Old Age Day by Day February 28, 2011

The last day of the month! Time has indeed flown! I had a happy busy weekend, going to the Buddhist study group, having dinner at our son's house, shopping with our daughter-in-law and daughter for birthday clothes and watching the Oscars. Now it's time to play a little catch-up with real life. I have a date with bleach and a shower this morning. Then a lot of plant trimming. The day is beautiful but cold. I saw this morning in a email that Cara Black's new mystery is coming out, and that is cause for joy. In the meantime I'm reading a book my older daughter recommended - Wolf Hall - which won the Booker prize in 2009. It's exciting from the beginning - a fictionalized account of Thomas Cromwell in England.

The Oscars were maybe too predictable, even though I can't argue the results. I wanted "Biutiful" to win for foreign film, and Bardem for actor, but I do love Colin Firth. The gowns were scrumptious, but I missed Meryl Streep's huge fashion mistakes and anything unpredictable. Still, it's wonderful eye candy. Now to the eye candy that is the guest shower.

Old Age Day by Day February 25, 2011

I didn't feel happy after last night's chorus rehearsal. I felt all my confidence ebb away, when our conductor sent a woman to sing with the tenors (me and now a new woman), because this woman, meaning to be helpful, lectures me and so destroys my concentation I can't sing. I finally stopped, and went to the restroom as an excuse. I just feel hounded. I will have been singing correctly, and when she steps next to me, I am immediately rattled. This makes me believe I should quit, because I can't keep focused. I'm going to think it over for a couple of days. I really just want to enjoy the process, as I've said before. But maybe it is not going to be possible. I wish someone could give me an honest assessment of whether I am singing well enough to be a part of the chorus. I don't believe the conductor will tell me the truth, because we have so few members, and if I leave there will be one tenor, or none. I can't expect to give myself an objective assessment, and I'm up and down about how I think I'm doing. Sometimes I nail it, others I'm fumbling. Like life.

I hope I can sort my feelings out, and maybe talk to the conductor, which is the right thing to do. I cannot just quit without discussing why. But I don't want to talk about another member. It feels awful.

Old Age Day by Day February 24, 2011

I have to go to the bank this morning to grab copies of our older son's birth certificate. He's going abroad again and needs them for his visa. Sounds simple, but this kind of looking at the safe deposit box sometimes brings up a lot of emotion for me. My parents' rings, old passports, the will - memories arise. Then there is the guilt I feel for not having written a letter yet to each of my children for opening upon my death. And the pesky fact of needing to list what special things I want to go to which kid. I know it would be better to state ahead of time and save tension after I'm gone. I also should say what I want for a memorial service, and what songs.

So it's about a birth certificate, but it's about death, too. And its about responsibility and easing the way for any grieving that occurs when I'm gone. From that point of view, I need a letter to my husband as well, and maybe a couple for friends. I try to make each encounter with another the best it can be, in case we never see each other again. Maybe my next encounter with the safe deposit box needs to be as thoughtful.

Old Age Day by Day February 23, 2011

My daughter and I saw "Winter's Bone" yesterday. It was depressing, and not that great a movie, from my point of view. Maybe Jennifer Lawrence and John Hawkes deserve the nominations, especially the later, but I'm not entirely convinced. Why wasn't Matt Damon up for supporting actor for "True Grit" or best actor for "Hereafter".

I was saying to a friend the other day, it's interesting that two films about psychics were prominent this last year - first "Hereafter" and second, "Biutiful". With both Matt Damon's and Javier Bardem's characters, there is a loneliness and sorrow attached to their gift, and a complex turmoil about serving others, benefiting financially themselves, and the overwhelming isolation they feel because they can "see things". Not since "The Sixth Sense" has this subject been dealt with delicately and with insight. In each case, the psychic is a representation of the aloneness that people can feel, when they are too empathetic and have not set their boundaries safely enough for themselves. These people are not jokes, as is Whoopi Goldberg in "Ghost" . These people seem real, and share our human dilemma. These people are unable to avoid death and its effects, unlike most of us in Western cultures, and they face what we refuse to face. Therefore, they seem fully alive, in a way that few are. Damon's character ends up being reconnected to another in a mutually beneficial way. Bardem's character has always been deeply connected, to his family and all beings. He dies, but the viewer believes his caring and legacy will live on in his children and the people who's lives he's touched.

