People are Like Windows

People are like windows, I've noticed over the years.

Some are tall and thin.

Some are short and fat.

Some are open, wide and inviting.

Some are closed tight and say, "Go Away."

Some are plain and simple, in fact, very ordinary.

Others are quite fancy.

Some are so dirty their usefulness is hindered.

Some are bright and shinning.

Some are broken, their purpose wasted.

Others are so lovely, they are a sight to behold.

What kind of window are you?

If Looks Could Kill

Have you ever heard the expression, "If Looks Could Kill, I'd be Dead."? That thought occurred to me the other day when I caught a good look at myself in the mirror. Now, I wasn't looking evil or anything. But, where did the young lady go that used to get wolf whistles as she walked down the street? The sagging jowls and wrinkles on the upper lips didn't just appear overnight. How is it that I just now noticed? One thing is certain, I do not have the money to change my outward appearance. I don't blame the aging starlets who spend fortunes on botox injections and laser treatments. Cosmetic surgery is a booming business. Maybe I would do it if I had the money. But, I don't think I'll ever have the option. I'd like to believe that if I ever came into a fortune, I'd have the good sense to use it to help other people instead of indulging my vanity. When I was a young child, my grandma would get me all dressed up and then tell me, "Now Patty, if you only act as nice as you look, you will do fine." She was trying in her way to tell me that my inner beauty, reflected in how I treated others, was far more important that outward loveliness. So Grandma, that is what I will continue to work on. It doesn't cost a penny to enhance one's inner beauty. Each day, I will try to choose the beautiful way to behave. Knowing my character flaws, that will be quite a project. If I can avoid the snide response, or keep myself from yelling at the idiot driver who just cut me off, then I will be working on my inner beautification project. If I can keep from talking about myself and instead focus on others, I will be showing them attention in a meaningful way. Does this make sense to you? Yes, I'll still comb my hair and put on lipstick. But, I will also put on a cloak of kindness so that I can treat others the way I would like to be treated. Just like my grandma taught me.

Medicare

I got my Medicare card recently and promptly took it to the bank and had it laminated. I want it to last a long time because I plan to as well. I started this blog when I was nearing 60, trying to wrap my head around what that meant. I didn't feel old then and I don't feel old now. Not really sure if I even understand what feeling old means. When I was much younger, I thought anyone over thirty was old. Poof! I was thirty and found out that it wasn't true at all. I hear people talk about being old. Some have called me old on Twitter and at home. I even called myself old on one of these blog posts because I needed another word to describe myself. I am not going to do that anymore. I work hard every day to stay young. I workout and line dance and take swim aerobics classes. I am not going to turn into an old fuddy, duddy. I want to learn new things and stay involved with people. I love technology and embrace change. So, I proudly march forward towards 70 and wonder what the next age will bring my way.

An Old White Lady's Thoughts on Race

My first memory of any recognition of race was the day I brought my new friend home for lunch. My grandma must have been watching us come up the steps because she met us at the door and said it wasn't convenient to have guests for lunch. She sent my new friend packing and then set me down and told me to never do that again. She said we don't mix with Blacks. That's all she would say. Later, I asked my mom what she meant. Mom said that grandma had moved to the city from the farm and she had no experience with people of other races. She said Grandma was prejudiced. I asked what that meant. Mom said prejudice was fear of others because they are different from us. She said there were lots of ways to be prejudiced but race was the most common. I went to public school and in the 50's there wasn't much integration so I didn't have many interactions with other races. In high school, after I started dating, my dad told me to never bring a Black man home to meet him or he'd knock him down the front steps. That's all I can ever remember him saying about race. Later, at his wake, several Black men came up to me and told me how kind and helpful he'd been to them. When I was 8 years old, my grandma moved across town and her neighbor was a Black woman. Irma soon became my friend. I would go to her house and sit with her in the swing on her front porch. I got my grandma to come along. As we all got to know each other, a transformation happened in my grandma and she began to lose her fear of Blacks. We met Irma's niece and her husband and their two sons. Grandma even let me go to church with them. Everyone there said I was the cutest little thing. It was my first experience being a minority. In college I lived in a single room on the first floor of the dorm. A young Black woman named Betty was in the room next to mine. Getting to know her was helpful. I learned the pressure she felt from Whites to fit in and from her Black friends to remain aloof. Poor Betty faced a daily struggle with deciding how to fit in. When her Black friends were gone, Betty would hang out with the rest of us. But whenever they were around, she didn't try to introduce us or interact. Maybe that's what they wanted. This was in the late 60's and schools were integrated then. But in the lunch room we didn't integrate. We sat at separate tables, by choice. I just heard Chris Mathews talking on Hardball with Eugene Robinson and Chris pointed out how we still segregate ourselves in church, at parties, in common lunch rooms, etc. When will it ever end? When will we stop fearing people who are "others" and start seeing the humanity in each other? Let's talk about it and confront our attitudes in the light of day. That way we can get rid of outdated prejudices and start working together. This country needs us to work together. The problems we face require 100% participation. That's what I think.

