Screw Growing Old…I’m Growing Young!

Remember that leap your heart made when a friend knocked on your door and asked your mom if you could play?
Please oh please oh please say yes, mom, say yes…
You bolted out that door and ran from all the adults as fast as your Keds would carry you.
Those words, “Come play,” still makes my heart leap.

I’ve decided not to age. Technically, we age from the moment we’re born. Technically, parts of our body peak at 30. But I’m not talking technically. I just don’t identify with this whole aging thing. It’s like death. Who gets death? Technically we die. Our pets, our loved ones, apple trees and hummingbirds, right whales and honeybees. We die. But do we? We fight death literally and metaphorically. Our brains, our hearts don’t know how to reconcile with this concept. It never feels right, does it?

My thought is because we don’t die. We transcend.
Various religions have given names to this basic belief. Eternity. Heaven. Hell. Reincarnation. Even if you say you don’t believe anything about the afterlife. Even if you say we become dirt or stardust which is still a form of transcendence we believe that something of our souls, for lack of a better word, lives on.

With that thought I whip back around to the title. If we have such a hard time with death then doesn’t it make sense that aging, just foreplay to death, doesn’t sit well either?

I know, I know. Aging isn’t all bad you say. You are rocking your new shock of white hair. You kind of like stepping out of the sexy game and wearing comfortable clothes and not worrying about the priss and preen that goes with attracting a mate. You love being retired and not feeling the pressure of getting out there every day. You argue that these are the perks of aging that come with the not so great perks of bad knees, high cholesterol and actually contemplating dentures.

Before I sound uncompassionate let me say that I know too well what it’s like to be a caregiver, to grieve, to take a sharp blow so hard that no breath comes, to be so relieved that a year that held so much pain is over even though I don’t even know or care what comes next. Life can be too full of all things shitty. That’s why I’ve decided to live with gusto whenever I can. Not because I’m oblivious to sorrow but because I am acutely aware.

Now that I’ve posted my disclaimer let’s get back to the fun stuff.
So instead of aging this is what I plan on doing for the next, oh, 30-50 years:

Play.
Be downright silly.
Laugh until I snort.
Goof off and waste loads of time navel gazing or the equivalent.
Nap.
Flirt.
Create.
Lighten my load–physically and emotionally grow lighter.

How?
By playing first of all.
By choosing to strip my backpack of hurts I’ve been nursing like sucking like crazy to get one more drop out of a dried up teat. By saying lots of nos and no thank yous–not for me, by saying big, crazy risk-taking yeses, by not doing a damn thing I don’t want to do and realizing it’s damn near impossible to do anything I don’t want to do. That means owning some scary shit. Then laughing at my own hand-made messes.

By standing in my own life and getting out of everyone else’s. Boy is this one tough. It’s a lot like hide-and-seek and running back to home base again and again.

By not taking myself, my darkness, my ugliness, my blinding ambitions, my tail-chasing avoidance laden quests, too serious.

Serious is too f*ing serious. (I love to curse folks, so I just might have to let loose and be my true self a little more often.

I just don’t give a shit about all the rest.
Arguing exhausts me.
I don’t give a rip about religion or politics or whatever else folks post on the almighty Facebook just to get a rouse out of everybody else. Vote. Sign a petition. Serve soup at a shelter. DO something with those beliefs and respect everyone else’s rights to think for themselves.

I’m going to have to feel my way through this growing younger thing.
Today, I’m going to doodle.
Swing so high my feet go over the lake behind my house.
Pull weeds.
Go to the beach and the pool with my granddaughter.
Make love to my husband (check on that one–accomplished that by 7am!….sorry if that’s a TMI but let’s get real!)
Eat watermelon.
Do some damn good writing (which I hope I am accomplishing right now.
Nap. It’s summertime people. Naps are mandatory.
Make up stories about fairies.
Eat food grown in dirt. If I’m going to eventually get back to motha-earth I might as well eat the rainbow and swallow a few dirt-crumbs along the way.
Then I’m going to the gym tonight and kill it on some weights. Sweat like crazy. Listen to some Kanye–nothing like gritty music to get you pumped.
Then I’m going to play with glow in the dark bubbles as the stars come out and at last fall into my hubby’s arms.

Good life.
Today is a play day.
I hope (and plan) to play my way through this life.
I will be the silly, goofy, crazy hat dancing in the streets 90 year old–and every day until I get there.

