Category: Uncategorized

There is no interview, no resume is required, and that dreaded question about your strengths and weaknesses is not asked, but before you know it you are hired for the hardest job of your life: you are now a CAREGIVER. Someone you love, whether it be your spouse, your parent, your sibling, or your child, is ill or injured and needs to be cared for. If you had read the job description you would never have applied for the position, especially if you are caring for a loved one with dementia. The hours are 24/7 and the grief is daily and deadly. Sleep is optional, heartbreak is required. The position requires bottomless patience and cheerfulness. On a positive note , no one will check your references , but if you were tempted to lie on your resume it WILL come back to bite you in the ass.

Roger is riding in front of me on the bike trail and I think his calves are huge! I can’t keep up with him on the bike or hiking trail. He slows down because I yell “Wait up!”. Coming down the hiking trail he usually got very talkative and this is when I learned how Roger became Roger. He described his childhood Christmas ( he loved the tree lights) and what he and his brother did for Halloween (think a pillowcase full of candy) and his father (S.O.B.). We compared our “favorites” and things we hated. We talked about cars; Bugs, Superbees and Chargers. He was surprised how I recognized cars as well as any man he knew. It’s an odd talent I have. We talked about work and the crazy people who inhabited our work lives. We bitched, we laughed and we listened to each other. We got angry with each other sometimes, but it usually ebbed away as we hiked down the trail. These memories are “new” for me, they were buried under years of caregiving, decline and grief.

I remember the “before he got sick” Roger more and more. I can see that devilish grin, that goofy look and hear him say “Hi Dinker.”, his version of “sweetheart. Roger had a temper that could flash like a flame thrower. He would scorch a few acres and then get steely quiet. We were both so imperfect, so human. He put my engagement ring in a bag of jelly beans and insisted I try all the “new” flavors. I didn’t swallow it , so we got married. Memories of Roger as he declined and was swallowed up by dementia are still very raw, but I can feel the memories shift to our life together before dementia struck.

Was I a good caregiver for Roger? My resume for being a caregiver would never have got me an interview. My skills were lacking and I doubted my own commitment, would I?could I? do it. My life experience? I loved Roger fiercely. It turned out this was all that I needed.

I never thought I would be comforted by the roar of Wills’ Harley as he left for work in the morning and came home at night, but that’s what happened. The music late at night took a bit to get used to, but soon it was white noise and I fell asleep. Will was my neighbor and we shared a wall and our lives for 10 years. He would have been 32 in December. Will took his own life last week and his light and spirit lives on in his family, friends and me. The tears come when I remember Will is gone and I haven’t heard his Harley for over a week now.

Our dogs were neighbors too . Decker and Sophie got extra big dog biscuits that were stored by my patio door. I remember Will trying to get my temperamental and scared dog, Roscoe, to warm up to him with little doggie treats . He dispensed the treats over the half wall between our decks, Roscoe is little, but fierce. When Will crawled through my small kitchen window because I locked my keys in the house, Roscoe nipped him to express his gratitude. I got suspicious one evening because Will seemed to be watering for a l-o-n-g time so I called and since Will was in the mountains (!) we figured that one of the dogs had knocked the spigot. Armed with treats, I visited Sophie and Decker and got the water shut off! Sophie also loved to play in the sprinkler and we had some laughs watching.

We shoveled each other’s driveways and sidewalks. Will did more than his share of shoveling snow, especially after my husband Roger got sick and passed away. Sometimes Will cleaned the snow off my car; he was so tall he could reach the roof of my SUV. I liked to pay Will back with sweet stuff like cake and muffins. He never had a problem with his appetite! And of course his reputation as a grill master was well deserved and the smells were very mouth watering.

And the women! Will was quite the ladies man, but he usually managed to date the same woman for a year or two…. I didn’t like the break ups because there was this awkward conversation where I asked why I hadn’t seen so and so for awhile, and Will shared they had broken up. Sometimes I could see how disappointed he was that things just didn’t work out.

