Life in General

Flashes of Brilliance

This morning, while I was drinking my coffee, I purposefully sat where I could keep an eye on a growing band of orange spreading along the eastern sky, signs of the brilliant orb that has been making very infrequent appearances in these parts of late. I could spy some ragged patches of blue amongst the gunmetal gray clouds skidding across the sky, and in the time it took to write a sentence or two in my morning pages notebook, a burning orange ball was staring me in the face, a regular "full monty" of sun flashing through the overcoat of cloudcover. Alas, within the blink of an eye, the trenchcoat was wrapped tightly around it once more, and that fickle sun was gone for the remainder of the day. What a perfect metaphor for my life this week, I thought, turning my head away from the window, and concentrating on the words flowing from my pen, for it seems that gray skies have been dogging me lately, with only an occasional flash of crimson brightness to clear the air.

Yesterday was such a flash - oh, certainly not the weather, which was a virtual deluge of icy rain, creating lakes of half-frozen slush everywhere, as if the sky were a giant slurpee machine run amok, overflowing onto the earth below. No, it wasn't yesterday's weather, which was definitely March coming in at it's lionhearted best. Yesterday, it was the music creating a mighty flash of brilliance.

It was choral festival yesterday, a performing competition for high school choirs across the state. Yesterday was one of those rare days when I was just "all about the music," as the kids would say, so on my game musically speaking, when performing is just about having fun and showing everyone what you can do. For that one brief shining moment, there are no worries about money, or chores, or old houses with leaky plumbing and damp basements ~ for just a few minutes it's all gone, disappeared in the words, and the rhythm, and the excitement of the music you're making.

When it's over~when the last chord (a brilliant, triumphant Hurrah! of a chord) has faded into the air, ringing clearly off the stage and into the ears of the audience, and you're swept up in the waves of applause and cheers~when you're slammed back into the cloud covered world of real life, you stand there blinking a little in the dim light of that reality. You take a moment to adjust, just a brief double take of the soul, as you remember~oh, yes, I'm really just a middle aged woman with groceries to buy and bills to pay and a family to worry about.

Somehow, though, that flash of brilliance stays with you a while. That one burst of lightning, and all the others little bursts so like it that you've collected over the years doing this thing that you love so much, they help keep you afloat in this cloud covered world we call reality, a world that's not always beautiful, brilliant, or even bearable. A moment of sunshine, a flash of brilliance, to remember and to cherish.

So how about you? Where do you find your flashes of brilliance?

The Greatest Thief of All

"Hi, this is Dee from Homestead Health Care, and I'm calling about Chris..." Much like the dreaded call from the principal at your child's school, a call from the attendant care supervisor at my mother- in- laws assisted living facility strikes fear in our hearts. We've been getting several of these calls lately, and they're never good news.

"Chris is not coming to meals on her own, so we need to institute a meal reminder service..."

"Chris has been sick for the past couple of days, and we think she needs to go to the ER..."

and yesterday's call...

"Chris is becoming increasingly aggressive, and is hitting other residents, so you need to contact her physician and discuss sedatives..."

Oh my.

For the past six years, Alzheimer's disease has been stealing my mother-in-laws mental capacity, and with it her ability to drive, handle her finances, and care for her personal needs. Now, all the processes that govern behavior and speech appear to be deserting her as well, for she's acting completely without inhibitions in her relationships with the other residents and aides. She hits them if she thinks they have more food on their plate than she does, she calls them vulgar names when they beat her at Bingo, and yells at them if they don't include her in their conversation.

My mother-in-law has never been an easy person to deal with. A true pessimist, she was never satisfied with anything, and seemed to have no idea how to enjoy any of life's pleasures, small or large. My husband's favorite description of her attitude is that "it's all about me." Although I'm sure she felt affection and warmth for him, she never knew how to show it, in word or deed. Now, she doesn't recognize him as her son, asking "Is that my brother?" or "Are you my husband?" My heart aches for him, watching him take on this responsibility for her welfare, knowing that there will never be an opportunity to improve the relationship between them, and sadly having very few good memories of his own.

I don't have enough fingers and toes to count the people I know who are struggling with this situation - parents, spouses, siblings, lost to this disease. And when I visit "Chestnut Village," the very nice euphemism for the "locked ward" at the assisted living facility, I'm struck by the proliferation of places like this, warehousing for elderly people who have lost their senses and can no longer live in "normal" society. Day in and day out, they sit in the "family room" staring blankly as old movies play on the big screen TV, perhaps moving into the game room to play an occasional round of bingo. Don't get me wrong, I'm glad there are safe, caring alternatives for the multitudes of people suffering from this disease. My mother in law has a nice studio apartment, with her familiar furniture from home. She has three meals a day, someone to do her hair and nails every week, and laundry services. She just doesn't have any mind.

So, where does all this end? Many thousands of dollars later, and after countless hours of care and attention, there is no stopping the steady progress of decline. Alzheimer's continues to rob its victims of their dignity along with their memory and physcial function. To me, that's the greatest loss of all - for everyone concerned.