So Bardem gets the Oscar recognition, and Damon not. Bardem's is the better performance, perhaps, but Damon is subtle and haunting in his film. I hope everyone sees both.

Old Age Day by Day February 22, 2011

Some cleaning and organization has now transpired, and I no longer imagine the CDC tenting the house and putting us in quarantine. I began my first marriage living with my husband in an apartment over a garage on a big estate. I was the housekeeper and he the gardener. We were in college and the jobs meant we got the apartment rent free. The house had fourteen huge rooms and seven bathrooms. The kitchen area had a kitchen, walk in pantry and breakfast room, and the lady of the house thought the floors looked better if they were scrubbed by hand instead of with the polisher etc she owned. She often would have me also watch her three kids as I went about my merry work. Her daughter's room was the size of my whole house now. She was busy with the Junior League and had adopted the children (all blond and blue eyed) in perfect order: boy, girl, boy. There was a nanny, but I think she was often between nannies. Probably they were college students as well, but I never got to speak to any of them. I was once on my hands and knees in the kitchen when she brought her visiting father through, and they stepped right over me as if I was a box in the way.

So, that kind of killed it for my domestic cleaning career. When my parents would visit us in our tiny apartment, they would be surreptiously wiping down the counters and defrosting the refrigerator. I wanted to explain I had no energy when I was finished with work and classes and writing papers. But it seemed easier to pretend to ignore it and seethe. I never was a big one for conflict, and my parents had more firepower and expertise in that arena. Anyway, whatever houseproud means, I didn't get any of it. Or it got lost early on.

I am of the generation where the girls in the family (of which I was the only one) helped vacuum, do dishes, dust, iron and hang out clothes on the line. My brother did none of it. My mom got cancer when I was fourteen and my brother eleven, and it was understood I would take care of the house and my brother while she was in the hospital and for a long time after. I hated ironing the most. I never iron anything now, I just wear it wrinkled. Thank goodness for perma pressed.

So if I fall behind in the domestic skills, and fight tooth and nail for my husband to do 50%, there is a history.

Old Age Day by Day February 21, 2011

Today I'm shopping for plastic bins, to organize the basement and garage further, and protect from the river-runs-through-it syndrome prevalent in days of rain. Our house is downhill from a street behind high above, and even the houses on either side are higher up. Despite a drainage system that is more complicated than L.A. freeways, at some point our property always says "I give up, hit me with your best shot", and the tiny puddles become streams, the streams become lakes. You get the picture. So, I must contain everything in plastic, bad for the environment, or have moldy relics that are unidentifyable to even an advanced archeologist.

When I will actually transfer said relics, well, who knows. But just having the bins sitting empty in the basement is comforting. It's a step - a small step for womankind, a giant leap for moi. I feel organized, just thinking about it. Now if I can just get in the car and get to the store.

Old Age Day by Day February 20, 2011

Well, everything is soaked and flooded and moldy, and today is sunny, so maybe our yards and our minds will dry out. It was yucky even to get to the movie yesterday, but it was a terrific film and we were gratified afterward and had tea at my friend's house and talked about it at length. "After the Rain" is the title, and it is a film from Spain, but about an uprising in Bolivia a few years ago over water rights. Don't miss it.

And here we are, today, after the rain. Last night I was in the shower with bleach and a rag trying to clean grout. My hands still smell like bleach. I must have spring cleaning fever. It's a better way to occupy my time than a lot of activities. My husband is working on various tasks as well.

i"m reading Karen Armstrong's new book about 12 steps to a compassionate life. I find her very informative and readable. She is good at the big picture stuff. I hope the book influences people to attempt reconciliation and tolerance. I'm hopeful.

