Author: Danita W.

Today I went through a car wash. In neutral, hands off the wheel and no braking, I was just pulled along. It was wonderful! Secluded in the tunnel and only the sound of water spray and slap of the heavy cleaning strips to lull me. Please can I just go around to the front and do this again …and again? A car wash is my respite. Pathetic, right? Another benefit would be a very clean car.

Respite : a short period of time when you are able to stop doing something that is difficult or unpleasant or when something difficult or unpleasant stops or is delayed

Because I am breathing and human, life sometimes offers “…something that is difficult or unpleasant….” Prior to the car wash I spoke to a group of CNA students at Elderhaus, the adult day program I work for. I was the voice of the caregiver and family, and an educator about Lewy Body Dementia. I never imagined that life would bring me to this event, this day. Respite is vital for caregivers. No one is capable of being on duty 24/7 365 days a year. While caring for Roger, my supply of patience and compassion got dangerously low more than once. I needed respite to fill up my cup and build myself back up. Elderhaus was there to give Roger a safe, caring and stimulating place to spend his day, and to give me respite. Too bad I never thought of the car wash then.

Danita’s CarWash and Respite. We clean your car and your soul. Coffee or tea, headphones and music or guided meditation of your choice. 10, 15 or deluxe 30 minute wash and Respite.
Pay attention, open your heart and offer to give an overwhelmed caregiver respite. Someday you may be that caregiver who is too proud to ask for help.

I have been working on a jig saw puzzle, and progress has been slow. I have pieced together the outside frame of the puzzle and am filling in. It’s only a 100 piece puzzle, but I am a novice. Please no snickers from the 1000 piece folks! Sometimes I make very little progress, and I just can’t see a way to fit any pieces together. If I leave the puzzle for several hours, usually I will see an obvious fit as soon as I sit down. It is comforting to know when I finish I will have the picture on the box. There is only one way the puzzle pieces fit , so I do not need to be creative, just persistent. I will keep at it.

I suspect God switched puzzles on me, because I’m having trouble imagining my puzzle will look like the picture I have in my head. I have lost the instructions for building the stairway to Heaven too. Please email me if you have them. Puzzles are usually worked from the frame or edges in. Life is the opposite, the frame is added last. At the moment of death, all unused puzzle pieces disappear, and what is done, is done. How do I want to put the pieces of my life together? There is a slogan in Al-Anon,” Don’t force the solution” i.e. if I just push a little harder I can make these puzzle pieces fit. I know that I just need to try harder. This never works! Unfortunately forcing pieces to fit is my go to response, and I waste a lot of time in denial, anger and sadness. If I find where I belong, I may be the pivotal piece that connects large areas of the puzzle for myself and others. It’s all about knowing and accepting myself. I will fit somewhere.

What if there are missing puzzle pieces? There are always missing pieces in life puzzles, it is unavoidable. When Roger died, pieces of my puzzle just didn’t fit anymore, so I had to throw them away. I can’t fill the empty spots I have in my puzzle. These spaces aren’t really “empty”, they are filled with the losses I have experienced in my life. I can go on putting the pieces I have left into my puzzle and be grateful.

Did you know?
I typed the word pizzle several times when I meant to type puzzle. So if I am piss poor at puzzles, than I pizzle at puzzles! This amused me. Then I thought I should google “pizzle” to make sure it is not a word. Google pizzle? Pizzle means the penis of an animal. I am not making this shit up!

piz·zle\ˈpi-zəl\
noun
1 : the penis of an animal
2 : a whip made of a bull’s pizzle
Origin: probably from Dutch dialect pezel; akin to Low German pesel

Please use “pizzle” in a sentence and keep a straight face.

The sky is falling and its coming down in beautiful white crystals. Shit! I gotta shovel my driveway and then worry about what condition the streets are in. You know there are lots of idiots out there. I get to wear my cool boots though. What about the pinched nerve in my neck? I’m sure shoveling snow will help that…

Winter in Colorado is quite the mixed bag. There are lots of snow bunnies and bunnies in the snow. Sweatshirts proclaim “Let it Snow!”, and locals and tourists hit the slopes by the thousands. The ski industry is a major contributor to state revenue. Swoosh! I am not a skier, and I doubt I will learn now at 64, but you know it might be fun to snowshoe. I wonder how much it is to rent snowshoes for a day?

