Life in the Slowing Down Lane

When Frank and I married in 1976, I had two teenage sons from a previous marriage. Several months after our wedding we decided to have a baby together, and that explains our Jennifer, 14 years younger than her brother Jeff, 16 years younger than her brother Craig. She is Frank's only child, although he always claims a proud stake in the boys as well, since he saw us all through their teen years and supported me emotionally during the letting-go-of-them stage. Which was tough. On me. Not them. As is usually the case, they could not WAIT to be out and on their own.

Now all our children are adults, two of them with children of their own, and one of their daughters a mother herself. It has been an incredible journey for this mom/dad/grandma/grandpa/great grandmother/great grandfather. An adventure in learning lessons from the younger generations as they grew up and we grew old-er -- some of the lessons happy ones, others not so much; but all worth the impact they've had on our lives.

It literally took me years to adjust to the empty nest once Jennifer tested her wings and flew off into the rising sun that shed both light and shadows on the path the chose for herself. My eyes still tear up when I recall waking up the first morning that she was... gone. Frank joyously danced about the house naked, reveling in his new found freedom. I felt as though I was coming out of anesthesia only to find that an important part of me had been surgically removed. I had known in advance that it was coming, but still it hurt. For a long time.

Her father and I continued to make our lives all about her. It was like breathing -- something we simple could not not do. Zen tells us that all paths lead to the top of the mountain, which may be true, but as her path took her further and further from us, the only thing that has kept us climbing has been our little grandchildren. Wouldn't you know it? We have made them the center of our universe.

Since they do not live under our roof, however, as had their mother, there are times when we have empty hours to fill. We run our own business, with Frank being the social networking one while I lean more toward cocooning, we maintain our own home, and we have many activities that let us enjoy each other's company (ranging from good TV, good books, good movies, good music, good coffee on our deck listening mornings to the countless birds that live in our trees, and good wine as we later sit on that same deck watching the sun set). We also talk a lot -- mostly about life.

Which has led us to a new facet that we are now exploring -- called friends. We're somewhat picky, opting for quality over quantity, but it's amazing how the universe has provided recently by arranging that our path cross other paths being travelled by folks (outside of family) who are fun and interesting and inclined to enjoy our company as much as we enjoy theirs. A new chapter in our book is being written, to mix metaphors.

We can't always hold our babies and rock them and sing to them and tell them stories (mostly about horsies), but by golly we can sure brag about them and show off their pictures! As can our friends about their offspring... while we wonder together where all the years have gone, and where future years will lead us. Life continues to be an adventure, even though our footsteps aren't a steady as they used to be.

What's So Special About Seventy?

My husband has been asking me lately what I want to do for my birthday in September. It should be something special, he tells me, since this will be my 70th. His argument has merit, and so I have been giving this some thought. The problem is, I am feeling uninspired.

The fact that he asked, "What do you want to do for your birthday as opposed to, "What do you want for your birthday?" proves how well he understands me (i.e., better than anyone else ever has or will). I certainly don't want or need gifts. He and I stopped exchanging gifts years ago when we realized the most fun in giving a present is the element of surprise, and we can't surprise each other because we can't keep a secret from each other.

Rather than things, what I value most from others is their time. One of my greatest pleasures is having a son or daughter or grandchild spend time with me and at least seem to genuinely enjoy it as much as I do. It's common knowledge that children want attention, acceptance and approval from their parents. A lesser known truth is that parents want the same from their kids. It's called validation. It gives meaning to our lives.

Traveling is one of my least favorite things to do. I enjoy other places, it's just that I wish I could teleport to and from them, and not have to pack or unpack. Alaska is my favorite place, Hawaii comes in second, but I've been there/done that enough times that I wouldn't call going again to turn 70 in either place special. Over the years Frank and I typically plan vacations that take us away from the hustle and bustle of business and book promotion, and I have fond memories of hiking a remote trail with no one else in sight, and walking a beach that was, for the time, ours alone. On the other hand, last year we travelled with family for a week, eight of us sharing a luxury condo on Waikiki -- and had an awesome time.