Old Age Day by Day February 19, 2010

this morning our son brought by his new dog, a rescue. He's part border collie and part pit bull. Now he and his dad are walking the dogs in the rain. We're really happy he has fulfilled this dream of his, and it looks like he got himself a great dog. I envision play dates and a lot more fun for our dogs. It's a brave thing to take on the responsibility of a dog. And it can be heartbreaking. You have to be ready to feel a lot, and give over any idea of control. These small beings are entirely trusting and in your care. As my son said, it's a bit scary.

I'm taking a friend this afternoon to a movie. I wish the weather would cooperate, but it doesn't look like it. I'll drop her off in front of the theater and search for a parking space. And pull out the rain gear and bundle up. I'm ready for a break. The movie is Spanish, and has Gael Garcia Bernal in it. It's set in Bolivia, about the making of a movie and the political fight over water there. I should be educated and hopefully enraptured. And then there is the popcorn.

Old Age Day by Day February 18, 2011

A new person came to chorus last night, and she's singing tenor with me, and we had so much fun! I have a singing buddy again. Ah. One of the songs we worked on was "You'll Never Walk Alone" from Carousel, and it was major deja vu, as I'd sung it in chorus for graduation at high school. It's melodramatic and cliched, yet never gets old. The harmony is lovely. And then we sang "Simple Gifts" from Aaron Copeland, and also an African song. I was relaxed and balanced by the time I left, even after a day of rainstorms and a five year old and a leaking garage and basement.

Today is gray but not raining and I took the dogs for a brisk walk and now am waiting to be picked up by a friend for lunch and shopping. I need to get some bins for the toy dishes and food that I found in the flooded garage, so my granddaughter can play with them when she comes. Fun!

Old Age Day by Day February 17, 2011

It's really raining this morning, and I haven't taken the dogs for a walk, which is radical, for me. But after the hailstorm yesterday, I've become cautious. No more singing in the rain for me. That was a movie set, anyway. This is real life. Or something like it. I have to go out three times today and it's going to be a mess.

Tomorrow my husband and I are making a list of all the household chores that need doing. We probably need a hostage negotiator, but we'll see how it goes. We've never lived in a house anywhere near this long, and repairs and cleaning and organizing - usually done due to intense pressure from a realtor, is not coming. I suppose we could hire a person and pretend we're selling the house, but I don't think the fear and terror would be forthcoming. No, we have to buck up and face the music. And it ain't Whistle While You Work.

Why are we having this conversation? Because when I returned from my trip many disgusting things were in the refrigerator, on the counter and in the sink. There were no forks. The dog hair on the stairs is like a wall to wall carpet. My husband is not an initiator. He's a hiberator. He made tremendous progress on his puzzle, ate a great deal of fast food, and saw four episodes of Firefly without me. But he had no time to clean up. I think he knew I'd take care of it when I returned. And at first I did. I cleaned out the frig. I cleaned the countertops. I put toilet paper in the bathrooms. And then I said to myself: Why am I the only person keeping the house from disintegrating into a dump site? My husband only works three days a week, and is home four. I cook him dinner every night. I grocery shop. I buy all the household stuff. I am known and loved at the hardware store. Doing the laundry, which he did while I was gone, does not make the workload even.

I expect to get a lot of exercise this weekend, with my spouse, and feel rapturous when I can see through our windows again. I can't wait.

Old Age Day by Day February 16, 2011

The prodigal grandmother has returned! It was quite the challenge to get there in the beginning. We waited at the gate, and were supposed to board at 12:30. No boarding call. Then they announced mechanical difficulties and could we wait for an update at 12:50. Of course we could, our hearts sinking, and the IPhones out and busy with flights out. I waited patiently, having no such contraption. At 1:00 the flight was canceled, something wrong with the engine. We got in line at the desk, a very long line, to see if we could get on another flight. Yes, after a few hours we could, though we had to pick up our baggage at baggage claim, check in at another airline, go through security yet again, and wait for a few hours at that gate. I read People magazine, I had a tuna sandwich, I discussed family history with several complete strangers. All this time I was carrying a bag with a Trunki luggage for toddlers. It was very challenging in the toilet stall. I thought of calling friends but I was too annoyed.

