I walked the dogs, not to slip on wet leaves. This rain makes it official - fall is here and there is no turning back. Yes, we will have some pretty days, but my sandals are put away, a sweater is a must in the morning, and the jackets are out.

My thoughts are turning to Halloween, Thanksgiving, and the whirlwind that is fall (this includes many birthdays as well). November 10 is the anniversary of my mother's death, and fall was a season in which she excelled. She could sew costumes, make pumpkin cookies with icing, roast a turkey with heavenly stuffing, set a table, make little snack thingies, sew decorative stockings, trim a tree and bring out the perfect pecan pie with whipped cream. She was animated around the holidays, had high expectations, was often disappointed, and then drank too much and listened to Frank Sinatra and Dean Martin. Her own childhood had been horribly deprived, and she was attempting to make it up to herself, and never quite satisfied. She'd get so excited over the presents under the tree she'd try to open a corner and peek. She was childlike about the holidays, but that wasn't comfortable for me when I was a child. Now my heart goes out to her. One Christmas we went to Hawaii - a huge treat - and she made ornaments out of seashells. I still have some, and when I unwrap them I think of her tenderly, and all that effort to change her story from one of tragedy to one of triumph. I hope she felt she succeeded, but I'm afraid a lot of the time she felt stuck in a place of not being loved enough and being recognized. She was in the middle of 13 children. It's tough to get beyond that sense of being lost in the shuffle of kids and work and struggle. I never understood her until she was gone - she died when I as forty - and I'd like to have said how much I admired her and understood what she made of her life. But I didn't get to. She awoke on a Sunday morning, went in the kitchen and told my father she felt like she was going to up-chuck, leaned over the sink, had a heart attack and was dead in a minute. She died in her kitchen, taking care not to mess up the floor.

Old Age Day by Day October 24, 2010

It is our first heavy rain day of the season. A real soaker, as they say. Last night was the perfect time for a pennant race game, and our younger daughter, her boyfriend and a friend of theirs came over, we watched, we cheered, we ate crackers and cheese and drank beer, we bit our nails, we reminded ourselves it was just a game, that did no good whatsoever, and the luck was with us and the pennant cinched. It was gratifying. We were exhausted, as if we'd been running around the bases instead of sitting like lumps.

So today, we could sit in the kitchen and read the sports page with something akin to ecstasy. I read the same basic facts in two papers. Double your pleasure, double your fun. And part of it is definitely the groupness of the whole thing. Everyone here is happy at the same time about the same thing. I we ALL want to escape the dreadful campaigning and candidates and outrageous spending and lack of decent choices. We normally complain about how much baseball players make. But it's small potatoes next to what candidates spend. And since the Supremes have decided we can let billions go down the toilet in the name of free enterprise or democracy or the right to torture innocent voters with embarrassing images and infantile tactics, there is no stopping this train until it reaches the station.


Don't mind me if I tune out. Otherwise, the shame of what our elections have become would just wipe me out.

Old Age Day by Day October 23, 2010

We were going to the cabin, but it's supposed to rain all weekend, and I'd rather be here, where there are ways to get out and be inside, that up there fighting for a spot on the sofa by the fire with two large dogs and my husband. We're going to an art museum, and can get some errands done and watch the playoffs. As I get older, I want to be in the warmer spot, not the colder one, and the mountains will be colder and even perhaps the rain will turn to snow. I'm not your Christmas in Connecticut kind of gal. Not anymore. I'm your desert or tropical island kind of person. I like heat. I even like more humidity than we get where we live. But this is easily simulated by standing in a hot shower.

Next week I'm taking an overnight trip with a friend, and I'm looking forward to that. It won't be warm there either, but beautiful, and we'll get a chance to catch up and bond again. Our birthdays are about a month apart, and we'll no doubt be discussing this turning 65 thing. It's a mystery, but a shared mystery is always better than going it alone.

