Category Archives: Thoughts

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I Missed You Last Night, Grandma – Single Malt Scotch and Election Returns

I lost my grandmother, technically last New Year’s Eve, but really last December 30, 2011.  I was lucky enough to have her in my life, with all her faculties and still able to live alone (with non-live-in help) right up until the end – her end being when I was 45 years old.

I got to have the wonderful spoiling as a child (there was something special about Coca-Cola with ice in grandma’s glass glasses – there was no Coke in my fridge at home), and the privilege of knowing her from an adult perspective too, as I grew up.

My family is very political, very blue, very articulate and very opinionated.

Grandma would have Loved the election last night, and I would have been on the phone with her (with my Dad hanging out at her house for the festivities) for hours, all of us with a glass of single-malt scotch in our hands . . .

A few years ago, I decided everybody in my family was getting single-malt scotch for the holidays.  In addition to the above traits, we also all drink scotch (although our individual places on the peat-oak spectrum varies).  I didn’t think all that much  about it until during one visit with Grandma soon after that holiday where I gifted everyone scotch, she shared with me that she had told her bridge friends (she played bridge up until the last month of her life, aged 94) about my gift, and her friends thought she had the coolest grandkids ever!

I’ve been pretty busy lately just surviving the required schedule of work and treatment, but last night (and I know she was there with me, as she is now, just by my remembering her) I thought about how much she would have enjoyed her evening . . . keeping up with various family members by phone as the night progressed, with a glass of single-malt for sipping, as Obama won a second term and the entire country (in various ways) voted for fairness, equality and the positive evolution of our society.

Below are the remarks I shared at Grandma’s memorial service (redacted to preserve family privacy):

My grandmother was clearly the matriarch of this family. She ran it with love, strength, passion and intelligence.

I grew up being called “Grandma’s own,” both for the similarities in our personalities and because there is a very strong physical family resemblance. I always heard that moniker as a compliment and accepted with pride that I was like her, someone I love and admire.

That’s not to say that strength and backbone, combined with a vast vocabulary, are always a good thing. In certain circumstances, that combination can result in a mighty sharp tongue. It has been said of Grandma that her tongue was sharp enough to cut pastrami. Like many inheritable traits, that one has been passed down through the generations. Indeed, I’ve heard that same tongue come out of [my aunt]’s mouth, and my own.

But the best side of that combination is the fierce love and support she demonstrated for those people and causes that were important to her.

For instance, how many people can say their grandmother took them to a pro-choice rally? An aunt, mother, sister, yes, but their Grandmother? Not many, I don’t think…but I can.

And on a more personal level, while that kind of strength and smarts can have its downside – as many in the family sometimes have trouble talking about less than positive emotions (anger, sadness, frustration) – Grandma always communicated to me her no-doubt-about-it, unshakeable, absolute, almost taken-for-granted faith in my abilities to succeed in whatever life throws at me, something that has stood me in good stead through the years.

And it started early. Those of you who’ve been to our family dinner celebrations have seen that generally they are intelligent and well-informed, with strong passionate opinions flying all over the place.  I recall being encouraged from a very early age (one at which other families might think kids should be seen and not heard) to participate in the conversations and being taken seriously…as long as I could back up my opinion.

Grandma also provided what she could, even when it wasn’t requested in the best possible manner. When I was in my late elementary school years, Grandma and Grandpa were at that point in their lives when they were traveling all over the world, going to all the places they had decided they wanted to see. I was completely jealous and in what must have been a truly whiny voice, I said (and I think I actually said it very much like this) “You guys have been everywhere and I’ve never even been to Alaska.” Why I said Alaska I have no idea, it was the first thing that came to my mind. But they heard the need, the request behind the whining tone. After a brief pause, I was told, “You’re right, and if, when you graduate from elementary school, you still want to go to Alaska, we’ll take you.” Well, I did still want to go and go we did, on a two-week cruise. My first memory of that trip was being treated like a grown-up by both of them, at the tender age of 13. I have myriad other memories from that trip – from my first Tequila Sunrise that I don’t think they knew about, to the other kids I met on the ship, to watching glaciers break off into the sea in Glacier Bay, to just missing being in time for High Tea at the Empress Hotel in Victoria, British Columbia, to the hand-beaded slippers I brought home and wore until they fell apart and off my feet.