In the meantime, my daughter and son-in-law were at the doctor's with their child, who had a 105o fever. They couldn't have picked me up if I'd made the first flight anyway. Armed with antibiotics, they returned home, my daughter picked up her messages, and anyway, at 7:00 I arrived at my destination. Then there was the drama of whether they could go skiing, as the snookie was so sick, so they didn't leave the next night, they waited until Saturday morning, deemed her fever gone, and headed up for a nice relaxing weekend, frazzled and exhausted.

My granddaughter and I danced to Singing in the Rain four hundred times, played airplane and taxi in the living room, read a ton of books, served tea and watched Little Bear. I went to bed when she did. We had a great time, and had any philosophical discussions about life and travel and uncles and aunts and grandparents. We watched the wind and the rain on the living room sofa through the big window. We went to the park and ran around with other toddlers. We ate peanut butter on toast, soup, macaroni and cheese, pears, nectarines and strawberry popsicles.

A great time was had by all.

Old Age Day by Day February 10, 2011

I leave this morning to visit my daughter, son-in-law and granddaughter. I'm excited and also somehow very nervous. I lost one of my favorite earrings this morning, and feel dithery and unorganized, and I hope I relax when I get there. I did, for the very first time, get my boarding pass online, and I'm still stunned. I'm advancing into the modern age despite myself.

Now if I get my 2 bags checked properly and get something to eat before I board, I'll be on my way!

I'm pretty friendly, and usually people are offering to help when I need it, and I'm not one to decline. I depend on the kindness of strangers, and it has served me very well.

Old Age Day by Day February 9, 2011

We watched an old Claudette Colbert/Don Ameche film, "Midnight", last night. It was co-written by Billy Wilder, and had some great dialogue. It's not surprising that many 1930s films have a girl trying to hook a rich husband, but falling in love with the poor guy and giving all the glamor up. It must have made millions of young women feel noble for struggling and supporting their out-of-work spouses. The message is: Don't yearn for wealth, it won't bring you happiness, and these rich people are mostly jokes.

Don Ameche was so gorgeous in this movie. He outshone Colbert by a mile. She really was in interesting actress, though. She wasn't beautiful, or even pretty, but she had a great voice and could really act. John Barrymore is in it, and is light and funny in a way I haven't seen him on film. And there is Mary Astor and a host of familiar comedians. The movie is silly, but charms hugely.

The title is a reference to Cinderella having to leave the ball by midnight, and it's so clever it sets the tone and also tells the whole plot. In real life you don't get the prince, and really wouldn't want him, as he's not much fun and dull as dust.

Old Age Day by Day February 8, 2011

Well, the movie I saw last night turned out to exceed my expectations. I knew it was going to have a fantastic performance by Xavier Bardem, because he's up for an Oscar, but the film itself is gorgeous and touching and each character is complicated and a complete human being. "Biutiful". What a knockout. It's set in Barcelona, and it's a Barcelona I've never seen. The city of the poor, the illegal immigrants, the lost. There are no Gaudi avenues and picaresque squares. And the peoples' faces are real. Bardem is brilliant, and there is no overacting or melodrama. The suffering is played down - an every day occurrence. See it before it leaves.

Today I have my annual appointment with my doctor, so perhaps seeing a movie about a man dying of cancer wasn't the wisest choice from that point of view. Oh, well. I dread these visits as much as the next guy, and don't want any surprises. At my age, it's seldom a good thing. Now, if only I'd lost the ten pounds I intended to, or at least been on a liquid fast or something. I'll have to think light when I get on the scale - balloons, feathers, soap bubbles. The the blood pressure! It goes up just thinking about the cuff, and I forget to breathe, and I'll be lucky if I don't hyperventilate.

