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Posts Tagged ‘life on lfe’s terms’

Being and Seeing the Beautiful

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , , , , , , , , on May 8, 2013| 1 Comment »

 A diamond doesn’t know how valuable it is to others. (Mark Tyrrell)

Five-year-old Rebe churns the water as she reaches the halfway point in the swim test lane. Anyone watching would have known I was her grandmother, even if I wasn’t screaming. My grin takes over my face.

Early last year she played in the shallow end—safe, preferring to stay in the pretend world. Within months she jumped off the side and let Grandpa catch her. Oh, she still loves the imaginative. But, this expansion of her spirit warms me. The next step, to tread water for a short period of time, should be easy for her, as soon as she gains the confidence. I have no doubt that she could have traveled the length of the pool, back and forth, as easily as she could have walked poolside.

You are a diamond, little girl. Your surfaces haven’t been polished yet, but, somehow, that gives the innate you even more possibility.

Of course I don’t talk to a five-year-old child in metaphors. “Good job, Rebe,” suffices.

I want my granddaughter to see her potential, her beauty. However, as I think about some grownup friends, I realize it’s not necessarily that easy to reflect the goodness I see. When someone suffers deep sadness, pain takes over.

I tell one of my friends what I see in her. She can’t look me in the eye. She isn’t ready to accept anything more than grief. And, somehow, I suspect I would not fare any better if I walked her path.

Perhaps it isn’t easy for any diamond to be shaped and formed, not easy for any person to develop either—at any age.

 In the meantime, an almost kindergartener passed her first swim test at the Y. And a yellow wrist band sparkles, in its own way.

(pic from Positive Inspirational Quotes)

becoming PIQ

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Replace the Word Re—d with Respect

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , , , , , , , , on March 6, 2013| Leave a Comment »

The sad truth is that most evil is done by people who never make up their minds to be either good or evil. (Hannah Arendt)

Computers fascinate my granddaughter Ella. She knows how to maneuver the icons on her Samsung Galaxy tablet, and her small fingers move with alarming speed from screen to screen. Sure, her tripled chromosome adds learning challenges. However, since she creates an atmosphere of joy wherever she goes, her efforts spread courage, too.

If Ella can work harder to reach a goal, so can I.

Since I have experienced the wonder and beauty of a child with Down syndrome, I wince when someone uses the R-word, that taunt that ends in a d. It is not used by the medical community, only by the unthinking. (By the way, Ella is a child with Down syndrome, not a Down syndrome child; the difference may appear subtle, but it isn’t. She is first a person, and second, she is a child who has a challenge to overcome. Also,  the word syndrome is not capitalized unless it is part of a title, such as the Down Syndrome Association where the emphasis is on an organization, not a person.)

Grammar, however, is secondary. An understanding of people is what matters.

Today is the day to pledge to end the r-word:   http://www.r-word.org/

Many folk who have handicaps have more determination than college graduates. Actually, with help from the caring, some people with special needs have earned college diplomas.

So, today, right now, replace that put-down word with respect. It goes a lot further and delivers a lot more truth.

r words

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Music In the Key of A for Arthritis

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , , , , , , , on February 20, 2013| 1 Comment »

Aging is not “lost youth” but a new stage of opportunity and strength. (Betty Friedan)

The knuckle on my middle finger on my right hand looks like it belongs on a gnarled tree branch, the kind that has led a part of the tree in a peculiar unexpected direction.  Oh, my skin, bones, eyes and ears have aged, too. In fact my five-year-old granddaughter asked who the bride was in the forty-one-year-old photo on her grandfather’s dresser. I laughed at that one. But it’s that finger that troubles me now. It gets in the way of smooth finger-picking on the guitar. And I have three gigs lined up these next two months.

I am not the only person who needs to overcome difficulties to get to a goal. Pictures fill the Internet of runners on  prosthetic legs. I revel in stories of  persons who have survived stage-four cancer or the young person with Down syndrome who earns a college degree. My challenge isn’t that great—all I ask is to entertain a few seniors at the YMCA and nursing home and make them smile, perhaps sing a few more years and let new words and chord patterns blend into a fresh song.

The going has been rough, especially in southwest Ohio where temperatures tend to be bipolar. Middle finger says uh-uh and nicks the wrong string or rebels entirely.

“Oh no you don’t,” I tell it as if it were a belligerent child. Then try again.

