Live Like You Were Dying

I get the majority of my ideas for articles from friends. Most are going through the same aches and pains, trials and tribulations that I find myself dealing with as a fifty-something. But every once in a while I have a conversation with someone outside my group that touches me so much that I have to write.

Two days ago, I ran into a woman I met when I worked at St. Mary’s Hospital at a pediatric home facility where families stayed when their children were hospitalized. More often than not, the child was having treatment for cancer. The woman I ran into had a son who came routinely for two years and was dealing with an extremely treatable form of childhood cancer. "Good news," she told me. The young man just turned 22 and is by every sense of the word cured.

We spoke briefly, but I could see something in her eyes. She kept looking down as she spoke. Finally I grabbed her arm and led her to the food court. “Let me buy you a coffee.” I insisted. If I’ve learned one thing in life it’s that you have to stop and reach out to others in their moment of need. Too often I let the moment pass and regretted my lack of consideration later.

We made our way to the food court and over coffee she opened up about her own cancer nightmare.

After being diagnosed with breast cancer some years earlier and going through treatment, she had made it to 4 years and eight months before coming out of remission.

“They say if you make it to the five year mark it’s a good thing,” she told me with a sad smile. She was going back into a treatment plan. But what she said next changed me more than anything. “If I knew then what I know now, I’d have spent more time living and less worrying about death.”

Her son had been sick for so long that even after he was better death seemed to hang around. His immune system was battered and she constantly worried about accidents and illness, about strokes and heart attacks. She’d seen so much illness so early that she spent her life looking over her shoulder at every shadow.

“Do you know the song, Live Like You Were Dying?” she asked.

I smiled, “One of my favorites.”

“It’s true, you should live each day as if it were your last, not give into that fear of dying. Every day, I get up and say to myself, 'It’s going to be a great day, cherish it.' I tell everyone I love how I feel. I take numerous moments throughout the day to close my eyes and just breathe. I look around and I am so grateful for all that I have.”

I wondered what the people in the nearby booths thought of these two middle aged women crying together in the food court at the mall.

We talked some more. We caught up on her other kids that were always in tow when the youngest was in for treatment. I hadn’t seen her for eight years and knew because of the distance between our homes, the possibility that I would see her again was minimal.

“If you need anything...” I said as we hugged farewell.

She smiled, “I’m good, and it was great seeing you.”

We parted ways and I knew that I should take her advice to live each day like the special gift that it is to each and every one of us. Cherish the relationships; appreciate my life, my surroundings, all of those gifts with which I have been so blessed.

It happens, you hear this type of story and for a couple days you try. You attempt to live in the moment, appreciating loved ones. But all too soon we fall back into that everyday routine where just getting through seems to be a challenge.

Maybe, I would fall back into my habitual way of just getting through each day. As I got in my car, I closed my eyes and took in a long cleansing breath and cherished the moment. Maybe not.

I Want It Now!!

Yesterday, the Bailey dog and I were walking through the neighborhood, stopping every few seconds to sniff and pee. The dog, not me. We have lived in the immediate area for twenty some years but because of the transient Florida phenomenon; most neighbors have come and gone. In fact I think there are only eight original owners.

So I was walking in the cul-de-sac a few houses down and ran into a neighbor who has also been here since the area was developed. She and her husband were older than most of the residents as they had retired to the area. There were balloons tied to the mailbox and she told me she had just celebrated her eightieth birthday.

In front of their yard, under a huge oak tree they had placed a bench so they could sit and watch the neighborhood kids playing. Bailey and I decided we could use a short respite from the walk. It was over ninety in the afternoon sun and the bench in the cool shade where the wind was just tickling the tree branches beckoned us over.

We sat and talked about the changes in the area, about not being able to watch the shuttle take off over the trees anymore, and about time passing.

“I think the thing that makes me saddest,” she said, “Is that everyone wants everything right now. There’s no joy in waiting for something.”

A story, I was interested.