Snow days were the best when I was a kid in Iowa. Sometimes when we went to bed it was snowing, and I prayed for some wind. Wind plus snow equals blizzard. It was such a wonderful feeling to be “out” of school on a school day. Possibilities were endless. If conditions improved by late morning, we could get outside to build snow forts and fire our snowball weapons at each other. I had so many brothers and sisters that armies could be called up for active duty at a moments notice. Our mittens were soaked and our hands burned with the cold, but what the hell we were having fun.

Adults can be such fuddy-duddies, me included. Even as a teenager, I hoped that snow would not call off an event I was really looking forward to. Adult responsibilities for shoveling, cleaning the car off, and dressing your toddlers in those spacesuit/snowsuits took some of the joy out of snowy days. At least watching your toddlers walk like little spacemen was pretty funny.

Roger and I seldom let the snow keep us from our early morning walks. Dressing to go out in the snow was time consuming and required a lot of motivation. Windchill was the deciding factor for me. The frost on our eyelashes was a pretty effect, runny noses not so much. Roger always had cold feet so getting and keeping his feet warm was priority. I regretted not having a hat too many times so finally learned to have one in my pocket just in case. We were often the first set of footprints in the snow, explorers in the wilds of the city.

I am writing at my coffee shop, so obviously I got my driveway shoveled. The streets are getting less snow packed and mostly just wet. The coffee keeps me warm while I look out at the light snow. Slush is next, but for now it is just another snowy day in Colorado.

“Most folks are as happy as they make up their minds to be”
Abraham Lincoln

For years my skeptical response to honest Abe was, “Bullshit, you obviously don’t know how my life sucks. Let me count the ways.” Life happened to me, and I interpreted the facts my way and reacted. Life was a string of events I viewed with my ego and a dirty pair of glasses. I was boxing with an opponent that was stronger and faster than I was. The best I could do was worry and cry, or rage and act out. I was not happy, and didn’t understand how my mind and thoughts could change how I felt. Didn’t I have to feel my feelings and let my emotions guide me? Remember Primal Scream Therapy?

I didn’t just wake up one day and suddenly understand what Mr. Lincoln was talking about, but today I believe he is right about happiness being a choice. How I perceive external events determines my “reality”. I have an egocentric and negative bias, and often react as if it’s all about ME. If I pause to question my perception, I usually reach the conclusion that I am not the center of the universe. Now I know what I tell myself is not always the “truth”. Just because I think something does not make it true. For example, when a friend is curt to me, and before I travel down the road of “Nobody loves me.”or “What a bitch!”, I consider other possibilities. Maybe she had a rough day at work, or is very tired, and I am not part of the equation. I check it out and ask for clarification so I can respond appropriately. Assumptions often make an ass out of me!

When I catch myself using the words “always” or “never” I know I have put up roadblocks to my happiness. I am not always rejected, nor is it true that I never succeed. When she needs to confront her negative interpretations (or mine), my best friend Susan asks, “Would it hold up in a court of law?” No lawyer would accept my case! Life is not black or white, and there are much more than fifty shades of gray.

The single attitude that fundamentally changes how I view my life, and my level of happiness, is gratitude. For years, when gratitude was the topic at my Al-Anon meetings, I groaned and grumbled. I had no Attitude of Gratitude, that’s for sure. So what has changed? I determined that I would list five things that I am grateful for everyday, and my sister Lisa started a life changing blog “Habitual Gratitude” . It is as simple as what you focus on grows and gets stronger. With practice, your mind gets better at recognizing what is good and beautiful. Gratitude is a proven path to happiness. Go ahead and take the road less travelled, but travel with gratitude.

Make a Happy New Year! Choose a Happy New Year!