Not only did I grow up being called “grandma’s own” on personality, but physical genes are very strong, especially through the women in this family. I was constantly called “[my aunt’s name]” while growing up, even when [my aunt] wasn’t around. I knew I had reached true adulthood in my Grandmother’s eyes when, at a family dinner sometime in my 20’s, Grandma called [my aunt] “[my name].”

All of that strength and passion and strong opinions can sometimes be hard to get along with. I realize that at times I resemble that remark. I, of course, was only a child for much of my relationship with both Grandma and Grandpa, but something about how they got along I think had sunk in by the time I had grown up enough to start looking for a partner for myself. I have to wonder if at least I learned that there are men out there who can live with and love a woman with that much sense of self, and that helped me find my own.

Just like Momsie before her, Grandma wasn’t done with anything after losing Grandpa. When I first decided to speak today and began deliberately reflecting on my Grandmother’s life, I had a phrase in mind that I thought applied here. I had heard it many times – something about speeding in spent and this close to being late for the end of one’s life – but I couldn’t remember exactly how it went. Coincidentally (as I’m sure it had nothing to do with me from his perspective), last week a friend of mine posted the exact phrase I was thinking of on Facebook. It goes like this: “Life’s journey is not to arrive at the grave safely in a well preserved body, but rather to skid in sideways, totally worn out, shouting ‘Holy Shit…What a Ride!'” That was my grandmother.

During her blessedly short illness, some of her hospital caregivers who didn’t see her when being admitted, but later when she was fighting the good fight, tried to tell us that her sometimes only semi-lucid state was maybe the best we could hope for – she was 94 after all. But we had to educate them, that, as [Hubby] put it – 2 weeks ago you had to make an appointment to get on her social calendar! In fact, the last time she played bridge, just a couple of weeks before she became ill, she played 3 days in a row, and was disappointed that she and her partner only came in 4th out of 19 tables!

Last year for Mother’s Day, [Hubby] and I gave her an original iPad after we had upgraded to the new models for ourselves. During that visit, with it being her first time ever using an iPad, she picked up how to read her email, and download and read books on the device. The last time I visited with her, just a week or so before her final hospital stay, she showed off to me that she had learned how to download borrowed books from the local library and read them on the iPad!

So Grandma, here is my pledge to you: As “Grandma’s own,” I will try to live my life as fully, as passionately, and as lovingly as you did, right to the very end. I miss you and I will love you forever.

Last night, you came to the front of my mind.  What I wrote above was true then, is true today, and will always be true.

* * *

While writing this post and wandering around WordPress, I found these ladies:

Margaret and Helen

They remind me so much of none other than my grandmother (who, coincidentally, was also named Helen), and her sister-in-law, my Great-Aunt.  Not that I could Ever replace my grandmother, but I’m gonna head over there and see if they’ll adopt me over the net or something.  Or at the very least I’m gonna go follow their blog, for some guaranteed future laughs, I’m sure.

Copyright Ridingthebcrollercoaster.com 2012 All Rights Reserved.

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The Best of Today’s Youth

This brought tears to my eyes.

Without further ado. . .

K-State Proud

I’m also putting this on my videos page.

Copyright Ridingthebcrollercoaster.com 2012 All Rights Reserved.

 

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Locks of Love – For Those Who Come After Me

A week before my first surgery, I went to get a haircut.  A serious haircut.

At that point my hair was pretty long, by anyone’s standards, very much like that of Lady Godiva.

I decided to cut it so as to make it easier to take care of after my surgeries (short enough to be washed leaning back into the sink if necessary).  I figured I’d cut off enough to donate to Locks of Love – two birds with one stone, don’t ya know? – for those who come after me.  I didn’t at that point know whether I’d need chemo and end up losing my hair or not, but either way I figured it was good karma and just the right thing to do.