I have one question for you…Wanna play?

Wanna play?

You Done Good, Seth Rogen, Speaking Out for Alzheimer’s

Seth Rogen spoke to the Senate committee on behalf of the over seven million Americans who suffer with Alzheimer’s–five times as many people who suffer from AIDS in America–and yet all but two senators left. Why? Maybe they stepped out because Seth is perceived as a celebrity, but he wasn’t there for that reason. He spoke out for Alzheimer’s because this disease has hit his  family–his mother-in-law.
Maybe the problem is that Alzheimer’s isn’t sexy. It’s scary to most people. It turns our loved ones into strangers. It’s unpredictable. Even former President Regan was hidden away. We didn’t want  to see him “like that,” all undignified.

I too, have seen Alzheimer’s up close and intensely personal. It scared me, too, I won’t deny. But then I just got used to it. Not that it got any easier–the outbursts, the vacant eyes, the chaos and destruction that can ensue, the absolutely frustrating issues with the medical community and their lack of understanding what families are facing, the lack of support that leaves caregivers so often alone physically and financially as they try to do more than is humanly possible, the deep ache of losing a loved one drop by drop and not being able to comfort them because this disease won’t let you in…I know it well. My adoptive mother, who had Alzheimer’s and Parkinson’s, spent her last almost two years in our home and I held her as she left this  earth.

So Seth,thank you.

Thank you for your crass humor that gives us permission to laugh at ourselves.

Thank you for daring to call the senators out and ask why they left, why this didn’t seem important enough to stick around for–even if they didn’t agree with the message or the messenger it would seem that there shouldn’t be Senate hearings if nobody is going to listen.

Thank you, Seth. I know you’re just an actor, that you get paid to entertain, but for one day you hoped to use your celebrity-dom to talk about  something that a wholelotta us are facing in our families, with our mothers, mother-in-laws, grandparents, spouses and partners. I say we get used to messy. We educate others by sharing the nitty gritty. We speak out and speak out some more. We help each other through this.

Maybe you did more good because they did not listen–that it made the news in a big way–so now more people are listening.

You done good, Seth Rogen. You done good.

http://abcnews.go.com/Entertainment/video/seth-rogans-impassioned-funny-plea-alzheimers-awareness-22690205

 

Try Being a Half-Assed Caregiver

You heard me. Love twice as much. Do half as much.

Most caregivers I know do way too much. They try too hard. They care about everything and everybody.

That inevitably leads to exhaustion which leads to burnout which barrels head first into resentment, anger, and then boomerangs into guilt because let’s face it…you can’t ever do enough or be enough.

So, I say chuck it.

Leave the beds unmade.

Don’t go to all the doctor rechecks–you know the ones you can skip.

Say  no to endless procedures checking for this or that.

Even forget balanced meals. (you know if you’re to this point)

We nixed the Ensure and my mom lived her last few months on Klondike bars. Who cares? At some  point don’t you get to eat what you love?

Christmas is two weeks away. My tree is half up. My sink is half full of dishes. Not a holiday card in sight. We’re recovering from a stomach virus and today the washer is chugging with sheets and towels, (a necessity) and we’re munching on crackers and drinking Sprite and Gatorade. It is what it is. I’ve already  missed two appointments this week, and yes, I  forgot to call. I’ve been in PJs for three days. Oh well.

It’s half-ass time.

Everything is being reassessed.

I’m sending a few holiday emails or better yet a phone call. 

“Love you! May you and yours be blessed”

Is there anything more important to say? Who cares the mode of transportation? (stamps, call, email)

A few gifts will be ordered off the great and mighty Amazon…and I’m buying for myself FIRST. I’m not waiting for someone else to figure out what I want.

I’m making a list of what we love–foodie  items, comfort items that mean Christmas to us. 

Half-ass means looking hard at all you think you have to do.

Half-ass means keeping only what truly needs to be done and only what is truly valued. Even some of the needs must wait–some of the time.

What to keep?

Your sanity.

Your sleep. Anytime. Anywhere. I’ve been known to grab a car-nap before or after a pharmacy run.

Your connection. The only real and lasting gift you have to give your loved one  is your connection–whether you’re their spouse, partner, adult child, friend or neighbor, that is infinitely more important than the never ending to-do list that comes with caregiving.

If you have to choose:

Choose to hold hands.

Choose to share a Snickers bar.

Choose to ditch the to-dos and grab some fun. Rebel against your own schedule. (Nothing like playing hooky!)

