Try as hard as they can, I don’t believe stores and malls and advertising can ever ruin Christmas for me. I grew up in an Irish Catholic home where Christmas was a cherished celebration. It meant attendance at Christmas mass where I loved the parish nativity scene and all the various liturgical Christmas celebrations and the Christmas songs. We spent part of the holiday with my father’s family and part with my mother’s family, sometimes combining both.

Though the musical genes had missed my immediate family they were prevalent in my mother’s twin sister’s family. Uncle Jim and my cousins Franny and Jimmy were musical . They lived in an apartment in New York City, across from Barnard College where my mother and Aunt Marg had attended college. One Christmas Eve that I will never forget we heard music coming from outside. We went out on their balcony and could see and hear carolers walking on Claremont Avenue below us. I can’t remember what floor their apartment was on but it could not have been too high up because when we joined the carolers in singing they welcomed us . Initially the carolers led the singing but when there was a pause they suggested we start the next song which Uncle Jim and Jimmy did. I don’t know how old I was at the time – maybe nine or ten – but I was in seventh heaven. I felt like we were all characters in a special Christmas show. And I don’t know if it was real or if my imagination just added it, but I remember a soft snowfall in the background.

As a young married couple in the post depression 1930’s and 1940’s my parents worked hard to make a go of it financially. Upon graduation from law school, my father took a job with the New York City school system so that we would have a steady family income and good health insurance. They gradually grew a successful law practice but it took a number of years.

I think as children we had an understanding that money was tight, but maybe not really. I remember repeatedly asking for a pair of pretty white boots which might have seemed to be frivolous on my part since, after all I did have my brothers’ hand-me-down ugly galoshes. One Christmas I asked only for the coveted white boots. As it got closer to Christmas I was aware of my mother putting packages in her bedroom closet. One day when my parents were downstairs and my brothers outside I snuck into the closet. I couldn’t believe it but the boots were actually there. As I quickly left the closet – I didn’t want to get caught – I was overcome with a mixture of emotions.

First, I couldn’t share with my brothers what I had done even though we were still at the age where we were pretty good sharers, and I couldn’t tell my parents. So come Christmas morning I had to pretend surprise at my pretty boots. I never checked the gift closet again and the boots, which were exactly what I wanted, had lost some of their magic.

At a pretty young age come the first Sunday of Advent, I started saying the Christmas novena – not sure if this came from my mother (a strong believer in novenas) or from the Catholic grade school my brothers and I attended.

Hail and blessed be the hour and the moment when the Son of God was born of the most pure Virgin Mary at midnight in Bethlehem in the piercing cold. At that hour and moment vouchsafe oh my God to hear my prayers and to grant my desires through the merits of our Savior Jesus Christ and His blessed mother, Amen.

This is a simple prayer – the only catch is that it should be said 15 times each day between the first Sunday of Advent and Christmas day. I don’t think I was ever told but I believed that each petition required a separate novena . When I was young I often said my novena prayers at breakneck speed because I had a number of petitions I was working on. Good thing God is very understanding – many times my petitions were actually answered.

Of recent years I have taken a more appropriate approach to the Christmas novena. It has become a very soothing mantra for me to repeat during Advent. It is so easy to get caught up in the sales pitches and fluff of Christmas. The words of the Christmas novena help center me.

In addition to the Christmas tree, when our children were small we always had a creche and an Advent wreath. At the start of Advent we put out the creche and gradually added the figures. At least once a week we would light the wreath candles and with the guidance of a prayer book we would celebrate our own family Advent liturgy. Once the children were grown and on their own, our Advent ceremony kind of fell by the wayside. But this year we have reinstated it – in modified form. It is nice.

In just a few days it will be Christmas. So much to look forward to, so much to be thankful for.

