Author: Danita W.

I am growing my hair out, maybe to shoulder length. I started with hair that was not much more than an inch long. I bet most men out there are thinking big deal! Just let it grow and don’t cut it and there you are…long hair. This is a very naive view which confirms that men just do not understand women. If they did understand they would know about the dreaded “in-between” stage where headbands and barrettes are the last resort to save a “Just chop it all off!” moment at the hairstylist. And headbands and barrettes are so not for the “mature” woman. My hair is “in-between” and I am struggling to survive this awkward stage to get tomy long flowing mane of thin gray hair. Doesn’t sound like much… but for the first time in my girlie life I want that ponytail!

Women shave, wax, pluck, laser, and use chemicals to remove the hair on our bodies. The hair on our heads is colored, bleached, curled or straightened with an iron, permed, braided, woven with extensions and complained about. We actually have “bad hair” days! Shorthand for my hair looks like shit and I feel like shit. Our roots are showing and we’re not talking about trees. After going very short I felt almost naked, I knew people were thinking “My god, what has she done?” Reality check: I am just a blip on the radar which disappears quickly, so it is likely they quickly moved on to a Trump tweet and the compulsion to mess up the Donald’s hair.

Ironically, in June I went to see the musical “Hair” at Midtown Arts Center. “There ain’t no words for the beauty, the splendor, the wonder Of my… Hair, hair, hair, hair, hair.” There’s the Afro, the Mullett the Bob, the Pixie, the Ponytail, the Pigtail, the Updo and then let your hair down and get …. Why on earth is there so much attention paid to the hair(s) on our heads? The perfect haircut and style will not give me the power that Samson had before he got the “bad “ haircut and lost his strength. Or will it? And Rapunzel let down her hair to let her prince come into the tower, so long hair will get me my prince…

So back to my hair which is growing as we speak. I will get through this awkward, in-between stage with the help of my best friend who has sworn to talk me out of any weak “chop it all off” moments! In the meantime I have my life to live, which is the only “big hairy deal” that needs my full attention.

Growing old gracefully sounds so idyllic. I see a beautiful, silver-haired woman riding on a bike trail with an equally handsome silver- haired George Clooney look-a-like. Of course they both look like they are about 40! Has anyone ever seen this couple? I don’t think so! I am not sure that graceful and growing old should be in the same sentence. And I think the word “young” should be changed to “non-old”, it puts a whole different perspective on things.

Spider veins that are like rivers with hundreds of tributaries, wrinkles like a Sharpei, bat wings and jello butt—that is what I see in the mirror every morning, if I remember to put on my glasses. If George Clooney ever shows up I am hallucinating. The truth hurts. When the reality of aging and the fantasy of aging are on opposite rims of the Grand Canyon we all know it is really, really far down to the canyon floor. Would you rather look young and feel old, or look old and feel young? I am not sure how I would answer this question, but I am pretty sure the question is one of those conundrums that may never be solved. I prefer simple yes or no choices. Chocolate or Caramel Swirl ice cream? Yes, both please!

Making my way through a mine field, very slowly and carefully I am learning who I am with the miles adding up. I hear myself saying “I’m not as young as I used to be” and questioning my choices. Should I be using a ladder to change a lightbulb or do I really want to keep weeding and mowing? I can make coffee, a necessity and a very safe activity, but too much cleaning, dusting and re-arranging gives me a rash. I have almost no patience for bullshit and more patience with my flawed self on good days. This is good because I seem to move a little slower and my thinking is a bit slower too. My boundless energy from childhood now has boundaries; I try to use my energy for joyful activities. Falling asleep at a stoplight is not a joyful activity.

“I used to be_____.” fill in the blank. Whoever I used to be is so yesterday, who I am now is today. Ram Dass said Be. Here. Now. I realize it is not important for me to know how I got here and where I am going to be comfortable in my own skin, no matter how wrinkled it is. How can the Past and the Future fit in a moment that is full of Now?

It has been brought to my attention by more than a few people, I am very passionate, consumed with righting a wrong, determined to rescue the “shit upon” (people or animals) and a crusader for justice. I have also been told that I am very opinionated, judgmental (I’m right, you’re wrong), and let’s not forget, quite impatient. The truth I think, is I am all of these.

It seems obvious that being opinionated, judgmental and impatient are not good qualities, but what gets me in the most trouble and is messy, is my lack of self-awareness of my behaviors and attitudes. Where is the line between opinionated and passionate, or can I be opinionated and passionate at the same time? I get things done when I am passionate and/or opinionated, but sometimes I pay a cost for my consuming passion to right a wrong; I may alienate the rest of the human race or forget to care for myself. The problem must be solved before I can rest!