Funny, that hasn’t eased the pain one bit. Help came from another source—a call from the Activities Center at the nursing home where I played last month. “Can you come back on March 21 when we celebrate birthdays?” The voice on the other end sounds sunny. Apparently I got good reviews from the residents, despite middle finger’s balking. I mean, ouch isn’t in any of the lyrics. By the end of my last performance I had to single strum a few times before beginning again.

The arthritic rebellion quieted after that phone call. I managed the Travis pick without swollen, painful interruption. Apparently, yes you can are powerful words. I have decided to use them even more often as I speak to other people—maybe even give myself reinforcement instead of reprimand. Who knows what can happen?

from the Optimism Revolution

expect miracles Optimism Revolution

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To Be Or Not To Be—A Sponge

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , , , , , on February 7, 2013| 3 Comments »

When I let go of what I am, I become what I might be. (Lao Tzu)

Somewhere I read or heard that washing a sponge in the dishwasher is a good way to destroy lingering bacteria. As I take a sponge that’s been through considerable scrubbing, with residue of Ella’s yogurt, spilled coffee, and whatever was imbedded on the stove top, I feel as if I could use a thorough run through the dishwasher.

Sure it’s great to be the confidante for several wonderful folk, but a time comes when I need to rinse all of that information away, relax, and begin again. I do not have a degree in psychology. I do have access to twelve-step material, a good church community, and an intimate woman’s faith group known as Apple. They all serve me well. Moreover, there is nowhere anyone can live—truly experience life—without picking up a few hints along the way. Nevertheless, all the assistance in the world doesn’t protect anyone from wearing out.

These are some of the hints that tell me when I am ready to wash my mental sponge with some downtime: meditation, fun reading, a cup of tea (without caffeine), an additional exercise routine or walk, perhaps a call to an understanding friend:

             sleeplessness or waking too many times during the night

            dreading that the phone will ring with more bad news

            an intense desire to overdo the chocolate

            losing and/or forgetting things.

These are some of the signs that come to my mind. In the meantime, I rinse out the excess soap and grime in my trusty sponge and put it in the top shelf of my old, but reliable dishwasher, and then wait for the full cycles of time to complete the process.

Eventually, the sponge will give up. It always does; it is made of finite material. But, hey, it’s been a good cleaning tool and has served its purpose. Fortunately, the human spirit can be taught depth, richness, and an ability to accept even greater challenges.

Okay, one…two…three. Press the start button and go.

dear stress

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February and Warm Possibilities

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , , , , , , on February 2, 2013| Leave a Comment »

Learn to pause … or nothing worthwhile will catch up to you. (Doug King)

There is a good possibility that snow could change all my plans today. It’s February, sometimes the longest month of the year. At least it feels that way when Friday begins with a traffic accident blocking traffic at the top of our street! However, as I wake up on Saturday I decide I am going to make this day worthwhile—whatever becomes of it. I recall the words of authors, Deepak Chopra MD and Rudolph Tanzi PhD:”

“In Superbrain, we argue that the real you is the “observer” or “witness” of your brain’s activities. Your brain brings you emotional feelings and intellectual thoughts, which most often present themselves in the incessant internal dialogue and monologue of the mind. We argue that the true “you” is the self-aware “you” that is astutely cognizant of the feelings and thoughts being evoked in the brain, but then uses them to enhance your awareness and elevate your state of consciousness, promoting a more enlightened lifestyle.” http://intentblog.com/deepak-chopra-reality-making-and-the-gift-of-self-awareness/

I saved a picture a family member took of ice on the windshield of a car at sunrise, such an appropriate image for today. The sun is present. It rises, but the ice obscures the view. Or—it could present another image: a beautiful design painted by Mother Nature, an opportunity to pause and enjoy instead of hurrying.

This hasn’t been a got-my-way kind of week. The writing I wanted to finish just didn’t find a time slot. The house looks like it’s been run over by three kids. It has. But this time has been blessed, too. The same kids who left fingerprints on my “things” left deeper marks on my heart. I smile as I wash those fingerprints away and look forward to the next round.

I’d like to say all the news I’ve heard has been good. One situation wants to tear my heart apart. All I can do for that one, however, is say the Serenity prayer, and be prepared to say the right word, offer love, and be present when necessary.

In the meantime, the wind rises and falls as winter rules the weather; a spring spirit thaws the mind any time.

photo by Jane Filos Dagley (taken in Camden, Maine)

sunrise through the icy windows Jane Filos Dagley

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Feeding the Inner Wolf

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , , , , , , , on January 26, 2013| 2 Comments »

I have learned silence from the talkative, toleration from the intolerant, and kindness from the unkind; yet strange, I am ungrateful to these teachers. (Kahlil Gibran, mystic, poet, and artist 1883-1931) 

I am aware of choice, a precious gift. When the beautiful appears I want to savor and celebrate it. Every moment can’t be mountain-top glorious. If it were, the wonderful would turn into take-it-for-granted.