It is Sunday afternoon now and the house is very quiet – something it has not been since Tuesday evening when the first of our family arrived for the Thanksgiving weekend. Jerry and I have just returned from church and then dropping our oldest son at Union Station for his train back to New York. His wife left yesterday to be with her mother who is recovering from surgery and lives south of us in Virginia. It is a rainy, cloudy day which is very conducive to reflection and an attack of the lazies. Jerry has suggested we take a walk in about an hour. We strive to be faithful to getting our “steps” in on a daily basis – very important for seniors – but after five days of trying facilitate a smooth family gathering of making sure the fridge is well stocked and that all coming in from out of town have a place to sleep, I definitely am feeling not so into our normal exercise schedule.

We are very blessed in family and we do not that for granted. Both Jerry and I come from loving homes. There may have been a time when I was not as conscious of those who were not so family blessed, but that ended abruptly about 45 years ago. I was doing the post Thanksgiving replenishing of groceries and starting to stock up for all the company we would be having in December. Our five children were home with their Dad. l was enjoying the Christmas music the grocery store was blaring out. Frequently I had the children with me on grocery outings so this was this was quite fun for me to be able to take my time and to check out some of the new items the store was promoting. And then I rounded the corner into the canned food aisle where there was a woman staring at the stocked shelves and crying. She was probably the age I am now but at the time I thought she as very old. I immediately swung into my nurse mode and stood next to her and asked ” Are you OK – is there anything I can do”? She looked at me through her tears and said, ” I hate that music – it reminds me of what I don’t have any more”. I squeezed her hand and I moved on – I didn’t know what to say. At times of great blessings I bring up that memory. I never want to take what we have for granted!!!

These past five days have been so much fun. Wednesday night we had twenty for dinner and Thanksgiving day we were twenty nine in number. Friday night we dined at the home of our oldest daughter and her husband and our numbers increased to 31. Saturday we were back here and the number was twenty five. I only mention the numbers because I think it is so impressive that the food was down right yummy. And that is quite an accomplishment with such numbers! Cooking for these occasions is a team effort and the team members are very gifted and artistic as they cater to various food likes and dislikes. And a new feature this year was a very thorough clean up crew. Jerry and I were very appreciative.

There is so much that could be said about this Thanksgiving but what I like to focus on is the sharing by each person of what they are most thankful for. I was very touched by the words of those at what we call the adult table and was hoping that this scene would be duplicated at the grandchildren table of middle school/ high school/ college/ grad school / working folks. When dinner was over and we gathered for dessert I asked how the conversation had gone at the grandchildren table – the first time we had put together these various group. I was so touched to learn that they also had a sharing of their special blessings for the past year and the comments were that it had gone very well. When I thanked the granddaughter who had promoted this sharing she said ” but of course grandma – I knew that is what you would want us to do” . I was humbly grateful!!!

Since I have a medical background myself and am blest as the parent of two awesome medical practitioners it might seem strange for me to share some less than perfect experiences in the medical area but……..here goes.

These last twelve weeks I have been wearing a finger splint to correct a torn tendon at the tip of my right middle finger. No big deal – but on my initial visit the orthopedist thought the splint could come off at five weeks. When I went back for the five week check up I learned that the technician responsible for fitting finger splints had put mine on upside down. I am the mother of five children but of the many and varied physical ailments to befall our family I have had no experience with finger splints.

As we age it is a fact of life doctor visits are going to be more and more a part of our daily routine. The orthopedist I saw for my hand is part of the same practice where I get shoulder and knee issues tended to. I had never seen this hand specialist but I think highly of the knee /shoulder specialist so I was hopeful that the good medical vibes would carry over to the hand man. Not so. It felt like he whizzed in and out of the examining room while telling me after he saw my x-rays that with the proper splint, which their technician would apply, I could resume all activities.

That afternoon Jerry and I golfed – or at least I tried to. The hurt finger was supposedly being protected by the splint. The problem was that every time I swung the club, the rigid plastic material of the upside down splint with its sharp edge dug into the part of the finger not covered by the splint. After a couple of holes I just stuck to chipping and putting where a full swing was not required. For the next weeks I continued to work on my chipping and putting; otherwise I walked the fairways with Jerry and took in all the wonderful natural beauty of the course .