So it's fall, the rain is coming, the days are shorter, and next week we will have dark by five or so. But time is whirling by so quickly that before I know it, the holidays will have spun by and the days will be lengthening again. I've no longer any sense of dwelling in seasons - the time is almost universal at this point - all events and weathers co-mingled in one big soup of experience. I'd like to slow it down and appreciate it more, but my later life seems to be accelerating.

Old Age Day by Day October 22, 2010

Being in the chorus has really challenged me in so many ways. Learning the music, the lyrics, the rhythms and holding my part. Holding my part. I see the symbolism of that without anyone having to nudge me. And I can. I'm amazed at myself. I go around mostly thinking I'm a wimp. But that is not strictly true. I conveniently forget the times I've stood up all alone, for myself or someone else or something I believed in.

So last night, I could hold my high tenor part all by myself, with no one else singing it. Inside my head there was fanfare, confetti, a parade. I give credit to my parents, who taught me you could be different, take actions against the vast majority and feel good about yourself, and mainly, that we were made of tough stuff. Now I see my grown kids showing the tough stuff, sticking to what they want and know is right. And my husband, who has stood for integrity in science when everyone else wanted the short cuts, the credit but not the doggedly thorough work that real science is about. I'm proud.

I will again forget I have some strengths, but maybe only six days a week. On chorus night, I'm reminded that my voice is my own, is strong and necessary for the whole to sound beautiful.

Old Age Day by Day October 21, 2010

I'm reading a wonderful book, called Gift, by a writer Hyde, which has been around for 25 years, but is new to me. I've only read a couple of chapters, but I'm already slowing down, savoring each page, because I feel how much this book is going to mean to me. He relates several folk tales, the object of which, he thinks, are to highlight that a gift needs to be moving and not clung to. When the gift is hoarded, it loses its power, and the commodification of the object circumvents the intention. He gives as an example the Potlaches in Northwest Tribes, which used to be about giving away - generosity and sharing of honors - but became, as the colonial culture infiltrated the tribes, about overabundance and waste.

I wonder if this is why so many of my friends and I, at our age, are wanting to pass on our treasures instead of keeping them as a form of identity. We feel that these objects should move on, make someone else happy, and follow their destiny independently of us. After all, these treasures are in our hearts, and we can call them up when we will. But our signifying of them is narrow, and others may see them in new and different ways.

I always think of our hundred year old house as not "mine", but an abode I share with those before me and those afterward. I've met a man born in this house in 1914, and another father and son who lived here when the son was a boy, and a man who raised his four children here. His wife died in this house in the bedroom where my husband and I sleep. I occasionally talk to her, Geneva was her name, and feel her presence. Do I own this house? No. I delight in it for a brief time, but others will breathe in these rooms and transform the place to their liking. We don't own. That would mean staying still, in stasis, whereas in reality everything is changing and transforming and we can't hold onto anything. It's very relaxing when I realize this is so. The strain, the effort, is no longer necessary. I have only to appreciate each day I have, and be grateful.

Old Age Day by Day October 20, 2010

Our older son gets back from a year abroad this morning. In some ways it has gone quickly, but in others, it seems as if he has been away forever. His wife will pick him up at the airport and I'm sure he'll go home and collapse. It is a grueling journey, and he's been working hard. We have to take our turn to see him. First they are flying to her father-in-law's memorial service, so it will be probably at least a week before we actually set eyes on him. Hopefully, we'll talk on the phone.

My "field" has been enormous during his adventure, and it now can narrow down. But will it? I've gotten used to reading the international news, becoming an expert on politics in the country where he was working. I now have a feeling sense of that area and its people. Should I abandon them because my son is home? If I can keep the field generous, I can hold a big portion of the world in my heart. If I can continue to do that, I am practicing an embracing of all peoples; an awareness that I do not wish to have slip away.