The difference being family.

Aha! A distinct clue. Nothing I enjoy more than family, so why not keep it simple, I'm now thinking. Everyone has such busy lives that take them in so many different directions, just gathering the clan in one place at one time qualifies as special! I may be onto something here. A sunny September day, a sparkling swimming pool, good food, cold champagne, a cake with lots of frosting, maybe Jennifer Lind, John Denver, and SCOTTY singing over outdoor speakers, kids, grandkids, great grandkids all happy I'm still healthy and mobile and for the most part independent.. wow... it almost makes 70 sound downright inviting!

Okay, so having put together in my mind my Walt Disney version of a birthday that seems as though it should be different from all the others (though I'm not sure why -- 70 is just another number, after all), keeping it really simple, I wouldn't mind waking up that morning, putting on my jeans and boots, and heading out to the ranch for a nice quiet ride on Brandi. Then coming home to a cold beer and a long soak in a lavender-scented tub, a few phone calls, and some cards to stand on the mantle over the pellet stove. Hokey though it may seem, I love my family whether they are near or far, together or apart. And they find wonderful ways almost every day of the year to let me feel loved.

I'd have to be crazy to want or need anything more than what I already have.

A Happy/Sad Day in San Francisco

Frank and I drove to Dublin yesterday, jumped on BART, rode it to the last station, Balboa Park, then walked the short distance to my dad's house on Chicago Way. The last time we rode BART was more than 20 years ago. It was fun. Made me feel very worldly. The ride wasn't crowded, and people were friendly. Restrooms at the Dublin station were a mess, but in Daly City, not so bad.

I didn't know how I'd feel going to the house. It was always awkward visiting when Dad was alive, because our relationship was far from "close." We had to clear every trip with my stepmother, who told me she told Dad when he retired from the military, "You've run everything until now. Now that you're home, I'm in charge." She took good care of him as his health slowly deteriorated, and then she ran into her own problems and it got testy. I always said, "Let me know if I can do anything," but I was a daughter from my dad's former marriage, so she kept me (sometimes nicely, sometimes not) in my place, which wasn't on the inside of their lives.

Now their son has moved her to where he lives, Alaska, and she's on a waiting list for a state-run "home." It's very sad. We met Greg at their house yesterday, primarily to drive his mom's car home. It was her pride and joy, and I have mixed feelings about having bought it. It's a 1989 Chrysler LeBaron convertible, in tip top shape. I didn't need it (I have a Ford Ranger) but I've always liked it, and primarily I felt I was helping out by taking it off Greg's hands. One less thing for him to deal with.

While there, my brother gave me some mementos, mostly certificates that were framed on the wall of Dad's office. They represent his many accomplishments, of which he was very proud. And deservedly so. I loved my dad, even if (of necessity) it was from a distance. He was career military and his dress uniform is framed and hanging on the wall in my spare bedroom. I redecorated the whole room in red, white and blue, and now I'll hang the certificates. I don't know if Dad ever thought about this sort of thing, but if he did I have a hunch he had to know I would be the one to keep his memory alive.

There were a few other things tossed into the back seat of the car -- Dad's fishing knife from when they lived in Iran, his Shriner's President windbreaker, and so on. When I got home and we unloaded the car I was in for quite a surprise though. Greg had given me the folded flag that was on Dad's casket. His funeral with full military honors still affects me. I could hardly believe it when I found the triangular flag. I am so... I don't know, touched somehow... to have it in my home.

It seems odd that I feel like he's more in my life now, than when he was alive. He was far from perfect, but always, in my eyes, a hero. That most certainly would not have been true, had I grown up living with him. Maybe heroes need to be worshipped from afar. Up close, an admirer might be too distracted by all the chinks in a knight's shining armor, and disillusioned by his moans and groans about joints stiffening with age, and debilitating aches and pains. There's a lot to be said for distance.