When five weeks had passed and I had my return appointment with the specialist I learned of the goof by the splint technician and I also learned that since my finger had not healed properly, I would have to wear the splint for six more weeks . When I pointed out to the tech – fortunately not the same one as before – how uncomfortable the edges of the splint were for the rest of my hand, he offered me one made of hard leather that had soft edges. It is so much more comfortable – why wasn’t I offered that material the first time around?

Another unsatisfactory medical experience was when I received a postcard in the mail from the gastroenterologist reminding me that it was time again for a colonoscopy. Since I am a believer in staying on top of medical needs I dutifully made an appointment and went in to see him. His opening greeting was less than appealing: “what are you doing here?”. l proudly let him know that as soon as I got his reminder card I had made an appointment. I think I was expecting a pat on the back for being such a conscientious patient. Instead the gastro doc quickly informed me that once you hit 80 , unless you are experiencing symptoms that merit further investigation, you are considered too old for a colonoscopy. I felt properly chastised,

I got my first “you’re too old” admonition two years ago when on a visit to the gynecologist she said I didn’t need to keep up with yearly visits any more. – now that I was past 80. I am a breast cancer survivor and the yearly visit and the yearly mammogram have been a non- negotiable part of my maintaining a good health care routine. My gynecologist of about twenty five years years had just retired – over the course of the years this doctor and I had developed a very friendly doctor/patient relationship. At my check up the previous year she had told me of her impending retirement. The doctor I was now seeing had bought out her practice. This doctor suggested that I discuss new mammogram and GYN scheduling with my internist. Such an impersonal dismissal ( which was what it felt like to me) would have been harder to take if not for the fact that I like my internist.

As we age the frequency of doctor visits increases. It becomes all the more important that we have faith and trust in those medical personal whose expertise we may need to call on. Aging can get complicated, and there can be medical misadventures. It was not a smart move on my part to put up with the pain of the finger splint. I should have returned to the hand specialist sooner. We must be our own best advocates for good medical care.

“ Aging is not ‘lost youth’ but a new stage of opportunity and strength.” This quote from Betty Friedan is a good motto to live by!!!

The Legal Services of Northern Virginia gala held Saturday night, October 26, was another successful celebration of this wonderful organization. LSNV serves the legal needs of those in Northern Virginia and in many surrounding counties and cities who when they need to, can not afford to hire appropriate counsel. It was established in 1980 and since its inception has handled 80,000 cases. Our son Jim has been the Executive Director of LSNV for the past 13 years.

The Gala was the perfect mixture of the serious and the just plain fun. There was a talk by Jim on the history of the organization and of the impact that it has on the folks it serves. We heard moving accounts from LSNV attorneys and then their clients spoke. They gave compelling testimonies of the legal help they received and of how the despair they were living with was changed to positive hope for the future. I was particularly touched by the attorney who shared a little of her own life story and that of her father who had served in the military. That was what inspired her to focus her legal career on veterans’ rights.

There were about 300 celebrants who came together to honor LSNV on this 39th anniversary. The guests were a mixture of those who work for the organization, law firms large and small who give their support – financial and otherwise – and friends and family.

The “just plain fun’ part of the festivities was in the obvious pleasure that participants shared with their table mates. It was reflected in the music, the dancing, the card playing, the picture taking. There were twelve of our family members in attendance and we took to the dance floor with enthusiasm.

Our musical family loves to dance as does the non-musical mother of this clan. I got a special treat when the grandson who is one of our Words with Friends favorite competitors asked me to dance – though a generation apart I think we made some pretty impressive moves on the dance floor.

Going to bed that night I reflected on the many diverse groups and peoples that are aided by the work of Legal Services of Northern Virginia: the elderly, the infirm , those with disabilities, etc. They need our financial support; And if it means attending their fund raising gala – what fun!!!

