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?