SIX IMPOSSIBLE THINGS

“One can’t believe impossible things.”
'I daresay you haven’t had much practice,' said the Queen. 
'When I was your age, I always did it for half-an-hour a day.
 Why, sometimes I’ve believed as many as
 six impossible things before breakfast.'”

          --Typically wacky yet wise words from one of my favorite books, Lewis Carroll's Through the Looking Glass.  When I confront another deliciously unscheduled day in my retired life, I know now that I need to at least try a few different things per day.  ("Impossible" would take much more effort!)

          So I cook a new meal, write a new blog, hang an old picture in a new spot, unpack a delivered package from months ago, strike a new pose, sip a new mug of coffee=SIX (IM)POSSIBLE THINGS!

          It's strangely energizing, 

and usually initiates more "new" tasks,

 or old tasks with a new twist.  

          I am in hibernation mode these past few wintry months by design.  Cold winds and icy sidewalks hold no charm for me, as I still negotiate by cane through my world.  I have long enjoyed the enchantment of snuggling down under a soft throw or blanket, reading a book, checking my email, viewing a wonderful movie via DVD, or binge-watching a streamed-in television series.

          Even during my former lifestyles--busy Mom, busy librarian, busy person in general--having this relaxed nesting-in lifestyle would have been appealing, and not at all appalling.  Yet even when I ventured out much more (commuting and working, travelling into downtown Chicago for plays or the Art Institute, organizing semi-mega events involving family and friends) doing nothing certainly had its charms.

         When my children were small, having an hour to myself was curiously exciting; I felt a real frisson of joy inside.  I suddenly had choices driven by my own desires and inclinations.  I had forgotten how delicious that could be!

          When you retire, the structure of a work schedule disappears. You seem to walk around without a net, stepping cautiously into every free minute with a strange wonder.  You are no longer being paid for your time and labor; your existence isn't based upon tasks and outward recognition.  And some of that recognition was quite nice--nicer than you realized until it was gone.  

          Child rearing had its dividends in hugs and smiles, and its downside in monotony and poop and tantrums.  There was the inevitable need to clean up a regularly dusty and sticky house; that tiresomely empty dinner table waiting impatiently for some sort of meal every night; those wayward childhood acts to discipline or at least tamp down.

          It was never the child rearing or housekeeping or meal preparation in itself that was debilitating to my spirit:  it was the inevitable repetition, the nagging monotony.

          Do I miss any of it now that I have freeform time facing me every morning, with only myself and my needs to consider?  Do I quake at the idea of trying "six impossible things before breakfast" that are new or different? Do I miss the patter of little and then larger feet?  The upturned faces and hungry mouths round the dinner table?  The bushels of sweet laundry and the house to be cleaned and the weekend to be filled with all them-stuff?????

 Are you kidding me?

HAPPY LOVE DAY!

HAPPY LOVE DAY!

          How can I miss writing on this favorite holiday of mine:  VALENTINE'S DAY!

          I send real cards, I send Ecards, I give presents (formerly to children, now to my grandchildren), I wear red turtlenecks and red slipper socks.  I thoroughly enjoy a day devoted to telling everyone how much I love them/wear red, my favorite color/possibly eat chocolates or other fitting sweet treats!

          I vary the intensity and volume of presents and greetings from year to year.  One Valentine's Day I gave my oldest child Matt, who was enraptured with all the Star Wars films, the model of Han Solo's ship the Millenium Falcon.  This was a huge step up from candy hearts and some new markers. I think I wanted to compensate from not getting it for him at Christmas time.

(((Who could understand the convolutions of my ever-fermentingbrain--

certainly not me, its bemused owner!)))

          Then there was the lonely Valentine's Day six months after I had relocated 4/5 of my family to New Mexico, and starting to realize it was not one of my best ideas. I sent all my female besties (sisters and friends) a copy of Anne Morrow Lindbergh's book A Gift from the Sea,  a sweet (mostly chick) book. It was a favorite of mine for morning-inspirational-quote-reading.  Many pre-retirement busy working mother mornings I had need for inspiration...these were all my pre-Prozac days also.  

      (((Fodder for another blog:  How I Slogged Through My Days for 50+ years without Prozac.))) 

