IS THIS THE RIGHT SIZE?

IS THIS THE RIGHT SIZE?

I am gingerly trying to slip into my new age…
Of (gag) 83.
It arrives, without any frills,
In fifteen days.

BUT--
“It’s too BIG, too LARGE, too MUCH!
Please, can’t I have something
 smaller, younger, prettier, fresher?”

This EIGHTIES PLUS garment
belongs to wrinkled, doddering, feeble
people who can barely
Talk or Move 
or Think or Feel 
or Care.

Not for many years from now
(If ever) 
I’m not going to “fight it”
Because “it” will not be real.

I’m not budging!
Whew, now I can go out and party!

 

 

 

MONTESANO FAMILY PHOTO

FAVORITE FAMILY PHOTO

There we are—the Montesano Family.
Caught mid-laughter--
My brother Nick with his mouth
Wide open (as usual).
Taken in my thin year of 1977—
(My changing body weight
Over the years
Marks time in my life.)

This photo—I can still hear
Our wonderful laughter
As our cousin’s husband bravely
Attempted to get the “right” shot.

It was the right shot--
Still right, 
Still happy, 
Still together.

I could sit on that top step
For eternity.

ME TO ME

 

ME-TO-ME

This is a very private conversation…
So please don’t interrupt!
I am confiding in myself now,
And this stuff is highly classified.

If it got into the wrong hands--
Like anyone else--
All the quirky thoughts
 Pinging into me now
Might get out---
Somewhere!

That I am an emotional person
Of many charming foibles
Is of course universally known.
How could I hide
All that adorableness.
(Actually, I tried once,
 But I nearly fainted from the effort.)

What I want to confide to myself
Today,
right now,
this very instant,
Is that I have lived an OK
Ordinary Life.

Fair intelligence, passable Italian looks,
Good friends, nice husband,
Extraordinary children
(I could gush,
But I’ve restrained myself.)

And now, at strangely 80+ years--
I look around my mind and heart
And just have to say--
“WHAT’S NEXT?”

 

 

 

MY CLOUD VISTA

 

 

 

READY OR NOT—HERE I COME!

A sweet calming vista
 Embraces me every day--
My window frames
Sky of bottomless blue
Whipped cream clouds
Snuggled close.

I could almost
Dive/Fly/Float/Glide
Into it.

 

                       

ODE TO CHEESE

 

AN INAPPROPRIATE ODE TO CHEESE

Oh lettuce, oh cottage cheese
Oh fruits and vegetables
Oh fish and lean meat
Oh crap, another diet!

Farewell to my favorite food,
My Daily Addiction--
MY CHEESE!  MY CHEESE!  MY CHEESE!

There is such a desolate feeling to any day
Without Cheese.

It caresses my tongue with creamy silk
And it’s subtle flavor
Makes my world just a little better
For having this cheese morsel
In it.

Oh yes, there are nonfat or lowfat versions
Of my beloved Food Group…
But I WANT that fat,
 that whole milk,
those plumpy curds--
I just cannot settle for less.

 

 

 

LAUNDRY BREAK

LAUNDRY BREAK

Just soap up, swirl in circles, rinse, dry--

Such a simple method
To wash out the daily grime and sweat of the day. 

That’s all well and good for clothes. 

Where do I power wash my regrets

                                                         omissions
                                                                          missteps?

Do they just get buried

 in soul crevices
 or mind cubbyholes 

 To spill out when I’m tired
                                            or vulnerable
                                                                 or sad? 

These imps,
these mini-devils of angst
remain restless 

They lie in wait to prickle 

                                           and remind

                                                              and blame 

                                                                                and finger-wag. 

 SHUT UP>>>SHUT UP>>>SHUT UP! 

 (I feel so much better now!)

FEEDING TIME AT "THE HOME"!

 

FEEDING TIME AT THE HOME

          What a delicious date today---4-24-24…..

          I hope that whatever I write today is worthy of such a fine harmonious date! 
I intend to continue regaling you about retirement living—-THE REAL STORY!

       Do you wonder whether the halls are “littered” with sleepy old people in creaky wheelchairs, napping through their days, and just waking up for a bland dinner of oatmeal and weak tea?

          Well, forget about that tiresome image! 
Life here is funny, lively, interesting and colorful,
peppered by fun events and yummy food. 
  You are free to join your friends to eat in our welcoming dining room.

Or you can pick up your meal to eat in your room…
.like this typical resident, so happy to be picking up his meal.

        Who wouldn’t want to eat a meal in such a zany place?  I have to modestly admit that my table of friends is known as the LAUGHING TABLE or LOUD TABLE, depending on who's listening.

Left to right: Maria, Me,Seating Hostess Doris (she has her mask under her chin),

Karen, Gina, Mickey, Ginny in front

It’s lovely to have this daily meal with my buddies.  Monday through Friday, we eat at beginning time of 3:30pm (you adjust). On Saturday and Sunday, we eat at 1:30.  We go at the beginning time for dining now, ever since a dreadful day when they RAN OUT OF ECLAIRS FOR DESSERT!

Just to get your taste buds salivating, here was this week’s Sunday menu:

STOP BY TO VISIT AND SHARE A MEAL SOMETIME!

 

 

BLOG 4-19-2024

 

BLOG 4-19-24  
    Let me introduce you to Ascension Resurrection Village, 
my retirement home since October 1, 2021. 
It's located on thirteen lovely acres in Chicago, near O'Hare.

           By good fortune, I was shown a lovely studio apartment on the sixth floor of the main building (Building D).  There are four buildings: A,C,D,E.  (Never found out what happened to Building B!)  

          In my building, all the central activities are on the first floor: the Main Entrance, the mailboxes, the Dining Room, the Atrium, the Chapel and the Blue Room (where all the shows are presented).

          My building lacks balconies, which I declined, not realizing what I was gaining—the view outside my west window. (Did I mention that I’m a sunset-freak?)

      

There are fourteen apartments on my floor, 

with two elevators, one of which is located
RIGHT OUTSIDE MY DOOR, 

which opens to----the dining room! 

<<<<<<<<TO BE CONTINUED TOMORROW!>>>>>>>

WELL, LOOK WHO'S HERE!

                   

         It's been an unbelievable TWO YEARS since I have blogged!  I hope that this means a shaky step forward in my creative existence.  I feel stale, barren, dried up, pruney, boring.  So many fine words and thoughts should be spewing forth, but there seems to be barely a trickle.

         It would seem that I have to move all the way back from acceptance, through depression, hurdle past bargaining, leap over anger, and throw out denial.

        Whew, well, I am now back where I started, with a HOPE of writing something wonderful, but a fear that my well has run dry for so long that there is barely a trickle of inspiration...a few words...phrases...puns...anything? 

        Wait--wait--don't leave yet.  

        There still may be some late-breaking news or delightful thoughts coming your way.  After all, I took all the trouble to find a funny image of Writers Block and then spent an annoying amount of time figuring out how to insert it.  That's worth a look-see on your part!

         And surely in the two years since I wrote my last blog, I must have some juicy, hilarious, thought-provoking ideas to spew forth.  Right?

SO HERE I AM, WAITING FOR THE SPEWING...
ANYTIME NOW......

UM, COULD YOU MAYBE DROP IN AGAIN TOMORROW?
THANKS!

    

    

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.