What I Didn't Do On My Summer Vacation

In all honesty, Summer is no different in my world than any other season of the year, it's just hotter.  I don't have kids so my daily routine is pretty much the same.  But still, as the big yellow school buses start rolling again it's a reminder of the (almost) passing of another season and all the things that didn't happen, despite my best intentions...

This summer I did not...

...Sleep in.  Not at all.

...Find a contractor to paint the exterior of our house.  Or an electrician or a handyman for a long list of "to-dos" around here.  To say I chased my tail trying to find contractors that actually showed up is an understatement.  Grrr!

...Buy hot weather summer clothes.  It's 100 degrees and I'm sitting here in blue jeans.  Not cool on any level.

...Read a book-- any book, not even "Fifty Shades of Gray".  Heck, I barely read the newspaper.

...Exercise.  Nuff said.

...Entertain...  Not a single BBQ or pool party, although I'm not sure that's a bad thing.

...Go to my 35th high school reunion.  Rumor was the mean girls would be attending.

But this summer I did manage to...

...Swim two or three times a week with my godson.

...Shock of all shocks, I got my husband to take Fridays off work this summer in an effort to get him to cut back his usual nearly 70 hour a week work schedule.  And, for the first time last Friday, I think he actually relaxed and "unplugged" from the office for at least 5 whole hours.

...Kill ants!  Millions and millions of them.  It's so hot and dry here that they made their annual pilgramige to my kitchen in search of water.  Completely surrounding my big window frame, they marched, jammed packed in circles while I sprayed and sprayed for an entire month.  And they are still circling.  Grrrr.

...Made another quilt.

...Realized my reading glasses are no longer strong enough so instead of spending the money to change my 6 month old presecription I practiced squinting without wrinkling the skin around my eyes and forehead.  No small feat, if I do say so myself, although it's a losing battle.

...After 25 years and about 15 moves to 6 different states between us, I found a long lost childhood friend.  She's back living in Ohio and we reconnected through my step-brother.  What a treat!

...I ate calamari and still don't like it.

As September nears, I'm looking forward to....

...Going to Ohio this week to visit my family and to see my sweet sister-in-law who just had very successful heart surgery at the Cleveland Clinic.  She's my hero.

...NYC is in my future for a family wedding too.... which means clothes shopping for a dress to wear.

...A new baby in the family.  One has not been announced yet, but I have a feeling.....

...Hopefully finding a painter, electrician and handyman who actually shows up and do some work on our house.  What is it with these guys?  They schlepp to my house,  take measurements and chat me up for an hour like they'd LOVE to work with me, and then they vanish into thin air!

...A vacation with my husband, even for a weekend, with just the two of us.  I can't tell you how long it's been since that happened.

...Getting back into the swing of blogging again.  (I promise I'll catch up with you soon!)

...Laughing, lots and lots of laughing.  This past year has been kind of a downer around here lately and it's time for a change.  Things are looking up.

How's your Summer been?

Welcome to www.TheFiftyFactor.com  -  Joanna Jenkins
Photo Credit: © Studio Barcelona - Fotolia.com

Almost One Year

Dave and Mom - 2006

It's easy to tell when a wave of sadness washes over my mother-- In mid sentence she'll change the subject of whatever we're talking about in a very matter of fact manner.  Lately she's been changing subjects, during our frequent phone conversations, a lot because we're coming up on the first anniversary of my step-father's unexpected passing.

That last part took me a really long time to type.

"Anniversary" seems like a very wrong word to use.  Referring to my sweet step-dad, Dave, as "step" seems very wrong, as if he was not fully a part of our family.  And mentioning "passing" and Dave in the same sentence still seems very wrong too.

I can only imagine how it must feel for my mom-- thus the frequent sadness and subject changes when something overwhelms her and she remembers Dave is not physically there with her anymore.

In late July, 2011, my folks were in the process of packing up their home and moving into a beautiful new house in a senior living community that would provide them with not only independence but also all the medical care and assistance they might ever need down the road.

Their upcoming move was truly a blessing in that it was their idea.  Both realized their large, two-story house with no downstairs bathroom was becoming a problem for them.  Each had a few medical problems like arthritic knees that were being dealt with and when they understood they could actually afford to move to a beautiful one-story house in a community with a continuum of care, AND they could bring their dog too, they gladly signed on and started packing.