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Sunday afternoon was an amazing experience – one that at one time in my life I would not have expected to enjoy so much. With our daughter Maura and her husband Paul, Jerry and I attended a choral performance of CHORALIS which for each of its 6 yearly concerts honors a non profit whose good work they want to publicize. For this performance they were honoring the Culmore Clinic where Maura is the nurse practitioner working with diabetic and other chronic disease patients.

I grew up in a loving Irish Catholic home that was basically devoid of music. Neither my father or mother were musical and they produced three non musical children. The song that we had down pat was “Happy Birthday” and we knew our Christmas carols.

I was about 8 before I got a glimmer of understanding of the extent of my lack of musicality. We lived in a two story home, the stairs to the second floor were three going up from the living room to a larger platform stair and then then a turn to the left and the rest of the stairs led to the second floor. My father thought the platform stair was the perfect venue for his children to give a brief performance when we had company.

The summer when I was eight, money was tight causing my father to take an extra job running a New York City summer playground in a local school . I went with him most every day. I had from almost the beginning found a soul mate – a girl my age who like me enjoyed the arts and craft activities , the sports, and was excited about the show which would be the big activity of the summer. Playground participants who wanted to could audition for parts. I knew that I would compete for a singing and acting part. Though I was a shy child I enjoyed the occasional platform stair performances and thought being on an actual stage could be very exciting. My new best friend and I had lots of conversations about the show! And on try out day we were both so excited. I didn’t tell her that I thought I was a shoe in for a part – after all I had all that stair platform experience. She went first in the tryouts and when I heard her sing I was amazed – she sounded so good. She got her pick of parts – I didn’t get any offers! It got me to thinking about what was the difference in our voices.

By the time I entered the teen years I was well aware of my musical shortcomings. I was a devoted follower of the ” Hit Parade” so I knew what songs were popular but I didn’t bother to learn the words till my brother Pete suggested we learn the first lines of the popular songs. Shortly after that we were both invited to a beach party where we sat around a bonfire with friends and with the accompaniment of a guitar player spent most of the evening singing. Prior to my first line of song mastery I would have had a miserable time. Now I was a little giggly as I ” sang” the words I knew. But for the first time I felt a tinge of envy for those who could carry a tune.

As I progressed through school and on to my first job I became even more aware that some people had a musical gift that I would have liked. I made it part of my prayer life to suggest to God that if He/She wanted to perform a miracle that would blow folks away He/She could suddenly make me musical. This was a frequent request that popped up in my God conversations. God did answer my prayer, not in the way I requested, but in a way that has so totally enriched my life. He/She gave me a very musical husband and five musical children and blessed us with 19 grandchildren who are musical.

From Frank Sinatra to Bruce Springstein , from country music to classical, my musical education is ongoing. And so last Sunday when we attended the Choralis concert I was open to what I considered to be a heavy concentration of classical music. It was to be selections from various Requiem Masses, taking works from different composers .

We were early to the concert and able to get great seats right up front. The 110 person chorus and the almost 50 person orchestra seemed to surround us. I thought that since the program was to be excerpts from different requiems that I might be completely lost. I know that I didn’t follow the music in the same way as my companions but in my own non-musical way I did enjoy it. Because of the seating configuration for the chorus and orchestra, I felt totally engulfed by the music. It was like being transported to another world where I didn’t understand the language but felt warmed and welcomed by the ambience.

Would I ever want to go to another similar concert. I think the answer is “yes”. New experiences are one of the spices of life and as I age i find there is still so much I want to learn and experience.

This past holiday weekend was a special time of making new memories and revisiting old ones.  Part of the family gathered at the Ocean Grove, New Jersey beach home of our oldest son and his wife. Watching the weather forecasts for the last few weeks which have been consistent in their prognostications of rain, we were in agreement that rain at the shore was ok if the alternative was not going.. So glad that was our plan because the weather  turned out to be warm and beautiful. How many times in life do we waste time focusing on the possible bad things that just might happen. 