Determination is usually a good quality, and my determination to get help for a wounded animal, or get help for a troubled person serves me well. There is one pelican alive today because I wouldn’t give up until he was in the hands of wildlife rescue who could cut the fishing line wrapped around his leg. A neighbor who is mentally ill and was living in filth got help because I called Adult Protective Services, my HOA and the City Council.

I am a problem solver, it’s part of my personality . There is, of course, the occasional attempt to fix a person who declines my “help”. I am surprised others don’t always agree with me! Finding resources and circling the wagons is what I do best and I don’t take no for an answer. I can negotiate, refuse to budge or simply demand my way. Please remind me as gently as you can that life is not an obstacle course, I am not always right, and you will ask for help if you need it.

Festina, Iowa isn’t even an official town, it’s an unincorporated area without a mayor or City Council to govern it. The unofficial mayor is my brother so he is the de facto Grand Marshall of what my niece refers to as the “epic” Fourth of July Parade. What began as a procession of kids pulling wagons down Main Street has grown into a bona fire parade. This year I was fortunate to be able to attend the parade because I was home to Iowa for a wedding. Festina is very tiny so the parade loop is not long, but the sidelines were filled with cheering bystanders and I was one of them.

Tractors were the vehicle of choice for many of the parade entries, there were no flower covered floats or convertibles carrying parade royalty. The colors were John Deere green, orange Allis-Chalmers and red Farmalls. These are the work horses of the Iowa farm and tractor loyalties are usually carried down from generation to generation. My father had John Deere tractors and my brothers have John Deere tractors. There were several restored vintage tractors in the parade and one very loud 1971 shiny orange Chevy Nova driven by my nephew who loved to rev the engine. Candy was thrown along the parade route and kids
scooped it up. My favorite were the cheese sticks thrown by a local dairy entry.

What surprised me the most was I really loved the parade! I was born and raised on a farm, but the city has been my home for almost 40 years. As I watched the parade and waved at each entry I realized the farm and rural Iowa still pull at my heart. I like the basic colors of the tractors, there is no Passion Fruit or Sky Blue tractor. I like the red barns set in green rolling fields and farmhouses surrounded by perfect green lawns, so big they need to be mowed with a lawn tractor. As I walked around a pond, I laughed out loud as many frogs hopped off the shore and ker-plunked into the water. If the algae was thick enough they could hop on water! On the farm, nature is so immediate, right there for the experiencing. Barefoot on hot concrete is no comparison to barefoot on the farm.

But of course it’s the people of Iowa who put the love in Iowa. Solid, authentic and compassionate people who love a good laugh, Iowans are able to cut through the cow, pig and sheep shit and get to the point. Talking about the weather is more that just small talk, the Weather with a capital “W” is a primary concern for the farmer. Sharing family stories while sitting on the porch with morning coffee or watching lightning bugs and 4th of July Fireworks on a clear Iowa night is pretty close to heaven.

With love to my family in Iowa, July 8, 2017.

Living in the city makes it difficult to see and feel an incoming thunderstorm. The dark clouds are visible but distance is hard to measure and the horizon is hazy. One of my favorite memories from childhood was sitting on the front porch steps and watching a thunderstorm come in. With my eye on the horizon I watched the storm clouds form. There was rumbling and changing cloud colors. It was striking to see the dark clouds on the horizon and the beautiful rich green of the Iowa countryside in one frame. It was beauty with an edge of danger.

The air was intense and immediate. I was small and just a spectator. There was nothing I needed to do but sit and watch. Anticipation was part of the fascination but I was patient. I wasn’t waiting for Santa Claus. It seemed there was so much to be seen in slow motion. Just before the rain began to fall, there was a change in the air like a sharp intake of breath. Would it be a bad storm? Bad was the tornado in the Wizard of Oz. All I needed to do was run inside the house and I would be safe. I knew what corner of the basement to run to in case of tornado! I had a plan, but usually I was on the porch when the rain and wind came. If Mom didn’t insist I come in I stayed on the porch until I was getting wet from the rain blowing onto the porch.

Grown up concerns about damage to crops and property were not on my radar. I never worried that hail might damage the crops or fields would be flooded. Just a few years ago I was looking out my patio door and watching the hail pummel my 2 tomato plants. I was fascinated by the hail but worried that my plants would be destroyed. Awe and worry in the same moment. I remember digging the hail stones out of the bed and freezing my fingers. 90 degrees and ice is falling from the sky. The plants survived and even thrived to produce a bumper crop of tomatoes. The farmers in the area were not as fortunate and crops looked like they had been shredded and never came back.