In the past few weeks, life has given me many lessons. However, I am alluding to only two events. The first occurred one afternoon when I was unexpectedly confronted by someone who holds a long-term grudge against me. The second, far more pleasant,  took place as I prepared a family party. The details  of the first situation don’t need to be shared to be understood. Almost every living person faces folk on different wave lengths. This is the only point that matters: Do I allow someone rent-free space in my head or not?

When I think about scenario two, preparing to celebrate four family birthdays, however, I smile. Eight-year-old Kate painted assembly-line style, and told stories about what she drew: hearts, swirls, action. Enthusiasm for each person being honored flowed as she created. Five-year-old Rebe worked quickly with a few wild strokes across the page. She picked out which tablecloth we should use, and then played with Grandpa. Okay, so the afternoon wasn’t newsworthy. It highlighted the beauty of the gift of family. I treasured that, and didn’t waste the moment fussing about something I couldn’t control anyway.

The Cherokee legend of the Two Wolves explains choice well. The following story is taken directly from FIRST PEOPLE, THE LEGENDS: http://www.firstpeople.us/FP-Html-Legends/TwoWolves-Cherokee.html

An old Cherokee is teaching his grandson about life. “A fight is going on inside me,” he said to the boy.

“It is a terrible fight and it is between two wolves. One is evil—he is anger, envy, sorrow, regret, greed, arrogance, self-pity, guilt, resentment, inferiority, lies, false pride, superiority, and ego.” He continued, “The other is good—he is joy, peace, love, hope, serenity, humility, kindness, benevolence, empathy, generosity, truth, compassion, and faith. The same fight is going on inside you—and inside every other person, too.”

The grandson thought about it for a minute and then asked his grandfather, “Which wolf will win?”

The old Cherokee simply replied, “The one you feed.”

I would like to say that I have completely forgotten about the person who harbors resentment against me. I haven’t. I am fortunate enough to have made very, very few enemies in my life. Strange, as I think about it, the great people of the world have fought many adversaries. Hmmn, looks like I may be meek, but I also don’t take many risks. Perhaps I am now in a position of opportunity, not threat. This place may present a new taste for the Good Wolf.

Whenever this person’s name comes into my mind I pray that she receives the same blessings I would want for myself. Then, all I feel is sadness for her and joy for me as the sun shines through the seven child-simple paintings hung along my back window. Seven is the ancient Hebrew symbol for wholeness, creation, good fortune. The Good Wolf symbolizes healthy spiritual choices in life. I think I’ll keep the girls’ art gallery on display a tad longer—as a reminder of greater possibilities.

feed the good wolf Optimism Revolution

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Ella, Made of Spunk and Angel Wings

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , , , , , , , , on January 11, 2013| Leave a Comment »

There is something beautiful about all scars of whatever nature. A scar means the hurt is over, the wound is closed and healed, done with. (Harry Crews, novelist and playwright)

Dictionary.com defines a whirling dervish as “a member of a Turkish order of dervishes, or Sufis, whose ritual consists in part of a highly stylized whirling dance.” However, mothers and grandmothers see another wild dance in their two and three-year-old kids on their way to world domination. Very few little folk walk from one place to another. They move with a swift, designed purpose—preferably toward something forbidden.

Yes, I know I’m not allowed in the bathroom alone. However . . . Ella doesn’t talk, but her eyes communicate well, so does the slam of the door. I open it as she signs washing her hands, which really means playing in the water. I tell her she may NOT close the door, and we will play in the water after she listens. Besides, even if I roll up her sleeves, they are going to get wet, soaked if possible. She must expect the warmth of her personality to dry them.

Ella grins. I notice that she really does need her hands washed. I guess the quick wipe after lunch wasn’t sufficient, but I win when it comes to prolonged play at the faucet. She doesn’t fuss as we leave the sink, without extended splashing. Our house may be small, but we have plenty of adventurous nooks for a young child to explore. I smile recalling the long road our little one has traveled.

She was born premature with Down syndrome at three pounds and three ounces. I recall her Giraffe bed. Giraffe is a brand name for a high-tech bed that keeps a critical-care newborn warm. It also makes procedures possible without moving a fragile, tiny body. Ella’s first nutrition was intravenous, by hyperalimentation until a defect known as duodenal atresia, could be corrected.

