ICKY MOOD MUSIC

     

          Saturday evening here in “the home”, as one of my friends joked, and I am in an anti-nostalgic mood.  (I must explain that “the home” is an excellent retirement facility in northwest Chicago, called Ascension Living in Resurrection Village.)

As part of several musical programs offered here, tonight there is a musician playing for our “Sock Hop” (gag), regaling us with songs from the fifties.  <<<We even had a “Senior Prom” in June! Our Activities Director is quite creative>>> We often hear songs from past eras, to which I have mixed feelings.  The past era songs bring back bittersweet memories to me, of broken romances and lost loves. 

They play all the “oldies” from our teen years, our dating years, our breaking-up-with-boyfriends years, our waiting-for-the-phone-to-ring years.  To be honest, that’s what the music conjures up for me.

          I would look over the audience, the sea of gray and white-haired listeners, mostly women who are widows, and wonder, what is this music doing for them—or to them?

          I have already confessed in this blog that I am (ahem) a somewhat emotional and over-the-top person.  No one else seems to feel like crying or gnashing their teeth when these memories come sweeping over them via the “oldies” music.

          So I bypass these programs now.  After being here almost one year, I can fine-point my activities and program selections.  But I can’t help but wonder if there is anyone, anyone else among this elderly crowd, that feels as I do when the songs go rolling over them. 

          There is a delightful monthly musical program here that I always happily attend. It is classical music, which I enjoy.  But I’m really not some kind of rabid groupie over Beethoven, or have Mozart posters in my room.  I really enjoy the presenter, an enthusiastic knowledgeable man who tells us about the music, the composer’s life, the orchestra instruments---all in such an earnest way that draws everyone in.  THAT I can enjoy, with no angst-filled past memories pinging around my mind.

          I guess that even with my dear friends I’ve met here, there are times when I feel a bit isolated in my views and reactions.  But then I can open up my laptop, and spill out my feelings all over the keyboard, and feel…..well….better!

Thanks for listening.

MY ROLLER COASTER LIFE

             Emily Dickinson:

 “If I can stop one heart from breaking,
I shall not llive in vain;
If I can ease one life from aching
 Or cool one pain,
   Or help one fainting robin
Unto his nest again
 I shall not live in vain.”

   Dear Emily, these words are like
 a sweet balm to my soul. 
      It describes small acts of kindnesses
         that surround me here.

My friends (Gina, Mickey, Ginny, Maria)
 are so kind to meand everyone here. 
Their small but powerful kindnesses
 are like sweet rose petals,
 perfuming and coloring
 every “ordinary” day
 with extraordinary beauty.

           I never want to take this bounty for granted,
 even though it is daily
and could become commonplace
 if I ignored it. 
The nature of my “job” as Floor Rep
 is to commit occasional small acts of kindness.
  I’m grateful for these sweet “tasks”
because this action can keep my soul alive
 and caring—looking outward.

           I am such an emotional creature that
my feelings are constantly streaking around
 my universe on a screechy roller coaster. 
 Sometimes these intrusive feelings
 pop into overwrought emails
that I have sent to my kids.

  My latest outburst was about my budget
 and my fixed income, and how could
I afford to stay here!
Great gnashing of teeth and hand wringing
 was interwoven to my email fireworks.

   I am so blessed that my family loves me,
understands me,and tolerates me.

They responded warily but kindly,
 each in their own loving and individual way.

 And inevitably I calmed down.
 I listened to their practical suggestions,

and appreciated their loving attention.  

A few weeks later, when my daughter-in-law,
 who was visiting me, asked whether

I was going to still stay here,
 I almost forgot what she was talking about!

           I often have to get out of my own way. 
 It can be tiring. 

No one else would want this job,
even if they could handle
it much better than me.

I just have to ride that crazy roller coaster
 that is my life, and handle those 

scary dips and sudden turns. 

     After all, it IS interesting to me

        (I have odd tastes). 

I’ll take the scary occasionally
     as long as it doesn't upset my loved ones. 
  (It doesn't--they’re used to me).

  Am I lucky—or crazy—or what? 

 

APRIL 7, 2022

         Another cloudy day, but doesn’t affect me a bit.  My life is centered here, in my wonderful apartment, in this six-months-new home where I live.  Every day seems to bring more happy surprises.  