Choose to let go.

Choose who and what you hold onto.

Half-assed means letting go of the stuff  that in the great big scheme of things matters a whole lot less.

And then embracing what (and who) you hold most dear.

Happy (and Half-Assed) Holidays to You and Yours!

Do We Always Get Along? Hell, No! Will I Always Take Care of My Mother? Hell, Yes!

Do we always get along? Hell, no! That’s what I wrote in a recent article that’s now featured on The Shriver Report.org. (http://shriverreport.org/mothering-mother-caregiving-dementia-carol-odell/) People tend to romanticize caregiving–people who aren’t in it, or who haven’t been in it for very long. It’s the difference in making a movie such as Black Hawk Down compared to actually being in a real time war–bullets, IED’s and raining shrapnel down on your head. Caregiving days aren’t filled with marshmallows and clouds (all fluff). While there are tender moments when you can hear the angels sing, when you and your loved one have a very real and touching moment–these are rare because face it–relationships are, for the most part, messy.

Caregiving is part one part grit and two parts guts, and if you’ve always had issues with confrontation, then guess what? Here’s your own personal scavenger hunt because you will confront everybody from your sister who doesn’t want to pitch in–time or money-wise, to the home health aide who grabs your mom’s arm just a little too rough, and onto the CNA who whams your mother’s leg into a metal part of the underside of the bed and cuts her leg on the day of her discharge…and then tells you that you’ll have to go back to the ER (with its two hour wait and enough flu germs to warrant a quarantine) in order to see if her leg is broke (that really happened to a mother of a friend of mine).

Women are still, the primary family caregiver. Not that there aren’t amazing men out there–spouses, sons, brothers who are stepping up and never thought to do anything other than care for their loved ones. I get to meet these guys and let me tell you, they’re sexy. Nothing is more attractive than a good man who has integrity and heart, and I ought to know a thing or two about this because I happened to be married to one. Still, when it comes to sheer numbers, women take on the brunt of the caregiving experience. They’re single, divorced, dealing with their own health issues, or depression, working, raising kids and grandkids, and on top of all that–they’re caring for a parent, and sometimes two.

Stats on Women as Caregivers from the Family Caregiver Alliance/National Center on Caregiving:
•
Estimates of the percentage of family or informal caregivers who are women range from 59% to 75%.6, 7

•
The average caregiver is age 46, female, married and working outside the home earning an annual income of $35,000.8

•
Although men also provide assistance, female caregivers may spend as much as 50% more time providing care than male caregivers.9

When I said, “Hell yes, to caring for my mom,” I didn’t mean that caregivers have to go it alone–nor should they. Caregiving is a team sport. You simply CAN’T meet all of your loved one’s needs. You can’t. They need to be surrounded by a community. You can’t begin to meet their physical and relationship needs, and in fact, you do a great disservice to you both by not opening up your heart and our home to others. Sometimes it’s simply because it’s a bruise to our ego to admit we can’t do it all, and other times we don’t even know where to begin to ask for help. It’s also true that you or your loved one may not find a good fit right away. Whether you call a local church and ask for a volunteer, call your local senior center or your local/regional Council on Aging to find out what resources are available, the key is to not give up.

Caring for my mom would eventually include my family–husband, daughters, her friends (one who graciously came down so that my family could slip away for a weekend), relatives who called and offered prayers and encouragement, home health aides, and eventually the good folks (chaplin, nurse, home care aides, coordinator, etc.) at Community Hospice of Northeast Florida. It took all of us–and it gave us purpose and a common connection. Saying “Yes” to caregiving also means saying “Yes” to the circle of care you and your loved one needs.

The Shriver Report.org. The Shriver Report.org is launching a site for women, by women (mostly) talking about subjects that matter–to us.

Are You Caregiving…Again? Questions to Ask Yourself Before Round Two

I have several friends who have recently loss their spouses or a parent, and at the end of an oftentimes long, exhausting, and heartbreaking journey, they find themselves stepping into the role of a caregiver once again. Most of us have more than one parent. We have in-laws. We have other family members who a struggling with everything from cancer to mental illness–and disease and the aging process doesn’t care whether you feel like caregiving. It doesn’t take into account that you just spent the last two years in and out of hospitals, rehab, physical therapy and all the less than fun but necessary activities that engulf your life. Caregiving can show up in your life (and probably will) at the most inopportune time.