“When I was a girl we would wait each week to listen to our shows on the radio. Then when we got a television, the family would get together weekly and watch our special programs. That was the payoff. Now we dvr, we use on demand. That’s what life is about now, on demand.”

I got what she was saying. My son who works retail said the same thing to me. Parents come in demanding to get an early copy of a video game, why should their kid have to wait. It’s because we are all use to instant gratification. We want it now and most of the time we can get it right now. But when we can’t, we don’t understand.

The apps on the phone give us instant info on the store you need to find, what movie’s playing where and even where you are at all times. (______ just checked in at Yard House). You want that top from Gap? Order it online and have it shipped, don’t want to wait the 3-5 business days? Overnight it!

And wait, you can’t afford it? You can get it instantly, just fill out this credit application and we will approve you in three minutes.

I spent a wonderful half hour talking to this lady. I understood her concerns. I too like the anticipation of waiting for good things to come. But I also enjoy the conveniences modern technology affords. Maybe there should be a happy medium. Soon, technology will be available where you just have to think about something and it will appear. We’ll never have to leave the house.

Thank God for Bailey dog. He makes me stop and appreciate the world one sniff at a time.

Beer Beer Everywhere

Many of my friends have started drinking wine. My husband and his best friend even keep track of good wines we have tried. When it started they would buy an occasional fairly expensive bottle. Then they challenged each other, who could get the cheapest, best tasting wine. (Can you say two buck Chuck?).

I have tried to learn to like the wine. But it has become evident that I AM A BEER girl. Seriously, give me an ice cold beer and I am happy camper.

Recently my husband and I traveled to Denver and I discovered micro brews. Let me just say this place is a little piece of heaven right here on earth. We tried a different beer every night. And they have these wonderful boards that will give you “Samplers”. That’s right you don’t know what you like? Try a sampling of eight different beers.

Now, you might be wondering why I am writing about this in an over fifty blog. Most people my age were able, legally, to drink beer at eighteen. Yes, it was legal in Ohio, but it was 3.2 percent. If you’re my age you remember the difference between 3.2 and 6 percent beer. It took you twice as many beers to get a good buzz going. And if you remember 3.2 then you remember how we use to buy quart bottles for Friday night after the game. Some of my friends that had a more sophisticated palate drank wine. Boones Farms Wine that is, Strawberry Hill was a favorite among my group of girlfriends. Then we would light up the Switzer Sweets Cigars. Yeah, we were rebels back then.

Show me a wine that "compliments" pizza or a bold red that adds to flavor of a medium cooked burger with all the fixings. I'll match you with a frosted mug from the freezer with ice crystals forming down the outside of the glass while the amber liquid bubbles and swirls.

So you may offer me your Merlot, your Pinot, or your Chianti but don’t be surprised if I respectfully decline in order to hoist up a cold one.

Gas Gage II

There is one bad thing that came with turning fifty. The inability to eat anything you want on the spicy food chart. For me, it’s garlic. Actually, anything buttery with the garlic. Gone are the days of Oysters Rockefeller, garlic pizza and just about any of my special meals. I had a love affair with Garlic early in life and the wonderful flavor made it into most of my recipes. Now, I find it necessary to replace the flavor. I have found that extra herbs like thyme or basil can replace the garlic cloves that I cherished. It’s different, but most times the flavor is acceptable.

We won’t go into detail about what my symptoms are when I do eat garlic. Basically, I’m uncomfortable for a day. A few of my other friends have said that they too have some food problems. Nuts, the peels from some fruits and I have a friend that actually has acquired an allergy to beer. Maybe the lack of garlic in my diet isn’t so bad.

My son once told me that your physiology changes every seven years. You can pick up new allergies or foods will start affecting you differently. I’m hoping that when I turn fifty-seven my garlic problem will cease. For the time being, I sit and watch people eat those wonderful garlic butter rolls at the restaurant we frequently gather with friends …and I wait… only six more years to go.