Old Age Day by Day October 19, 2010

My younger daughter's boy friend works in a bakery/cafe, and Sunday night he came bearing all kinds of goodies: quiches, sandwiches, bread, tarts, and little pizzas. I had an amazing hot dog kind of thing last night for dinner, and tonight is the tarts with a salad. I am ever so thrilled I won't have to make dinner, just heat it up, but it won't be fast food, it will be real food. He's also a genius on the computer, and has helped me out several times, and he is great at training our dogs, and has many other admirable qualities. Part of the benefits of having kids is they bring with them the whole world, and your experiences enlarge without you lifting a finger.

I enjoy my son-in-law's and daughter-in-law's families, and eagerly await news of nieces and nephews, great aunts and sisters. After many years of seeing my blood family diminish, here is this expansion that will simply move outward and grow. It's a lovely reminder of connection, and how we touch others' lives in subtle as well as obvious ways.

So bring on the relatives, the relatives' relatives, the not-by-blood family members, the friends of the families, the dogs, the cats, the canaries. I embrace them all.

Old Age Day by Day October 18, 2010

Talk about aging. Today is my older daughter's 40th birthday, and my older son is 41. I feel like I am that age, so how can they be? It's very puzzling. It's like the movie Back to the Future, only more confusing. My husband has been up at the cabin, and I stayed back to see girl movies, visit with a friend and also my younger daughter, and watch the playoffs. It's been rainy and overcast, so it was perfect to veg. Now I need to practice my music, take care of a few errands, get a check up at the dermatologist, and endure a haircut. I'm not going for the Salma Hayek look this time, I think that was perhaps reaching too high. Bette Davis in Whatever Happened to Baby Jane is more appropriate. We'll see.

All weekend, when I was reading at all I read a chapter out of one book then a chapter out of a second. What my impulse was I have no idea. I was switching between John Le Carre and Laurie R. King. Both mysteries, but one set a century ago and one set right now. Maybe it's a new way to train my mind, but without my knowledge or anyone elses. Only thing I can think of is I needed a break from logic, though I would not call myself devoted to logic. It might be related to the flu shot I had last Wednesday - some kind of delayed reaction.

Now my brain seems back in gear, but it's a bit disappointing. My brain in gear is pretty boring. Oh, well. If I was going to be a genius, it would have shown up earlier. Like before two of my kids turned forty.

Old Age Day by Day October 15, 2010

I'm having fun singing tenor in my chorus. Just me and a young man, who can belt out the part and is so upbeat and funny. The basses are two guys, and in some songs it's me and them together, so the director was correcting herself "Men, I mean men and ladies..." I love the tenor parts, and the range, and getting in touch with my deeper voice. I have a lot of resonance at the lower end, and I'm more confident. Gee, if only I'd known earlier. All I really ever needed to do was change the key of the song!

I'm struggling over the Spanish songs - getting the words to move over my tongue quickly enough, but I figure it'll come. More practice would help. But at least I find myself silently humming my parts as I wake up, go to sleep and drive. So now there is a little back voice in my day, singing, singing, singing.

It's hard to get to the rehearsal, and yet, the minute I arrive, irritated and feeling uncooperative, I melt. I MADE IT. Sigh. The resistance ebbs and I'm thinking - one song at a time - I can do this. I'm a happy camper. A singing camper. Pretty soon I'll be bellowing "I love to go a wandering along the mountain track..."

Old Age Day by Day October 14, 2010

My husband and I watched Ken Burn's new series on baseball - The Tenth Inning - the last two nights. It was fascinating, and even though it was so recent, there was much to learn about the baseball strike, the steroids scandal and other major headlines of the last two decades. Poetry comes out of people's mouths when they talk about baseball, and grown men cry. Many of us have memories that link us to our families and our best outings together. We had teams we loved, we were loyal, we were proud when one of our boys went on to another team and ended up a national hero. We have styles of baseball we love - the scrappy, wiry Reggie Jackson types, or the big hitters or the lanky relievers.