I'm reading a great book that is partially about hypochrondria. "A Spot of Bother" by Mark Haddon, who wrote "The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Nighttime". He's so funny, and tender and wise. Hopefully, reading will keep me in a good frame of mind until my exam.

Old Age Day by Day February 7, 2011

Well, my quarterback won the Superbowl, and that was satisfying. My husband, our younger daughter and I watched amid cheese puffs, chips and dip, cheese and crackers, with a modest one beer each. It was a nerve wracking game, which means, in retrospect it was exciting, however, if we'd lost it would have been a heartbreaker. Funny how perspective swiftly changes. Then my daughter and I attempted to watch a TV show that we'd heard a lot about, but the deluge of commercials had already wiped us out, and the whole show seemed some kind of cruel product placement. I'll stick to reading, thank you.

Earlier in the day we saw two houses our younger son was considering for purchase, and it's fun to see the places, imagine our son living there, how he would change this and that. I hope he's enjoying the process as much as we are. Of course, I have to get over the fact that nothing is worth remotely near to what the owners are asking, as we do not live in an area of much downturn, so I sort of become indignant at the nerve of the owners or agents or both. A fixer upper means it could fall to the ground in a brisk wind and would cost hundreds of thousands to repair. I know our son, like our older son and daughter, will fix up whatever he buys and it will look adorable, but I pray there are no nasty surprises. The rule of buying a house is you set your upper limit, fall in love with a place just beyond that limit, and have not a penny to put into it for years. They take all your money and run.

Tonight I get to practice my Spanish by seeing "Biutiful" with a friend. I'm quite a fan of Xavier Bardem, and looking forward to it. I was going to see it with another friend, but she came down with Shingles and is in the loving care of her daughter. I'll see it again with her when she's able. Hasta luego!

Old Age Day by Day February 5, 2011

My favorite birds are kingfishers. My very favorite is the Kookaberra. I've been to Australia twice and the last time we were visiting the zoo, and I was searching for one to show my kids and husband, and we found two in a large cage. I stood there a long time admiring them and waiting for them to give their distinctive call. Finally, it came, and as usual I laughed in delight. Then the volume got louder and we looked up in the trees to see dozens of free Kookaberras laughing away with us. They'd been around us the whole time, but I was focused on the cage.

I try to remember the absurdity of that moment, when I looked up and saw the whole wide world I was missing. I get myself in a narrow box, but usually of my own making - because I have expectations and am not enough in the moment to see the day freshly. Today I have no plans, so I want to look around me and see what is there that I've not been aware of. It's a beautiful day, and all I have to do is move around in the earth's atmosphere and see what's up.

Old Age Day by Day February 4, 2011

In chorus last night we worked on an African song "Woyaya", which has a great syncopated 6/8 rhythm and lyrics I love:

We are going
Heaven knows how we are going
But we know we will
We will get there
Heaven knows how we will get there
But we know we will
The road may be hard
The way muddy and rough
But we'll get there
Heaven knows how we will get there
But we know we will

I thought of Egypt, Sudan, and other places on that great continent. Our mother home. So much turmoil, but even more endurance. I'm inspired.

I think when you take a path, you don't take it because you have it all planned out and know what will happen along the way, or even at the end, you just trust the path. Surprises, detours, the difficulty are all unknown. But all you really have to do is in this moment, put one foot in front of the other. Walking feels good on the the feet, it means direction, purpose. I think sometimes I forget that planning is really not the essential ingredient. Determination is.

Old Age Day by Day February 3, 2011

Like the rest of the country, I'm reading "Unbroken" by Laura Hillebrand. The book is a fascinating account on one man's life, a guy born in the twenties in California. I'm at the part where he is in a B24 in the Pacific in World War II, and, as my Dad was an Army Air Force pilot, I'm getting a glimpse of what it must have been like for him. I'd always thought, since my Dad was stationed on the border between Texas and Mexico, he wasn't really in danger, but this book has taught me that was not the case. Over 52,000 US airmen were killed in the war, and 3/4 of them were in accidents not combat. I know my Dad was pretty much deaf in one ear because of his service, and now, when I put it together, maybe my Mom's first war sweetheart, who was killed, was one of those. The planes were tin cans with lots of flaws, and the pilots were daredevils. I've heard the stories of how my Dad would buzz Mom's apartment house.