My mother is a journal writer and for years has written at length each night before turning in for bed. They've never been fancy journals-- thick spiral notebooks were practical and priced right for her needs, her small printing filling at least one full page per day.  I know from our conversations over the past year that mom has been reading last year's journal and comparing each day to the previous year and reminding herself of the life changes she's been dealing with. 

The last time I saw Dave, he and mom were in their front yard holding hands together and waving good-bye as I backed out of their driveway for the airport to return to my home in Los Angeles.  It was a hot Ohio afternoon but we felt good about the progress we had made during a massive four day garage sale we'd just completed in preparation for their move to the senior community in six short weeks.

My flight that should have landed at 10:30PM was delayed and didn't land until 1:15AM.  I was blurry-eyed by the time I wheeled my suitcase up the driveway to my front door.  Twenty minutes later, as I was preparing for bed, my phone "pinged" indicating I'd received a text message.  Because of the late hour, I knew something was very wrong.

"Dave's in ambulance on way to hospital."  Middle Sister sent it and I was stunned.  I'd just seen him ten hours earlier and he was fine.

But obviously he wasn't and no one knew (including his many doctors).  And now everything is different and my Mom is sad.

Today I asked mom if reading her old journals helped with the healing and mourning process.  Being a deeply religious woman, mom said she thanked God everyday for her husband of 20 years and that reading the journals helped remind her of their shared spirituality and of the many "little things" they did together.

When I asked why when she felt sad she needed to change subjects so purposefully, she of course-- changed the subject, I suspect because she decided she'd met her "crying quota" and didn't want to make me sad too.  I kept steering the conversation back to make the point that we are all sad, and all cry, and all miss Dave terribly.

I'm not sure what Mom will write in her journal tonight but I know she will be awake in the wee hours of the morning knowing that this time last year, Dave passed away peacefully in his sleep less than 48 hours after the ambulance had been called.  I hope she writes that her family supports her 1000% percent and are extremely proud of the grace with which she's handled herself since our sweet Dave died.

Each morning of their life together, Mom sipped tea and Dave gulped coffee down as they said their morning prayers together.  They spent about an hour each day in the quiet of their living room, sometimes glancing out their bay window and taking a moment to comment about the activities on their quiet street.  Now my mother sits at her new kitchen table alone looking out the front door window, their dog, Noah, by her side.

Dave with his first great-granddaughter - 2010

Tomorrow after her prayers Mom will take a large basket from the shelf in her bedroom containing more than 200 sympathy cards and letters that were sent to her when Dave passed away.  She'll make herself a second cup of tea and read each message drinking in the kindness and memories from loved ones.  As sad as she will be, and as deeply as she misses Dave, she will remember how many people all said the same thing about her beloved husband-- He was such a good man. 

Welcome to www.TheFiftyFactor.com  -  Joanna Jenkins

Sundays In My City

Stop by Unknown Mami's Sundays In My City

I've passed this house for the past few weeks and always smiled at the door.  It's an older house that's been torn down to the frame and is being rebuilt and expanded.  Why they left an upstairs door in place I don't know but I'm sure there is a funny caption to fit the photo.

What's yours?

Welcome to www.TheFiftyFactor.com  -  Joanna Jenkins

Wisdom

 He's often referred to as my "102 year old boyfriend", but now Sal is correcting people and letting them know that he is in fact, 102  1/2 years old.  And he's not really my boyfriend... because he has a 91 year old girlfriend who, in all the years we've dined together, has never joined us-- That's Sal's call, not mine, by the way.

We have lunch together ever other week, each time taking turns "treating" the other to a cup of soup and splitting a pastrami sandwich on rye bread.  Lunch is early-- 11:45 am, but since Sal always arrives at 11:30, so I do too.  It's early for lunch, but somehow we always manage to polish off our meal and chat together for nearly 2 hours.

Sal is never short on conversation because in all honesty, he's far more active than I am-- Taking in usually 3-4 evenings of music concerts or other live performances a week, and often having as many as 4 more business related meetings ranging from Boards of non-profits that he's active on, to meetings at two different major universities in our area, as well as various other organization gatherings that he's involved with.  In fact, at each lunch I have to make our next lunch date to get on his calendar before it fills up.

This lunch's main topic of conversation involved a world renown physician who'd recently wined and dined him in an effort to squeeze a few donations out of Sal-- Cold hard cash for a research grant and the other for several veils of blood and countless scans and tests to learn more about his remarkable aging process.  (If you met Sal you'd think he was somewhere between 78 and 80 years old.)

