Visit to Seacrest

VISIT TO SEACREST  10/29/15

   Recently, I visited our local Jewish senior “retirement” facility.  I call Seacrest Village a “retirement” facility because most of those living there have retired from their “other lives”: housewife, doctor, lawyer, teacher, sales-person or youth advisor.  That list hardly covers the variety of folks and the specifics of their “other lives”.   Their chosen vocations cover a long list of possibilities as diverse as the many shades of gray that exists in any sampling of today’s population. It is the list of what folks do to remain active, to earn dollars, to keep themselves busy and finally, to express individuality.

   I am considering a move to a facility because I am 93 years old; I live alone. Loneliness finds me too frequently; cooking for myself is a turn-off rather than a challenge.  Though I used to be fussy about the food I ate, I no longer am a gourmet, interested in the top-drawer excellence of the cuisine that I indulge in.  I simply wish to feed my appetite with “healthy” food.

   At Seacrest Village I found good food that satisfied my hunger successfully, there were more choices than I offer myself at home.  That kitchen provides a variety of sandwich fillings that would be impossible at any given time, at home.  I never get to choose between fish and meat at home – I eat what the cook (me) has planned or remain hungry.  A different dessert is possible every night at Seacrest and always there is a variety of ice creams.  No such luck at home.  In the food department Seacrest Village is the winner.  I could never achieve the variety and choices it offers.

   The question that I have to answer for myself, simply put, is “do I wish to move, give up my comfy home and a portion of my precious independence?”  I believe I can still be independent at Seacrest.  I can choose to have one meal a day or two or three.  I can choose to go to an activity or remain at home reading.  I can go to the gym or the pool, or outside for a walk. 

   It will however, be a comfort not to have to plan meals.   There would be little shopping to do.  Perhaps I would shop for “nosh” and have something available for Matt and Judi and my friends, when they visit.

   As I think about it, I would be more independent at Seacrest than I am at home.  A ride to the doctor would more easily be arranged, my contacts and social life would be provided; I can pick and choose.  Things would be easier than at home where I am responsible for myself.  Perhaps a retirement facility would share that responsibility with me.  There would eventually be tablemates as I begin to make friends and find myself sitting at dinner with the same people each night.  If I suddenly did not show up there would be people around who would miss me, maybe even worry about me.  Here at home, it could be many days before folks would realize and say, “I have not seen Ag, I wonder if she is alright”.

   If I go, I will have to break up this warm, beloved home of mine.  I used to say that wherever Erv and I were together, that was home.  He has been gone almost eight years so I guess home is where my head hits a familiar pillow in a familiar bed.  I will take them with me to Seacrest along with a few more well used and loved items.  The rest remains for Judi and Matt to pick and choose what they wish to keep and then I will cut the cord on my belongings.  They are only things;  I will take my memories with me because I need no string around my finger to help me remember. 

Visit to Seacrest

VISIT TO SEACREST  10/29/15

   Recently, I visited our local Jewish senior “retirement” facility.  I call Seacrest Village a “retirement” facility because most of those living there have retired from their “other lives”: housewife, doctor, lawyer, teacher, sales-person or youth advisor.  That list hardly covers the variety of folks and the specifics of their “other lives”.   Their chosen vocations cover a long list of possibilities as diverse as the many shades of gray that exists in any sampling of today’s population. It is the list of what folks do to remain active, to earn dollars, to keep themselves busy and finally, to express individuality.

   I am considering a move to a facility because I am 93 years old; I live alone. Loneliness finds me too frequently; cooking for myself is a turn-off rather than a challenge.  Though I used to be fussy about the food I ate, I no longer am a gourmet, interested in the top-drawer excellence of the cuisine that I indulge in.  I simply wish to feed my appetite with “healthy” food.

   At Seacrest Village I found good food that satisfied my hunger successfully, there were more choices than I offer myself at home.  That kitchen provides a variety of sandwich fillings that would be impossible at any given time, at home.  I never get to choose between fish and meat at home – I eat what the cook (me) has planned or remain hungry.  A different dessert is possible every night at Seacrest and always there is a variety of ice creams.  No such luck at home.  In the food department Seacrest Village is the winner.  I could never achieve the variety and choices it offers.

   The question that I have to answer for myself, simply put, is “do I wish to move, give up my comfy home and a portion of my precious independence?”  I believe I can still be independent at Seacrest.  I can choose to have one meal a day or two or three.  I can choose to go to an activity or remain at home reading.  I can go to the gym or the pool, or outside for a walk. 

   It will however, be a comfort not to have to plan meals.   There would be little shopping to do.  Perhaps I would shop for “nosh” and have something available for Matt and Judi and my friends, when they visit.

   As I think about it, I would be more independent at Seacrest than I am at home.  A ride to the doctor would more easily be arranged, my contacts and social life would be provided; I can pick and choose.  Things would be easier than at home where I am responsible for myself.  Perhaps a retirement facility would share that responsibility with me.  There would eventually be tablemates as I begin to make friends and find myself sitting at dinner with the same people each night.  If I suddenly did not show up there would be people around who would miss me, maybe even worry about me.  Here at home, it could be many days before folks would realize and say, “I have not seen Ag, I wonder if she is alright”.