I've been going to a baseball game on Mother's Day for a few decades. I love the gift they hand out, running around the bases after the game, the new emphasis on Breast Cancer Awareness. I like Carnation Malts still frozen, peanuts, the fresh squeezed lemonade, the chicken fingers. I watch the fans as much as the game, and I love the wave. One recent game, a wave began and it just kept going around and around and around. There wasn't much exciting on the field, and we were all going "what the hell" and everybody was laughing. I love the mascot. I have umpteen tee shirts, a sweatshirt, half a dozen hats, including the plastic bucket hat that popcorn come in, umbrellas, tote bags, player shirts and numerous paraphenalia that only a fan would buy.

If my team does badly, I kind of skip the writeup, but if they win, I read all the articles. Those are satisfying mornings. My father loved baseball, and he dragged my brother and I out to many a game. We rooted for the Giants then, but now I'm an A's convert. But I have a soft spot for the Giants. I got to see Willie Mays, Willie Mc Covey, Orlando Cepeda, and a host of greats. Our nemesis back then was the Dodgers. But I loved Yogi Berra and Roy Campanella.

You can see what's going on in baseball, with the naked eye. Goofy things happen. The team can surprise you with the "last" pitch. I have never left a game early and never will. It's kind of like life - you gotta be there.

Old Age Day by Day October 13, 2010

Oh, heavens above! Yesterday I bought a brand new Dave Sedaris book, and today, in the newspaper, there was a review of the new John Le Carre mystery, which means I'm in for a treat or two for Halloween. I am almost finished with my Laurie King mystery, and I've been riveted all the way.

I once wrote a mystery novel, and got all the way to the agent's group discussion, but they passed. I should have tried harder, and maybe sent it to publishers directly, but I'm not persistent enough. I'm not sure why. Was it moving fairly frequently as a child? I was no Army brat, but still. I was the new girl who never was allowed in the group I would have liked. I was a B movie in a theater overcrowded and confusing to me. I would clown around to drawn attention to myself, and I was good academically, so I'd be in the right classes, but I wore glasses (in those days a stigma) and was indistinguishable from others. Not ugly, but not pretty. Black hair and eyes, when blond and blue was the formula. Sandra Dee and Debbie Reynolds were the ones we yearned to be. Yes, there was Annette Funicello, but I never once heard anyone say they wished they looked like her. They looked like her and hated it.

I felt like I never fit in, and if I was allowed in, I was suspicious of the girls who let me. My job was to be the best friend, admire the other girls, and be full of personality to entertain them. So when some of those women now want to get together, I feel a disconnect. It wasn't the best time of my life, I wasn't comfortable with who I really was so I hid it, and I have now grown up, so I see they were not beauty queens or dazzling lights, they were girls who figured out how to manipulate others a bit earlier than the rest of us.

I am thinking of all of this because I saw the Jamie Lee Curtis film "You Again" yesterday, and it has a ring of truth to it, besides being funny. There are women who loved high school and women who wouldn't go back if you held a gun to their heads. We were all clueless, and most of the cruelty unintentional, but it framed us, and we drag it with us for a long time. I remember the day I looked at some photos and realized I was way cuter than the girl who had convinced me she was going to be Troy Donahue's wife. I felt a wave of admiration for her confidence, and wanted to kick myself for my lack thereof. But this whole girlfriend thing works because people bring their baggage to the table, and let others assign the seating. Luckily, we are not teenagers but for a short time, and most of us survive it.

Old Age Day by Day October 12, 2010

We're having a heat wave - not a tropical heat wave - but the dry heat is pretty amazing after a cool spring and summer. I love it, but then, I've lived in very hot, humid places and my body is a trained machine, ready to take on whatever nature dishes out (okay, maybe not, but the heat does make me cheerful). Yesterday I sweated away upstairs working on my closet, and it looks strangely neat now. I feel a bit disoriented when I open the folding doors and there are white plastic bins organized by color (I only wear three colors so it's not as extensive as you might think), by item (long sleeved tees, short sleeved tees, sweaters, jeans, panties, bras and socks). I saw clothes yesterday I hadn't seen for decades, and I made some huge decisions (I am NOT wearing sleeveless, and cap sleeve tees make my arms look like hams). Also, but most importantly, all jeans must have spandex or some stretch. I am not encasing my form in a rigid tube, not with this body.

