My last blog alluded to the interruption of my pleasant day by technology interruptis when heavy rain caused my tv to go off three times. It is a routine matter today--even my 8-year-old granddaughter is aware of it and the cause.
It is part of life today. I still grumble about paying for tv that was free most of my life, but the visual quality and quantity of channels is certainly improved. I suppose it is my fault I cannot seem to find any programs I want to watch regularly.
Last night, I attended my older granddaughter's fall chorale concert. The music was as sweet and good as any I've heard. The students behaved well. The auditorium was crowded with proud families and friends. And among the performers were two students who wouldn't have been there when I went to school--a vision-impaired girl and a young boy in a powered wheelchair. They and the other students took it for granted they were there and participating. Wouldn't have happened when I was growing up. The technology for the wheelchair wasn't in existence, and probably not the medical and educational techniques needed for the vision-impaired girl as well.
Something has not changed. We accept as truth facts which are untrue, information "everyone knows", accept as "always" the way things have been done in our memory. We look at one another and smile, and take comfort in our accord. It was a bit of "always" for me last night, attending a school program where kids were still fresh-faced and ready to perform with a community of families to support them.
I hope that does not change. I do think one value of aging members of society is our memory of when realities were different, even when history as we experienced it is different from "what everyone knows."
Schools still teach information that isn't true. Can't help it. A whole generation of folks going through school in the 1950s and earlier were told petroleum came from the remains of dinosaurs under the earth. I've checked with others my age and older, and they confirm: yep, we were told as truth that petroleum was basically distilled dinosaur guts. It was a tall tale. But we were told it as truth. I wonder what tall tales persist. A lot I hear about deal with "can't" and "impossible." And then we learn it can be done, or the impossible has quietly been going on without human observation all along.
I remember learning how to write a formal letter back in 1950-51 (letter writing was a big deal back then, of course), and being called down by a teacher for writing Post Office Box 607 for our address (oh, and there weren't zip codes, either).
"You don't need to say Post Office," she said. "They all are. They always will be."
Fast forward to my driving along a rural highway in East Texas some 15 years ago, where I saw an old woman stepping up to her rural mailbox to get her mail. And I wondered how long that would be a reality.
I wish I had the analytical ability, the intellect, to shrewdly predict what would last and what would expire. Oh, what a blog I would have. Oops. Blogs are one of the things I don't know will persist.
In the 1970s, I regularly read a professional medical magazine with a columnist, Dr. (Joe?) Alverez, who knew medical lore already being forgotten and who wrote a popular collomn commenting on lore already being lost. He always quoted a saying I do believe is true:"Half of what we know about medicine isn't true, and the trouble is, we don't know which half."
Except, I think that is true in general. With so much so-called information out there on the internet, I think many would agree.
Trying to keep up, to assimulate, analyse and act, gives me a great mental workout day by day.
And that is what I like best about the present. I will add this to the value of elders in our population: with the sheer weight of new information getting our attention, things we already knew and have already discovered often get buried. Sometimes age can bring a fresh approach by retrieving information we really can't afford to lose.
Showing posts with label lifestyle changes. Show all posts
Showing posts with label lifestyle changes. Show all posts
Wednesday, October 27, 2010
Thursday, March 25, 2010
The more life changes, the more it stays the same
I heard today California once more is going to vote on the legalization of marijuana. And the climate is more welcoming now, because the state is broke. Sales tax on legal marijuana would be a welcome new source of revenue. The complications of doing this and making it work are myriad.
Who raises and sells it? Certainly, unlike tomatoes, squash and avocados, we don't want it imported from Mexico. In fact, the marijuana businesses in Mexico are called cartels, and are probably going to sneer and say, "we don't want your stinkin' peanuts for our stuff. We got our own rate schedule and delivery system." So. what agency oversees growth, quality, strength, etc.? Who oversees manufacture, packaging, and distribution? A newsman on the radio joked this morning that he could see the convenience store chains offering a real deal--one price for a 20-oz. drink, bag of chips, and bag of weed. "Yeah, his colleague joked." Now that's a real happy meal."
Strength is an issure. I don't know if you can breed back to the comparatively innocuous weed of the 1960s compared to the stuff available today. Do we want "light", regular, and fortified weed?
I mean, commercially. In California.
Quality of life is an issue, especially in California. You probably don't want a pig farm next door. From what I have read, you probably don't want more than 20-30 marijuana plants, either. They stink.