There were many “Hi, how are you?”conversations and longer ones when we had a few minutes to spare. Will was a camper and an outdoor kind of guy. I wondered about his big rubber boat in the driveway! Lots of coolers drying out on the deck.. I liked his red truck better than his newer one, it fit his rugged lifestyle better. One of last things Will did for me was kill a big rattlesnake on my sidewalk, 10 feet from my front door. My rattlesnake killer said he hated to kill a living thing that was just trying to avoid humans but he had to do it. There was his deep respect for nature that kept him in the outdoors.

Will was my neighbor and he shared his world with me. I will pull in your trash cans from the curb to your garage as I leave in a few minutes. I will miss him every day. Good-bye Will.

Always your neighbor,
Danita

How many times have you said or heard, “I wish there were more than 24 hours in a day.” Our wish would come true if we lived on Venus which has a day that is 5,832 hours long! This is the longest “day” in our solar system. A year on Venus is actually shorter than a day on Venus. Google it. Imagine, 243 Earth days is one day on Venus! Surely this would be enough hours to get it all done. Could we/would we allow our lives to be so busy with all our activities that even 5,832 hours in a day would not be enough?

Downsizing, minimalism and tiny houses reflect a desire by some people to live more simply and not be controlled by “things”. If I did not own a car I would not have to shop for it, put gas in it, wash it, get the oil changed and work x number of hours to pay for it and insure it. Less time devoted to car care, but would I really have more time left for my interests? Maybe not if the bus system is poor and it takes me an hour by bus to get to my destination and I could drive there in 10 minutes. I could read on the bus or catch up on work and then I could spend less time at work, but no one ever spends “less” time at work! Since we really can’t “make” time we are left with 24 hours a day, take it or leave it.

I have 86,400 seconds (check my math) in a day, just like everyone else. Human animals must sleep, and I am not getting enough sleep at 6 hours a night. I can go to bed earlier or sleep in longer and since my alarm clocks are doggies with pea-sized bladders my only option seems to be go to bed earlier. It’s hard for me to understand that sleep isn’t doing “nothing”, it is rest for the body to replenish energy and brain cells. It seems the contest is who gets the least amount of sleep because they have so many “important” things to get done: i.e. I get by on 4 hours of sleep, I usually just get 3 hours and that is enough for me, I just close my eyes for a few minutes and doze and I am good for the day! I hear myself say “I’m too busy, I don’t have time to do a, b or c, and I’m so tired.” Of course I’m tired, I’m herding myself all day, sometimes with a cattle prod, to be in the same corral as the busy, big guys. Do I even want to be penned up with the busiest of the busy? What if I only do “a” and leave “b” and “c” undone?

“Sorry I haven’t _____, I’ve been so busy!” I don’t have time to hug my child, listen to my spouse, ride my bike or just do nothing. Imagine not having enough time to do nothing? It could be worse, we could live on Saturn which has a 10.7 hour day.

When something is almost impossible to find ( like that missing favorite earring) we say it’s like trying to find a needle in a haystack. I know that feeling! The last few months I have been looking for my lost compass, and I’m starting to think I may even be looking in the wrong haystack. I need my compass to navigate! My intuition is on vacation in Mexico, and logical thinking is just too, too…logical. Which direction is my “true north”.

Change forced upon me or as a result of “non-decisions” has often brought me random chaos. Being spontaneous can be a good thing, but behaving like a runaway train is not. I’m lost in a forest of “shoulds” and the sun doesn’t reach the forest floor if I am people pleasing. So I need to know how to make a decision, but perhaps more importantly I need to get a clue about what my choices are. I don’t have an unlimited number of choices, but I also know I often limit my choices because of my “limiting” sense of unworthiness. Either or decisions could be broadened to include more than two choices. I could have chocolate, vanilla AND mint chip ice cream, but maybe not all on the same day. I could live in Colorado or Iowa or I could live in Colorado and Iowa, spending a part of the year in each state. I am considering the “and “ option seriously, but this does not mean that I believe I can have it all! What fun is it to be absolutely sure I am making the perfect decision? My experience is that there is no sure thing and life’s surprises may be way better than getting what I want.

Most of you probably remember the “Where’s Waldo” books. He was hidden on the page amid hundreds of other little figures. So maybe I can write my version of “Where’s Danita”. There’s Danita walking her dog Roscoe with her friend Larraine and her dog Hector. Theres Danita on the exercise recumbent bike at the Senior Center. There’s Danita at her favorite coffee shop writing, or reading or having marathon talks with her friends. There’s Danita at Elderhaus facilitating the caregiving group and gently promoting sharing from all members. So at this point in time I am choosing these activities and this is how I spend my day.