And how did the war change him? His line was that it made him a man, and the relatives said he was a hellion before and the service set him straight. He never, ever talked about it. What did he see? I'll never know now. I regret not asking and being curious. Dad never was one for his past - he was as forward thinking as they come, and now I wonder if he felt he had to be. And my mother never spoke in any detail about her first fiance, just that he died in the war. How did that set the course of her life? They were happy, enthusiastic people, but they were impatient, also. They had no truck with prejudice and petty selfish concerns. They called a spade a spade, as they would have said.

I think I am beginning to see why.

Old Age Day by Day February 2, 2011

I'm going with a friend to see a matinee of "The Illusionist" the French animated film, by the director of "The Triplets of Belleville". I expect it to be delightful. In the meantime, there are groceries to be purchased and Spanish to be studied, and other tasks. It's beautiful again, and with the east coast so snowed in, I feel lucky to be where I am. I am getting excited about my trip to see my granddaughter, and thinking of little things to bring her. My foster granddaughter sent me the sweetest card in the mail yesterday, and I love her writing and spelling. They are both fiery and spunky, and those are qualities I adore.

I'm not sure how much my mother appreciated them in me, but I did feel loved and special. I had a whole army of admirers from my mother's huge family, and my father's one sibling was very attentive as well. He bought me a sapphire ring and as I grew would replace it with one of a bigger size. When I was first married he bought me pearls at Macy's, and then he was done. I wasn't his special niece any more, and I understood. I had someone else to adore.

But my mother's next oldest sister sewed me things, then sewed for my kids. The last thing she made before she died was a bunch of clothes for a barbie doll, which she had no idea I did not allow in the house. The clothes were so exquisite I finally broke down and bought a Snow White doll that the clothes would fit. And then realized another reason to never go near barbies. The clothes are actually impossible for a child to get on - it's up to the poor mother to yank and twist to clothe the little anorexic monsters.

I still have some stuffed animals my grandmother made for my kids when they were toddlers. The kids are not sentimental about them, but I am. Thus the massive clutter in my house. I'm too soft hearted to give them away, though most are stored in the basement or under beds. Objects have power, and handmade things are my weakness.

Old Age Day by Day February 1, 2011

My husband and I and our two younger kids went to Egypt years ago, and I still think of it as my favorite trip. It was right before the Gulf War and I was anxious about flying from Athens to Cairo, so my husband called the embassy there and a woman reassured us she had just played tennis and all was well. While we were there, many Egyptians told us how much they loved Bush (the elder) and we were surprised (we certainly didn't), but there were two million Egyptians working in Kuwait, and they wanted their family members to get safely home. Everyone we met had a brother in San Jose, or an uncle in Chicago. They were friendly, laughed a lot, and adored our kids. The Egyptian Museum in Cairo was a highlight of my life, and the week long trip down the Nile from Luxor to Aswan was magical. The artifacts make Rome and Athens look like rubble. From the water and the narrow strip of green Oasis on either side, one could see the nomadic tribes crossing the Sahara, and the sand seemed to have not one living thing on it. We took every form of transportation, from felukas (a kind of sailboat), horse driven carriages, buses and walking. In Cairo we went to the grand mosque and the largest bazaar in the world, a giant maze where several times we ended up in someone's house, and every time they beckoned us to stay for tea. I've never been so charmed by a place.

So I hope this transition to more democratic governmental structure is peaceful and no one is harmed. I also hope the precious artifacts in the museums are protected. It is all of mankind's history; we all came from Africa, and we need to see who we were and compare it with who we've become.