Sunday Scribblings-Puzzles

My work life has been a bit of a merry-go-round lately and I'm rather puzzled about it. I've been juggling two part-time jobs for three years now, and it's getting more and more difficult to keep the balls in the air. My first conundrum involves whether to give up the part time position as choral accompanist at the high school in favor of working more hours at my office job, where there is an opportunity to take on more reponsbility. However, this in itself brings up another quandry ~ because these new responsibilities would require more time working in the office, while a lot of my current job can be completed from home, giving me the flexibility to travel to Florida on a semi-regular basis. As I ponder this current life puzzle, I realize that weighing the pro's and con's of one situation or another is a bit like looking at a 1,000 piece jigsaw puzzle scattered on a table. Each aspect of a situation is like a diffently shaped piece, each potential choice we make an opportunity to put the puzzle together correctly~or not.

I love working with the high school students, but the pay is abysmal. Unfortunately, this job totally disproves the theory that "if you do what you love, the money will follow." Nope. Not this time. Of course there have been plenty of other rewards ~but, let's face it, personal and creative satisfaction don't pay the property tax on three houses. My office job is not terribly challenging, and it certainly doesn't get the creative juices flowing. I enjoy the people I work with, and it's a pleasant working environment most of the time. But the salary, while certainly not a fortune, is worlds better than my school job.

So, here I am, trying to fit these pieces into the puzzle that's my life right now, feeling a bit as if I'm forcing a piece with a round edge into a square opening. I'm really wishing that someone will come by and discover that a perfectly fitting piece has actually been hiding in the corner all along!

Outside the Comfort Zone

I've been thinking a lot about a lovely comment I received from my friend Star just the other day. Her comment was in reference to this post, and my son and daughter-in-law's trip to Thailand to spend six weeks visiting my daughter-in-law's family. Star wrote that she wished me "peace of mind while they were out my comfort zone." So comfort zones have been on my mind today, as I drove them to the airport, watching them set off on their journey. When I first became a parent, almost 27 years ago, I had a very tiny comfort zone when it came to Brian. For many years he was rarely out of my sight. His only caregivers, other than Jim and I, were my parents. When he started school, I drove him there and picked him up every day. Occasionally, he slept over at a friend's house, and once or twice as a teenager he actually went away for the weekend with a couple of his buddies. He seemed quite content to remain within this circumspect sphere -until the day he met Nantana. Suddenly, he decided to break out of "the zone" in a big way, traveling on his own to meet her in Australia, becoming engaged at 19, then traveling to Thailand to meet her parents. Huge risks for a very shy and relatively sheltered young man. But he was determined, and brave, and it all worked out wonderfully well.

As you might imagine, all this activity outside the comfort zone was more than a little disconcerting for me. I was raised within a very restricted comfort zone. My parents, as much as I love them, had an extremely limited tolerance for any activity that might be unusual, possibly uncomfortable, or, god forbid, carry any aspect of danger. My marriage at the age of 20 was the first step outside the safe little box I had spent my life in so far. Even then, I married a young man I had known since the age of 13, and we moved into a house less than a mile away from my parents. Not much of a leap into danger, was it?

The narrowness of my comfort zone had a lot to do with my need to control life. I admit it, I'm a control freak of the highest order. Deep down I truly believe that nothing will be done correctly if I'm not the one doing it...that goes for child rearing, music making, cooking, cleaning, you name it. And of course, the perfectionism that accompanies the need to control means that I have to do everything or nothing will be perfect, and that is unacceptable.

My friend Pat first encouraged me to step outside the safe perimeters I built around my life. As I began following in her wake, traveling, performing, watching the way our students were following their dreams, I became more and more comfortable with taking those small risks that make life so exciting. I began traveling more, auditioned for musical groups, went out looking for a "real job" in the business world, and about a year ago started writing again. I learned that the process is sometimes more important (and enjoyable) than a perfect outcome.

My emotional comfort zones have changed as well during the past years. I am much less fearful of life in general, much less apt to become paralyzed with anxiety, much more likely to speak my mind if I disagree with someone. Because of the positive experiences I've had outside my comfort zone, confidence in my own abilites has increased, as has my satisfaction with myself as a person.

While my comfort zones are certainly wider than they were 15 years ago, they remain relatively circumspect. I would probably never sky dive, or bungee jump, or go on safari in Africa. I would, if given the opportunity, go ballroom dancing, spend a season in Paris, or take a race car driving course. However, I've learned to enjoy stepping outside of the areas in life that I know are safe for me, places where I know I can easily succeed, and foray into activities and attachments where I'm not so sure the outcome will be perfect.

I did wake up occasionally last night, thinking about my son and daughter-in-law flying somewhere over the China Sea on their 17 hour journey from Las Angeles to Bangkok. But rather than the fear and anxiety I might once have felt, my emotions were more reflective of this saying:

The teacher said to the students, "Come to the edge."
They replied, "We might fall."
The teacher said again, "Come to the edge."
And they responded, "It's too high."
"Come to the edge" the teacher demanded.
And they came, and the teacher pushed them, and they flew.
~Apollinaire Guillaume~