Question of the Day

"Every child is an artist. The problem is how to remain an artist once he grows up."
-- Pablo Picasso

This is the quest for me. I want to reclaim that childhood artist, that playful and carefree soul that could lose herself in the unfolding moments, creating castles in her mind and all manner of magical experiences without the seasoned internal voice rushing to blow out those gentle embers.

I've heard and read that people find their greatest productivity and joy in doing the things they love. So what are those for me? What kind of an artist am I? And why am I asking this question in my 50's? Better now than never, I presume.

If I figure this out, I'm sure to write about it. Until then, I'll need to ponder, just ponder.

The Un-Christmas Letter

Yesterday I wrote about the Christmas Letter, acknowledging the many ways these seasonal greetings are written, common themes and styles, and then I went into a frenzy about wanting to write my own version of a Christmas Letter that allowed it all to hang out, miseries and all. Let's be clear. I have gratitude. I'm blessed by many riches in my life and live in a world of plenty. Whatever my worries may be, there are those who suffer orders of magnitude more than I and for whom compassion and love are deserved any time of year. I. Get. It.

However, to soothe my soul, I'm going to post my version of let's call it the Un-Christmas Letter, a small spoof on the typical holly, jolly renderings of what's-wonderful-in-my-life-right-now letter.

Dear Friends and Family:

As 2008 draws to a close, I wish one and all a wonderful Holiday Season Christmas and a damn good start to 2009.

As for me, I'm hoping Santa will bring me a new pair of glasses with lenses that allow me to focus on what's going well instead of what's not. You see, my 2008 glasses have this indelibly thick layer of grime encrusted so tenaciously to the lenses that whatever is going on "out there" tends to look not-so-good. So, what I'm really hoping for underneath the tree is a new pair that have been gently marinated in Prozac and Valium and then simmered on low heat in a cozy crock pot for days. These are bound to affect my take on the New Year in a positive way and allow the crummy memories of 2008 to wither into the crevasses of my brain and the random highlights of the past year to flourish.

Until those new glasses arrive, I've got to be honest. 2008 has been a rough walk. For those of you who know Aruba, I've been traipsing barefoot through the stickleburs and seven-day itch, not to mention rotting cactus, hiding in the underbrush, thorns still sharp and waiting for my foot. For those of you who don't know Aruba, I've been traipsing barefoot on the Northwest equivalent but I can't come up with such colorful analogies unless its a combination of poison ivy, blackberry thorns, and nettles.

Here goes; on the good side (I wiped off the lenses with a bit of Windex), all of us who were here this time last year are still here, some a bit worse for wear, but here nonetheless and hoping to enjoy the flaming Christmas Pudding with foamy sauce on December 25th. My dear husband graduated from U.W. Law School in June and passed the Washington State Bar Exam. My son graduated from S.P.U. and has a good job and a lovely girlfriend. My daughter is privileged to study abroad in Florence and travel the European continent this academic year. I have supportive siblings and extended family.

Hey! This doesn't sound like an un-Christmas letter! Throw out the Windex and get down to business here. 2008 has been a tough year, really tough. Here goes.

Yours truly is overwhelmed by the care needs of aging parents. There were two moves this year, the first from their retirement apartment in Queen Anne to an assisted living in Shoreline and then from there to an adult family home in Magnolia. Moving is pure upheaval. The physical part is one piece but the behind-the-scenes work is enormous, frustrating, and seemingly endless. Both of my beloved parents have suffered more than is fair (in my opinion) with health issues that pick away at the vibrant persons they once were. Falls, broken bones, TIAs, pneumonias, ER visits and hospital stays. There is always something going on that is not-so-good. Exhausting for them; exhausting for family as we try to meet their needs and love them into the next stage of life. As the doc and the local daughter, I get the brunt and everyone knows it so that's nothing shockingly new. Everytime the phone rings, I jump; it's often bad news. Getting old sucks. Loosing your parents by slow deterioraton of mind and body is not for sissies. I fear for my own aging; this is an eye-opener.