What do you do?
Do you say no to a loved one who may have little, if any, options? Do you (can you) say, “no thanks,” I’m still grieving/need to take care of my own health/financial needs right now/I’m an completely bone dry and have nothing to give???

No. You probably don’t say, “Caregiving again? I’ll pass.”
Before you jump into caregiving again headfirst, I ask you to take a deep breath.
Now, plan.
You’ve learned a thing or two.
You know all too well just how sucked in you’re about to be.
You know all too well the wild world of prescription screw-ups, back-to-back doctor visits, 2am ER stints, botched lab results, infuriating insurance issues, and the dreaded orange vinyl chair hospital nights that somehow lead to hospital weeks.
So use what you know.
You might need to and want to say yes, but do you have to say yes to everything?
Do you have to move in/or they move in with you?
Are you prone to ignoring your own health/financial/relationship needs?
Are you afraid of what’s going to happen to you and your life if caregiving takes yet two, three more years of your life?

Don’t get me wrong–I am a 100% advocate of caring for our loved ones.
I firmly believe that family (for the most part–there are always exceptions) should care for family and then that care ripples out from there–church, friends, extended family members, hired or volunteer care) as needed. I ache at the thought of family members who simply can’t be bothered to miss a day of work, or can’t give up a weekend to make sure that their loved one’s legitimate needs are met. As a caregiver inspirational blogger and speaker I’ve heard lots of folks who have sisters/brothers adult children and others who refuse to contribute to family care, but I also see folks who give too much, who never say no, not even to a demanding, dramatic person who expects to be the center of everyone’s universe.

What I’m speaking of is to glean from the wisdom that comes by experience.
Reflect back on your previous caregiving time.
When did you give too much?
When did you ignore your own health issues, relationship or career issues?
Does that continue to effect your life?
Do you have a plan for meeting your own needs while caring for others?
Are there things/people you lost you can’t get back?
Did you care-give at times when it wasn’t truly needed to the extent that you gave?
Are you now able to speak up when you need to?
Can you step back and look at the whole picture–and count “you” into the equation?
Can you say no when you need to and not fall into a quagmire of guilt?

Honestly, being a caregiver the second time around can be a good thing.
How, you ask?
You’re stronger.
You’re not flung here and there by drama and trauma.
You don’t think doctors and medical personnel are demi-gods that can never be wrong and should never be confronted or disagreed with.
You know that you have to step back when you feel so drained that resentment, anger, and exhaustion threaten to strip you of all reason and ability to care for anyone, particularly, yourself.

Caregiving the second time comes with the quiet realization that (in some situations) your loved one will die.
It’s tough to say that word, die, but that’s what we do. All of us. Someday.
So, caregiving…again, means that you’re not so scared.
You make this time mean something.
You can’t keep them alive, you know that this time, but you can make life sweet.
You can provide companionship.
You can be their advocate, their voice.
You can honor their wishes.
You can make sure they get the pain medications they need.
You can be present when it’s time.

I wish, for you, that if you’re just getting out of a caregiving situation, that you would have a break. That you’d get to attend to your own life for a little while–and even have some fun–but we don’t always get to decide when caregiving will circle back around. But I do know that you have changed–so trust that you will know what to do.

Taking our Loss and Making Something New

Mary (on the left), Diane, and the bears

My dear friend and writer bud Diane lost her husband this summer. They were soul mates finding each other after several starter marriages went bust. Two amazing people each in their own right who found sweetness and LIFE and spent  20 years side-by-side. They rode his Harley, got tattoos, water skied, and made a home for children and grandchildren. Then cancer came along and the last couple of years were tough. We (the Chats) joined Diane and Wally’s family and friends at his memorial service and witnessed a man who was and is so loved. Then Mary, another of our writer buds, offered to make Diane and her family teddy bears out of pieces of Wally’s clothing.

Diane lined up Harley, Corona, and Marine Corp tee shirts alongside a rugby shirt, a few Hawaiian prints, and even some plaid golf shorts and asked the kids and grandkids to chose whichever item of clothing they were drawn to, the one connected with a memory. Then, Mary got to work.

See, Mary makes bears.
Bears and puppy dogs and other critters.
She makes them so you’ll have something from your loved one to hold.
This isn’t all Mary does–she makes sanitary pads for young girls in Africa who will miss school because there aren’t disposable feminine products available, or they can’t afford them anyway. She makes quilts for sick babies. She’s that kind of gal.