I was fortunate to be one of her primary caretakers while she was in the hospital. During that time I wrote and recorded a song for her. However, her premature system was unable to absorb simultaneous sounds. The song can still be accessed from the site I used before I began this blog: http://terrypetersen.webs.com/music.htm  (Scroll down to find the lyrics to Ella’s song. It was not possible to access the sound track temporarily. It works now. Don’t know why!)

Ella runs to the refrigerator and pulls off a magnetic letter C. “Kuh, kuh,” she says. Then she grabs an M. “Mmmmm.”

“Very good. And you are mmm good, too.”

Her shirt reveals her belly as she raises her arms for me to pick her up. I see the scar from the feeding tube from her first year. She doesn’t remember her infancy. She wants something mmm good from the refrigerator.

Years ago, if people would have told me I would be happy to be the grandmother of a child with Down syndrome, I would have asked them what color the sky was in their fantasy land.  Now, I know the gifts our little girl brings make wealth look trifling. When I wrote that she was “made of spunk and angel wings,” I had no idea how prophetic my own words would become.

(Ella in her Harley jacket. Note speed-blur)

Ella in Harley Jacket Dec. 2012

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Confusion, The Positive Side

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , , , , , , , on December 15, 2012| Leave a Comment »

Don’t be afraid to be confused. Try to remain permanently confused. Anything is possible. Stay open, forever, so open it hurts, and then open up some more, until the day you die, world without end, amen. (George Saunders)

The lectern at the church is too high for a woman like me who has slipped under the five-foot mark during the past few years. I smile, exaggerating my tiptoed stance. After all, it’s obvious that my father’s oldest daughter inherited his wife’s height.

Years ago when I acted as lector at another church, there was a wooden stool that could be pushed back and forth for the shorter readers. There isn’t anything like that here. It doesn’t matter. This isn’t a stage; I’m delivering a eulogy. I have five minutes, but hope to relay my message in less than three—not sure my tear ducts will hold out any longer. Now my balance threatens to give up, too; it doesn’t take long before I give up the façade of four-inch high heels and stand flat, my chin hidden as if I were in a bad photograph.

I have decided to be bold and speak as my father, a few octaves higher perhaps, and thank my siblings for the gift they were to him. I may be close to the ground, but my gaze reaches over my brothers’ and sister’s heads. No eye contact now. I’ll save that for later, when tears won’t create a domino effect and flood a perfectly lovely church.

As the service progresses, memories fly through my mind like drunken fireflies. I look to my right to see who is sitting in the pew where I was when my mother died. I recall my father’s quiet slump. Then I’m in a second-grade classroom and back again in the church, in the back, ready to walk down the aisle. Dad is at my side. Forty-one years have dissolved and it’s 1971; I’m about to be married.

In the next moment it’s time to go to the choir loft to lead a simple song based on Psalm 23. I’m uncertain because I haven’t practiced with the organist. I flub the words in one line of the second verse. Not too bad. Can’t let the fumble stop me. I want to be like my sister Claire who has sung Schubert’s Ave Maria so many times, she once sang it accompanied by an organ that sounded like an old-time organ grinder. Her first thought was, Where is the monkey? Yet, she didn’t miss a beat!

I look into the congregation and see my oldest granddaughter Kate staring up at me: the time gap between us is 58 years. Time. Space. Real, and yet illusion. My thoughts are as organized as tossed confetti. And yet . . .and yet . . . despite the sadness I feel a beauty that transcends the moment and embraces eternity.

moment of value Positive WoRdS to LoVe by

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So Long, See You Later

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , , on December 12, 2012| 2 Comments »

Life is an opportunity, benefit from it. Life is beauty, admire it. Life is a dream, realize it. Life is a challenge, meet it. Life is a duty, complete it. Life is a game, play it. Life is a promise, fulfill it. Life is sorrow, overcome it. Life is a song, sing it. Life is a struggle, accept it. Life is a tragedy, confront it. Life is an adventure, dare it. Life is luck, make it. Life is life, fight for it.  (Mother Teresa)

When my mother lay unresponsive waiting for her heart to stop on another December day, I tried to fill the vacuum with something positive, something that could transcend loss. I crawled into the middle of my bed with my guitar and picked and strummed Christmas carols. Silent night, holy night. . . The moment felt silent and holy enough, but lacked calmness and brilliance.

