My 61st Birthday

/ Linda Crow / Leave a comment

This is my EDLM journal entry.

 I awakened at 7:00 and had my usual coffee and quiet reading/prayer time.

My husband had a birthday card and gift for me. I’m 61 years old today.

I completed minor chores, met my lifelong best friend for lunch who now lives in Westfield. We spent time in the afternoon together, as well. 

After she left, my husband met his brother-in-law to go fishing, so I had the house to myself, a rarity nowadays since he works from home. 

I popped in DVDs I recently bought to rewatch the 1980s series, “Moonlighting.” I love nostalgia, so I purchased seasons one and two for that purpose only. I loved seeing “David Addison” and “Maddie Hayes” spar and talk over one another at the speed of light again. Plus, the clothing, hair and makeup were fun to revisit. It was also enjoyable to see details from the past that are longer common or relevant. Remember the actress Allyce Beasley, “Agnes DiPesto,” (what a great name for this character!) the receptionist at Blue Moon Detective Agency who answered every call with a rhyming soliloquy? It’s great to see Bruce Willis’s curly, smug smile, hear his renditions of old songs, see the gorgeous Cybill Shepherd perform a caricature of the beauty queen role she had lived in real life, a self-deprecating, tongue-in-cheek woman coming back into the public eye with a vengeance. 

I made myself dinner and followed that with not one but two caramel apples.

My husband came home, we chatted over the events and conversations of the day, and then I watched Survivor. I’ve seen every season, some more than once, and I’m here for season 45. I’m the most sissified, noncompetitive person I know, so why I particularly like the episodes where people are dragged around like rag dolls or hit obstacles in mazes like pinballs of old is curious to me. Maybe I have a sadistic streak??

Finally, this is the FB post I published after taking a break recently:

What I gave up in my 60th year: the bathroom scale. The last time I stepped on one at home was one year ago, the day I turned 60. When I went to the doc this year, I complied but looked away. I thought I would hop on one year later to see what would actually happen in a year without monitoring closely, but I decided not to.

Weighing daily is nearly a lifelong practice to break. Growing up in the 70s and 80s put a lot of pressure on females. I’ll bet I’ve been weighing myself since I was 13 years old. In middle school, the doctor told my mom that I needed to cut back on the milkshakes and french fries. That one comment added to what I was already feeling and seeing (beginning with Malibu Barbie) and started a whole *thing* (fill in your own word) that many of us understand. Did I gain weight this year? I think so. My face has also dropped more, my eyebrows have vacated my face more, my bones hurt more, etc. It is what it is. Will I ever peek at the scale again? Maybe. I don’t plan to. I will always be interested, however, in walking, running and maintaining good health. I’m just less interested in numbers: paces, years, calories and that number on the scale.

And that is what I did and thought as I marked my 61st year. 

FOR PAIN (Grief)

/ Linda Crow / Leave a comment

Oh boy, does this bring back memories. When my mom lived with us, I had to write on everything because dementia caused so much confusion. She couldn’t do pill boxes or schedules; all organizational skills and short term memory were gone. She couldn’t read Acetaminophen or Tylenol and understand what it was, but I tried.

For a while, I stuck Post It notes on everything: the microwave, the Tylenol bottle, the remote control, etc. I had long lists typed out and taped to the side of her dresser which was directly in front of where she sat most of the time so that she could instantly see, review as many times as needed, phone numbers, explanations of why her hands hurt, how old she was, why her social security check didn’t physically arrive in the mail, etc.

But my efforts were useless. Notes only inspired further questions, suspicions and insecurities, and those questions led to circles of the same answer to the same questions. Sometimes I thought I was the one losing my mind. Not just sometimes–a lot of the time I felt that way. I remember my body literally shaking.

This pill bottle which I recently disposed of was a reminder of the “note days,” of my struggling to realize and accept she was not able to process this kind of information anymore. To her credit, she didn’t resent the notes, and she could read them, but the words lost their meaning to her.

Emotionally, I kept clawing at keeping her here mentally and keeping dementia away, trying every creative trick I could think of, but my notes and efforts only caused tears and frustration, usually mine.

Grief is a weird thing. Part of me never wants to see reminders of times like these again. I only want to remember her as she was before she slipped away. Part of me was inexplicably sad when I threw this bottle away. I had felt so responsible as her caregiver, felt as though I had failed.

I’ve had 15 months of grief since she passed, but my grief started way before she died.

I’ve heard new parents say, “They didn’t prepare me for this [fill in the blank].” It’s the same with being the adult child of an aged person whose brain has been assaulted by dementia: “They didn’t tell me there would be days like this, when I would feel [fill in the blank].”

Oh, Life. There is not always a quick fix, or a pill to take “FOR PAIN.” But I will get through this just like everyone does, one day, then one week, then one month at a time, one grief at a time.

Today I say goodbye to the “note days,” affirming myself for doing all that I could do to keep her feeling secure, safe, comfortable. It’s still not a happy thought for me, that I did all of that for seemingly nothing. But it is our history, Mom’s and mine, part of our story, part of the love and loss in my life.

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Red Flags Prompt

/ Linda Crow / Leave a comment
Daily writing prompt
What personality trait in people raises a red flag with you?
View all responses

Effusive compliments

Expecting everyone at a gathering to legitimize and validate your bad mood, excuse your rude behavior. I don’t care if you’re tired, unhappy, had a bad day, whatever. Pull yourself together in public and save that transparency for an intimate setting.