I kept a few belts - for those times when I pretend I have a waist or think I can create the illusion of one. Most tights bit the dust. They roll over at the waist and add a lump to the perfect apple of my shape.

I even got rid of a pair of almost new green shoes that cause massive blisters on the heels of my feet. It was sad, but I may need all my blood at some future date.

Now that I've reformed, let's see if I wear more than the same four pairs of pants and six shirts. I know there is a world of choice in my closet. I just have to slide out that bin, and gently thumb through the offerings. How much time can it take?

No, I will not take any bets.

Old Age Day by Day October 11. 2010

At the opera yesterday, there was an unusually large group of uncivil opera goers. First there was the man in front with his cell phone lit up. My husband politely asked him to turn it off. Then he was talking loudly and the man on the other side of him asked him to shut up, but loudly. Then the man, who was tall, got up and left his seat, causing the doors to open and the sunlight flood in. There was an uncommon amount of coming and going during the opera, and each time my eye was pulled to the sunlight outside as the doors were flung open and shut. I think everyone had baseball fever or acute attacks of claustrophobia or perhaps Mozart is not to their liking.

And at the end, after beautiful effort and execution of the complicated opera, a hoard of people arose before the curtain to close and blocked the view to the cast. They not only were not applauding, they were getting the hell out of dodge so they could save one minute in the parking garage. They didn't clap even one time; it was as if they'd seen a movie and the cast before them was a cartoon, instead of real, sweating, breathing people who had given their all physically and vocally.

What arose in me and my husband, and the two ladies sitting next to me was an almost irresistable urge to throttle these people. Where has civility gone? We were all in this opera interprise together, except these jerks who were in it for themselves, and seem to ignore the engagement and interaction that makes opera or any other live theater so lively. Why didn't they stay home and listen to a CD with a drink in hand, saving gas and and the enragement of those of us who wanted to be fully present for the event? It's a mystery to me.

Old Age Day by Day October 10, 2010

Our area has a baseball team in the playoffs, my football team won yesterday, I cried through Secretariat last night and today is an opera - Mozart's Marriage of Figaro. What's not to like? Fall is still feeling pretty nice, and the weather is perfecto. I am even reading a really terrific mystery, one that engages the reader with the characters in a complex and well researched way. I am all admiration for the author.

Monday I am organizing my shelves in my clothes closet, after an emergency trip to Target. So I must have Fall Cleaning impulse. I can see the organized plastic bins now, in my mind, lined up and so neatly that no tee shirts or sweaters are going to fall on my head or onto the floor as I open the doors. Yes, there is initial expenditure, but afterward, the ecstasy. Color coded by bin, arranged in tees (short sleeved), tees (long sleeved), sweaters, underwear, and pants, plus yoga pants and team tees. Centuries from now, anthropologists will we amazed the brain capacity and organizational skills of my species. I can't wait to get started. Tomorrow.

Old Age Day by Day October 9, 2010

I'm going to see the movie Secretariat today. I worship that horse, and read his biography a long time ago. The reviews are not great, but I don't care. I'm a horse movie nut. I've persuaded my daughter and husband to go as well. But first, a visit with a dear friend, and perhaps a walk with her. It is perfect fall weather, and there is a football game today, and everything about the day seems delightful.

So here I go, off to the bright sunlight and crisp air. Enjoying fall, and not worrying about the winter.