I’ve also noticed that we have morphed into a group who likes to discuss what illness we are experiencing. The first half hour when we get together is taken up with new aches or pains that we are all feeling. There is all the new terminology we have learned this year. Many of our parents are going through knee replacement and/or hip replacement surgeries. These are things we have to look forward to as we age. My favorite discussion is hormone therapy. The specialist’s change daily on what is good for you, what is bad for you, what natural foods help so you don’t need to put synthetics into your body. It’s enough to drive a person crazy. Once I saw a special about some hormone that was made from mare urine. Excuse me? I’ll just keep trimming that one hair off my chin, if you don’t mind.

Many in my group were athletes when we were younger. And to those who are following in our footsteps I say, “What are you thinking?” The shoulder you can’t bend to lift above your head from a worn rotator cuff, the tendonitis that shoots pain through your arm from tennis or softball, the knee damage from the skiing accident... all these minor injuries develop into serious pains as you get older.

You see your orthopedist and they can now replace those ailing joints. But I’m still attached to the old knee and hip, and if I have to take two Advil every morning for the rest of my life then I’ll do it. It may take me a little longer to get moving in the morning, but it’s a small price to pay to keep my body intact.

And just because the body may be going doesn’t mean the mind isn’t as sharp as it’s always been. My adult kids tease me that I seem to be somewhat confused at times. Maybe I’ve always been this way and they just didn’t have the time to see it. They were so busy with school and boyfriends and girlfriends and jobs that they had little time for Mom and Dad. Maybe I was always a little scattered. I remember being at the mall with my daughters one day and panic sat it. Did I say I would meet them at the food court or by Sears? Did we say we would meet at one or one thirty? And this was when I was a young forty. Of course I ran into them at a coffee shop and they said, “Where have you been? We were supposed to meet here a half hour ago.” Really? Coffee shop at twelve-thirty? Where did that come from? But it wasn’t that I didn’t remember where to meet. Sometimes when you have kids you kind of tune them out. I just needed to learn to not do it when they told me where and when to meet.

Where Are Those Damn Glasses?

Have you ever noticed how forgetful you get after fifty? It’s not just the things around the house like the keys or mail or those pesky concert tickets. (Don’t get me started on my reading glasses. I bought four pair and just leave them lying around the house). But there are days you can’t remember a thing. For instance, a friend called about another friend’s son who is getting married. Half way through the conversation we realized neither of us could remember his name. We both have known the boy for years. Like, his whole life, twenty-five years. We kept talking, trying to remember.

“Remember he dated that one girl, the one with the red hair.”

“Wasn’t her name Carrie?”

“Her parents lived by the mall.”

“Wasn’t her dad a dentist?”

“I think he worked downtown by the marina.”

“Didn’t he divorce his wife for that receptionist?”

“Oh, now I remember, his wife owned the market that made the great gift baskets.”

“I used them all the time. Once I sent a fruit basket to a friend and the fruit was bad so the wife gave me a new basket free of charge.”

“She was good like that.”

“I think I sent that basket to Tammy when she got her hysterectomy.”

“Tammy’s son is the one getting married.”

“Oh yeah, what was his name?”

I have these conversations with my friends on an almost daily basis. But mostly I have them in my own mind. Where did I put that thing? Did I make that call earlier like I needed? Was it today or tomorrow that I was supposed to call the doctor? What was the name of that person who did that thing I wanted to look into? My son told me to put things back in the same place every day. Um, don’t you have to remember to put them there???? I remember stupid things like the names of my sixth grade teachers, or phone numbers of my friends in middle school. In fact people call me for numbers as if I were the white pages. But ask me what I had for dinner two nights ago and bam! The wall comes up.

I have become adept at writing things down that I want to remember. I actually write them down in three places. I have –
a. Pocket calendar
b. Refrigerator calendar
c. Desk calendar

The pocket calendar can be placed in my backpack (I don’t carry a purse, something that drives my daughters crazy) and I can write down things at lunch with the girls, when we will be meeting next, any hospital stays or any special occasions that might be coming up. We all cook and run errands for each other in times of need so it’s important to write it down as it happens. We are forgetful, but organized. Then when I get home I transfer it to my calendar on the refrigerator. That way my husband can glance at it occasionally and remind me of the various events. It is the center of our home and everyone eventually will make his or her way to the fridge.