I pressed my nose against the cold window glass and kept my eyes peeled for Rudolph’s Red nose and Santa’s sleigh. My breath fogged the window and I had to keep wiping it off. Mom had told me to keep an eye out for Santa. Translation ” You’re driving me crazy, get out of my hair and watch for Santa.” I figured if I saw a red light it was Rudolph’s nose, and the next sound I would hear would be reindeer hoofs on the roof. I saw a lot of red lights and heard hoofs on the roof, but Santa never came down the chimney. Soon I was distracted by supper and the decade of the Rosary we always said, on our knees, before we could search for Santa’s presents. Sometimes Dad slipped out, but I never suspected. After the Rosary, we were led by Dad to places in the house that Santa may have left our gifts. Of course Dad took a round- about way to get to Santa’s delivery. I was so excited for the gifts to be divvied up so I could tear the wrapping off and see my treasures. This was Christmas Eve….

Spoiler alert. There is no Santa Claus. Don’t tell Virginia. In 1897, the New York Sun responded to a letter from Virginia “Yes Virginia there is a Santa Claus.” Not true! Our parents buy the gifts and pretend that Santa came. The editorial in the Sun does beautifully affirm the spirit of Christmas. Read the entire editorial and you will be believing in Santa too. In my home town Santa came to town in the back of a red pickup traveling slowly down Main Street. Oh the excitement! Every child got a little bag of candy and trinkets. And if Santas beard was a bit askew who cared?

Three wiseman followed a star to worship the baby born in Bethlehem. What are the names of the three wisemen? If your guess is Bubba, Dude and Billy Bob you are not smarter than a fifth grader.

Cups is “my” coffee shop, and right now I am listening to the Christmas music playing. I know all the words, so I sing along in my head. I have my favorites and some Christmas songs should be banned. I sang soprano in several High School Christmas concerts. I loved it! How can you feel bad singing Christmas songs? One year the girls wore silver paper dresses. Really. The silver was set off by pink or red collar wraps. I remember the crinkly sound of the dresses as we walked in and took our places on the steps. I worried if the lights were too hot we could burst into flames. Fa la la. No smoking.

The Three Wisemen brought gifts of gold, frankincense and myrrh. What is myrrh? Can you smoke it?

My son teaches logic at CSU, he will tell you all about logic. It’s too bad humans don’t seem to be very logical, or even make much sense most of the time. I am experiencing emotional contradictions this Christmas. How can I feel hope for a growing season for me and still feel very sad . I think it is called bittersweet. I just checked google for the definition of bittersweet: 1.pleasant but including or marked by elements of suffering or regret <a bittersweet ballad> 2 : of or relating to a prepared chocolate containing little sugar. Being a dark chocolate lover I get definition 2, but living the “suffering or regret” of definition 1., AND feeling hope and joy at the same time is difficult. Dr. Spock is right, this is not logical, but it is my Christmas this year.

Merry Christmas!

On the first day of Trump my true love gave to me:
A Putin in a pear tree

On the second day of Trump my true love gave to me:
Two rigged elections

On the third day of Trump my true love gave to me:
3 degrees global warming

On the 4th day of Trump my true love gave to me:
4 conflicts of interest

On the 5th day of Trump my true love gave to me:
5 pussies grabbed

On the 6th day of Trump my true love gave to me:
6 Russians a hacking

On the 7th day of Trump my true love gave to me:
7 drunk fact checkers

On the 8th day of Trump my true love gave to me:
8 Crooked Hillary”Lock her ups!”

On the 9th day of Christmas my true love gave to me
9 KKK’s a chantin’ Trump

On the 10th day of Trump my true love gave to me
10 Mexicans a raping

On the 11th Day of Trump my true love gave to me
11 tweets disgusting

On the 12th day of Trump my true love gave to me
12 immigrants behind the Wall

For the 3 million people who gave Hillary the popular vote election victory, but were “Trumped”by the unaccredited Electoral “College”. Expressing my contempt for President elect Donald Trump is a wonderful Christmas gift to myself. I can “use my words” to share my opinion. What a gift!

Next week I will share my heart full of Christmas.

We all know about the elephant in the living room, the one that everyone is walking around while claiming there is no elephant. One elephant is named DENIAL. “That’s not a problem..it never happened…he will grow out of it????” DENIAL is used to cope with a realitythat scares the hell out of most people. DENIAL is not alone. Secret, Shame, Guilty ,Rape and Rage usually hang out with DENIAL. Welcome to the elephant corral!! I come from a very large family (12 siblings) and both of my parents came from large families. Family reunions and the uninvited elephants, what to do? An elephant corral was the only solution for DENIAL and all of his friends.