Whether I am aware of it or not, my life is just a series of choices and decisions. Over the years I have made many decisions about a million choices. Now I worry that some of those choices don’t fit anymore, and I need to make some changes and face more decisions. Meanwhile I lost Danita (myself) on the page of life. Because of years of therapy I am less concerned with “how” and “why” I got here or there. Starting from “now” the question is “where” do I want to be. I am talking about where I want to be geographically, emotionally and spiritually. So if you see me, point me in the direction of home. If you find my compass please return it, I am offering a reward .

Yesterday millions of people watched the solar eclipse and I was one of them. I was able to get eclipse glasses on Saturday which was a miracle in itself. Joining the eclipse fervor was a decision I made reluctantly. No big deal right? After all Colorado was at 95% coverage and not a total eclipse. After deciding it was indeed a big deal for me, I had to fit viewing the eclipse into my work schedule. As part of my job I go to Senior Housing Apartments monthly to do blood pressure checks so I decided to take a look before I went inside. It was 11 o’clock and the sun was about 1/3 covered. I was excited, this was real, not “fake news”. Apparently Mother Earth, our solar system and the Universe deal in Truth.

Edna was waiting for me, as usual. She knows the day I am coming and has only missed once in the year I have been doing the checks. Ironically she was in the hospital due to issues with high blood pressure! I make sure I do an accurate reading because I know how important it is to Edna’s health. I let her know that I had eclipse glasses and asked if she would like to take a look and her face lit up. So we went outside to see what the eclipse looked like, she was amazed that she could really see the sun being covered by the moon. It was better than T.V. she thought. As each of my regulars showed up for their blood pressure readings we took a trip outside and I shared my glasses so we both could see the eclipse. Soon we had quite the crowd! Another pair of glasses and a welders mask were shared by residents joining us, and the postman did the pinhole viewing. A home health care worker, the director of the building and the pop delivery guy borrowed glasses to take a look. The “old”ladies, me and assorted visitors got to witness a force much greater than us and there was a quiet reverence.

And then it was over and the group disbanded and it was back to normal. I’d like to think that I helped fellow humans to feel awe. There was a bit of doubt as everyone took their turn with the glasses , but all saw the eclipse as it happened and no one was disappointed. Most of us were pretty sure that we would not be alive to see the next eclipse, so we did not intend to miss this one. And we didn’t.

I am woman, hear me roar
In numbers too big to ignore…..
Oh yes I am wise
But it’s wisdom born of pain…
If I have to, I can do anything
I am strong
I am invincible. Helen Reddy and Ray Burton, 1972

Powerful words, but soon these words were used as a putdown; as in a man deriding a woman who was trying to stand up for herself “Oh look, I am woman hear me roar, ha ha.” I believe that women have not made much progress since the bra burning and the non-ratification of the ERA in the mid 1970’s. “ You’ve come a long way baby…”—not so much. For example “baby”, can you imagine a man as “baby”? Babies need to be taken care of and are dependent, men are definitely not these things. Why was the woman who brought home the bacon always the one who fried it in a pan? And still a WOMAN? I don’t like bacon, unless it has chocolate on it!

Fast forward to 2017…. Half of Congress are women and half of all CEOs are women, right? Nope! Recently, 13 Senators sat in a room to hammer out a thrice failed “better” health plan and not one was a female, now that’s representation! No health care without representation, we could all have a huge tea party in Congress.

I had coffee with a friend today, we were talking about health issues during her pregnancy and she told me she had an incompetent cervix. I said “Whaaaat? Incompetent cervix?” Without minimizing the seriousness of this condition, we had a big laugh at the thought of a man—sometime, somewhere, labeling a woman’s cervix as incompetent! Do men have incompetent body parts? Have you heard of an incompetent prostrate, or incompetent testicles?

Paul Ehrlich, the author of The Population Bomb” and a researcher on climate change and sustainability at Stanford, came to CSU several years ago and was asked how to save our imperiled planet. His response surprised me and the audience, he said we need to give the women of the world the same advantages as men and women will save the planet.

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.