“Hey Mom,” my son yelled one evening when he stopped by for dinner. “Did you know your article was due today?”

I rush to the fridge, look at the clock and run to the computer. I have until midnight to get the submission in. It is at this time that I look at the third calendar in my life and notice that although I wrote the deadline down in the pocket calendar and on the refrigerator I had left it off the desk calendar, which is where all the business appointments and deadlines are kept. Lesson learned. All three, all the time, period.

The one thing about the desk appointment calendar is that I have a tendency to write down numbers people give me on the pages. Two weeks later when I need the number I have to leaf through the book to find them. I have a stack of calendars from previous years kept just for the numbers. I guess I could take a day to write them all down in my address book, but I would have to find it. By the time I do find it, my mind would have wandered on to the next thing and two days later I would find the address book, put it away in a safe place and wait for the spirit to move me to organize the numbers once again.

It’s hard to imagine that this woman once ran a household with three kids and a husband, all involved in various activities, while being a president of the PTA, scout leader, band booster and director of the drama departments’ theatrical production when the teacher dropped out.

I think over the years my brain reached capacity and now chooses to ignore things that aren’t important or at least that I feel I may not need to know until some later date. I watch the talk shows and when they say it’s normal to forget some things when you get older, I call my friends to tell them we’re normal. They ask what show I was watching and then it happens. I have no idea, but I think it was channel four.

"I'll have the Creme Brulee."

Last week the girls and I were meeting for dinner at our usual spot. As we approached the front of the restaurant we noticed the chalkboard announcing the specials for the night. Salmon in a butter sauce with asparagus, beef tenderloin kabobs in teriyaki sauce, tomato basil soup and the appetizer of the evening was loaded nachos. All made our mouths water, but what caught my eye was written at the bottom. So small that it looked like the chef had added it as an afterthought – Egg Nog Crème Brulee. Now some people don’t like the custardy dessert, but I have to admit I am a connoisseur when it comes to this delicious confection. I like all Crème Brule, chocolate, peach, plain, and my all time favorite white chocolate with raspberry. See your mouths are watering already.

I followed the group into the seating area and perused the menu. However, somewhere in the back of my mind the nagging sensation lurked that the decision had been made. As usual we spent the first few minutes ordering our drinks and catching up with the news. How are the kids? What’s your crazy Mother up to? You know the typical girl talk for us over fifty crowd.

The waiter stepped up to the table and started writing. Two salmon specials, one Philly cheese steak, one order of wings with fries and then he came to me. I paused and looked around the table at my friends. In the last year we had all reached that half-century mark and had let many of the limitations from our youth fall by the wayside. Was I secure enough with these friends to take the chance? I knew that if I had a full dinner I would never get dessert. Usually I only order desert when my husband is with me and I can take two bites leaving him the remainder. So I took the chance….. “I’ll have the Crème bruele”, I said.

“And for your dinner?”

“Just the Crème bruele for now and coffee with a shot of Bailey’s on the side. If I’m still hungry I’ll get an appetizer.” I answered. The table grew quiet.

“Let me get this right. You just want dessert.” I could see he was judging me and by the looks on my friend’s faces they concurred with his sentiments.

“Yes, that would be wonderful.”

“Okay,” the man looked at me and jotted down the item.

Slowly it finally dawned on my friends. “Can I change my order?” the first asked the waiter.

The waiter just smiled. He knew what was coming.

“Will that be four Crème Brule’s and four coffees with Bailey’s?”

“Actually,” one friend said, “I’d like the chocolate fusion.” She read aloud the description from the menu. “A scoop of vanilla bean ice cream over a hot brownie with molten chocolate streaming down the sides.” She paused and smiled, “and a coffee with Bailey’s.”

The waiter walked away muttering under his breath as the five of us burst out laughing. But when the dinner arrived, we all enjoyed our “meals”. And the coffee and Bailey’s on the side.