Inappropriate flirting

Rudeness

Davenport vs Couch, Mid-Century Modern Gives Way to Early American Colonial Furniture

/ Linda Crow / Leave a comment

Oh, Life. When you were so relaxed that you could fall asleep anywhere.

That’s my mom’s cherry colored “davenport.” I just this moment remembered that my mom called her sofa a “davenport.” She also said, “divan” and “couch” but not ever sofa, that I can recall, which I find curious.

Wikipedia says, “[Davenport] is used as a synonym for ‘sofa’ or ‘couch’ in some Great Lakes regions of the United States, especially the Upper Midwest and Buffalo, NY-Erie, PA areas.” Well, we were in Indiana, so that may be why. I’m sure the salesman used that fancy term when they sold it to my parents.

And “divan” comes from the Turkish “divan” which is something like Freud’s couch, so that doesn’t work for this piece of furniture, either.

But in contemporary nomenclature, we would call it a sectional. See the corner piece in this Christmas picture. I’m guessing this to be around 1967. (And please don’t miss the Zenith console. We loved that behemoth.) This second picture is more like the sectional’s true color, not so vivid. OOh–I see I received a beauty vanity mirror and nurse’s kit that year.

The cherry pink had a metallic silver thread running through it that was just a tiny bit scratchy if you touched it the wrong way, but I guess it was pretty.

One year, my mom had it reupholstered, which was a common practice back then. Because the frames and stuffing were in good shape, the upholstery might take a beating or go out of style before the innards did, so why buy new innards when you can just redecorate the outside?

So here is the same sectional, corner piece in, re-done in a gold brocade pattern, a floral design that was tone on tone but had the slightest difference in the height of the weave. So one part of the flower might look satiny, while the other part might look woven. Check out the Home Interior sconces and the silver tree. I see that I received a hair-“growing” Crissy doll that year and the Bingo game.

That’s my oldest brother and his wife. Check out her panty hose feet and beehive. I also spy the traditional box of Christmas chocolates, probably Brach’s.

I can see we’re inching toward the 70s here because our modern blonde Danish coffee and end tables are not in the pictures; they were replaced by what we would call Early American, or Colonial, furniture. Bye-bye, space age silver trees and metallic threads and starburst decor on kitchenware–hello maple wood, knotty pine, reproductions of antique furniture with spindles and curves, earth tones, braided oval rugs and Bi-centennial nods. Gone was our oatmeal colored room sized rug and in came wall to wall gold and brown shag carpeting. I remember my grandmother’s lamp that was a replica of an old fashioned coffee grinder at the base, complete with beans that just sat there without purpose for years. But it sure looked antique, but they smoked, so everything had that antique look, basically.

Here is something ironic. Not a lot of people have cherry red furniture. Maybe it seems kind of gauche; I don’t know. But a few years ago I acquired these accent chairs, and I absolutely love them with my my grey everything else room. A little red goes a long way, but I’ll take it over Avocado Green and Harvest Gold and Burnt Orange any decade.

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Red Tricycles in Heaven

/ Linda Crow / Leave a comment

When I was young, I was trying to figure out big concepts such as death and heaven. Since I was in church every Sunday morning and evening, every Wednesday evening plus vacation Bible school plus camp meetings and revivals . . . I was pretty steeped in metaphysics by tricycle age but still not developed beyond very concrete thinking, of course.

One time, my mom was trying to answer my questions about heaven, what it would be like.

Now, I loved this red tricycle that you see above. That’s my actual trike. So I asked, “In heaven, everyone is happy all the time. We have everything we want. Whatever we want?? We can have *whatever* we want? Do you think I can have my red tricycle?”

I remember that little thoughtful space between my question and her answer.

She said, “I think that when you get to heaven, if that tricycle would still make you very, very happy, then I think you will have it.”

I was satisfied with that answer.

When I was older, my question embarrassed me. But I see the whole of our curiosity about heaven in it now: We don’t even know what question to form or what image to use to think about heaven.

What no eye has seen, what no ear has heard, and what no human mind has conceived–the things God has prepared for those who love him–these are the things God has revealed to us by His Spirit. The Spirit searches all things, even the deep things of God.

1 Corinthians 2:9-10

But it’s good to use a consecrated imagination to think about heaven; it’s good that we should anticipate the joy to the extent that we are able. So we try. We think of loved ones already there, strong bodies of some kind, no anxieties, etc.

But we can’t envisioin the fullness of the joy that lies ahead. We think about our loved ones being there, the absence of sorrow and illness and death–all good things. We might even have tricycles and swings and chocolate and feasts and perfected singing voices and mind boggling abilities–but the main event will be Jesus, the author of all.

For in Him all things were created: things in heaven and on earth, visible and invisible, whether thrones or powers or rulers or authorities; all things have been created through him and for him. He is before all things, and in him all things hold together.

1 Colossians 16-17

It will be such a happy day when our eyes and minds are opened, our consciousness and wisdom are expanded like a stormy eruption in space, when we are swept up in a strong current of deep love, tumbling over and over in profound happiness and peace that will never end, when worship erupts from our lips as it never has before because now it is NOW, not someday! When he is right before us and has to hold us together or else we would explode in joy. O happy day.

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Favorite Quotations

/ Linda Crow / Leave a comment

Our challenges are what help to define us; what guides us to becoming more. What greater challenge can there be than trapped with a ferocious tiger? More so, if that tiger is your own fear, anxiety, depression, desolation, and despair. It is our faith that helps us cross the cruel and endless sea.

Life of Pi

Yann Martel, 2001

Martel said that Life of Pi can be summarized in three statements: 1. Life is a story. 2. You can choose your story. 3. A story with God is the better story.

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