Old Age Day by Day October 8, 2010

I had a long walk with a friend this morning and inevitably we spoke of her elderly dog. I have three friends who have dogs at the end of their lives. These dogs are beautiful souls and I love them. I've known them since they were puppies, and I do not minimize how upsetting it is to lose your dog. It also seems to be a kind of rehearsal for us; when do we let go, when is the suffering too great, how to pay attention to what your dog is telling you. I try to be a friend they can feel free to discuss this stage with: sometimes it feels embarrassing to be sad about a dog, rather than a human. But those of us who love animals understand.

Even in the dog world, now, there are vets who want every kind of intervention, and those who let what is happening unfold without too much interference. So being assertive around your pet is a kind of practice for being assertive for our own health care. Sometimes it is easier to see these issues through an animal filter, than face them with a human we love or ourselves.

We hope for kindness and gentleness in all things, and we learn that to find out what those consist of in certain situations is a struggle. If we come back to our intention of causing less suffering, and take our cues from our dog, perhaps we have a better chance at making the leaving as beautiful as the dog herself.

Old Age Day by Day October 7, 2010

I'm going to have a piano tuner come today. The tuner who came for many years changed professions, but then I forgot he told me that he would no longer be minstrating to pianos, so I waited for his call to set up the next tuning, and then forgot all about it and I'm afraid it may have been a couple of years since Yamaha Snookie had any attention whatsoever. The time not only flew but dissolved in the terrifying mix that is my brain. And to complicate things further, I remember moving a ceramic head on the piano, and it broke and there have been shards of pottery in the inner workings of Snookie for some time. A kind of scrapnel of art is embedded in her most private parts, and she needs surgery. What a bad caretaker I am! I might have laughed it off with the old piano tuner, but I've never met this guy before, and let's face it, I am not going to make a good impression.

Oh, well, often I don't make a good impression; I ought to be used to it. I must remind myself that this person is a stranger and what do I care what he thinks. Snookie's needs come first, over my ego, but belatedly, I admit.

Old Age Day by Day October 6, 2010

It must be fall; I've been knitting again, something green and blue that is very fuzzy and bulky. Where it will go I don't yet know. Somewhere around the time I finish with the yarn it will come to me: this afghan would be perfect for so-and-so. Perhaps a friend will be recovering from a surgery, or a child will need a comfort blankie, or I'll hear of a stranger that could use a little surprise boost. As I knit it comes to me. Comfort is almost always appreciated, and snuggling is universal.

They talk about transitional objects for babies, but I believe we need them throughout our lives, and I have had my bouts of wearing a ring of my mother's for days or weeks at a time, or putting on my father's all weather hat when I needed support. When I go on a trip, I often wear my mother's diamond studs, because she was fearful of flying, and I know she'd understand and protect me if she could.

We are swaddled as infants, and we can all use a bit of swaddling throughout our lives. The robe Buddhists refer to is "the Great Robe of Liberation". We take on this mantle of our ancestors, struggling to do good in the world and not cause harm. But maybe that robe is also the robe of our mothers, cradling us as we are born into this world, and maybe it is the robe in which we are wrapped as we die; an emblem of love to be a companion to us in this life.

Old Age Day by Day October 5, 2010

I have been away helping a friend recover from knee surgery. I don't know how much I actually helped, but I was there to fetch water and talk and bring bags of ice. I saw that my presence as a witness was maybe the most important contribution, and that I was there to hear if she was in pain or couldn't eat or felt hopeful - the whole gamut of response to a trauma to the body. Her husband is there, but fatigued from worry and too much nursing, and I gave him a little break. It is a gift for other people to let me aid them. I felt their generosity in doing so.

They have three dogs, who were doing their part. The big one was licking her knee area for the fastest healing results, the poodle was on the pillow next to her to keep her company, and the smallest dog was worrying his blanket in a kind of rosary for her well being. They would eagerly have finished her meals, except for due diligence, and ran out in the yard when the sickroom got too boring.

I relaxed into that state where I drop down about five levels, and just be. I was alert if she needed anything, but basically I was another body in the room, in the experience, in that place of injury and gentle healing that requires patience, setting aside agendas, and waiting and seeing. It takes as long as it takes.