When my maternal grandparents were forced to move from Ithaca, New York to New York City – grandfather was the attorney for the Lehigh Valley railroad and when the government took over the railroad at the start of World War 1, he lost his main client. A New York City law firm offered him a partnership if he would move to New York and join them. My grandparents already had extended family in New York City so the move was a fairly smooth transition. They started a tradition of spending some part of their summers in Spring Lake, New Jersey. The place they stayed was the Colonial Hotel (now called the Ocean House).

My grandfather died in 1946. Grandmother continued to spend summers in Spring Lake and my cousin Franny and I were invited to each spend a week  with her in what was probably the summer after his death. I was a young preteen, a mixture of self confidence and awkwardness. I had no problem taking the train from New York by myself after having been escorted to my train seat by my parents and warned not to speak to strangers. I was very comfortable on trains. We had no car and were frequent users of the Long Island train on our many trips to New York City to visit family.  I knew grandmother would be at the station in Spring Lake when the train arrived. And I had lots to read on the train to keep me occupied. 

Ocean Grove is about ten minutes by car from Spring Lake. Our son Jerry had found and researched the Colonial Hotel where he knew from family history, his great grandparents had spent their summers . On Saturday afternoon, we all drove to Spring Lake. I was grateful to have such loving family support as I traveled back in time to my teenage years.

When we pulled up in front of Ocean House I knew that in spite of the name  change and the change to the building color that son Jerry’s research had paid off. When we climbed the stairs, crossed the lovely wraparound  porch and entered the hotel I felt an almost overpowering familiarity. This small family hotel still projects the warmth and charm that perhaps in my week of visiting when I was about 60 to 70 years younger than the rest of the guests, I failed to appreciate. 

One feature of this building that I remember loving  was its beautiful wide and winding wood staircase. As a young preteen I had a tendency to bounce down the stairs. Grandmother  reminded to be more ladylike. Now with the family I walked around the first floor – there were so many treasures in the furniture, the pictures , the artifacts – I felt like the inside of the hotel was so true to my memory. (Though the big wide screen TV in one of the lovely sitting rooms was a bit jarring). 

We walked from the hotel down to the Lake. It was such a beautiful day and more memories came flooding back. Across the lake was the imposing St. Catharine and St. Margaret  Church that I attended with my grandmother, so different from the Spanish mission style church that was my childhood parish home. 

When we returned to Ocean Grove I got my computer and googled  information on the Colonial. I learned that the staircase that I admired had been purchased from the 1876 Centennial in Philadelphia. The hotel was actually built around this amazing architectural piece. And the part of the staircase that was not used in the hotel construction now resides in the Smithsonian in Washington DC. Also my googling showed several “old” pictures of the Colonial – all in the off white original color that I remembered. The final piece of the memory puzzle was now in place!

These past few days of our family gathering have also been a time of sharing, walking the beach, playing scrabble, going in the ocean ( briefly- the temperature was 62), eating yummy meals. And it was for me a time of remembering. Remembering is particularly powerful when we are supported by love!  

There can be a tendency as we age to spend too much time in the past. I favor a mixture of not forgetting the past, of enjoying the present, and of planning for the future!

Yesterday my husband and I spent the afternoon and evening with some old friends who are also octogenarians. It was lots of fun!  We played bridge and then we had dinner together. Bridge is such a great game for keeping the mind active.  At one point I found myself reflecting on our beloved Aunt Bette who died in 2009 at 102 years of age. Bette was an avid bridge player who participated in several bridge groups. 

When she was in her late 80’s Bette shared this story of one of her monthly groups. There were two tables of women Bette’s age or older  who gathered at 10 o’clock on the appointed day. They took turns hosting. Around 12:30 they would sit down to an elegant hostess prepared lunch. After an hour of eating and conversation they went back to the bridge tables for several more hours. Bette said that the quality of the bridge was outstanding but that she was beginning to notice that the lunch conversation was getting a little “wackadoodle”. And, at one session, after a morning of challenging high quality bridge, the group sat down for a typical yummy lunch. But the conversation was a little slow till finally one of the women looked up from her plate and announced that she had read that the Japanese had bombed Pearl Harbor.  At that another woman proudly added to the conversation that she had read that Roosevelt had been reelected. Aunt Bette said nothing and was glad when they went back to the bridge tables. 