          ANYWAY, this Valentine's Day, I sent loving Ecards to my closest family and friends, sent real in-the-mail cards to my three grandchildren Jake, Rosie and Bella.  And I bought small presents from my favorite gift emporium, the Arlington Heights Dollar Tree store, wrapped them in red tissue, and presented them in shiny red foil gift bags.  Fun!

          My darling Niki started my day with a loving REAL card atop my computer--she knew I would spy it first thing!  I received other greetings, including another actual card from my forever friend Mary Barr, who still avails herself of the USPS to send real mail.  I also have enjoyed several Ecard and Email greetings.  And soon my son Matt, daughter-in-law Laura and grand daughter Rosie are stopping by with some lovely greeting.

     That I have so much love in my life, to give and receive--what a juicy reason for a holiday!

           

GOOD INTENTIONS

Good Intentions!

          So how many times in my life have I "started fresh" with a juicy blank page and a heart-full of good intentions?  How many days in my life and my years?  But that fresh new page, that blinking cursor on my laptop, that sweet hope in my heart----it nudges me to hop aboard the Good Intentions Train for my favorite destination, Healthy Slimmer Kathie, U.S.A.

          So I turn a page in my WLJ (Weight Loss Journal), a chunky little spiral notebook which I began on the auspicious day after my Bariatric Bypass Surgery, April 23rd, 2005.  THAT was quite a successful and exciting journey!  Within the year, I swooshed down my ample bulk from an all-time high of 267 pounds to 160 pounds.  (To be honest, I was probably 160 pounds for just a few hours!) 

          I was the center of attention in all my family and social "circles", at work, online, wherever I could smoothly present my wonderfully diminished body.  It was heaven--for a while.  All my medical numbers won the lottery--blood sugar, cholesterol, blood pressure--all just gorgeous!

          I was that Belle of the Ball I always wanted to be.  This photo, taken on Easter, April 2007, with my kids, shows the svelte me--captured in a happy slim state of mind AND body:

(I'm the short, older skinny-ish person 

in the middle of those gorgeous young men--my sons Jeff and Matt--

and their equally gorgeous young wives--Susan and Laura--left to right) 

          Well, the hunt for that photo had me rooting around unpacked boxes of photos in my closet, scanning the photo, only to find it among my "iPhoto" collection in my computer AND on Facebook.

GRRRRRRR!!

         Anyway, back to Blank Pages and Good Intentions--and an hour after I started this blog--I ask you all, dear readers, to send me inspiring thoughts of good cheer.  I have a starting weight of 242, which is just plain awful.  My winter jacket of oh-so-many years was very loose on me during my first few skinny winters.  Now it bunches up alarmingly over my too-ample hippage....sigh...

          So I reach out to my hope-filled blank pages, and start again.  I have enjoyed many other losing journeys, but just never stayed very long at my destination......

         

     OH WELL,  ALL ABOARD THE GOOD INTENTIONS TRAIN!

POPPING UP AGAIN!

POPPING UP AGAIN!

          So here I am, after all these months--finally blogging again!  Last entry July 19th--one day before my 74th birthday.  Now it's a frigid 9 degrees at 9am, and I'm cozily hibernating for the winter.  I like staying by my hearth....and yes, we do have a hearth and fireplace....but only we only keep golden "fairy lights" blazing gently under our mantel:

  

          It's a cheery addition to our day, viewed from our vantage point on our cushy couch.  

          I happily confess to being a "Couch Potato"....a Golden Potato (my favorite kind).  I am

mostly mellow and calm--and yes, complacent too.  Winter temperatures find me snuggled under my soft throw in my corner of the couch...the couch I boldly purchased online, without a "butt test".  That would be without actually seeing it, and sitting in it.  The furniture store did not have one in their showroom, and I just went ahead and ordered it.  Turned out that it was perfect, from the first moment that Niki and I sat contentedly in it.  It has the necessary feature of two reclining ends, and a center console which folds down for beverages and remotes and books and tissues, etc, etc.

          We have our cushy, reclining thrones to greet us all day and evening.  We view our favorite streaming TV shows (currently watching all seasons of "The X-Files")...we read...we pontificate on all things pertinent in our world.  I also happily use my laptop or phone for email and writing and shopping and conversing...and, well, just about most anything I choose to do during the day.