Here’s Wally’s Hawaiian print  on a bear with a navy blue bow.

Here’s Wally’s rugby shirt turned puppy dog for a grandson–with a collar piece to boot.

Here’s another dog sporting plaid from Wally’s golf shorts.

She has seven more to make. Each adult child and each grandchild will have a bear or a dog to remember their dad/paps by. They get to hold a piece of him. They will no doubt be comforted in the days and years to come–all because Mary offered to make a bear.

Mary is like that–thoughtful, empathic, generous.

Perhaps you’ve lost someone you love.

Perhaps you’ve held onto articles of clothing, a favorite jacket or vest, something that links you to your loved one. Most likely your keepsakes, like so many of mine, are stored in chests, in the back of closets and boxes we keep under the bed.
Why not take these beloved items and do something with them?
Turn your missing into something tangible you get to touch.

Diane stood, amazed, when she saw her bears. The exhaustion lifted from her brow and  the sorrow in her eyes gave way to light. It was as if she were giving a piece of Wally to the family they both so love. The plaid, the  Hawaiian blue palm trees, the rugby blue and red are all parts of what made Wally who he is and how he will be cherished.

When we take our loss and so something with it–write a poem, tell a story, wear their dog tags as a necklace,  make a bear–we make something new in us. They live on in this transformation, “reincarnation,” if you will.

We take our sorrow and turn it into something that offers comfort and connection.

Wally is now a bear–and a dog–and  he’ll be tucked in at night, taken on vacation and get to play tea party with his granddaughters, and if you ask me, that’s exactly where he’d like to be.

If you’d like a bear, shoot me an email at writecarolodell@gmail.com and I’ll get you in touch with Mary

Designed to Learn: How Creativity Teaches and Challenges Your Brain

I heard a child education expert comment that we are always learning. (Pardon the blip/change of subject–this post was meant for my other blog–Risk, Play, Create–but I’ll leave it here as well). If a child is playing Legos he’s learning. If he’s playing a video game he’s learning. If he’s building a fort and having pine cone fights with his friends–he’s learning. We can’t NOT learn. It’s how we’re hardwired. Even if a kid is glued in front of a television channel flipping–he’s learning. Not all our learning is good/productive/healthy–but we are learning something all the time.

Annie Murphy Paul author Brilliant, The New Science of Smart reminds us that each of us have a learning quotient:

“How we learn shapes what we know and what we can do. Our knowledge and our  abilities are largely determined not by our IQ or some other fixed measure of  intelligence, but by the effectiveness of our learning process: call it our  learning quotient.”

Professor Randy McKay at the DNA Learning Center has this to say on the subject:

“…So, on top of the basic biology, there’s a huge flexibility and it’s that interaction that makes the nervous system such a powerful device.”

Why do we remember certain things we learn and why do other bits of knowledge  (such as information we regurgitate on a test and then dump before we get our grade) disparate?

Two reasons (this is totally me coming up with this part)

1) Information you need (for your job, your interests) that you will continue to use and reapply

2) Information you acquire out of need/curiosity, that is  also cross-referenced and overlaid with other pertinent information.

I offer this personal example. My knowledge is based heavily on the life of Vincent Van Gogh. In gathering my  research I took the following actions: (not an extensive list, just what  I can remember quickly)

• Perused the ‘net for quality information–separating it from “junk.”
• Found the mother-lode at www.vangoghgallery.org. This is the official site affiliated with the Van Gogh museum in Amsterdam.
• Researched authors who had written on Van Gogh.
• Bought (collected) relevant books ranging on everything from the diseases that plagued him to studying his color theory to his numerous letters to his brother and others, to the women he loved.
• Began a checklist of visiting every museum possible to view his work.
• Emailed/spoke with experts on various sub-set subjects related to Van Gogh.
• Painted replicas of his work so that I could get into his head/heart and experience these works of art for myself.
• Visited Amsterdam/Paris/South of France–locations where Vincent lived, worked and died.

That  was the gathering phase. Since then, my studies led me down many fascinating rabbit holes. Here’s what I’ve learned. Some subjects I took to a deep level of learning and others are merely skimmed, cross-referenced and applied as needed for my book.