Old Age Day by Day September 30, 2010

It is our dogs' sixth birthdays. I have been known to do silly things like have a party, but not this year. I will get them each a birthday dog biscuit and maybe new collars or something. They have a ridiculous amount of dog toys, and I don't give them people food, so a steak is out of the question. I think they have a very blurry concept of a birthday party, anyway. They know food can rain down from the people's table, especially if a certain granddaughter is present. They like the extra people around - they are both people dogs. They showed zero interest in the balloons for my husband's party. The balloons lay on the living room floor for a week, and they never even touched them.

So what do you do to tell them you're happy they were born? A nice snuggle with them on my bed while I'm reading, an extra walk, brushing their fur, but above all, biscuits. Their needs are astoundingly simple. All they ask is to be glued to us every minute and to eat every minute. Is that so much to ask? Of course, a compromise must always be made. It wouldn't be good for them to be obese, and it wouldn't be good for us to be 24/7 dog sitters. But on this day, I'll lean a little more their way. They may not know why, but they'll appreciate it. They are the best appreciators I know.

Old Age Day by Day September 29, 2010

I'm waiting for a friend. We're going to try quilting together. I'm excited about working on something with another person also engaged in similar work. I used to attend a collage workshop occasionally, and found it very helpful. I've been doing so many projects alone, that I'm ready again for group work. The Spanish class is fun, the chorus rehearsals are enlivening, and this sewing circle connects me to my grandmothers and my mother. I've never done this before, but I own quilts and knitted shawls made together with other women, with instant feedback and the good will of like minds energized and focused.

Work is mostly a social construct for many of us. But I'd kind of forgotten that, because I write completely alone with no interruptions, unless I choose to answer the phone. There is a time for silent, steady listening to what's inside my mind and heart, but I love, too, the collaborative efforts of creating with more than my own energy - drawing from the well of others. The quilting doesn't really matter, it's the engagement and support.

So whatever the result, the process of quilting will be valuable to me - a means of expressing what I may not know I have inside me, at my disposal now, with the help of friends.

Old Age Day by Day September 28, 2010

I finished a book yesterday by a friend from graduate school, and she's been very successful. It's been exciting to see each book take a leap from the last one, and this book knocked my socks off. Set in the 1700s, it could almost be construed as a tale of a man who is autistic, and who comes to develop attachment to another human being, or as a story of a genius, or a man ahead of his time. It's based on a real person, which makes the life more amazing. And it's about the clash of cultures that occurred when the British founded a colony of prisoners in New South Wales. It resonated deeply for me, as a product of such culture clashes on both sides. It's so beautiful it makes my heart break a little.

My friend has worked steadily at her craft and stretched her wings and flown higher than she perhaps dreamed. She wins international awards, and yet is grounded and real. Her laugh is still a thing I treasure. She's a friend, but she has the world following her thoughts and feelings. What a strange concept, and how I can see that had I had her ability to focus and be persistent, I too might have developed into a fine writer. As it is, my interests have been too varied and my shyness too great to insist on being heard. Up until now, that is. As my Buddhist teacher reminds me: never say too late. I feel inspired.

Old Age Day by Day September 27, 2010

I saw a French movie late yesterday afternoon with my husband: Mademoiselle Cambon. He was reluctant, as he is not much of a foreign film guy, but since he often has me translate English language films, due to his not so good hearing, in a way, it's perfect for him to have subtitles. He didn't hate it, which was a relief, and enjoyed talking about it afterward. Maybe more than he enjoyed the movie. You know, not much action (well, actually, none), and a lot of silence and "looks". Not a typical guy kind of movie.

I found it soothing and profound, because it's ambition was to witness two people who are different enough to be interesting to each other, but also different enough that their worlds can never really entwine. They were both good people, trying to not hurt others or themselves, but by connecting at all, of course managing to do both. Life is messy. Every engagement with another person causes shifts and regrets and hopes and sadness. They glimpse a whole alternate universe in each other, but don't act it out, because they are decent.