          There is a real danger of butt-spread with this cushy hibernation, so I have commenced a not very strenuous regimen of ten-minute "Chair-obics" via On-Demand fitness TV programs.  I will work up to another ten minutes, and then another, until thirty minutes will max out my daily motion.

          I am by nature a hibernating creature.  My favorite activities radiate from my sitting position--reading, DVD and TV viewing, eating, computing, talking, etc.  Why run around uncomfortably when sitting takes care of most everything pleasant and desirable in my life? Yes, I know, I know, physical health does involve some exercise every day, but...sigh..

          I often considered setting up Inactivity Workshops to extol the virtues of this fine lifestyle.

So many friends and relatives have injured themselves by moving around that I am quite concerned about their over-activity.  And most activity could be considered over-activity.

          Whew, my hands have had quite the workout now, so that will be all the blogging for now.

          Have a pleasantly serene (dare I say "inactive") day...I know that I will!

   

OUT OF THE BALLPARK

          So I wrote an inspired, heartfelt blog about my brother Nick.  I had the photos I wanted to use, and I had been thinking about what I would say.  The words came pouring out, and I was pleased with the result.  I never imagined the tremendous response I would have from my family--his family--my friends and his friends.  
         
           I had used my writing ability to reach out and say something that mattered, that had been residing in my heart for years.  I entertained, I consoled, I celebrated and commemorated, all at one time.
                   
                              But what do I write after that?
         
           I have many other photos to use in my blog, that of my family, of me, of my life in its many aspects.  But now I want to hit each blog "out of the park".

                                And I know that's impossible.
          
          It's like having that first sip of cold beer on a hot day, that first spoonful of your favorite ice cream, that first kiss from a new love, that first laugh from your baby grandchild, that wedding, or graduation, or vacation, or any other joyful moment, but just THAT FIRST INTENSE MOMENT.

         
  Only over and over again.....a home run all the time.

          
          I can see a pattern over the years of my life---that of chasing down such moments, and trying desperately to repeat them, to extend them, to hold on to them.....but that's impossible.

          
          Even as my babies grew into adorable toddlers, I was already wanting to hold on to each moment with them, to freeze time, to keep the hours and years from whooshing away.

          
          So I took endless photos. (Oh what I could have done with digital technology and camera phones back then!)  I bought a clunky video camera when they first expensively came out---and then realized that I was being a camera-woman, and not a Mom, at the events I was filming.

         
           If I strained to record, or started to feel melancholy about the passing of these moments, then these moments passed out of my grip anyway, and I hadn't been present.  I was not showing up for my own life.

          
          It's been stated frequently that the happiest time in a person's life is the later years.  By then we know that the moments fly by with such speed, and that all we can do is BE PRESENT, in our present.

          
                        For it becomes the past just that quickly. 

         
           So I write my blog, I hope at least weekly, with all the variety that is my life and my minutes.  It would be a great pleasure to share some of my thoughts with other readers, and to resonate with my readers at times.

          
          But then I am blessed with a certain resonating every day in my life, every dawn as the first bird chirps at four a.m., and every sunset as the sky presents its sunset mural.  It is up to me to make those moments special to myself.

(One of my favorite poems, adopted by me when I DID have fifty years or more to see the blossoms):

          A Shropshire Lad  2: Loveliest of Trees, The Cherry Now                                                 ( by A. E. Housman)

Loveliest of trees, the cherry now
Is hung with bloom along the bough,
And stands about the woodland ride
Wearing white for Eastertide.

Now, of my threescore years and ten,
Twenty will not come again,
And take from seventy springs a score,
It only leaves me fifty more.

And since to look at things in bloom
Fifty springs are little room,
About the woodlands I will go
To see the cherry hung with snow.

          With so much less time "to see the cherry hung with snow", I intend to savor even those moments after the cherry blossoms have fallen, when the ball just is a tiny infield single.

          For it is a great privilege to be IN my life, in my NOW.

MY "BIG BROTHER" NICK

          Chronologically, my brother Nick was 

three years younger than me.  