   If I go, I will have to break up this warm, beloved home of mine.  I used to say that wherever Erv and I were together, that was home.  He has been gone almost eight years so I guess home is where my head hits a familiar pillow in a familiar bed.  I will take them with me to Seacrest along with a few more well used and loved items.  The rest remains for Judi and Matt to pick and choose what they wish to keep and then I will cut the cord on my belongings.  They are only things;  I will take my memories with me because I need no string around my finger to help me remember. 

  LOSS

                      In 1957, I lost my Dad a shocking, painful blow, I was terribly sad; I really missed him!  Mother followed Dad too quickly.  It is not supposed to happen that devastating way.  I had not time to mourn, to empathize with Mother’s torn heart.  And it was deeply torn.  “He needs me”, she wept, “You kids are doing just fine!”  She understood our comfortable marriages.  Her words were meant to smooth the moment when we needed soothing.  I did not understand, she was already on her way to Dad.  She left me no time to weep or to whine. 

                      In two month’s time, she did indeed follow Dad.  That did not rime with the rhythm of my pain.  Only yesterday I felt Dad’s hand holding mine and I still had more questions for my Mom.  Suddenly, she too was gone, she was not there, she landed in my heart along with Dad.

                      Then my dear brother sighed his last in 2007, fifty years after Mother and Dad.  I was not ready then either, he still had much to teach me.  Then to add the final blow, the coup de grace, my beloved Erv followed Ben in 2008!  Erv had lost his verve; he could no longer wait for me.  He broke his promise that we would go together perhaps jump off a cliff, holding hands!  He had to go and leave me with only my memories for company. They continue to glow despite the terrifying blow.  Missing is a heavy weight to bear.  Nevertheless,  I will always honor my dear ones, my lost ones by living, doing, hoping, trusting, remembering and embracing them.

Many Davids

   The Men in My Life              8/12/15

     David & Joel are among my closest friends.  They share their wisdom, their love and their listening ears with me. I cherish and depend upon their friendship.  I do believe that we share each others lives as true friends are supposed to do.  We are interested in on another and always challenged.  They are my brothers.

     Once upon a time I had a brother with whom I shared genes and arguments. He was four years older than I.  When we were children I did not think so much of his wisdom but was embattled more by his huge intellect and his physical strength.  He could painfully twist my arm without breaking it; he could do it and elicit my screams and get in trouble with our Mom.  That big intelligence failed to threaten me as much as it encouraged me to lay back and refuse to compete.  As we grew and became adults, he and I found a developing respect for one another.  I depended upon his political know-how, he stopped treating me as a kid sister.

     I recall the day that he won Junior Phi Beta Kappa, after the excitement simmered down I realized that I was next up.  I made a decision, said to my parents, “Do not expect anything like that from me.”  I met my own mark; I was a good student throughout school: valedictorian in the eighth grade; along the way to college there was the high school honor society and advanced classes, with an easy acceptance to the University of Michigan. Perhaps my brother was a role model that stretched me just far enough to do well, I was also encouraged by my parents to be myself. There is no Phi Beta Kappa in my history, no sense of disappointment either. At the University, I was not the most popular girl on campus, but I had fun; I had a boyfriend whose name was David.  That name has been attached to meaningful men in my life.  Even in high school, there was a boy named David who was one of my best friends.  Today he is a retired Hollywood director.

     Why the name David has an especially warm and wonderful ring for me, I will never understand.  So much so that when we adopted our son, there was no question that he would have the name David.  Because we also wished to honor my husband’s grandfather whose name had been Jacob, we chose Jeffrey David for our son.  His Hebrew name was Yaacov David.

     I did not marry a David.  My husband’s name was Erwin Lee, it too always landed softly onto my ears.  The reason that we did not name our son after my husband, it is against Jewish tradition to name a child after someone living.  Like so many “old wives tales” this was explained to me this way: if you name a child after the living, the Angel of Death may come by and make a mistake.  Davids come and go in my life. At the moment I have a good friend, my counselor who helps me navigate some of the rough spots that occur in life.  Yes, his name is David!

     In these late years of mine, I have found that a friendship with a man is valuable and fun without romance.  Men and women share many viewpoints, but there are huge differences among people; I am always happy to understand another side of the story.  The men in my life today and those there yesterday have always been supportive, helpful and challenging.  I am so grateful to be alive and enjoying my friends. Of course my very best friend was my husband of almost 63 years.  He is a story unto himself.

    

1945

                                                1945             October 3, 2015

1945 was a very good year,

With one exception that’s clear.

FDR died in ’45.

A man who honestly did strive

 

To be the great President who

Saw us through World War II.

He slew the giant, the monster

We called him, Hitler the gangster.

 

Roosevelt kept us safe, unharmed

He really did it and unarmed:

He said,

We read:

       “The test of our progress is not

         whether we add more to the abundance

         of those who have much;

        it is whether we provide

        enough for those who have too little.”