When I go to my AlAnon meetings I am reminded I am powerless over alcohol, people, places and things and I remember the thunderstorms in Iowa. I was powerless over the storms and I accepted that powerlessness easily. I am a grown up and acceptance does not come easily these days. I see and feel my body getting battered by age and I often want to fight the changes the years bring. What about watching and feeling the changes with curiosity and awe like I watched the storms come in? After the storm and the rain, the air was so clean and full of hope.

Annie Lamont is my hero. She is fearless, funny and vulnerable. It’s more than she is a good writer, or writes well, she is…. the teacher, the healer, a mother and a best friend. If I could write and live half as well as she does I would be successful beyond my wildest dreams.

For now I will be humble and learn from the words I write. I will ask good questions, participate in the discussion, and remember that I am the student not the teacher. I write to define myself. I really do pull words out of thin air and put them on the page, hoping I can put them in the right order. Initially I may write nonsense, but I keep going and wrestle with the sentences. Sometimes it looks like All-Star wrestling —lots of hype but no substance. When I least expect it my words begin to dance, pirouetting across the page…got a little carried away …clogging or crawling, not pirouetting. Whatever the style of dance, my words got rythym..

What’s the word I am looking for? What do they call that? Words are labels, they name people, places and things i.e. table and chair,Tom, Dick and Harry, Paris and Iowa. We identify these words as nouns. Then of course we have verbs, the “doing” or action words: walking, thinking, laughing, yelling, etc. Adjectives describe nouns: i.e.red table and chair; Tom,Dick and Harry are gay; beautiful Paris, green Iowa, etc…. Those of you who loved to diagram sentences know that we still need adverbs to express “how” : running quickly, walking slowly, swearing loudly, etc…. So isn’t it a miracle that words can create sentences, sentences become paragraphs, paragraphs fill a page and pages can be put together to make a book? I appreciate this miracle even though I have never gotten past the paragraphs on the page level.

We communicate with words, but the problem is that words can have emotional meaning too. Words are very powerful. “Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words can never hurt me.” is an alternative fact: definition, a lie. Labels are very dangerous when negative adjectives are associated; cheap Jews, stupid blacks, sinful gays etc…. Personal relationships are full of land mines that can be detonated with angry, judgmental words. Loving and kind words can disarm some of the land mines, and build connections.

Mean what you say, and say what you mean. Ronald Dahl said, “Don’t gobblegunk around with words.” Good advice.

Admit it! You too were sick of the princess’ complaining about not being able to sleep because of a teensy pea under the 9th mattress on her bed. I wanted to tell her to just get over it! Or take a sleeping pill! I surprised myself today by using the Princess and the Pea tale to describe my state of mind. There’s a pea in my psyche and it is most irritating to me —I can’t get over it and Zanax and/or a sleeping pill are not options for me. I know I am not a princess but I sure am sensitive and just plain bothered lately.

Dis-ease. Irritated. Narked.(British) Vexed. All of the above. It’s no dark night of the soul, more like a tiny rock in your shoe that needs to come out. I can limp along for awhile but its such a relief to get the rock out of there. Maybe the irritant is my job. I have such varied duties from day to day it is hard to feel any mastery, but I like the variety and maybe there is nothing to ‘master” except my need to feel in control. Speaking of control, or lack of control, of course I am not working out as long and hard as I should and I can’t seem to lose those last 10 pounds( more like 20!) either. I am disappointed in myself for my lack of discipline and resolve. I can’t even return calls or stay on top of emails. There’s more but I’m too tired to think about it.

No wonder my psyche is narked ! I have a boulder of failed expectations under my mattress that is already lumpy with 2 dogs snoring away. There’s a lot of little negatives, regrets, disappointments and self -recriminations unsettling and stealing my peace of mind. What it all boils down to is I need to be perfect and meet all expectations of others and myself while maintaining perfect control. No problem! There’s that nagging feeling of nagging myself! No one likes to be nagged and picking on myself makes minor issues into major issues. What would happen if I let go of all my expectations and accepted myself just as I am? I could maybe take some deep breaths, relax and fall asleep on a bed of nails.

Nighty-night.

My hearing is the first sense to awaken. I am dreaming, and then I hear a very quiet whimper on the inhales of my dog Mia’s breaths. I am awake, then asleep for several cycles. Mia’s whimpers are becoming louder and soon I am awake and hearing each whimper. Mia has to go outside and pee. I want to stay under the covers, but I have to respond to her need to pee. “Okay, okay I hear you.” I say this every morning but I doubt she cares. Roscoe wakes and winds up for the day. There are mornings when I need to peel myself off the sheets and make a super human effort to throw the covers off. Does anyone really jump out of bed completely awake, ready to face the day? If so, I hate them!