Her Last Day

Mom had fallen about three weeks earlier and cracked some ribs on a cement step. She'd been to the Prompt Care and was seeming to do better. So, I left town to attend a conference. I stopped at my son's on the way home for a short visit. On Sunday, I stopped to see Mom. She'd been admitted to the hospital the day before. She had some internal bleeding from the rib fractures and the fact that she was on coumadin for Atrial Fibrillation. She was in a lot of discomfort. I spent the afternoon with her, then, went home to my husband. The next morning, I was on my way to work when I got the intuition that I should go to the hospital instead. I've learned over the years to trust that feeling. So, I called my principal to tell him I would not be coming in that day. When I got to the hospital, her physician was just leaving. I had time to ask him about her kidney function and he just dismissed my concerns and told me it would return to normal as soon as she got better. The first words out of her mouth were, "I don't want to live another day if I have to endure this much pain." The plan as I understood it was for a consult with a thoracic surgeon, vitamin K shots to coagualte her blood, and then typing her blood for possible surgery. The very first problem we encountered was the inability of the phlebotomist to hit a vein. This process was very painful. They finally found someone who got the job done. Then, the surgeon came in. He told mom that if they could get her blood count up through transfusions, he would do surgery on her the next morning. He said he'd have to leave a drain in the incision for several weeks but that she could go home with home nursing care. As he laid out the whole process, I could see her withdraw. After he left, she put her head back in the chair and closed her eyes. I believe in my heart she asked God to take her home that day. Shortly afterward, everything started happening so fast that it is a blur. I just know that soon the nurse came to say they were transferring her to Intensive Care. The last thing I heard her say was, "Help me." When I got to the Intensive Care Unit, they were getting her settled in her bed. They finally let me in. She was lying on her back, breathing, eyes closed. I don't think she was there anymore. Her body was alive but I felt no connection. The nurse asked me if I had anyone to call to be with me and if I wanted her put on a respirator. I asked for a minute to think. As I stood there beside the bed, I "knew" she'd be very upset with me if I allowed that. She had a "Do Not Resuscitate" order on file. Just then a thoracic specialist came in and suggested we try to get her some air by draining the fluid from her lungs. I reminded him of her DNR order and gave permission for him to try. Her heart stopped while he was in the process. Although I still miss her terribly, I am at peace because I think we tried what we could but it was her time to depart.

