The Good Old Days

Do you ever miss what you consider “the good old days?” Sometimes, I must confess I do find myself getting nostalgic about how life used to be. Billy Joel sums up those sentiments in the first verse of his song, “Keeping the Faith,” and as he says so well, it’s tempting to get “lost in let’s remember.”

Let’s face it. For many of us, the innocence of an earlier time in our lives can cause a longing for the past. In our memory those days evoke a simpler life style, one in which candy bars were bigger and a half gallon of ice cream was really a half gallon. I can also recall long summer days where getting lost all day, or at least until the real cows—not the proverbial ones—came home, was the norm. All that innocence of an earlier time can make one long for times past.

Unlike some of the images Billy conjures up in his iconic song, I was the “good” girl in the poodle skirt worrying more about whether my saddle shoes were polished to perfection or if that threat of a pimple on my chin would erupt before the Friday night canteen. My sole rebellion was hanging out of my friend, Jeannette’s, window puffing away on a cigarette. That adventure didn’t last too long as neither of us really enjoyed the taste or the smell of Luckies.

Still, I do look back on those carefree and rather egocentric days with pleasure, but I like to think “the past never got in my way.” So, if you think “I'm feeling older and missing my younger days,” read on.

Despite what I now consider some of my shallow teenage priorities, I also recall deep yearnings to live a life with greater meaning and purpose. I just wasn’t sure what path that should be. Deep within, though, I always “had the hunger,” a desire to find out where I was supposed to go and what I destined to do with my life. 

“Keeping the Faith,” as Mr. Joel states so clearly  involves holding onto the “desire” and the “music that “sets me on fire.”

Billy’s wisdom continues when he sings “you can get just so much from a good thing. You can linger too long in your dreams.” That’s what can happen when you believe all the good things in life are in the past. But here, I must disagree with my musical mentor. I don’t think we have to say “goodbye to the oldies but goodies.”

Instead, we need to put those days in perspective, not up on a memory pedestal as we are reminded that “the good old days weren't always so good.” That’s something we need to remember—sometimes social mores can bind us into corners. 

That became so clear to me recently when I found this picture of my husband and I posed on my parents’ porch, for the “Going off for the honeymoon” picture, one of the required photos in the ‘60’s wedding album. I recall that moment so well. I wore a pillbox hat, a suit with long sleeves, nylon stockings with the mandatory girdle though I weighed barely 100 lbs. The day of our May wedding was a record ninety degrees, yet the thought of wearing something cooler never occurred to me because I accepted the rigid social expectations of the times.

Finding this image got me thinking about how much I treasure my freedom now and  no longer have to worry about social trappings like not wearing white shoes after Labor Day or a hat to church. Now I’m completely unfettered, no more mental or physical girdles for me!

How about you? What do you not miss about your younger days? Then again, what do you miss? I do miss getting letters, those hold-in-your hand personal missives that you can feel and read over and over. But that’s a blog for another day…

So, I must finish with agreeing totally with the maestro when he stresses “And tomorrow ain't as bad as it seems.” For despite all the sadness and the turmoil in today’s world, I have hope.

 So, I sit back in my chair and listen, not to my 45’s, but to the music channel on my TV, sip my wine in my new stemless glass and think to myself, “ain’t it wonderful to be alive.” And plan on living as well and as long as I can while “the rock ‘n’ roll plays” and “the memory stays.”

Yes sir, I am “keeping the faith,” one lovely day at a time.

It's all in a word

            Recently a neighbor told me a story about an old man she’d met at a graduation party.

“How old was he?” I asked.

“Old,” she said, “Had to be seventy-five, at least.”

“Oh, you mean he was an old(er) man.”

She looked at me with a blank stare and must have realized that I had to be approaching the age of the man she was telling me about. It was at that moment I decided I would never be “old,” but simply “old(er).” So much young(er) sounding, don’t you think?

 

The word “old” is a word to describe food left too long in the refrigerator. It just doesn’t smell right. Or underwear with holes in it.  Something to throw out.

As I ponder the vast chasm created between these words simply by adding -er, I realize what power the simple suffix holds. After all, who wouldn’t want to be rich(er) rather than just rich, smart(er) rather than smart, or thinn(er) rather than thin. Ah, scratch that last one. I’d settle for just thin since that’s not been an adjective applied to me in too many years to count… But the adding of this mighty mite of a suffix can also have a negative voice too. After all, who would want to be fatt(er) than fat or mean(er) than mean?