I have always been fascinated by the mystery of sleep. Awake one moment and asleep the next, how does that work? I think sleep is not turned on and off like a light switch, but is on a dimmer switch. Muscles relax, breathing gets slower and deeper, the mind wanders into mazes and the next thing you know you wake up and it is then you realize you were asleep. My emotions seem to happen in the same way–slowly, growing with intensity and soon I am wandering through the maze with my fire and my heart. The next thing I know, I “wake” up and realize I have fallen in love or I am so sad I don’t know if I can survive it. Most of life is lived in between sleep and full awareness, somewhere on this continuum which rests on the fulcrum of denial. I can refuse to deal with a painful situation and deny it is happening, but I may start having bad dreams and night terrors. Asleep or awake, pain must be reckoned with.

When I live my life on automatic I am not asleep nor am I fully awake. Habit and memory keep me moving, but I am not becoming more aware or more human. I am “sleep walking” through life. If I bump someone they may say “Pay Attention , you idiot!”. I can only attend to my life when I am awake and using all my senses. In the first few months after Roger died, sleep walking was the only way I got through. I did not want to be fully awake, I was pretty sure it was a nightmare and I would wake up and all would be fine. I was obsessed with needing to know when the exact moment was that Roger became “not ” Roger and dementia claimed him. Even though I understood that dementia happened in increments , I wanted to know when the scales tipped to “not” Roger.

As he got sicker Roger slept a lot and he could not stay awake by sheer will-power. Was sleep more real to him than being awake? What were his dreams like? There are some things that are not limited by time, no before and after. I don’t remember who said this or where I read it, but I understand it more now: “I would not know until I knew.”

My shoulder hurts, sometimes the pain is dull, sometimes it hurts like hell. I have numerous issues with my hands—arthritis, carpal tunnel, numbness…. a litany of complaints. Don’t you just hate it when “old” people sit around and complain about all of their aches and pains? Just a simple “How are you?”, and you’re sorry you asked. Oh my God, I am one of those “old” people! With thousands of connections and moving parts, it is no surprise my body-years have caused wear and tear on the ole’ bones. I can relate to the Tin Man who locks up and can’t move without the oil can.

On a scale of 1 to 10 how much pain are you in? Glad you asked , I’m at 20! Is childbirth more or less painful than a heart attack or kidney stones? Loneliness is usually thought of as a dull ache, a heart attack more like stabbing pain. Where does it hurt? I may have a headache,a tooth ache or a heart ache. We say “He broke my heart when he left me.” or “I was so scared I almost had a heart attack.” The line between physical and emotional pain, if it even exists, is very fuzzy. I think emotional pain can be present in every cell in my body. I have fear so where does it hurt, on a scale from 1 to 10 how afraid am I, and can you make it go away?

Age and physical activity can cause the body’s’ joints to wear out. Heart aches, traumas, disappointments, anxieties and worries age the body/mind and can become the weight that holds the door shut to joy, and keeps the pain in. Is this just the way it is or is there another way to face toxic emotional pain? Can we be healing even while we are hurting? The physical body may be aging and dying , but at the same time the spiritual/emotional body may be experiencing a renaissance. Aging often brings a freedom that evades the young. This ‘How important is it?” or “Who gives a f__k?” attitude can not be reached by thinking. Only experience, feeling our pain and an open heart can get me and you to freedom.

Emotional baggage can be let go of, but only death allows the body to be let go. The emotional traumas we acquire through the years can die before we face death in the physical plane. I may be saddled with an aging body and the aches and pains attached to my body, but I have much fewer emotional/spiritual aches and pains. My spirit will remain, lighter and freer after I let my body go. This sounds pretty good to me.

Recently I wrote a poem about being a book end for the Sister Book series. I am the oldest of 8 sisters and my youngest sister Lisa is the other bookend. Lisa and I keep the books on the shelf from falling over. Having worked in a bookstore for many years, I remember the almost constant job of straightening the books and keeping them in alphabetical order. Keeping my sisters in order is nearly impossible! At any given time one or more sisters may be mis-shelved or out of stock. Family tragedies like death, depression and divorce have struck all of us. One of the threads running through all of our stories is cancer. Half of us have had cancer and that is not counting my own skin cancers. Actually all of us have had cancer because a diagnosis for one is a diagnosis for all of us. One for all and all for one. The Sisters move closer, the bookends lean in to hold the cancer victim upright and on the shelf.

Once again, cancer is making a forced entry into one sister. Surgery is today and we are waiting to hear from her partner that she is out of surgery and in recovery. There will be a flurry of calls, texts and emails between the sisters to spread the news. A collective prayer and fierce hope will follow as we wait for pathology results. We have learned from the past that cancer means a lot of waiting. We all hope surgery will be the only treatment needed but we also know there are other outcomes.

Later: She is out of surgery and in recovery. Things look pretty good. Pathology reports are the next hurdle and so we all wait some more…. The sisters are holding strong.