Now, chickens stink, too. It takes some effort to keep the chicken poop spread out in the beds and lawn. My son and his wife have solved this with a portable coop they trundle around the yard. No stink, but yummy eggs, and potential meat. And contented chickens sort of sing. They cackle when they lay. They are company.
Frankly, I think legalizing marijuana, even in California, is highly unlikely. Akin, in fact, to paramutual racetrack betting and casinos in Texas. And frankly, there are some good reasons for doing neither in both states.
In addition to actual factual considerations, there's Tradition: The Way We Have Always Done It (in our memory, anyway).
We are getting a lot of change these days we have no control over (just this morning, I found my busy computer had Updated, requiring me unwillingly to close out of files, close down and reboot. I didn't want to do this. I didn't have time. But I had to. And if I want a computer and internet, this is part of the system.) We all want change that goes our way, but not change that alters our behavior--unless maybe enlarged spending habits. We have Attitudes: the way I do it is Right; the way you do it is Wrong.
I have to say one thing about life these days--in the last couple of years, it sure has gotten interesting.
Who raises and sells it? Certainly, unlike tomatoes, squash and avocados, we don't want it imported from Mexico. In fact, the marijuana businesses in Mexico are called cartels, and are probably going to sneer and say, "we don't want your stinkin' peanuts for our stuff. We got our own rate schedule and delivery system." So. what agency oversees growth, quality, strength, etc.? Who oversees manufacture, packaging, and distribution? A newsman on the radio joked this morning that he could see the convenience store chains offering a real deal--one price for a 20-oz. drink, bag of chips, and bag of weed. "Yeah, his colleague joked." Now that's a real happy meal."
Strength is an issure. I don't know if you can breed back to the comparatively innocuous weed of the 1960s compared to the stuff available today. Do we want "light", regular, and fortified weed?
I mean, commercially. In California.
Quality of life is an issue, especially in California. You probably don't want a pig farm next door. From what I have read, you probably don't want more than 20-30 marijuana plants, either. They stink.
Now, chickens stink, too. It takes some effort to keep the chicken poop spread out in the beds and lawn. My son and his wife have solved this with a portable coop they trundle around the yard. No stink, but yummy eggs, and potential meat. And contented chickens sort of sing. They cackle when they lay. They are company.
Frankly, I think legalizing marijuana, even in California, is highly unlikely. Akin, in fact, to paramutual racetrack betting and casinos in Texas. And frankly, there are some good reasons for doing neither in both states.
In addition to actual factual considerations, there's Tradition: The Way We Have Always Done It (in our memory, anyway).
We are getting a lot of change these days we have no control over (just this morning, I found my busy computer had Updated, requiring me unwillingly to close out of files, close down and reboot. I didn't want to do this. I didn't have time. But I had to. And if I want a computer and internet, this is part of the system.) We all want change that goes our way, but not change that alters our behavior--unless maybe enlarged spending habits. We have Attitudes: the way I do it is Right; the way you do it is Wrong.
I have to say one thing about life these days--in the last couple of years, it sure has gotten interesting.
Saturday, February 21, 2009
What It Is
So many times, when we say we want change, we mean, "YOU change." We are in times when so much is changing, it is hard to keep track. And a lot of it isn't good.
The vanilla bean crop is threatened because of climate. Chocolate is threatened because of greed (see TIME magazine,2/16). Newspapers are threatened throughout the United States because of the economy, and news came a couple of days ago that Seattle may become the first major city to lose both its local newspapers--and I'll blog about that later, because I really believe a free and local press is a cornerstone of democracy and freedom. T. Jefferson and I agree. It is surreal that in 1965, I was a pioneer as a woman journalist in hard news, and 40-some years later, the industry I pioneered in, a bastion so-called, of America, is in peril.
Glaciers are melting in the Himalayas, source of water for some 5 million people, I understand? California is in its third year of drought, meaning that as soon as a month from now, the water allocation for farms may be cut off to provide limited resources for the rest of Californians--and affecting the foods produced for the rest of the nation. Here in Texas, so far the year has been very dry, and thousands pour into the state every month. We, too, provide a lot of the nation's produce.
Party politics still seems the same old, same old on both sides, and duly elected officials would rather see their constituents go down the drain than compromise, work together, and go for a fix. Huh. Well, I'm not surprised, but I admit, I still hope a little. We CAN. That's the sad story. We really can do wonderful, marvelous things, and some are doing them, but others aren't.
