Old Age Day by Day May 19, 2010

Well, the IRS refund check disappeared yesterday. It was in the front hall next to my purse, and then it was gone! I have crawled among more dust balls than a spider. Either the dogs ate it or someone came in the house and took it while I was upstairs. Neither seems really plausible, but we gave up last night and faxed the IRS a form to stop payment and reissue the check. It drove me crazy. I imagined all kind of scenarios but I believe it comes down to our sock eating, acorn eating, plant eating, green apple and persimmon eating, rock eating canines. I'd think this was some kind of statement on their parts if they weren't so undiscriminating. The female dog has already had surgery for rocks in her stomach and they both almost died from eating acorns (the tannic acid is poison). But I thought they'd matured and reformed. Well, except for the male dog's habit of raiding trash cans and eating envelopes and dixie cups.

Easy come, easy go. I was feeling rich yesterday morning, and was going to indulge in a serious book buying spree, but that was not to be. I had to restrain myself to two books, and one of them a gift. It takes a shock to tame an addiction, and my own dogs to administer it, evidently. One book I purchased was "The Idle Parent" about taking the laid back approach to kids. I told the bookstore owner, a friend, that "It's never too late to validate one's parenting, even if the kids are grown". The author is a great believer in living near woods (which I did as a kid) and refusing to entertain them so they figure out how to use their imaginations. He also is not big on cleaning up messy rooms. Too futile. And the structured time in his house is nil. No lessons and kids strapped in car seats endlessly. It reminds me that my foster granddaughter, when we took Amtrak recently, looked up in amazement and delight and said to me "There are no seat belts". It was the best thing about the trip for her. She didn't abuse it, and there was no running in the aisle, she just felt free, and could stand up whenever she wanted. We, of course, visited the dining car each way as well, and it sure beats fruit rollups in the snack bag hung to the car seat.

Today, I feel better, and in two or three months another check will come, and I will take it directly to the bank, even if it's two in the morning. The dogs will be in their seat belts (crates) until I have the deposit slip safely in hand.

Old Age Day by Day May 18, 2010

I got this bargain DVD set of two "Imitation of Life" movies the other day. One is from 1934 with Claudette Colbert and the other is a 1956 version with Lana Turner and Sandra Dee. I'd never seen either, though I'd vaguely heard the title, but I like to take a look at African American women early in film, and each has a fantastic performance by the woman who is best friends with the white woman. Colbert is all wrong in the first film, and the racism is not erased, but rather highlighted by the plot. Delilah is a kind of Aunt Jemima and Colbert takes advantage of her in every way, but the heart of the tragedy is Delilah's daughter being able to pass for white and wishing to do so and hating her mother for being a marker for her blackness. It's shocking, and her mother's wise sadness over this is touching. But in real life people were passing, and these rejections of family history were not uncommon. Louis Beavers, as Delilah, is the best thing in the movie, and brings dignity to the portrait of a woman who understands her daughter's desire to step outside the trap of racism only too well, even though she herself has no chance. She also knows it will end in tragedy.

Lana Turner is also poorly cast (she was an awful actress), but Juanita Moore, as Annie, gets a bigger, more complex role, and as her daughter, Susan, Susan Kohner is given a meaty part and shows us the agony of a girl rejecting her loving mother to find what she hopes is her destiny. The white people are frosting. The story is centered on the compelling tale of passing, and its' costs. This movie is directed by Douglas Sirk, and he knows how to make ordinary lives seem strange.

Anyway, both movies are worth seeing and comparing, and in some ways ahead of their times. It's funny to look back and see what the culture thought were the issues of black people, what white people thought the issues were. With Lena Horne dying last week, I've been thinking a lot about skin color. She was criticized for marrying a white man, though her coloring and features leaned definitely to passing. People who didn't know her wanted her to be a certain way - people both black and white. She was trapped, and she never had the film career she deserved. Even now, a woman who is half white, Halle Berry, is black. She has to embrace the man who wasn't in her life, and keep the white mother who raised her out of the spotlight.

When will we get to a world where you are not judged by skin color? It doesn't look like any time soon. I wonder if it's even possible. But the struggles should be acknowledged. I wish everyone could see Louise Beavers and Juanita Moore. Performances that should have been honored and become legend. It is never too late.