Sal was having none of it and tactfully declined on both requests.  He'd already done both and, despite his fondness for the doc and his interest in aging-- after all Sal is kind of an expert in it himself-- he'd funded numerous "aging tests" for another doctor when he turned one hundred and he wasn't interested in getting poked anymore.

But this doc did not give up easily.  His research study was quite different from the others.  The main interest of this big-shot physician was to predict what Sal would actually die from and he kept on pushing for a positive response!

Sal thought that "sales pitch" was hysterical.

But he had no interest in finding the answer to that question.... because Sal said he'd never know if the doc was right because.... he'd be dead.

Sal laughed some more but the truth was he didn't want to know what he could potentially die from.

It's a strange thing to have a conversation about death with someone Sal's age.  I am keenly aware that every lunch is potentially our last, despite his excellent physical and mental health.  I cherish the friendship and the meaningful conversations we share, but talking about death with him made me a bit sad.

Sal could tell I was getting a little choked up by the topic so he explained his thinking, doing his best to to make me laugh as hard as he was.  Apparently this doc is an "expert" in people over the age of 108 years old and he wanted Sal to be a "member of that club".  But, after detailed conversation, Sal discovered he wasn't at all interested in joining the club because the 108 year olds the doc was researching were, in Sal's mind, "old" and not all that "with it".

In fact, Sal was telling me, he didn't want to ever get "that old".

I can't say as how I blame him about that last statement.  Neither Sal nor I are interested in a long life if it is not a full and complete one, but I still wasn't laughing.

So he told me about the time he was in college and three of his law school buddies decided to drive his old Model T automobile up to Mammoth Mountain.  Problem was that 3/4 of the way up the "big rubber band" snapped and the car would no longer move forward, only backwards.  Apparently back in the day the cars had three of these "rubber bands"--  forward, reverse and stop.  So Sal had his buddies push the car while he steered and turned the car around so they could drive up the rest of the mountain in reverse. 

That I laughed at, even though he'd told me the stories years ago.  Several people within earshot of our booth laughed too.

But in all seriousness, we did talk about the potential benefits to others if Sal took the tests.  He felt he'd "done his part for science" and even donated the hefty tab for the last round of in-depth testing he'd participated in.  With those tests, Sal did not want to know the findings saying life was good-- Why mess it up with things that might stress him out.

Sal's "keep stress to a minimum" attitude is one of the reasons he's doing so fantastic at 102 1/2.  Although I still didn't laugh, I was smiling at his wisdom.

Welcome to www.TheFiftyFactor.com  -  Joanna Jenkins 
 Photo Credit: © freshidea - Fotolia.com

Bubbles

Sometimes the simplest things are the best.  Take bubbles for example.

I loved blowing bubbles as a kid and could sit on our front porch entertaining myself, the soapy liquid running down my arm, until my fingers were wrinkled and slippery.  I marveled at their size and shape, and tried to master the art of the perfect bubble blowing technique.

Then, somewhere along the way, I got too big for my britches and decided I was too old for bubbles-- And my daily summer ritual ceased.

Many decades later, in a second, I was transported back to my childhood and reminded of that favorite past-time-- This photo arrived today and took me there-- It made me smile. 

My great niece is mesmerized by the simple art of blowing bubbles-- something she's learning to do... in between trying to catch as many of them in their tiny hands as possible.  She will sweet talk her aunties and older cousins until they surrender joyfully and blow her a few thousand more bubbles to dance with.

It's been years since I blew bubbles and although my niece is half way across the country, I got myself a big bottle of bubbles today and practiced blowing great big ones in her honor.

Are you having fun this summer?
Welcome to www.TheFiftyFactor.com  -  Joanna Jenkins

Counting Heads

Six tiny 3 day old baby swans out for a stroll with Mom and Dad.

Avoiding the car was the easy part.  The curb was a different story.

Mom realized there was a problem and returned to gave the babes a pep talk.

After 7 minutes of "climbing" the babes were reminded THIS is why you eat your Wheaties!

Mom left one last babe to work things out for himself... which he finally did 4 more minutes of climbing later.

The babes were rewarded for their efforts with a swim.

All SIX of them. Mom looked back and counted just to be sure.

These pics were taken on my iPhone at the small lake near my Mom's new home in Ohio.  We watched then for at least a half house but were careful not to get to close.  Mom and Dad Swan were VERY sure we kept our distance.

Stop by and check out Unknown Mami's Sundays In My City.

How's Your Sunday?

Welcome to www.TheFiftyFactor.com  -  Joanna Jenkins