Can't do anything so much about that. I can vote, and I can write letters, and I can pitch in on local stuff. I can throw my strength to protect freedom--for instance, I don't want to own a rottweiler or pit bull, but a proposed statewide ban on the ownership of these breeds is wrong, wrong, wrong. I can be a strong family member. I can love folks. I can be more open to persons in my life who need me--and try to keep my eyes open, so I don't miss someone who does. I can try the best I can to live a life that eases my conscience and that I can call good--and whether I deserve it or not, it is good. Beautiful, in fact. I can, and do, laugh often. And I am embarrassed, but have to live with the current fact of how often I am moved to tears. Nothing all over the place, just a little overflowing for a minute or so.
I thought I had a plan for this year, but that's off the rails and going in an entirely different --and exhilerating--direction. Whoopee! I'm hanging on, the wind in my hair and a grin from ear to ear.
I'm not ignoring, you understand. Worldwide, things are serious. But love is still to be found, choices to be made, happiness to be noticed and enjoyed, and thanks to be given.
If this sounds like a cliche, it isn't. It is so heartfelt, my eyes are tearing up as I type it.
This week a good friend ended up in the hospital. Diagnosis: most curable kind of leukemia. BUT. She isn't just afraid of needles, she's phobic. Also very strong. I had the honor to be with her when the oncologist nurse started the IV for her blood transfusions. She was still. She was cooperative. She threw the sheet over her head so she could not see, and clenched my hands with her other hand so hard I was surprised afterwards they weren't bruised. All I could do was hold on and try to telegraph as much strength and love to her as I could. She went through the panic attack, accepted that for now that was all she could do, and thanked the nurse afterward. I am so grateful I could be there, that holding on may have made a difference.
I guess I see that kind of like a metaphor. All I want to do is hold on and try to make a difference. If I can, it has been a good and satisfying life, that I hope has a few decades to go.
The vanilla bean crop is threatened because of climate. Chocolate is threatened because of greed (see TIME magazine,2/16). Newspapers are threatened throughout the United States because of the economy, and news came a couple of days ago that Seattle may become the first major city to lose both its local newspapers--and I'll blog about that later, because I really believe a free and local press is a cornerstone of democracy and freedom. T. Jefferson and I agree. It is surreal that in 1965, I was a pioneer as a woman journalist in hard news, and 40-some years later, the industry I pioneered in, a bastion so-called, of America, is in peril.
Glaciers are melting in the Himalayas, source of water for some 5 million people, I understand? California is in its third year of drought, meaning that as soon as a month from now, the water allocation for farms may be cut off to provide limited resources for the rest of Californians--and affecting the foods produced for the rest of the nation. Here in Texas, so far the year has been very dry, and thousands pour into the state every month. We, too, provide a lot of the nation's produce.
Party politics still seems the same old, same old on both sides, and duly elected officials would rather see their constituents go down the drain than compromise, work together, and go for a fix. Huh. Well, I'm not surprised, but I admit, I still hope a little. We CAN. That's the sad story. We really can do wonderful, marvelous things, and some are doing them, but others aren't.
Can't do anything so much about that. I can vote, and I can write letters, and I can pitch in on local stuff. I can throw my strength to protect freedom--for instance, I don't want to own a rottweiler or pit bull, but a proposed statewide ban on the ownership of these breeds is wrong, wrong, wrong. I can be a strong family member. I can love folks. I can be more open to persons in my life who need me--and try to keep my eyes open, so I don't miss someone who does. I can try the best I can to live a life that eases my conscience and that I can call good--and whether I deserve it or not, it is good. Beautiful, in fact. I can, and do, laugh often. And I am embarrassed, but have to live with the current fact of how often I am moved to tears. Nothing all over the place, just a little overflowing for a minute or so.
I thought I had a plan for this year, but that's off the rails and going in an entirely different --and exhilerating--direction. Whoopee! I'm hanging on, the wind in my hair and a grin from ear to ear.
I'm not ignoring, you understand. Worldwide, things are serious. But love is still to be found, choices to be made, happiness to be noticed and enjoyed, and thanks to be given.
If this sounds like a cliche, it isn't. It is so heartfelt, my eyes are tearing up as I type it.
This week a good friend ended up in the hospital. Diagnosis: most curable kind of leukemia. BUT. She isn't just afraid of needles, she's phobic. Also very strong. I had the honor to be with her when the oncologist nurse started the IV for her blood transfusions. She was still. She was cooperative. She threw the sheet over her head so she could not see, and clenched my hands with her other hand so hard I was surprised afterwards they weren't bruised. All I could do was hold on and try to telegraph as much strength and love to her as I could. She went through the panic attack, accepted that for now that was all she could do, and thanked the nurse afterward. I am so grateful I could be there, that holding on may have made a difference.