Although I came out of there feeling bald (in the world according to me), I also was not going to let an inch or two keep me from donating since I was cutting most of my hair off anyway.  I had just enough to meet the length they needed and leave me with a just-longer-than-chin-length bob.  Okay, it met both of the criteria, and I knew it would grow back (I’ve always had lots of thick hair), and if I had to have chemo, lost my hair, and it grew back different (as more than rarely happens), well that was a bridge I didn’t even have to admit existed at that point, let alone deal with crossing.

The week between getting it cut and having my first surgery, I had posted for my friends on Facebook a picture of my cut-off ponytail with the caption “On it’s way to Locks of Love.”

Well, then the rest of the week was cleaning up the house, stocking the fridge, doing laundry, setting up the bedroom with what I thought I’d want while recovering and just plain continuing to breathe in and out to keep the anxiety level anywhere near reasonable.

And then there were two surgeries (two weeks apart to the day), follow-up appointments with both surgeons, getting my ass back to work, interviewing new doctors for the next stage of treatment, doing physical therapy for side effects from at least one of the surgeries, starting the next stage of treatment, and getting at least the bare minimum of chores done to keep my life running (food in the house, enough clean clothes to dress to leave the house every day, paying at least some of the bills).

Needless to say, today this ponytail was still on my desk in my home office.

TODAY IT IS GOING WHERE IT WAS INTENDED TO BE SENT THREE MONTHS AGO!  🙂

Here’s what’s going in the package:

And here’s the package all packed up, stamped and heading out to it’s destination!  🙂

Copyright Ridingthebcrollercoaster.com 2012 All rights Reserved.

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I’m lucky enough to have found a man who was taught and lives this.

I’m reblogging for those women who have not yet found the man who will love them like this, and for those women who have never had a man like this in their lives, so they don’t know what to look for in their mate – use this as at least one of your decision points about who to give your time, energy and attention to – about who to keep or not keep in your life.

I wish for every woman to find a mate (of whatever gender works for her) who will love her like this – as is mentioned in the post, Not because she can’t take care of herself, but because we all deserve to be loved like this.

Copyright Ridingthebcrollercoaster.com 2012 All rights Reserved.

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Daily Prompt – “When was the last time you felt really, truly lonely?”

Okay, I’ll ‘fess up right away – some might think this is cheating.

And I will apologize and ask forgiveness (as I’m very new to this blogging thing and don’t yet know all the ‘rules’) if I am Completely breaking a Cardinal Rule in the name of recycling for the sake of sharing with more people.

The answer to this challenge can be found in my recent post “Dr. Rex Hoffman – Office Visit – October 22, 2012.”

I’m (re-)posting because, although I would not have described the word “lonely” when characterizing my feelings from this experience – that occurrence flashed visually through my mind the minute I read today’s Daily Prompt.  Funny how one thing doesn’t always lead to another, but the second can lead directly back to the first, eh?

Copyright Ridingthebcrollercoaster.com 2012 All rights Reserved.

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Weekly Writing Challenge – I Wish I Were…

. . . able to quit my job and be a full-time college student again.

Now, I doubt I’m pining for what you think I’m pining for.

Midway through my freshman year in college, the first love of my life died in a motorcycle accident.  I managed to stay in college another year before I realized I just couldn’t finish that just then in my life.  So I quit, became a baby nurse, and then a nanny, and after that, my life went another way.  The first part of my college “career” was pretty much the same as high school – cliques and not really feeling like I fit in – but with alcohol.  The second part is a blur, as I sleep-walked (is that a word?) through my life mostly (but not entirely – I’ve forgotten my roommate’s name, but will never forget the night she came into my room to find me crying in a heap on the floor, picked me up and held me until I stopped and when I finished, left the room, closing the door behind her – all without saying a single word) alone because people assumed at 17 years old I couldn’t possibly have loved my man as much as I did or been as affected by losing him as I actually was.  The truth is, his death changed the entire course of my life.

So, no, I’m not just wanting to throw off my adult responsibility to go back to some (for me, imagined) free time with no real responsibilities.

Over the last couple of years, I’ve taken the odd college class here and there – two online and one live and in person at a local community college.