I felt a deep reverence for Mom’s transition into another dimension although I never had a best friend relationship with her. When I was born there was a hole in my umbilical cord; it severed some larger maternal connection before I faced daylight. Mom never had a chance to count my fingers and toes until I was ten-days old.

Even so at Christmas time as I grew older  we harmonized as we washed and dried the dinner dishes. I sang soprano and she added the alto: The First Noel, Oh Come All Ye Faithful, We Three Kings.

Harmony, it can’t be accomplished alone, in music or in life. And a lot of dissonance intrudes along the way. Some of it can be rearranged; some must be discarded to make way for patterns that work. Eventually, I learned who my mother really was. And I finally grew up and stopped fighting shadows.

Years later, this November and December, I observed my father’s silence and jerky sleep in the nursing home. His decline was in process.

“Hi, Dad!” I  kissed him on the forehead. The noise in the elevator and dining room was enough to jar anyone. An alarm went off in the hall. He grimaced—but the response was pain. I could only guess what he needed.

Eventually his final days arrived: twenty-four hour hospice care, lowered blood pressure, less blood flow to his extremities, a sudden change of color, from pink to waxy white, his breathing paused and threatened to stop.

“I love you, Dad. I always will,” I told him. “But it’s okay to join Mom now.” One more kiss on the forehead. One of my brothers, my husband, and an ex-sister-in-law joined in a few silent tearful goodbyes. I turned around. Dad’s hospice aide also wept as his spirit departed.

Back again in the center of my bed, guitar as a companion, I play and sing as if I had an audience of two: one woman who would have been 91, and one man who would have turned 92 on the first of January. She joins in with the alto and he grins, completely happy. “Sleep in heavenly peace. Sleep in heavenly peace.”

my parents on their wedding day 4/4/45

mom and dad

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An Oxygen Tank, A Wheelchair, and a New Friend

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , , , , on November 26, 2012| Leave a Comment »

Until death it is all life. (Don Quixote)

My father sleeps the awkward sleep of pain and old age. I kiss him on the forehead and he doesn’t respond. I hope he wakes up later, and sit next to him in the common room of the nursing home. My sister Claire will be here soon, after the accident clears on the expressway. She drives an hour—perhaps to visit the father she knew—perhaps to visit a shell of what he was.

I wait, pulling a folder of writing work into my lap, when a woman in a wheelchair catches my eye. She looks upset.

“There’s something in the back of this chair.”

I hesitate, and then notice her oxygen tubing. It’s probably the handle from the tank.

It is. One hand on her arm, I move the handle out of the way. “Is that better?”

“I don’t know.”

An aide appears with a blanket to tuck behind her. When my dad could still sit, I always wondered why one wasn’t inserted before this kind of irritation started. Then he was moved to a geri-chair that could be adjusted for lying down. No handle in the back, just the difficulties of a worsening condition.

“That should do the trick.” I smile and gently pat her arm. She smiles back.

“What’s your name?” I ask.

She answers with both her first and last name and her personality emerges, a wit hidden a few minutes ago. Touch, perhaps it is more magical than I think. Or—it is simply essential to well-being.

“I like your coat,” she says. “Gray and blue go together well. Hey,” she says to the woman in a wheel chair next to her. “You grab her and I’ll get the coat.”

Her comrade looks surprised.

“Just kidding.”

I laugh, talk to the pair for a few minutes and return to my work. I can’t help but overhear their talk about another resident. “She’s not happy about anything,” one of the women says to the other. “Well, I don’t know what you can do to change her.”

Later the woman I suspect to be the object of  their conversation appears. She battles with the personnel, puts on a genuine show. I wonder what internal demons she fights, and feel even more blessed by the first two women.

The core spirit doesn’t go away because the scenery has been altered. It remains, whether that individual is fighting traffic on the Interstate or exchanging conversation in a nursing home.

Claire arrives, smiling. She lives positive attitude. Traffic was blocked for miles. She tells the story, but doesn’t complain about it.

I introduce my sister to my new nursing home friend.

“Your sister is prettier,” she says. Then when I tell her Claire is a lot younger than I am, she smiles and adds, “Just kidding.”

Claire and I have the opportunity to have time together. Dad’s feet threaten to fall off the chair. Many times. We move them back, as gently as we can. He never rouses enough to know we are there, at least while I am present. I leave before my sister does.

But first, before I face rush-hour traffic and who-knows-what-kind-of-chance-to-lose-perspective, one more kiss on Dad’s forehead, even if he doesn’t know I’ve placed it there. After all, I can’t understand the twists and turns of existence, but “until death it is all life.”

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