        Today, Ivian, my new “boss” (she doesn’t like that term) came up here to see the amazing Easter display in our “Front Room”.  Irene Witkowski (one of the residents on our floor) had all these decorative eggs, so exquisitely colored, covered with sequins and velvet.  

         Irene had mentioned to me that she had some homemade Easter decorations she could lend. (I try to adorn our central “living room/reception area” on our floor with seasonal decorations.) So I expected maybe a few crocheted doilies---and then she started lovingly unwrapping these beauties!

         You must zoom in on your phone or computer to see all the incredible detail. My favorite is the white bunny on the purple bench in front!

 

       That Irene offered this display was a small “miracle”. Then Maria, my friend and neighbor, helped me set out the display. It was her idea to get her pasta serving dish and set up the birds around it. The fun we had just decorating was another sweet gift to my day.

Our dining friends came up last evening to see it.  And when Ivian saw it today, she really (over) reacted!  She confessed a lifelong “obsession” with “knickknacks”, so she was REALLY pleased to see this!  She stopped by Irene’s room to thank her—and hugged me goodbye.  

She is the new Head of Resident Services, and thus supervises all of us floor reps. But I knew her previously as the kindest and most helpful person manning our all-important Front Desk.  The Front Desk is the Information Center, our Help Desk, our Nerve Center, for all questions and problems large and small.  I was shrieking (I also can overreact at times) with joy when I heard that she had taken this new post.

 Call them surprises, or gifts, or small blessings, or tiny miracles- I happily call them another day here at Ascension, my sweet home.

 

ESCAPING THE WINTER LANDSCAPE

          Snow covers my view outside,
and it's all so very, well,
so WHITE, so colorless. 

That’s my main problem with winter--
it’s lack of color, or rather,

It’s choice of WHITE
as its accent color. 

After a few days, the WHITE
Changes to a dreary
Gray slushy shade
Which unfortunately never seems to melt
Until mid-April! 

Now I think
 that every few weeks in winter,
Nature (or God) should add
Some stripes

or polka dots

 to the landscape.
Perhaps pastels, nothing too flashy. 
Shades we may see in brief glimpses

In spring or summer
On some preening flowers for a few weeks.
Or in October
 with a few flashy showoff trees.

But right after Christmas
When all the tinsel and twinkling lights
And giant Santas and gleaming gifts

Have all been taken down
And stored away
Or thrown out. 

Let’s bring out the
 TURQUOISE
 ORANGE
 PURPLE
 BROWN
 RED.

Let’s spray our wintry landscapes
With juicy gem-like colors
As we wait for Nature’s sweet greens

And spring blossoms
To bless us again. 

<<<<<<P.S.>>>>>>

The colors can even spring
 out of your own imagination,
Even as you sigh from your wintry window. 

Better than ONLY WHITE,
 I’m thinking!

HOPE

“Hope” is the thing with feathers -
That perches in the soul -
And sings the tune without the words -

And never stops - at all - 

And sweetest - in the Gale - is heard -
And sore must be the storm -
That could abash the little Bird
That kept so many warm - 

I’ve heard it in the chillest land -
And on the strangest Sea -
Yet - never - in Extremity,
It asked a crumb - of me. 

Oh, dear Emily Dickinson,
how many times these words
have comforted me over the years.

 I remember a day in January,
 the holidays over,
our family's reserves of cash depleted,
our credit cards strained. 

I was in one of my comforting places,
a lovely shop in Arlington Heights
 called Earthen Vessels. 

 It was a Christian goods store,
 with books and greeting cards
and many lovely gift items.

Soft music was always playing,
and just being there
soothed my troubled soul.. 

On that dreary January day,
I found a diary
with Emily Dickinson's portrait
 on the cover.
Her poetry was sprinkled
 throughout the diary,
and the "Hope" poem
 was especially highlighted.

 

I had to buy it.
I barely had enough cash in my wallet,
or in the family coffers,
 but I had to have it.

  I had to have that Hope
 that Emily was describing so beautifully.
I needed that bird
 to perch near my heart
and sing its song of hope to me. 

Today, years of hope later,
I still celebrate this poem
and its promise.

Let its message comfort you
and lead you through this day.