To my thinking, the French are more successful at showing the lives of ordinary working people than us Americans. When we try, we make comedies and outsized characatures. French filmmakers understand real people, and they cast people with real, lived-in faces. We believe these people exist, we know them, we enter into their lives. I said to my husband, if Americans remake this film, they will cast Jennifer Aniston and Brad Pitt. That's an American's idea of ordinary. Not only do these beautiful people not represent us, they distract us from seeing ourselves and reflecting on our own lives.

So if you want a "slow" film with no gratuitous violence and no twists and turns, but just a small glimpse into the worlds of feeling regular people undergo, often unmarked by the people around them, then this is your film.

Old Age Day by Day September 26, 2010

Another late summer paradisical day. I want to soak in all this good weather to get me through the fall and winter. Soon it will be time to take in the outdoor chair pads and cover the picnic table and pull down the umbrella and store it. And after I do, inevitably there will be another heat spell and there will be nowhere to sit. Nature has a downright naughty sense of humor and likes to play jokes. Especially where I live. It's mean spirited not to laugh, so i just go along with the joke.

We like to think we can plan, be in control, and yet it's always that thing you can't anticipate that flummoxes you. I'm in great training, though, because having small grandchildren hones my skills as far as surprise and sneak attack is concerned. Plus, I have the dogs, who I thought were out in the back yard with me but they'd sneaked in the kitchen yesterday to steal and eat a bunch of bananas. Skins and all. The only evidence left was a bit of the top connecting the bunch and an organic sticker. Guilty as presumed, Watson.

So I try to go with the flow, old flower child that I am.

Old Age Day by Day Septembber 25, 2010

Today is the anniversary of my father's death. I was 41 when he died. So it's been 24 years. I was shellshocked from my mother's sudden death 10 months before, my favorite safehouse client's murder by her ex-husband, a move from one state to another, and getting 4 kids in various schools from preschool to high school. Yet I am forever grateful that Dad got to die at home, and we had the kind of talks you hope you get to have with a loved one who is dying. He planned his own funeral, and he let go swiftly and with his usual courage. He died on the sofa in his family room, looking out at the garden he was so proud of. I sat with him for several hours after his passing, and his countenance was peaceful.

I miss him. He died at exactly my age, which now seems much too soon, though it did then as well. We were moving back to be near him. Our kids were deeply attached to him. The loss was profound. He was such a fiery, passionate guy that it was hard to believe anything could lick him. It seemed hugely unfair.

He showed me how to leave with grace and kindness, without melodrama, and facing directly into the wind. He left me a path to follow.

Old Age Day by Day Septmember 24, 2010

My foster granddaughter and I played with dolls yesterday, and I enjoyed it as much as she did, I believe. The doll clothes were ones from my daughter, and the blankets and quilts ones I'd made for her dolls. Luckily, even that long ago, velcro was prevalent, and there are no difficult buttons and snaps for these outfits. They are all cloth dolls. I didn't allow Barbies or grown up looking dolls in the house. These dolls are little girls and boys, and they have yarn hair or none. I don't know if this feminist stance did any good or not. I'd say my daughters love clothes and fashion magazines as much as the next person. And they got their share of body self hatred from the culture at large, Barbie or not.

But I tried. And I see my granddaughters' mothers refusing to buy swimsuits that look like showgirl wannabes and avoiding the fluffy ruffles and Disney logos. They are trying to be practical and not push these girls into some premature sexual role. But yesterday someone was telling me about a neighbor who has begun putting her little girl, at five, into beauty pageants. A ton of makeup, provocative poses, the whole nine yards. It was deeply depressing to my friend and I.

There is a world out there where children are bought and sold, prostituted, and without basic human rights. We can't play around with this and just shrug our shoulders and think the one is not connected to the other. They are. And as women, we ought to know better and fight harder to not sexualize little girls. Who will stand up for these children?