I guess I see that kind of like a metaphor. All I want to do is hold on and try to make a difference. If I can, it has been a good and satisfying life, that I hope has a few decades to go.
Sunday, May 18, 2008
Aging Brings Some Treasured Gifts
Happiness. Peace. Joy.
These days, each of these emotions appear sometime in most every day. And it is interesting. These emotions are excellent painkillers, or at least make pain less important. I don't know how I got here mentally, exactly. But I am thankful.
I have both rheumatoid and osteo arthritis. The rheumatoid was diagnosed about 12 years ago. I had always been physically active and knew--I knew--that continued exercise was required. But I pouted, sat on my rear, and let muscle tone go as I shook my fist at a God that would allow me to have the one disease I dreaded (well, two--my mother had Alzheimer's.) The rheumatologist prescribed methotrexate. I dubiously took it, found it left me vaguely nauseous all the time, and I quit taking it. Decided I would rather limp. And limp I have. I've had no treatment since.
And as toxic as methotrexate is, even now I don't want to take it.
Correction, I did have some very effective acupuncture, and I am just now flaring up some five or six years after the treatment.
I retired early, and my COBRA ran out more than a year ago. Medicare starts Aug. 1. At that time, I will see a rheumatologist again, and see what options I now have. I have so many doctors to see this fall, I could be accused of Munchausen's syndrome. Humph.
But Feb. 29, I made a move. When I tell people about it, the reactions are interesting. Some are uncomfortable. Others are enthusiastic.
I've moved into a retirement community that includes independent living, assisted living, and a small skilled nursing unit. There are many such facilities in the area, and more to come. The one I've moved into has a high rise apartment building for both independent and assisted living residents, a street of large, luxurious "2-plexes", and a whole bunch of "cottages" which are really one-story apartments built as three to four units per building. It is such a large campus that a number of residents have bought golf carts to get around.
I have a one bedroom apartment with a living room, kitchen, bath and really large bedroom. The ceiling is slanted up to allow three high windows on the north side to let in light, in addition to regular windows and the sliding glass doors. Yes, folks can buy in and then pay a small monthly maintenance fee, but I've chosen to rent. My monthly fee covers all utilities and cable. It's a set fee per month, so if I really want to turn the thermostat down in summer, I can do so without going broke. Ahhh. One of my favorite perqs here is housekeeping coming in every two weeks to sweep the porches, vacuum, mop kitchen and bathroom floors, clean the tub, commode and sink, clean the bathroom and kitchen counters and dust all surfaces. I LOVE this. At last I have a wife. They even came early one day at my request when I was having company.
If I like, I can buy lunch at the ad building dining room, and I have done so at least weekly both because it's a good meal for the price and a great way to meet other residents. People come from all over, usually because they have family in the area, and I've met transplants from Florida, Ohio, Hawaii, and Alaska, to name a few. Most are retired professionals, but by no means all. We have about 40 who are 90 or older. I am the youngest one here. It's kind of mind-blowing to be 64 and frequently run into people who are 20-30 years older.
We have wilderness on two sides, plus an adjacent park with a small lake that draws area fishermen often. Lots of bunnies, squirrels and songbirds. NO grackles. The security head tells me he has seen a red fox and a bobcat on campus at night, and residents of one section of cottages tell me they are often visited by raccoons and possums. The grounds are kept impeccably, but we are free to plant what we want. I have a small back porch, but many have sizable patios.
In short, I am really satisfied. We have speakers--I'm going to talk about one topic that came up when the storyteller came this week--and I've taken the bus once to a concert. Not bad. Ride to the front door, go to the concert, meet the bus at the front door afterwards and ride home. Very nice. Yes, they have bingo sometimes, and I'm not about to play poker with these guys--I suspect card sharps.
Settling in and unpacking has taken much time, not to mention adjusting to the life change and new folks....and I discovered I now have arthritis in my back. The discovery was pretty sudden and painful, and affected my arthritic knee as well; a new knee is somewhere in the next year or two.
But back to happiness, peace, joy. I have indeed had some pretty strong painkillers to deal with the onset of the back problem, but this time I kept right on exercising. And if I can't get nearly as much done physically, I'm not shaking my fist any more. I give thanks for my blessings each day and ask for more blessings tomorrow. And happiness, peace and joy not only muffle pain, but they are great biofeedback tools. I focus on those emotions, not the pain, and it lessens. Plus I have more fun.