I grew up in a family of two bridge playing parents who wanted their children to enjoy the game. Since I had two older brothers who were interested in bridge I seldom participated in the family games preferring to read or just do my own thing. But I didn’t mind subbing when asked so I definitely got the basics down. In college I was a daily commuter from home , taking a pretty heavy class schedule so I could satisfy the requirements to move on to Cornell’s nursing program . Lunch time in college offered the opportunity for bridge but I didn’t feel I had the time to participate. 

When after graduation I moved to Washington for my first job and to share an apartment with friends, I was grateful that I at least had  some bridge knowledge when I met Jerry because he was a bridge player. When we married and had five children in five and a half years there was not much time for bridge. As the children got older we became part of a couple’s bridge group and since Jerry was usually my partner we usually did pretty well at the game. But I never really worked at improving my skills, it was more for me a fun, social outlet. 

Now the children are grown with families of their own and we have become Florida “snowbirds” – heading to Florida in the first week of January and returning the end of March. The two biggest  “snowbird” activities are golf and bridge.

When we googled bridge for the town where we rent our condo we learned that there was a House of Bridge , open six days a week where they played duplicate bridge. We decided to give that a try. We took classes and participated in some of the tournaments for beginners. And we joined the ACBL – the American Contract Bridge League.

Bridge has been for me a humbling and yet enjoyable experience. Humbling , because I finally realize just how much I don’t know about this game that I like so much. I want to get better. Enjoyable because sometimes I really play my hands well and feel like I am getting the most out of the cards I have been dealt ( seems like there is a life lesson in there). And through bridge we have made some new and wonderful friends and that is a special treat for octogenarians!!!

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THE DEER WHICH TORMENT AND DELIGHT

There are some people who don’t talk about aging enough and some people who talk about it too much. And some of those who speak with authority about aging are not there yet. Of course we all know that with every passing minute each one of us is getting older. But that is not the common frame of reference when one today speaks of aging.  They are most probably speaking of someone in the 70 plus category. Several months ago I started getting weekly aging platitudes on Facebook by someone who was identified as a well known author. I had never heard of her but that’s okay, there are lots of famous people I’ve never heard of. And since I am now firmly ensconced in the “aging” period of life I am trying to learn all about it and am open to various opinions. When three of the posts from the famous author rubbed me the wrong way I decided to google her and learned that she had two young children. She was another example of an advice giver whose “words of aging wisdom” were not based on actual experience. I deleted my name from her list of post recipients. 

Had lunch with a good friend recently. We went to the same grade school and high school. It was fun to reminisce. We talked about the different closed doors that are before us as we go through life. It is up to us to decide which door to try and open, which offers the most rewarding opportunities. How many doors should we try and in what sequence. 

When I graduated from Cornell there were many work opportunities in the nursing field. Cornell did an excellent job of preparing us for job hunting. They helped us to set goals and objectives as we began the search. I still remember in a class given by the Dean her thoughts on knowing yourself and your capabilities. She encouraged us to aim high but to make sure that we were grounded in the skills that the job required. Another way of saying don’t go through that door unless you are prepared to deal with the other side. The doors to choose from do not end when we get older. There may not be as varied  and there may not be as many of them, but they are still there. 

In the mid 80’s I went through the chaplaincy training program at Holy Cross hospital. This led to a job in the chaplaincy service at Georgetown Hospital. The staff was a mixture of ordained religious and lay chaplains. I loved the work but when the decision was made that the lay staff had to work the same hours as the ordained staff I knew I would have to give up this job I loved. Working nights and weekends was tough. I wanted to be home with my family. I gave my resignation. As that Cornell dean had taught years before “know yourself and your capabilities”.