 

I believed in Roosevelt

I liked the hand he dealt.

’45 was a very good year

It brought little fear.

 

‘Twas the year we married

We were in love, never tarried.

Seventy years this month I’ll mark

Each year was a celebratory lark.

 

I score the day quietly, alone.

Sadness will be the day’s mood and tone.

The joy and the happiness I had

Bring memories that make me sad,

 

  Remind me of the great years we shared,

  Recall for me today how much we cared.

  Franklin Roosevelt kept us alive

   in 19 hundred and 45!

 

  Yes, it was a truly special year!

  Though October 7th brings a tear.

 PATIENCE

(bits& pieces from the internet worth sharing)  

My Mother used to quote an old-fashioned limerick:  “Patience is a virtue, seldom found in

woman and never found in man!”  Of course Mother was born in 1890, I trust we have come a distance from that thinking.  Patience, nevertheless, is a characteristic all of us wish to enhance.

It is the ability to remain calm when waiting a long time or dealing with problems or difficult people (Merriam-Webster).   According to Dr Mitch Abbott, a clinical psychologist who works with children and adolescents in the Boston area, there are three Mindful components for building patience:

   1/ Cultivating an acceptance of what is actually happening in the present

       moment, in our reality.

   2/ Getting our thinking clear around the very real fact that everything is

       constantly changing.

   3/ Finally, not getting stuck on believing that you are separate, an

      “island” unto yourself.  

Dr Abbott added, “Patience might not be flashy, but it is crucial to well-being and effectiveness. And it is not something only the Dalai Lama can do. Patience is what modern psychological and brain science would support and it is what you can do while waiting for the next thing – the end of the meeting, your driveway at the conclusion of a long vacation, the salivation and smell of dinner about to be served, sleep before dreams of the weekend’s diversion. 

Impatience on the other hand, pulls the rug from under our best and loving intentions. It is possible to pause and practice patience, try the following suggestions:   

      Does your indignation toward another person feel good?

     How might you learn something from this other?

     Let folks know your riding negative urges and reactions. Some of us refer to it as

     “having a bad day.”

 Here’s to patience, may our store increase!!!           

 

A Cab Ride to Forget

A Cab Ride to Forget                                                       August 2015   

This is a true story. It is a story from the past, a coming of age story. It happened in Cincinnati in 1944. Looking back on the incident from where I am today, is much fun.
      I was a young social worker concluding my obligations to Family Service of Cincinnati. The agency had made it possible for me to go to the Columbia School of Social Work in New York, to obtain my Masters’ Degree. I owed them a year on staff for every year in school. The boy was a seminary student, bright and sure-footed, too sure-footed. He was studying to become a rabbi. I had dated one of his fellow-students. When we broke up, Dan (not his real name) asked me for a date. We went to dinner, had a great time, the evening went well. We talked easily about our undergraduate days at different Big Ten schools: Dan had his Bachelors’ degree from Ohio State University. I was a graduate of the University of Michigan, mortal enemies on the football field.
     When a game was scheduled during the November football season of 1944, Dan asked me to go with him to Columbus, his hometown, so we could enjoy our rivalry and our football teams. I trusted my friend completely, foolishly, I was naïve at 22, had no idea that he had the trip well planned. I was simply eager to go to the game. In answer to my questions, my friend lied in absolutely bad faith. Yes, we could stay at his home in Columbus, yes I would have a room to myself and yes his parents would be at home. I trusted him, I was a foolish innocent girl.
     We took the bus between Cincinnati and Columbus. My friend Dan was a good talker, we chatted all the way as time flew. I was delighted to be with such a bright friendly man and thrilled at the prospect of hearing the Michigan band once again while watching “my” team beat his team. Deep down I knew that Mother and Dad would admonish me: “You are going to his home overnight and you have not been invited by his Mother, you should not go!” I was 22, living on my own and said to my conscience, “we will discuss this later.” It took twenty years before I told my parents about that weekend. By then it was a humorous incident.
       We arrived in Columbus on the Friday evening before the game. His parents had taken a “sudden” trip to Detroit; it was too late for me to raise objections or find a hotel room in a strange city. Of course he entered my bedroom that night. I ordered him out. I surprised myself, shocked him, my fury overtook his expectations. I think I frightened him with my intensity. He had offended me and I let him know it. I am sure his anger-disappointment matched mine. I was trampling his pride, at the time I was shocked, naïve enough to be angry at his deviousness. As he had promised, I had a room to myself. I was a virgin who felt protected by his promise that his parents would be home. We did not even pretend to be in love with each other, good friends, maybe.
     We went to the game together the next day without speaking. I believe Michigan won, that only added fuel to his ire. I do not recall having a meal with him or talking to him on the way home on the bus. We reached Cincinnati at 2 am in the morning. My Sir Galahad paid me back for my refusals. He left me on the sidewalk in downtown Cincinnati to find my own way home in the middle of the night. Dan did not scare me, but the circuitous cab ride surely did.