Just below that article, I see another headline, "Baby delivered by Atlantic City Policeman." Now there's an age word that conjures all positive images like cuddly and cute. All good unless you happen to be a new parent, then you might add sleepless nights.

I begin thinking of other words that connote ages. Teens, now there's one that definitely has a note of cool to it. Then again, for parents, it probably translates to more sleepless nights. How about middle age? I remember viewing that milestone as the first stumbling block in the world of age descriptors. That term resonated as rather frumpy and indecisive. Looking back, I see it as the approach to the precipice of negative age words.

And now, I’m really feeling unnerved by this whole age quantifier. I decide to check out some of the experts’ views. Erikson, that’s where I’ll start. During my graduate counseling courses he was always my go to guy for a psychosocial theory of development. Each stage of life, he believed, involves a particular task in order to move on to the next stage of life. I consult my number one research tool: Google.

Definitely, a downer. Strange, I think, how as a forty-year old student, I believed he was right on target, totally hitting the bulls eye of life. Now I’m not so sure. I read on and see I’ve reached the eighth stage of development. The point at which I must answer the question,  Did I lead a meaningful life?

 

Wait a minute. I’m still in the midst of that meaningful life, busy trying to do all the things I never had time to do. No time to worry about the past. Maybe lat(er)… I read on and see that according to my former counseling super guru I am also at the final stage, the last step on the stairs, of my earth journey. That sounds so final. And according to Erikson, this stage started at age 65. I don’t let that number get to me, though, because a lot has changed since he developed his thesis sometime in the ‘50’s. 

 

     I continue reading and see my present life task is all about reflecting back on my past life. Well, I have to grudgingly admit he may have a point there. I do find myself thinking about my former experiences from time to time and I know my children and grandchildren get a glazed look in their eyes when I repeat stories they’ve heard a gazillion times. The word “gazillion” is one of their words, not mine. And so, I guess I must admit that I am in that place. Sort of, but not totally. 

But more than I think about my past life, I think of the present and the future with hope for what is ahead. Instead of focusing on reflections of past accomplishments and misdeeds, my efforts include tasks like finding a place to dance—before 11 PM to music I love. And if not, I can always dance in the kitchen with my lov(er), the old(er) man who’s danced with me for the past 50 years.

So, I will continue to grow old(er), but never be old.

  

psychology.about.com/od/psychosocialtheories/a/psychosocial.htm

Yoko and Me

I’ve always been a Beatles fan and after they split up, I continued to follow their separate careers. I confess John Lennon held most of my attention as an individual musician and song writer and the love I saw between Yoko and John fascinated me. I can recall vividly the scene of their 1969 bed-in and the buzz it created. They seemed so carefree to me despite the serious reason behind their gentle form of protest. At the time, I was twenty-nine and nearly drowning in motherhood—four daughters under the age of five. Wistfully, I wondered what it would be like to stay in bed for peace.

Later, I remember my great sadness when this gentle man was killed in 1980. By then, my children were in their teens and doing well, the youngest twelve. At the time, as most of the world did, I grieved for Yoko. Her sadness, I always thought,  reflected in her tight lipped smile in the years after his death.

 Recently, I saw her on television and was struck by a different look. I realized it was in her smile, now a wide open grin. She spoke of her long-envisioned project to connect the world through smiling. “It was hard for me, too,” she said, “After my husband John Lennon passed away, and I tried to smile for my health.”

She suggested we could begin as she did, at first in front of a mirror smiling at ourselves. Initially, Yoko continued, her wide smile felt phony, but the more she practiced, the more natural and real it became. Now she wants the whole world to smile and believes that can lead to peace.

Personally, I’ve always smiled a lot, but after listening to Yoko, I reexamined how I smile. I thought back to an incident in nursing school when I greeted a classmate with my usual wide open smile and a cheerful “good morning” at our 6:30 AM morning inspection. Her response was scathing. “You don’t know how much you depress me every morning with that big smile. It’s way too early for that.” As an impressional nineteen year old, I was stung by her comment stung, and couldn’t help worrying whether others saw me as she did. As a result, I think, I developed a restrained polite business kind of smile, reserving my full on grin for those I knew well.

Yoko inspired me. Yesterday, I gave the sad looking young man pumping my gas a wide sincere smile. “Thanks and have a real good day,” I said. His down turned lips turned up, his shoulders straightened and he gifted me with a full grin. “No problem and you have a great day, too.” As I pulled out of the gas station, I felt my spirit lift.