Economic times stink. When stock market investments evaporate before our eyes and the knowledge that we are "too young" to retire or cut back hits home, the focus turns to money, the dreaded cash flow issue. The big and little luxuries we've taken for granted for years dried up overnight. The reality of having to work more to stay afloat right about the time when I want to explore other interests in my life bites. My job is wearing me out even though it's only part-time. After 25 years of carrying a pager and serving the world when 'on call', I've just about had it. But slog away I must. Come January, I'll be ramping it up on the work front. Denny finally has a good lead on a job but it's been discouraging for him (and me) as a new graduate with two advanced degrees and unable to find work. What the hell is going on with that? Whether we choose to believe this or not, there is age discrimination out there in the job market. Fresh young blood trumps experience and wisdom. Go figure. And while everyone thinks that a doctor-lawyer combo is a shoe-in for a great job, they are dead wrong, especially in 2008. Reality is the great equilizer.

So, goodbye Netflix and pedicures, 45 dollar haircuts for my short bob, frequent dinners out and the occasional trip to Olympus Spa. We saved our coins for a trip to Florence this past November so now the pendulum must swing in the other direction for awhile. My laptop computer is on its last legs at the advanced age of 5 years and I struggle daily to keep on-line and engaged with the world. The sting of annoyances escalates when from my front window I witness a younger couple pay top dollar for the house directly across the street from us, elect to knock it down, and begin the plans for a dream home that will take out the last of our view. Rub salt into the wound while you're at it. Oh well. I'll sit here with my ancient computer, my hairdo looking like Don King, my back in a knot, and stew over the state of my toes.

Yours truly still worries about the safety of her children, now aged 20 and 22, far more than is normal. I get it, I get it, I get it. But getting it doesn't translate into meaningful change unless those much desired lenses that I'm getting for Christmas put a healthier spin on my motherly angst. A daughter 5000 miles away until May 2009 is something I can't think about much or I'll run around the house, wailing like a banshee. Receiving scary as hell plaintive phone calls from abroad when there is nothing I can do but listen to crackling echoes is rotten stuff.

Piss and moan, piss and moan. On the health front, wallowing has its advantages. I can eat whatever I want because crying, getting mad, and stomping around in a panic burns calories like none other and tends to take away the appetite. I figure that comes from my Dad's side of the family. Plus, when you're looking for a natural high, disregarding hunger and toughing it out boosts those endorphins ever so slightly. I'll take it. And no, I'm NOT anorexic.

Having shot my mouth off in this Yuletide greeting, I'll end with the following. Life is what you make of it; the good, the bad, and the ugly. I really am going to trust that the new glasses I get for Christmas clear out the cobwebs and allow me to create a more peaceful 2009 amidst the storm. I'm trying to stay ahead of the wave, remember? As my blog title descriptor says, "It's as much about surrender as it is steering."

Wishing all my friends and family either a good shot of Windex for your glasses or a brand new pair! If you've got just the pair you need and want right now, God love ya.

Hugs to all,

me

The Christmas Letter

'Tis the Season and I've once again been pondering the Christmas Letter, the typical typewritten one pager, copied and sent out with or without a card to friends and family in December. I have an ambivalent, or better said complicated relationship with the entire idea of a Christmas Letter. In my time, I've read many and they vary greatly in style and content.

Some letters offer a recitation of month by month activities and a heartfelt wish for a great New Year. The tone is upbeat and even the not-so-good stuff that has happened is wrapped up with an overall positive spin and a hope for better times to come. Many focus on the younger generations of the family describing all the accomplishments of the offspring in the past year. Others wax philosophic, focusing on the spirit of the season and how nice it would be if humankind could extend the blessings of the season by permanently levering the joy to bring about a better world for all. What I've never received is one that just laid it all out there, the unedited truth of the writer, warts and all. Maybe I'd call this a "I had a pretty shitty rough year" Christmas Letter. It might be refreshing to receive one of these every now and then, one that wasn't drowning in self pity but focused on the grit of real living.