At family gatherings, I loved to hang out at the kitchen table with my Mom and her sisters. Sprinkled in the conversation about recipes, and who died , my aunts shared tiny bits of scandals and secrets. My little girl curiosity wanted more information, but these tantalizing conversations were quickly squashed. Prickly realities did not deserve a place at the table. It was OK to say: “Uncle Joe likes his liquor.”, but not o.k. to say “Uncle Joe is a raging alcoholic and reeks of whiskey”. The elephants were out in the corral, so it was easier to create alternative realities, especially if a child insisted otherwise. Sister Carol was not mean and did not hit students, never mind you saw her do these things with your own eyes. The message was the adult version of the truth was the only acceptable version.. All of the elephants in the corral could not change this fact. I have since learned my senses and perceptions are quite trustworthy.

Big bull elephants, like rape and shame,  were almost impossible to make disappear. Several generations had to repress or deny their truth. Uncle Harry was to be avoided, and we were reminded to not be alone with him. Uncle Harry was “different” and did bad things. I learned the truth about Uncle Harry when he exposed himself to me. I wish the truth about Uncle Harry had been explained to me. I was a second generation victim. Uncle Harry had done bad things to my Mom and her younger sister. Elephants can pass between generations.

Culturally there are topics, i.e. Death, capable of starting an elephant stampede that no one hears or sees. Even DENIAL is useless in the face of death. Current events have convinced me that people can, and do, ignore elephants in living rooms all across America, especially when he is as subtle as a bull in a china shop. Forgive the mixed metaphors! See no evil, hear no evil? And to set the record straight he is not an elephant , he is an ass who tweets.

“I’ve got a bad case of the 3:00 am guilts – you know, when you lie in bed awake and replay all those things you didn’t do right? Because, as we all know, nothing solves insomnia like a nice warm glass of regret, depression and self-loathing.”
― D.D. Barant, Dying Bites

I am thankful that computers don’t fill a room anymore. And those punch cards that the young people of today have never seen, who misses those? These are my thoughts today as I am crocheting at 5 a.m.. Gotta love my canine alarm clocks and their small bladders. My mind wanders when I crochet, and often my destination is regret, the land of could have, should have and wish I would have. When I discover that I made a crocheting mistake 10 rows back, I wish I would have been paying attention! I grumble, but the fix is easy. I unravel all my hard work, fix the stitch and begin crocheting again. No one will know. But me. Usually the whole world knows I screwed up or behaved badly, or maybe I just feel that way.

I am 64 years old, and my regrets could circle the globe. I can’t erase my past choices and behaviors, and playing “If only…” is a losing fantasy. So what do I do with my bag of rotting regrets? If I can right a wrong or make amends for my poor behavior, then I can change a regret into a learning experience. Damn those learning experiences! What about the “road not taken”? I had many forks in the road and I decided which way to go. That is my reality, and what could have been is not real. Now I try to live in reality as much as I can. Imagination is wasted if I try to create a new past; better to use my imagination in the present tense. I try not to create new regrets by staying in the now, and paying attention. I am getting short on time for do-overs.

A spider weaves a beautiful and ornate web,and without a thought,we destroy it. I am sure that the spider does not regret its choice of corner, or the design of the web. I had a life with Roger and we built a web of relationship, love, memories, dreams, anger, tears, laughter, and more love. Dementia destroyed our web, and unlike the spider, I had so many regrets that I was afraid of being buried alive. I should have loved him better. I should have realized that he was irreplaceable. I shouldn’t have yelled at him when he started to behave differently. I should have known that this was the last walk, the last bike ride, the last smile. Sit and listen to a group of caregivers and you will hear litanies of regrets and guilt. I sat and listened to my fellow caregivers, and shared my pain. I stayed long enough for the miracle of self-forgiveness.