But in so many, many wonderful ways, 

he was my BIG brother.

          Despite his wicked sense of humor and sense of fun, he was born with a mature head on his broad shoulders.  Married soon after college to his beloved Kathy, his perfect soulmate (in humor and all ways wonderful), his marriage remained loving and rock-solid.  They were always "in love".

          He stayed with his first job at Montgomery Ward's for most of his working life--a true "company man"....until Ward's folded, and he moved on to Staples.

          His friends from school were lifelong friends, and he was truly loved by these friends.

          He was the center of the universe for our family...he was the only sibling really close to our Dad...he was the beautiful son revered by our mother.  He teased me endlessly, but really "got me", despite our great personality differences.  I was flighty where he was solid, restless where he was sure, irresponsible where he was dependable. 

          He was there to help his sisters shop for cars, console us in times of trouble, always be truthful and incisive even if it hurt, be the most serious and yet the most silly all in one heart-felt package.  Our Dad could confide in Nick about his fears after his first heart attack.  Nick fiercely "adopted" my sister Joanie when she was born...he called her his little "Deets" (no translation)...he was all of nine years old!

          He was mischievous in high school with his imitation of his teachers behind their backs. He could wield the wickedest funniest insults and yet had the softest lovingest marshmallow inside.

          Here is a sweet picture of Nick and I (my "signature bow" again), when photographers came to your house, and posed you atop side tables: 

See his sunny smile?  Always there, along with 

that dear twinkle in his eyes.

           But he was far from being a saint; he loved teasing me, and I was the perfect foil, because I "hated it".  He was in his glory when I began dating, and he could do impersonations of my dates.  We only had one phone, in the dining room.  I remember so well sitting on the floor in the corner, trying to escape his antics as I talked dreamily to some swain.

          After I saw the movie "Psycho", I was so jittery and couldn't sleep.  When I heard Nick come in from a date, I called him to come talk to me.  So of course he enters the bedroom, arm raised as if he was going to slaughter me, Norman Bates-style!  So funny!

            Nick and I shared the same body type (chubby), and Mom put us on a diet when he was about eleven, and I was fourteen.  We did both trim down, and enjoyed better body image through high school, as evident in our high school pictures (he went to Weber High School, I went to Siena High School, both in Chicago), looking awfully darn cute (in my humble opinion):

          He loved combing his abundant head of hair Elvis-style, wrinkling up his forehead to look incredibly "cool", as in this photo at age sixteen, the "Weber Whip":

  

          He met his beloved Kathy when they were students at DePaul University in Chicago, and married her at the age of twenty-two---a young groom, but a grownup head and spirit. 

          When I married some years later at the ripe old age of twenty-seven (some of the great-aunts were getting worried about me), he danced with me, his "younger sister" at my wedding.  The love shows:

          His legacy resides so poignantly in his family.  He died from a sudden heart attack at the too-young age of fifty-five, leaving three terrific children and (now) eight beautiful grandchildren.

          As part of his eulogy, I wrote about his heart--that they said it was his heart which gave out.  That would be impossible.

          Not that beautiful, loving, dear heart.

PROMISES, PROMISES--

           Remember my breathless, impassioned promise to write a DAILY blog during July, in honor of my birthday on the 20th?

          

         So what happened to that so-called contract?

          (sigh)  It went the way of so many promises I make to myself that wobble and often shrivel up.  Every day I would vow to myself to "catch up"...at first that worked out, writing two blogs per day.  And then the days started sliding by, along with my resolve.  My dear daughter Niki, ever the faithful confidante (and enabler), reminds me that since I have reached the lofty RETIREMENT goal, I need not have any "shoulds" in my life.

          How many times have I exhorted her, and other loved ones (mostly female) to not "should" on themselves!

          So, in the spirit of independence and a fine should-less existence, I will go back to my haphazard frequency of blogging.  I have many photos which I have scanned to use in future entries.  These photos have served as springboards to my blog musings, and I feel that every blog is enhanced by a photo or two.  

          I will illustrate this apologetic blog with the message so dearly written in the card my granddaughter Rosie gave me as an early birthday wish: 

          I am pleased to use this as my anthem for all the days of this birthday year--and any years hereafter:

              "I hope you have fun being 74."