I'm tempted at least once in my life to write a down and dirty letter like this during the holiday season. I'm not sure anyone would want to read it but it might be a useful writing exercise; something to get it all out there and then drop in the fire pit to watch the tendrils of smoke carry off all the evil humors into the atmosphere. By now, I'm sure I must seem depraved, disrespectful of the season, and wallowing in the morose. Maybe I am. Of course I'm proud of my children, happy to be alive, looking forward to enjoying a flaming Christmas pudding on December 25th and optimistic (I think) about 2009. But, I just might pen my own rendering of what January - December 2008 was like for me as a counterweight to the traditional letter, if for no other reason than to satisfy my insatiable desire to try.

Cheers one and all!

Best Laid Plans

Ahhhh, well.

Shortly after I posted about dinner out and a bottle of old red wine for our Wedding Anniversary celebration, the phone rang and plans changed. But, it was O.K. because lately all plans have built in flexibility due to the uncertainties inherent in being the local daughter to parents who are both in their 92nd year. Unless I'm out of town or one of my siblings is visting, I'm "on-call".

Poor Mom. She had just returned from a lovely outing with Catie late yesterday afternoon, made it into her bedroom using the walker and as Catie left to retrieve the purchased items from the car, Mom apparently started looking through the mail. Her walker was several feet away, she suddenly got very dizzy, and down she went. We think she probably landed full force on her left elbow and long story short, she fractured her left humerus up near the shoulder. By the time I arrived the staff had her up in a chair but the pain and swelling in the left arm were obvious. We called the ambulance and spent the early evening in the E.R. She's been admitted to the hospital for pain control and further evaluation (no surgery for these fractures; a strong sling, time and slow healing is the plan). Hopefully she'll be able to return home to be with Dad rather than spend the next weeks in a skilled nursing facility. The adult family home really wants to have her back and feels they can handle the added care needs. Good news on that front, at least. That and the fact that she broke her left (non-dominant) arm, not the right.

But, here's another painful hurdle for this woman. She certainly doesn't deserve or need any more angst, either physical or emotional. Advancing age is slowly whittling away at her quality of life. She's naturally angry, in real pain, and has a long road ahead to heal, if she can muster forces to do so. How much can one person take? For so many elderly people, it's one bit of drama after another with health related issues. The so called "slippery slope" is a very real phenomenon for many. I've worried about her taking a fall frequently of late; she forgets to use her walker, steps away from it and hobbles along. One dizzy spell andany sense of balance is lost. Down she will go. Unless someone is with her 24/7 (literally) to cue her to the walker, it won't happen and she's at risk.

Today I'll visit her, touch base with the doctor, the social worker and the adult family home to see if/when she can return to be with Dad and receive in-home physical and occupational therapy. This is definitely a set back. Will she rally? We'll see.

31 Years

Last year on this day, D and I celebrated our 30th Wedding Anniversary. Here we are a year later at 31 years. Today when I arrived home from work, the roses were on the dining room table. I wrote about this tradition regarding roses last year. Each year there's a new configuration; this time one white rose and six reds (the white rose symbolizes 25 years and red counts as one year).

We're going out to dinner tonight and when we get home, we'll open a bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon we've had tucked away since the early 1980's. We have a few really old bottles like this hanging around. I'm always a bit reluctant to open them wondering if the quality will hold up after all these years; in this case 27 years! We shall see. We haven't been disappointed in the past with these oldies but eventually I think we'll find one that has gone beyond its time. I remember buying this Robert Mondavi in Houston at a wine store and thought I'd put it away for a "few years" to mature. It cost me $10.50 back then; wonder what it would be worth now.