Yoko's right. Like their bed-in so many years ago,  her smile campaign is an intriguing idea and one that captures our imagination, but this time, unlike the bed in, we can all take part. I know I’ll be better giving my all to every person I meet.

I think you will, too. So give someone a smile today and if you’re alone give it to yourself. I like to think if John Lennon was still here he might add, “Give peace a chance, one smile at a time.”

Stopping the Clock

Clocks slay time... time is dead as long as it is being clicked off by little wheels; only when the clock stops does time come to life.  William Faulkner                                                         

Whether you work from home or are retired, if you’re like me, you probably find days melt into each other without any break in your daily routine. When I still worked in an office environment, there was a clear divide with my Saturdays and Sundays sacrosanct set apart from the daily, humdrum tasks of the Monday through Friday week.

Time for a change: Will, my significant other, and I decide to take action. No more of this! Taking a pencil, we draw a large “X” through one day of every week for the next several months. This would be our special “take a break” day. No doctor’s appointments or grocery shopping or weed pulling would take precedence of our time out.

We float out ideas—a movie, special, long lunches at those places we never seem to find time to try, window shopping with no clear mission of buying anything unless we feel like it, long walks on the beach and even driving out for an ice cream cone—lots of good stuff that never seems to happen since as John Lennon said so well, “life happens while we’re busy making plans.”

Eliminating reminders of time: No more time to wait; we’re serious about this now. Ready, set, action. One of our ideas is to schedule a day without time—no knowledge of clocks, that is, as William Faulkner suggests. Get up when we wake up, eat when we’re hungry, and let the day unfold as it will. Then, we begin to think of what we’ll need to eliminate from our lives to make time stand still.

Let’s see: no TV, no computer. Mask the clocks, put the watches in a drawer. Okay, we’re all set. No, wait a minute. No cell phone, either. No house phone. It, too, gives us the time. Oops, don’t forget the microwave or the stove.

“Well,” Will reasons, “We can always drive down to the end of our island, walk on that part of the beach where we always find some sea glass. There’s no clocks there.”

“Wait a minute,” I say, “we’ll have to mask the clock in the car the night before.”

We realize that clocks are just about everywhere and very hard to escape. Still, we’re going to do it. Soon! We just need to find time to eliminate all signs of time. Fortunately, we’re feeling pretty confident we’ve identified all the possible spoilers of our plan.

We go out into the garden to ponder and think just when we should give this experiment a try. It’s a sunny May afternoon and we realize we still can’t escape a clock. There sits our sundial blabbing the time….

We giggle and realize what’s most important is not the presence of the clocks in our lives, but how we choose to live within our own time. As Golda Meir said so succinctly, “We must govern the clock, not be governed by it.”

Taking a Leap of Faith

It’s hard to hold onto hope sometimes, to continue to believe life is good when we see so much evidence to the contrary. War, unemployment, violence, and even the lack of common civility can wear us out. Yet this is the time in which we live so it’s important to look forward and not get dragged down by all the bad news we read on the Internet and see on the TV.

 Personally, I’ve always thought myself as an optimist, the possessor of the proverbial half full glass rather than the half empty, but I still sometimes find it hard to be upbeat. And with my winter goal of sending out query letters to literary agents, my usual cheerful view somehow became lost despite the warm Florida sun. Each polite rejection form letter seemed like another weight on my mood and I couldn’t wrap my psyche around enough positive energy to even write a blog entry. Instead, I resorted to sitting in the sun, scribbling some attempts at writing poetry and a mystery, and reading lots of novels.

My mood shift began when I chose a different route through downtown Fort Pierce and saw an amazing sculpture. A man high up on a diving board stood poised to dive into a tree filled with roses.

For the rest of the day I reflected on the significance of this lovely and intriguing piece of art. Such an optimistic image, I thought. Imagine viewing a lovely sight of flowers waiting for you while knowing those beautiful blooms would also hold thorns that might pierce your joy.

The figure is an average sort, a little thick in the waist, perhaps past his prime—an older man and one who wouldn’t jump as a younger person would. No, this man would definitely think before he takes a plunge.

Later, I research the sculpture and discover it’s entitled, “A Leap of Faith,” by a local artist, Pat Cochran. Commissioned in 2009, the statue illustrates the small quaint town’s determination to look forward with optimism rather than surrender to the downturned economy. It’s their symbol for taking a leap of faith by continuing to support the arts and add culture to the downtown and riverfront areas. 