          And for me, "fun" is being inconsistent.  

It suits me so very well!

          

JULY 7--WITHOUT A NET!

          January 2009 began with me swooping out into the arena of my life, flying through the air (with the "greatest of ease"?) as I began my life in Retirement.  I was going to do it all without a net, without the schedule and structure of a daily job, a preassigned place to be, a set of tasks to be accomplished, a parade of people to encounter and to serve.

          Sounded like fun to me!

           I've always enjoyed change, thrive on it, court it, seek it out and embrace it.  So Retirement was going to be exciting and stimulating and never boring and glorious.

          Or so I thought! 

          At first, I did have a part-time "job" which I joyfully took on--I would be a grand-nanny for my very young second grandchild, Rosie.  She was barely three months old, and I found the early weeks so sweet, as winter gripped Chicago, I was cozy and content with my grand baby.  Who wouldn't be content with this face greeting you:

          When she was sleeping (as she did in those early weeks), I would turn on the TV and get my fill of Oprah and "The View" and the news and...and....I could watch Rosie as she grew into her various toys---conducting toddler scientific studies:

        or officiating at her toddler "office center":  

          So I was in "Nonny" hog heaven--Rosie's name for me when she began talking....she actually picked it up from one of the nicknames I had for her.  I loved it, and found out later that "Nonna" is Italian for "grandmother".
          However, that was on my schedule for two days per week, but what to do with my other days?  What a weird feeling, this flying around my life without a net, without a full-time job, and kids to care for, a household to tend....I was husband-less by this time also, since my husband David died while I was still working.  
          What to do, what to do....I checked out book clubs to join, but the book titles didn't entice me enough to sign up.  I looked into some community college items, but never quite found a "fit".  I could revel in the fact of brunches or lunches with friends during week day hours, along with other "seniors".
          That first year of retirement went by rather pleasantly, but I still had a sense that I wasn't quite "anchored".  I started exploring volunteer opportunities, and did get involved at my local library for a while.  Since my last career before retiring was as a librarian, this seemed like the ideal place to volunteer. 
          But something engaging was missing from my life....what to do....what to do???

*****TO BE CONTINUED***** 

July 6--THE THING WITH FEATHERS

     So my favorite poem, by my favorite poet Emily Dickinson:

          

Hope is the thing with feathers

That perches in the soul

And sings the tune without the words

and never stops at all.

          This card adorns our refrigerator, for me to see and reaffirm every day, to reaffirm the hope that finds a welcome perch in my soul...because I have seen hope validated so many times in my life, so many times when Depression engulfed me in its dark, destructive tidal wave.

          I no longer am a hostage to depression, and am so happy to be free from its prison....no longer waking up every day to push up that boulder through the hours of my life, only to have to push it up all over again the next day.

          The story of that journey may be material for other blogs.  It matters more that Hope sings its sweet song in me now.  I've seen hope "in action", the sweet love I share with my family and friends...in the glory of my grandchildren's giggles...the hugs of my best girl buddies....the joy of a freshly brewed cup of coffee...that first birdsong at 430am from that cheerful Early Bird....the rest after a peaceful day.

         HOPE barely describes the feeling as I look at these three sweet faces, my grand babies...

     JAKE

ROSIE

BELLA

          HOPE---a mere slip of a word to describe what vibrates within me as I see their beautiful faces.

          Who cannot believe in Hope when "I love you" ends my day with my daughter, as we wish each other a sweet night's sleep?  We are roommates now for over a year, supporting each other in our needs, filling in the gaps....she supports my physical needs after yet another joint replacement surgery as I combat my physical foe arthritis.

          I can support her emotional needs as she bravely faces her deluge of anxiety and depression. We laugh together, we cry together, we revel in the mischievous antics of our third roommate, our kitty Mathilda.  

          It's a loving partnership I could never have envisioned years ago--see what HOPE has rendered!

        

          

JULY 5--EARLY TODDLER TIMES

               So I return to my old photos, and muse over what must have been loving toddler times.  My father's childhood home was in Chicago (as was my mother's).  His home, on Natchez Avenue near Diversey, once was the outer western boundary of the city.  Seems so unbelievable now with our far-flung suburbs, stretching beyond the Fox River to the west!
          