So I've moved in with the old folks. I have complete independence and privacy.
And right now, my life has peace, joy and happiness permeating it. Oh, yeah, love is a part of it, too. I am so blessed.
These days, each of these emotions appear sometime in most every day. And it is interesting. These emotions are excellent painkillers, or at least make pain less important. I don't know how I got here mentally, exactly. But I am thankful.
I have both rheumatoid and osteo arthritis. The rheumatoid was diagnosed about 12 years ago. I had always been physically active and knew--I knew--that continued exercise was required. But I pouted, sat on my rear, and let muscle tone go as I shook my fist at a God that would allow me to have the one disease I dreaded (well, two--my mother had Alzheimer's.) The rheumatologist prescribed methotrexate. I dubiously took it, found it left me vaguely nauseous all the time, and I quit taking it. Decided I would rather limp. And limp I have. I've had no treatment since.
And as toxic as methotrexate is, even now I don't want to take it.
Correction, I did have some very effective acupuncture, and I am just now flaring up some five or six years after the treatment.
I retired early, and my COBRA ran out more than a year ago. Medicare starts Aug. 1. At that time, I will see a rheumatologist again, and see what options I now have. I have so many doctors to see this fall, I could be accused of Munchausen's syndrome. Humph.
But Feb. 29, I made a move. When I tell people about it, the reactions are interesting. Some are uncomfortable. Others are enthusiastic.
I've moved into a retirement community that includes independent living, assisted living, and a small skilled nursing unit. There are many such facilities in the area, and more to come. The one I've moved into has a high rise apartment building for both independent and assisted living residents, a street of large, luxurious "2-plexes", and a whole bunch of "cottages" which are really one-story apartments built as three to four units per building. It is such a large campus that a number of residents have bought golf carts to get around.
I have a one bedroom apartment with a living room, kitchen, bath and really large bedroom. The ceiling is slanted up to allow three high windows on the north side to let in light, in addition to regular windows and the sliding glass doors. Yes, folks can buy in and then pay a small monthly maintenance fee, but I've chosen to rent. My monthly fee covers all utilities and cable. It's a set fee per month, so if I really want to turn the thermostat down in summer, I can do so without going broke. Ahhh. One of my favorite perqs here is housekeeping coming in every two weeks to sweep the porches, vacuum, mop kitchen and bathroom floors, clean the tub, commode and sink, clean the bathroom and kitchen counters and dust all surfaces. I LOVE this. At last I have a wife. They even came early one day at my request when I was having company.
If I like, I can buy lunch at the ad building dining room, and I have done so at least weekly both because it's a good meal for the price and a great way to meet other residents. People come from all over, usually because they have family in the area, and I've met transplants from Florida, Ohio, Hawaii, and Alaska, to name a few. Most are retired professionals, but by no means all. We have about 40 who are 90 or older. I am the youngest one here. It's kind of mind-blowing to be 64 and frequently run into people who are 20-30 years older.
We have wilderness on two sides, plus an adjacent park with a small lake that draws area fishermen often. Lots of bunnies, squirrels and songbirds. NO grackles. The security head tells me he has seen a red fox and a bobcat on campus at night, and residents of one section of cottages tell me they are often visited by raccoons and possums. The grounds are kept impeccably, but we are free to plant what we want. I have a small back porch, but many have sizable patios.
In short, I am really satisfied. We have speakers--I'm going to talk about one topic that came up when the storyteller came this week--and I've taken the bus once to a concert. Not bad. Ride to the front door, go to the concert, meet the bus at the front door afterwards and ride home. Very nice. Yes, they have bingo sometimes, and I'm not about to play poker with these guys--I suspect card sharps.
Settling in and unpacking has taken much time, not to mention adjusting to the life change and new folks....and I discovered I now have arthritis in my back. The discovery was pretty sudden and painful, and affected my arthritic knee as well; a new knee is somewhere in the next year or two.
But back to happiness, peace, joy. I have indeed had some pretty strong painkillers to deal with the onset of the back problem, but this time I kept right on exercising. And if I can't get nearly as much done physically, I'm not shaking my fist any more. I give thanks for my blessings each day and ask for more blessings tomorrow. And happiness, peace and joy not only muffle pain, but they are great biofeedback tools. I focus on those emotions, not the pain, and it lessens. Plus I have more fun.
So I've moved in with the old folks. I have complete independence and privacy.
And right now, my life has peace, joy and happiness permeating it. Oh, yeah, love is a part of it, too. I am so blessed.
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