Old Age Day by Day May 17, 2010

In my childhood, we always had a dog. We first had a big spaniel, then after that cocker spaniels named Scamper I ,II and so on until we left home. I didn't think anything of it, though it was my father who really adored dogs. His parents had dogs up until they died. On my mother's farm there was always a dog, but it wasn't much of a pet, because there was no space inside and too much work to do outside to get sentimental. But Mom never questioned the encessity of a dog. But it could not come in her house. My father's parents always had the dog in the house, but he abided by the rule. He built dog houses and if there was snow or exceptional cold the dog got to sleep in the garage. He even built a doghouse for one of my dogs, which was carted wherever we moved.

When my brother and I were kids, the dog went with us wherever we roamed, and part of our job was to check for ticks, brush out the pine needles and debris from his coat and feed and water him. We had cats, but nobody paid much attention to them. Cats were for the mice and never went inside. They slept on the tires of the car in the garage if it was cold.

We all would have thought the world had gone mad if we'd seen a dog store or a fancy dog toy or dog outfit. Now, dog boutiques litter the shopping areas and huge amounts of money are spent on inessentials. We've changed our relationships with dogs. We want dogs to be more than they are perhaps, and then we get disillusioned when they can't live up to our human needs and expectations. A dog is a hair's breath away from wild. When we lived in the country I could see it. Dog packs chasing and killing sheep, dogs breaking into houses and stealing food. Dogs are fantastic, and I want to be one if I have a next life, but they aren't humans. They don't need baby talk, they need a leader, and without a totalitarian structure, they worry and fret.

Now people use them as status symbols, as body guards, as a substitute for human love and connection. It's hard on the dogs. They want us to know what we're going, and they'll happily follow along. When we don't understand them, we harm them and they get put down or abandoned. I think maybe people should develop their people skills, and that would be a great kindness to our furry friends.

Old Age Day by Day May 16, 2010

I went to a Wesla ceremony today and it was so sweet and joyful. It's the Buddha's birthday, enlightenment and death day all rolled into one. I went with a dear friend, who has been my spiritual companion for quite a few years now, and she is always leading me on new paths just when I need a fresh direction. A part of the ceremony is to bathe the baby Buddha in water, and it is so like the tenderness we feel when we bathe our children or grandchildren, that you want to blow bubbles and splash and giggle. So much of the Buddhist path is about beginner's mind, the curiosity and delight in the world that young children effortlessly possess. Having grandchildren is a reminder of the loving nature we all have if we allow ourselves to acknowledge it.

Yesterday we went to our younger daughter's graduation ceremony and heard Nancy Pelosi speak. And she touched my heart, because she spoke as a woman, a mother and a grandmother and she kept connecting people's lives in ways that we women do so well. I felt proud of her, and proud of the progress women have achieved since I was a young woman my daughter's age. We have struggled. There are barriers, and around the world still greater ones to overcome. Our strength lies in our ability to honor and love who women are, and not hate ourselves for what we are not. I feel my daughter has become empowered (overused word, but apt) by her experiences at her college, and is being supported in doing her work not just well, but in a woman's way. Social connections are life blood to us, and seeing how we all depend on each other part of our basic daily operations. We live and die by the support of our women friends, mothers and daughters, and independence doesn't mean isolation. For us, it means freedom to carve out our own identities without having to meet outmoded expectations. We're proud of ourselves; we're different than men, but we function very well indeed. The path to respect in the world is self respect, and I'm so happy to see my daughters far along it.

Old Age Day by Day May 14,2010

This morning I realized our family is absolutely riddled with teachers. Our younger daughter is getting her teaching certificate tonight, and we're really proud of her. But then, what choice did she have? Her older brother and his wife are teachers. Her older sister and her husband are teachers. I'm a teacher. Only her dad and our younger son are holdouts. And they do meaningful work in science and art for equally low salaries. Of course this means a lifetime of being underpaid, underappreciated and struggling with massive stress, but there is some gene in that pool that keeps popping up. My Dad's mom was a teacher, and she was one tough lady. I think she got the lion's share of the genetics. So here we all are, in a profession where you have to have a huge sense of humor and an arsenal of stress management techniques to survive. We do yoga, meditation, lots of nature walks and staring at lakes and mountains.