On the left is a photo of a photo I shot today with my digital camera. I'm modeling my wedding dress which was featured on the cover of Bride's Magazine in the fall of 1977. I remember saying, "I want that dress; it's the one". I didn't try on many dresses; this one spoke to me early on. As for the gown, it went to the cleaners right after the wedding and has been sitting in a sealed box on my closet shelf all this time. I'm a bit reluctant to open it as well (like the old wine) wondering if time has turned it into tatters or if it has weathered all these years unscathed.

I've decided to test the wine tonight but shan't bother with the gown this year.

Blogging Live and Learn

Several weeks ago I changed the URL on my blog to match the name of the blog, Ahead of the Wave. Well, live and learn. I knew something was wrong when my posts never appeared on my Google Reader and when comments dried up as if no one was getting the feeds. Mess Up! I figured out the problem and I hope it's now fixed. I couldn't begin to explain what happened but after an hour or so of trying this and that with Feedburner, I believe it's gonna be OK.

Hope ya'll (my Texas roots) will keep reading!

Enjoy the photo of a bed of absolutely lovely cool weather ground cover that does very well in soggy, cool Seattle in the winter. Beautiful colors.

The New Neighbors Respond

In my last post, I had just dropped my letter to the new neighbors in the mailbox. This was my way of expressing in writing how their decisions to level a house and build a 3 story home in its place affected me. I wanted this couple to "get it", to understand that others are affected in not so trivial ways by these gargantuan changes to the landscape of the neighborhood and that things don't occur in a vacuum. Did my letter accomplish this goal?

Two days after the letter left my hands, there was a note and a small loaf of homemade gingerbread on our front doorstep. The note said,

"Dear Kate,
We are sorry for not communicating with you. We wish to be good neighbors and coexist peacefully. We apologize for the noise and the inconvenience construction will cause. We hope to have a positive relationship, moving forward. Happy Holidays to you and your family.
Sincerely,"

Then later that day, while I was at work, Mr. stopped by and spoke with Denny for a few minutes. He wanted to acknowledge receipt of the letter and talk with me personally. Denny gave him the home phone number. Twenty four hours passed and then Mr. called me on the phone. We had a four minute conversation. He spoke. I listened. I spoke. He listened. There was acknowledgment that communication could have been better (on their end) but the emphasis was on the hope that they could be "good neighbors" and that their home would be a nice addition to the block. "We'll do everything we can to be good neighbors and keep our lawn and yard up". He talked about his wife and three children and how excited they were to join such a neighborhood. I thanked him for the call. He offered to come by in person to talk. I told him no need and that we'd meet up at some point during construction.

I was left feeling on the one hand that I had written a good letter and received a prompt response. Good for them. Score one. I was also left with the feeling that the full impact of Mr. and Mrs.'s decisions to level and rebuild said property did not sink in. But, I've done what I could to openly communicate directly to the source of my pain just what it feels like to be on the receiving end. For that, I feel strong and proud. It is what it is and we move forward from here. I am keeping a keen eye out for the huge trucks that move in and out as they have bounced along the grass alongside our house more than once (see picture) and have come close to sprinkler heads not to mention the back end of my Honda parked in the driveway. The construction crew asked me to move it from the street to the driveway this morning. It's a small request but I wish Mr. and Mrs. knew that I was still in P.J.'s drinking my coffee on my day off when they asked.

As I moved my car I noticed the two neighbors who live on either side of the destruction were out front talking to the contractors in the chill and drizzle of this December morning in Seattle. They are very concerned about possible damage to their properties as they should be....the excavation may impact their fences and plantings as well as the stability of the ground. With any extra rain, there could easily be the equivalent of a mini-mudslide into the cavern left by the back hoe's work over the last days. They are also more than a little annoyed by the seeming lack of concern from Mr. and Mrs. and the poor communication. I encouraged them to write them a letter as I did. Wouldn't it be nice if Mr. and Mrs. received several letters?

Mr. and Mrs. have a lot to do in the way of damage control. I hope they have learned something about civility. I really, really do.