Roger loved to tell stories, and people loved to listen. We shared many experiences that later became funny stories or “adventures”. Unfortunately, a lot of our adventures initially started or ended with WTF! As in “How did we get HERE?” or “What’s going on?” There was usually some swearing involved, and a discussion about who was to blame. Only later did we see the humor, or good fortune in our wrong turns or mistakes. When you take a wrong turn, and your hike ends at a trailhead over five miles from your car, you first swear, then decide who is to blame(I told you so!), and finally consider your options. We shared our predicament with a friendly looking couple and asked for a ride back to our car.They were not going our way, but kindly offered to take us to our car anyway. We had a great time talking about our children and commiserated about the difficulties of dealing with teenagers. Before we knew it we were back to our car. This soon became a story, one of many, about our hiking adventures. The more Roger told the story, the funnier it became, and we were able to laugh with others about our predicament. Our lesson? Read your trail map…carefully.

Another hiking adventure! A friend recommended a trail, and said the road to it was a bit bumpy, but quite doable. So we set off in Rogers 2 door Saturn Coupe, and turned up the road that would take us to the trail head. At first the road was just a little dusty and bumpy, but conditions quickly deteriorated to a dust bowl and mountains and valleys in the road. And then, just to make things interesting, there was absolutely no way to abort the mission and turn around. It was keep going or else! We crawled up the road, held our breath that our low riding car would not bottom out, and swore. Miraculously, we made it to the trailhead and hiked one of the most beautiful trails we have ever taken. Photos from the day captured the glorious scenery and our smiling faces. We braced ourselves and headed down the road from hell. We had no car or human casualties, but we did have an inch of dust on our brave little vehicle. A car wash was our next destination, but our adventure remained shiny and new. Lesson learned? Be cautious of road condition reports when your friend drives a 4 wheel drive SUV and you do not.

Of course, not all our adventures were “the road less travelled….”  or “Life is a daring adventure…” poetic happenings . Sometimes the adventures we experienced were very painful, and the “daring” was just showing up and hanging on. When our son, Tyler, was very ill, we had to travel a road of fear, worry and lots of courage. Adventure means “encountering unknown risks, usually involving danger”. My adventures in aging are full of unknowns and some danger.I could hurt myself writing or crocheting, or I may always stink at playing the banjo. Can I show up and fail? Can I show up and be myself and risk telling the truth? What if so and so doesn’t like me? We all know how this story ends. Death may be the biggest adventure of all!

Last Sunday, Susan and I thought we were headed to Lyons and then home. How did Denver get in the way? By the way, Coal Creek Canyon was beautiful. But that’s another adventure/story….

When I get older, losing my hair, many years from now…
Will you still need me, will you still feed me, when I’m 64?

John Lennon and Paul McCartney
On October 31, I turned 64. Life snuck up on me and I cried “Boo Hoo!” My birthday suit has certainly aged in 64 years; lots of wrinkles, drooping, sagging body parts and salt and pepper hair (more salt than pepper). Me,and my vanity, are horrified by the city maps of spider veins on my legs. My legs were one of my best features in my 20’s and 30’s, but the years of standing on hard floors selling books finally caught up with me. Now I am grateful my legs hold me up, and I can move my legs for exercise and take my doggies out for a spin. We don’t say or write the word “walk”, because Roscoe and Mia get too excited, race to the front door and whine until they rule the sidewalks. If I ruled the world, I would be at the front door whining to get out too!

It is now a week since my birthday, and I have not been able to cure cancer or bring world peace. And of course, I am still bitterly disappointed in my attempts to right all the wrongs my HOA board has caused. I have decided to dial my intentions way down. I will get out of bed everyday, drink lots of coffee and then? Well the “world is my oyster” and if I get irritated enough I will become a pearl. Guaranteed, because we all know that life offers lots of irritations. So I will scratch when I itch, and grow through the pain. The pressures and pains of my life are forming diamonds too, so at 64 my jewelry box is getting full. I do like bling.

I must have learned something in 64 years, right? Or did I just get old? If I continually ask myself “How important is it?”, I can prune a lot of dead wood from my life. My grief counselor talks about the gifts of grief in between the tears. Recognizing that there are a zillion things that aren’t important, means I can devote my time and energy to the few things that are important, like love of self, family and Mother Earth. I have learned that we are all family, although I can’t see Donald Trump as my brother, and I still disown him. The “pursuit of happiness” is not a gun in every toddlers hand. Kindness is quiet and soft and does not need ammunition to be effective. I think I am finished warming up in the bullpen and ready to replace my old self who has given up too many joys. If you see me crying (and you will) I am washing and shining my pearls and diamonds.