Sheri

My friend Sheri called me one evening and told me she'd found a lump in her breast, had it biopsied, and was having a mastectomy in the morning. I was shocked. She told me not to worry and that it would be okay. We talked about why not a lumpectomy and about her husband and daughter. Later, I remembered another lady from my church who'd had the same surgery and I called her to ask if she could go see Sheri that night before the surgery. Sheri wasn't mad at me and was actually grateful to have someone to talk with who'd been through the procedure. I first met Sheri about 8 years earlier when my oldest son was ready for preschool. Sheri had a degree in early childhood education and had pioneered our local YWCA's Little School for 3-4 year old's. We lived at the duck hunting club and Sheri always made home visits before a child started in her classes. Now, it was 3 miles from the gate to our house and I was running late the day she was to arrive. Our road was a muddy mess so I was supposed to meet her at the gate. As I drove to the gate, here came Sheri, pant legs rolled up and shoes dangling from her purse slugging her way through the mud so she wouldn't be late to her next appointment. That is the kind of person she was. Over the years that my boys attended her preschool, we became good friends and prayer partners. We eventually started a prayer group with another friend, Carol. What a blessed oasis that weekly meeting was for the three of us! We were all busy, working mom's and this was an hour respite from our hectic lives. Sheri took radiation and chemo for her cancer. She worked the whole time and would cry with me about feeling like she was failing us by being so weak and tired. She survived the treatments and saw her daughter off to college before the cancer returned. This time it was in her neck. She had more radiation that shrunk the tumor. It was parent's weekend at the college and Sheri and Dick returned home just as Sheri got very ill. Her ureters were blocked and she was in such pain. The doctor did surgery to open them up. Carol and I waited till Sheri's husband told us she was in recovery and he was going to stay the night before we went home to our families. About 4 AM he called. He'd only left for a bit to go home and shower and clean up. The nurse found her and Sheri's heart had stopped. They did a code blue and got it started, but, she'd been out too long. The next day they did an EEG and there was no brain activity. Her family took her off life support and that was how she died. When I learned the news I was so mad at her husband for leaving her. Either Carol or I would have been happy to have stayed with her if only he'd called us. As I was driving back to town from the school I was at when I got the call, I felt her presence in the car and I sensed that Sheri was there to let me know that it was all right. I've never lost that feeling and I know that right now I can ask "What would Sheri say or do?" and the answer will be there for me. Sheri taught me that when you love someone, they become a part of you and always abide with you even if not physically present. You see, she was a great teacher.

BFF Linda

I came to know my best friend Linda through our involvement in Job's Daughters. That group is a social service group of girls who have at least one male relative who belongs to a Masonic Organization. Linda's older sister had been the Honored Queen of our local chapter. We joined about the same time. I was one year ahead of her in school. Over time, we became fast friends. We came from very different backgrounds. Linda's family was solidly middle class. Her mom was a stay at home mom and her dad was a supervisor at our town's factory. Linda was the youngest child with older brother and sister. They were a good Christian family. My family was chaos. My parents had divorced when I was two. It was my dad's second marriage. My dad then married a divorcee with two daughters. My mom married my first step-dad who was a supervisor at Caterpillar. My mom worked as a waitress in a supper club. She made more money in tips than he did at Caterpillar. They fought constantly. They divorced and then remarried. I thought I'd go crazy. What do you think of a seven year old who plots ways to kill her step-dad? I went to live with my maternal grandparents till he and my mom finally divorced the second time. Then, I just stayed with my grandparents while my mom lived like a single woman. Finally, when I was eleven, she married my second step-father and moved me away from the grandparents to Canton where I met Linda. My second step-dad ran a tavern. I think he fooled my mom into believing that he owned it and had some money. Anyhow, they ended up borrowing money from my grandparents to keep the tavern open and finally were able to buy it. The first five years they were married were very rocky. My mom would leave him and take me back to the grandparents. Then, they would make up and back we'd go. So, you can see that Linda and I had very different childhoods. Linda always had hand-me-down clothes and I always had the latest fashions. In high school, Linda worked at a local clothing store and used her own money to buy herself nice things. I shopped there. Linda was talented in music and was a drum major for our high school band. She also played the piano beautifully. She won the talent competition in our local Fall Festival her Senior year. I went to the local community college while Linda was a Senior and then we both went to nearby state college. At first, I had a single room and Linda lived in same complex, but, she had a roommate. We still hung out. The next year, we decided to room together. Just before that term started, I'd met a boy through another friend. Our romance only lasted part of the summer. When school started, we went our separate ways. That Christmas break, he called me. I told him I was seeing someone else. He asked if I knew of anyone he might call and ask out. I thought of Linda. She agreed for me to give him her phone number. Well, they went out and then they got married the next summer. I was her bridesmaid. Later, that fall, I met the man I married and Linda returned the favor by being my bridesmaid. We've known each other now since 1961. That's 52 years. We been there for each other all those years. Sadly, I was the one who had to break the news to her that her husband had another woman. It broke my heart to do it. But, she was so distraught trying to figure out why he wanted a divorce, wracking her brain to see if she could determine what she had done or failed to do that would make him want to leave her after 40 years of marriage. When I learned from many sources that he was seeing someone I worked with, I knew I had to tell her. I just put myself in her shoes and asked myself what I'd want her to do if it were me. Now, it's been three years and she is healing. She has a boyfriend. And her ex is getting married. Our children are growing up and we are growing older together. I am so glad that Linda's been in my life all these years.