As I reflect about what it means to take a leap of faith, I realize it’s something we face often in our daily lives—both big and small decisions require us to do so. Writing and sharing our  thoughts with others involves taking a leap of faith, a trust that requires moving out of our comfort zone. We sit down at the keyboard or take a pencil in hand and believe the words will come. We write our synopsis and query letter and send it off with hope that just maybe this time, this will be the one that clicks. 

Like the man on the diving board, looking out at all the beautiful albeit possibly hurtful outcomes, without taking that risk, we remain trapped looking at all the possibilities in our lives. The man stands on the edge, but somehow, I have no doubt that he intends to “take the plunge.” And like him, taking that leap of faith doesn’t mean jumping blindly; we, too, must recognize our choices will entail some lovely flowers, but possibly some painful outcomes as well.     

Here’s a few things that you might find helpful when you consider taking a leap of faith:

1.     Listen to your inner voice.

2.     Believe in yourself and your choices.

3.     Seek people who support you.

4.     Face your fears.

5.     Trust you will learn, whatever the outcome.

Most of all, stay upbeat and when in doubt, repeat the encouraging words of John Burroughs, “Leap and the net will appear.”

                                                                                      

 

The Second Time Around

To read a book for the first time is to make an acquaintance with a new friend; to read it for a second time is to meet
an old one. ~Chinese Saying

I'm still a loyal Survivor fan despite the fact the TV format remains much the same with every year’s watching. For me, it’s a little like rereading a book—I learn something new with each read. That analogy between Survivor and books got me thinking. If I had to live on a deserted island for a year, what book would sustain me for that time?

I thought first of the Bible, but suppose that was already part of the survival kit, what else would I take? Multiple titles kept popping into my head.

For this, I definitely needed the input of some fellow avid readers. Here are some of their selections:

Linda, our Island librarian, answered with the quick certitude you would expect from someone lucky enough to spend her working life surrounded by books. The book she would take: Timeline by Michael Crichton. Linda says, “His story illustrates how quantum theory could make time travel possible and sweeps you into the mystery and adventure of the story, while Crichton makes 14^th century daily life come alive.”

Ginger, my firstborn, wasn’t quite as able to narrow her choices down, so she finally claimed two: Poisonwood Bible, by Barbara Kingsolver which she say has so many levels to it that I’m sure I’ve missed some.” Her second pick: a compilation of Maya Angelou’ s writings. “Her melodic voice as I read helps me stay calm and at the same time keeps my brain working. That I would definitely need if I were in a deserted place!”

Mary, a book devotee and regular at our St. Francis Book Group, didn't hesitate. Her quick answer: And the Ladies of the Club, by Helen Santmyer. The story tells the story of two 18 year-olds who belong to a book club and their friendship through happy and difficult times that span 60 yearsthrough their lifetimes. It’s one of those books, Mary adds, that you hate to see end. She also says the author took 35 years to write the book and was in her 80’s when she completed the task!

Alicemarie, leader of my Florida book group, says, “One book??? I may not make it through the year!” But forced to choose, she picked Kitchen Table Wisdom, by Rachel Naomi Rement, M.D., personal stories the author collected while working with people with life-threatening illness. “These stories—some humorous, others gut-wrenching—all provide food for deeper and more expansive thinking about my own life.”—something she would have lots of time to do while on her solitary sojourn.

Gary, a psychologist and one-time restaurateur, thought first and foremost about what it would be like to live on an undisturbed island. Armed with an insatiable curiosity and Exotica, by Alfred B. Graf, he would use his time wisely by learning more about his tropical habitat. “Exotica is the botanist’s bible and will help me identify all the flora on the island.”

Kim, a member of my writing group, also thought bringing a book possibly found on Amazon with a title like, “How to Survive on a Deserted Island,” would be the most sensible. Then again, she decided, it would make for dull bedtime reading. “My poetry books are what I read over and over again.” Any would do, she adds, but the ones she most often opens are The Oxford Book of Short Poems edited by James Michie and P. J. Kavanaugh or Best Remembered Poems, edited by Martin Gardner.

One of the perks in writing this posting was the chance to learn about a few books I haven’t yet read. Still, I’m not any closer to choosing the single book that would be a part of my survival kit.

Send me your suggestions as I need more help! I’ll do a follow up on the topic and promise by then, to stop wavering and come to a conclusion of my own…