None of us will ever get rich, but we know what we do matters. One teacher, one moment can save a kid - just give a glimpse of an alternate universe, where he/she is seen and heard. We witness, and give voice to each person's desire to matter in the vast universe. Powerful stuff, but unsung in our culture, where the worth of a person is based on salary and the accumulated toys.

I honor our family tradition, and am proud that we face a cautious economic landscape with determination and our heads screwed on straight. I'm happy for our daughter, who cares about others, and has enthusiasms she wishes to share. Here's to teachers, the social glue that makes children into citizens, and adults into people who can think critically and serve our country well.

Old Age Day by Day May 13,2010

My house has more leaks than I do. This morning on a bright and sunny day, I heard the drip, drip, drip of disaster. The shelf above the kitchen door was leaking onto the mat. This was deeply mysterious, as the shelf holds baskets, and none of them are filled with water. Was it somehow the gutter outside? I left the french toast and went upstairs to the bathroom directly above. It looked dry. It's seldom used, as it is for the guest bedroom. We had no guests. I went back downstairs and did the logical thing: I put a pan under the leak and continued with the french toast. When my husband came down he was very calm. Strangely calm, you might say. He high tailed it to said bathroom and found the leak under the sink. He could not shut off the safety valve because that was what was leaking. Kind of like the oil explosion in the gulf. I called the trusty plumbing company, who know us intimately, and they will come out this afternoon (not likely, considering past experiences). I will be waiting. The bill will be depressing. We put a bigger pot under the sink, so my husband says I only have to empty it about every two hours. Oh, frabous day!

I'm beginning to think a well and outhouse would be a nice solution to this falling apart house. They could be made attractive. Morning glories draping the well and a wisteria covering the outhouse. I'm adaptable.

After all, when I get dressed up these days, it's similarly challenging. Must have sleeves to cover the arms, and a long skirt to hide the legs, as well as a scarf, hat and bright colors to distract from the basic deterioration. Flowy is good, as are earrings and glasses. And maybe a fleur motif to compare myself to a summer's garden. I need to hunt through the dressing up part of my closet for materials and disguises. Don't worry, I'll come out smelling like a rose.

Old Age Day by Day May 12,2010

My husband and I drove (well, he was doing the driving) our daughter-in-law to the airport late last night. She's visiting our son and they are off to a huge family wedding as well. So my in-laws from my first marriage were there and we all hugged and wished each other well. One of my big achievements has to be keeping my attachments to my first husband's family, at first for our two kids sakes, then just out of sheer affection and connection. My first husband has been dead close to 30 years, but I love his widow, his son from his second marriage and all my former relatives. I am still South Asian in spirit and Muslim in respect for their values.

But it was a flurry to get our daughter-in-law off on time. She had a long drive to get to us, then she noticed a splinter in her finger, I had to hunt up a needle, we went upstairs and she sat on my bed, where the light was better, she got the splinter out but dropped the needle, then we were both crawling around on my unvacuumed rug trying to find it. No luck, so we used a flashlight. After a few minutes we gave up, rushed downstairs, stuffed the clothes I'd gotten for our son in her huge overweight bag (his books, mainly), and rushed off.

So my husband and I get home at eleven, and commence crawling around the bedroom floor looking for the proverbial needle in a messy bedroom. No luck again. We're thinking about stepping on it in the middle of the night, or the dogs getting it in their paws, but finally my husband vacuums up and still no needle, though a large tube of lip balm was found in the bag. We are going to have to live with that needle somewhere lurking in our sanctuary, waiting to surprise us. I put my clogs by the bed last night, but when I had to pee, rushed in to the bathroom barefoot. But this morning I remembered, and slipped right into them from the bed.

There may be bigger dangers that await me, but right now, that needle is giving me the heebie jeebies. I remember be told a story as a child about an old lady who stepped on a needle, didn't know it, it went up into her heart and killed her. I've never forgotten it, though it was probably all nonsense, and think of that story a couple of times a year to this day. If I could find the kid who told me that story I'd read her the riot act. So if next you see me in combat boots, it's because I'm no longer safe in my own home. The needle awaits my tootsies, and I've got my own homeland security plan.