          Until my Grandma (my father's mother) died when I was seven years old, we gathered at the Natchez home for many family occasions.  My "Nonna" only spoke Italian, which I did not understand.  But she spoke "cookie" and "hugs", and somehow we could easily communicate!

          During the early forties, my uncles who were in the army and navy gradually (happily) all returned from the war. My uncles who had fought in the Phillipines brought back this fetching Hawaiian ensemble, which I adorably modeled, in front of the Natchez house. (I was 2 years old, so this would be summer 1943.)

Add captioHONEY BOO BOO, EAT YOUR HEART OUT! n

          According to my adoring mother, I was quite the charmer at the Christmas Eve gathering on Natchez Avenue.  I stood in the middle of the Christmas conversations, reciting "The Night Before Christmas", and probably being benignly ignored.  (Except for aforementioned adoring mother).

          It just occurs to me that my Nonna couldn't even be impressed by my toddler performance:

         she couldn't understand one word I was saying!

          But lack of audience participation has never inhibited my social performances.  It's only lately that I (alas) have forgotten the poem.  

               

           And I now I can be adorable without that hula skirt!

          

            

JULY 4--MOMMA AND HER PAPOOSE

           I cannot imagine a more fitting way to honor Independence Day than by contemplating the joyful way I've LOST my independence...on a wintry day 43 years ago....
    

First Strike against My Independence

Date: January 17th, 1972, at 12:06 pm  
Location:  St Ann's Hospital Delivery Room, Chicago
Occasion: Birth of first papoose, Matthew Nicholas Newsted

               
  Second Strike (still in there "swinging"):

Date:  September 24th, 1973, at 3:59 am

Location: Same as above

Occasion: Birth of second papoose, Nicole Loryn Newsted

Third Strike (and then I was "out"!):

Date: August 31st, 1976, at 10:30 pm

Location:  Same

Occasion: Birth of third papoose, Jeffrey David Newsted

          Why "papoose"?  Because I have a dearly loved statue from a favorite New Mexican artist, Esta Bain.  It sits on the table next to my "throne", the right side of my sofa, where I "rule" whenever I'm home and awake (or asleep over my bedtime reading). 

                           

                  MOMMA AND HER PAPOOSE

                 ALWAYS BY MY SIDE

    
           When my papooses inevitably left my arms, and flew away from my sheltering blanket, I gained back some independence.  A sweet irony--by that time I didn't really care to be "free"--their adulthood had already relieved me of many motherly concerns.  I also realized that I was incredibly "dependent" upon my love and concerns for them.
     
          Their lives changed, they gained their independence--until my sons both became husbands and fathers and homeowners.  

And then they lost their "freedom" in the sweetest, most loving ways.     Now I have three beautiful grandchildren to hug under my blanket.

Independence is highly overrated!

      

JULY 3--CUTENESS THEN AND NOW

       So this blog-writing has me sorting through old photos, some of which I have already flaunted.  In trying to show how CUTENESS runs in families (mine), I looked for a few comparative family photos.  
    
       My grandchildren are famously adorable, as the world now knows.  I present a few examples, alongside some not-too-exact older photos.

       There's the loving shots of cousins being pals--first my cousin Teri and I--then my grandson Jake kissing his cousin Rosie during their toddler days:
     

     

          The cuteness gene glaringly apparent!  Jake and Rosie have remained good friends, and it's a joy watching them together.

       I have bravely published some bathing suit cuteness from my toddler days...and I now present my granddaughter Bella putting a 21st century "sassy spin" on the bathing suit pose:

 

  

      My life--in these pictures--what a gift!  I'm watching my three grandchildren, Jake (now 7), Rosie (6) and Bella (4) with such awe.  They are embracing their days with fresh new eyes, like my eyes staring out of those old photos.

     

      I wish joy for them, I wish that I could smooth out their paths and guide them around those hurdles which life will clunk down in their way.  But that little girl in those old photos somehow found her way to her NOW.

    

       And it's a good NOW, made up of all the old photos and days among years that lead me to this birthday month.  I wish to celebrate this NOW with every blog this month.

     

     That's my birthday present to myself.