I miss being able to focus on something (with a goal – somehow wandering around on the net isn’t quite as satisfying to me in the same way) that is so unlike my real life.  I’ll admit it, I’m bored with my work.  It requires a specialized knowledge base, and technology is infiltrating it too which is interesting for me to watch (being a bit of a tech geek), but I’ve been doing it for 14 years now (with a stint of something else tucked into the middle here and there).  In that time, any intrinsic pleasure I’ve gotten from it has long since faded away.

I will say that if I have to work, I’ve landed at a pretty great place to do it, so I am grateful for my employment, managers and colleagues.  It’s still not the same as wanting to come to work every day for the work itself.

I realize I’m making choices here, and I stand by them; that doesn’t mean I don’t wish some things were different.

Between a mortgage that’s upside down, a year or so of un/under-employment that ended about a year ago but we’re still digging out from, and being in primary breast cancer treatment which my budget did not have room to accommodate four months ago when I was diagnosed and still doesn’t have room for, I doubt (unless I win a big lottery) that my ‘wish’ will ever come true.

I was 38 years old when I bought my first house and survived keeping it despite Hubby having an accident 3 months (yes, not a typo) after moving in, breaking his back and having his own year-long healing hurdle to overcome, and despite being un/under-employed for a year quite recently.

When I was looking for work that would financially replace what had been lost, Hubby (last love of my life) wanted, more than anything, for me to find work that would make me happy.  He explicitly told me that he would be willing to change our housing situation to meet that goal, for which (among other reasons) I will love him always – but I wasn’t – I’d worked too hard to get it and keep it through one hardship already, so this is the choice I’ve made, and some days it’s harder to remember why I made it than others.  I do the best I can at this, and lots of other things, every day.

Bottom line – I wish I were able to quit my job to go be a full-time student, have that intellectual excitement and stimulation again and finish my degree . . . but not enough to give up my house.

I’ll have to keep looking for ways within the structure of my current life, or find something else I’m willing to change, to get that need met.

Copyright Ridingthebcrollercoaster.com 2012 All rights Reserved.

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I Don’t Always Have to Say It Myself

Observations from the Kitchen Sink of Life posted on the value and catharsis of storytelling.  I’ve tried to explain this to people, but this post did it so beautifully – explaining for me why I’m here, on WordPress, and at large on the internet.

My favorite parts:

. . . Then there are events that grab you by the shoulders and shake you violently, or even pull the ground away from beneath your feet. The landscape changes rapidly and dramatically, as if by an earthquake. The flow changes course so rapidly and so fundamentally, that it transforms you all the way down to the fiber of your being. When you regain consciousness, when you reconnect with the Earth beneath your feet, you see a vastly different landscape. Familiar in some ways, but different nonetheless. You just buried a parent or close friend, you just heard a devastating diagnosis or somebody you trusted shattered that sacred bond. . . .

Some events shake harder than others.

. . . Some friends, people who have always loved you for your essence, will be able to keep walking with you in your changed landscape. Other friends will evaporate and become echoes, pictures in that scrap book. . . .

I’ve heard this about a cancer diagnosis, and although I’m deliberately holding off on making permanent decisions until at least after the ‘magic year’ is over, I can already see this in play in my life.

. . . Story telling is a powerful way of processing experiences, of transforming karma. . . .

. . . We tell our stories to process, to celebrate, to educate, to discover, to reach out. Because we choose to, because we have to. . .

Yes, that’s why I’m here, on WordPress, because I have to tell my story to survive it.

And the ending paragraph:

. . . Telling your story is a way of saying “this is who I am”, “this is the journey I traveled, this is how I got here”. Naming that journey and the most significant events on that journey opens up space, liberates and is an essential part of processing those events. The most beautiful and powerful gift somebody could give you for telling your story is saying “I see you” (in one of many ways you can say this). But even if you don’t get any feedback, just the mere act of telling your story is  healing.

All of it, but particularly the last line, yes, please, yes.

Read the rest of this great post at The Importance of Telling Your Story.

Copyright Ridingthebcrollercoaster.com 2012 All rights Reserved.