We belong to an extraordinary church, St, John Neumann in Reston. Being  part of an inclusive meaningful church is important to us and we have that in St. John’s. Its mission statement is “ All are welcome” and  that is the cornerstone of this church. We searched a long time for such a church. Our wonderful church offers a plethora of activities. It is a nice  problem to have and we have to choose the ones most meaningful for us. Since 2001 we have participated in one of its bible study programs. This has opened the door to new friends and we have gained much from the course material. 

We moved to our present home in 1990. About ten years ago we put in a lovely patio in our backyard. I enjoy gardening but the bending that entails has gotten harder for me. I now focus on patio container gardening. It has been fun consulting with a very knowledgeable young friend on appropriate plants and their care. The deer  like to wander through our yard , sometimes laying down in the vinca, sometimes munching on our bushes and the patio plants. The negative is when the deer decide that their daily diet needs to include my prize hibiscus or the leaves from the hydrangea cutting, a gift from a friend, which I have nurtured into a healthy bush, I find myself not thinking too kindly of these majestic animals, but then there are times I am so moved by that same majesty.  

What is aging? It is a process we all go through. It is life.  When I was at Georgetown I became friendly with Sr. Jeanne. I was touched and moved by her kindness and her quiet spirituality. She radiated a inner peace.  We were contemporaries. The patients loved her. When I left Georgetown we remained friends. When she was diagnosed with terminal cancer and died shortly after, I was devastated. Her life was being cut short, there would not be much time for aging.  Her funeral service was at the hospital in the late afternoon. It was the same day as we were to be entertaining two of Jerry’s biggest clients who were in the United States for a brief visit. Jerry understood that I had to go to the funeral. Jeanne was my friend. She was so quiet and because of the timing of the service I was concerned not many of the  hospital staff would attend. I need not have worried. I got to the service about 15 minutes early and could barely get in the door. Doctors, nurses, various technical staff , house keeping were all represented. I learned a lot from my friend Jeanne. It is not how long we age but rather how well we use the time we have, how well we use our God given gifts and abilities.

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THE GREENER PARTNERS GALA  AND FIVE DAYS IN MEDIA

Last Saturday  night was very special in our family. Jerry and I attended the annual fund raiser of Greener Partners. It is a non profit in the Philly area headed by our youngest daughter, Meg. Their mission is to promote healthier communities through food, farms, and education. Focusing on those in need, they utilize mobile education programs, hospital gardens, and access to healthy food initiatives. Last year over 11, 000 families and individuals benefited from the program.  No wonder we are very proud 😘

 I like the way our family members  show support for one another. Our daughter Maura, her husband Paul,  and daughter Claire and Claire’s friend Greg all came from Virginia to be part of this event . Daughter Lilly came from New York. So including Meg’s husband Brendan, Meg’s personal support team at the gala numbered 8. And the total of guests at the event numbered 350. 

Jerry and I arrived in Media on Thursday. It is a two and a half hour plus  trip from our home in Virginia. When we were younger that could have been an easy there and back , even in the same day  – but not any longer. This time we added a few days for trip recovery and relaxed visit time with our Pennsylvania family. And we wanted to have a luncheon date with our friend Rene whom I have known since my Cornell days. She lived across the hall from me in the nursing dorm. Now Rene  lives in a continuing care community about fifteen minutes from our daughter’s home. 

We met Rene at a local Media restaurant where the emphasis is on yummy, nutritious food that is creatively prepared. But the best part was being with her and sharing our thoughts about aging. I told her about starting my blog and she talked about how she had started a monthly listening  group with her friends . Each one takes a turn being the facilitator and the facilitator gets to choose the topic for that particular meeting. Participants can just listen or they can contribute their thoughts. Interestingly, she said no one wants to talk about aging. She has decided that when her turn comes again, aging will be her topic. And not just the negative aspects which are so easy to fall into.

 Aging is tough – as the saying goes, it is “not for sissies’’.  Diminishing health, loss of mobility, loss of loved ones, loss of friends, perhaps loss of livelihood, loss of life purpose , loss of a sense of responsibility – these are some of the negatives. Recently in trying to straighten out my right hand  which gets cramped from arthritis I moved it too quickly and tore a tendon in my right hand resulting in a “mallet finger”. According to the orthopedist this condition is common in “older” women. I had not been planning on wearing a finger brace to Meg’s gala. 

The positives depend on how one deals with ageing’s adversities. It is important to keep intellectually challenged. For the last several years Jerry and I have participated in Learning in Retirement classes covering topics from current events to the history of unions. Through our church we are active in a bible study that is very important to us.  And we participate in several bridge groups. And we do crossword puzzles.

 We are both avid golfers, we will never be tour material but we get an incredible pleasure from the game and from walking the course.. We used to play 18 holes at a time but now accept that 9 holes is more realistic for our various aches and pains. Sometimes we play a few holes more and sometimes we don’t even reach 9. We are fortunate that twenty nine years ago when we moved to our present home we found  a golf club that was within our price range. 

We are now home – we have two young neighbors that we hire to water our patio plants when we are away. They do a great job but have no power over the deer who occasionally  roam our backyard – it was a bummer to discover that the hydrangea which started as a cutting gift from a friend and had grown to a healthy flower filled shrub had been mercilessly trimmed by the deer. I know it was the deer because the hydrangea  had grown quite tall and only the deer could have reached that high. The deer seem to be aware of our travel schedule – they never attempt the patio when we are home. A few weeks ago when we were on our beach week we came home to the remains of a beautiful hibiscus that had been gnawed to oblivion. I actually am not anti deer, I find them to have an almost spiritual quality in their quiet presence, but I sure wish they would leave the patio plants alone. Perhaps there is a lesson here – sometimes we just have to accept the bad with the good.

Reunions are strange happenings. I graduated from the Cornell University – New York Hospital School of Nursing in 1959. The Nursing  program at that time was a five year program – 2 years of college and three of nursing led to a bachelor of science in nursing degree.

When I attended my 5th year reunion where our class was honored – along with all the other classes divisible by five  – the graduates of 60 years previously seemed so old to me! Now as I made preparations to attend my own 60th reunion luncheon, I questioned what it would feel like. There were 90 in our first year class – by the time of graduation we were down to 76 – I wondered how many would attend – how many were still alive.  Our two class secretaries made an enthusiastic pitch for this gathering of recollection. 

I clearly remember our 25th reunion.  There was a good turnout. Our class was seated at a rectangular table.  These shapes of table are not conducive to conversation with those at the other end of the table where my close friends were seated. Next to me was a gal whom I barely knew my whole time at Cornell.  Not only were we not on the same floor in the dorm but also when after the first few months of concentrated academic work we began our clinical rotations we never once followed the same schedule. I was kind of bummed since I wanted to catch up on the doings of my friends. But then we started talking and she was delightful. We actually had a lot in common and the luncheon time just flew by. I never saw her again because she did not live close and she never came to another reunion. 

For this reunion I personally encouraged two good friends with whom I have stayed in contact to attend – we ended up with nine from our year. Looking through some old Cornell papers in preparation for the event I was reminded that at the time of graduation  I was the class Vice President – something that I had totally forgotten. It made me wonder if that forgetting was symbolic of the fact that my life had had so much richness and diversity and joys and not so joyful times since graduation that what was I trying to recapture by attending – seeing my  special friends? – it didn’t need a reunion to make that happen. 

Reunions are nice – but…………………..

The reunion was in New York City in one of the private lounges at the hospital – it lasted for several hours. I thoroughly enjoyed the reunion  – hearing what my classmates were dong ; getting the latest updates in the medical field. I loved seeing my close friends and several other gals whose friendships are important to me.  The actual reunion was intense and satisfying, but it was enough of looking back.

Who knows if I will be around for the 65tth or the 70th reunion. Or if I will even want to attend. Reunions are also a mortality check. . 

Reunions are nice but…………..