• I made a list of the books and music Vincent read and enjoyed and read them/listened for myself.
• Bought Rosetta Stone and brushed up on my French
• Mapped where Vincent lived and traveled and made my own creativity trek
• Studied the science of turbulence found in his painting Starry Night and learned about the mathematician that founded this area of math and physics–after Vincent naturally painted it.
• Studied the provenance of many of Vincent’s works from the 1880s to present day.
• Studied how a painting is valued, and why art is stolen.
• Studied how art was confiscated particularly in World War II (rent the film The Rape of Europa–appalling).
• Studied temporal lobe epilepsy (what physicians/psychiatrists have given as Vincent’s diagnosis).
• Studied the history of syphilis (Vincent and Theo, his brother) both contracted this  STD)
• Studied the lives of fellow artists and Vincent’s mentors: Millet, Delacroix, Gauguin, Lautrec, Cezanne, Pissarro…the list goes on.
• Studied the art periods that preceded and followed after the Post Impressionists (Vincent’s era)–Impressionists, modern/abstract art.
• Studied the history of photography of the 1800s.
• Studied asylums in the 1800s and the use of hydrotherapy.
• Studied the  discrepancies of Vincent’s final days–did he really commit suicide? What did his last cryptic words mean?
• Studied the Salon des Independents.
• Studied the history of Arles, St. Remy, the history and layout of the city and  surrounding area and why Vincent was attracted to this “certain slant of light.” That led me to study the Roman influences in this area as well as the L’Occitane language.
• Studied Joanna Bonger-Van Gogh, Theo’s wife and the person most responsible for sharing Vincent’s works with the world after the two brother’s deaths (they died six months apart.
• Collecting, studying, and preparing historic recipes from France in the 1800s.  
• Studied the history of absinthe and its scientific properties and how it affects the brain.
• Studied the history of gypsies and Sara the Gitan, patron saint of the five gypsy tribes of Europe
• Studied the golden mean as found in sunflowers and other natural forms–which led me to The Power of Limits–an amazing book that looks in depth at this  mathematical and architectural influence.

I could go on but perhaps this fascinates me more than you.

I encourage you to take whatever interests you and make a list of what it has led you to–the people, places, books that you’ve naturally gathered along your way.

The word I just used–naturally–is key.

Natural learning sticks.

Cross-referenced learning is applied learning.

Finding  what you love and allowing yourself to gather, sort, process and apply without pressure, just because you’re curious, with your own set in challenges, is true learning. 

I am no smarter than you. Trust me on that one. But I am curious and I’ve learned to indulge my fascinations. My life and my home now reflect my passions.

Did you know that Leonardo Da Vinci was known for not finishing things? Do we really care? The man serious must have had OCD and ADD–but who gives a rat’s patootie? He dabbled in nature, cut up corpses to studied human anatomy, created weapons, studied engineering and applied what he learned to Florence and other cities, drew, painted, sculpted. The world is a far more beautiful place because of this one man. I, for one, I am grateful that he was a dabbler. Follow through might just be overrated!

I ask you–and I hope you’ll share:

What subjects interest you?

Have you started collecting information?

Do you go internet diving on these subjects?

Do you allow yourself to follow whatever questions arise?

Does your home, your conversations, how you spend your time reflect your interests?

How has this impacted the quality of your life?

Even if it’s just for you, if no monetary gain, no fame or fortune befall you, would you still be glad you spent your time on these endeavors?

 

Read more on how we learn at:

Read more: http://ideas.time.com/2011/10/12/the-science-of-how-we-learn/#ixzz2dGmR5uBp

I’ve Got So Much to Do–I Better Take a Nap: The Link Between Creativity and Rest

A couple of years ago I had a major talk for a college coming up. Mothering Mother (my book) was the spring selection read for the entire college. I was invited to not only come give a talk, but to also visit several departments, talk with students, a luncheon talk with the staff, a one-woman play in the community, and any other publicity (television/radio) that might arise. Pressure. I had to ON. I needed to be prepared, present, interesting, educational, entertaining and all in all, a razzle-dazzle kind of gal for all of the upcoming events. And that’s when it hit me: I need to rest.

This isn’t just woo-woo. Rest is crucial to creativity. A recent study out of Harvard Health shows a direct correlation between creativity and rest. A group was given a complex problem to solve and then divided. One half of the group was told to work on the problem all day. The other half was encouraged to nap. Not only nap (not just a ten minute break), but were allowed to rest long enough to enter REM sleep. You guessed it. The group that napped showed a 40% cognitive improvement in problem solving. “Those whose naps were long enough to enter REM sleep did 40% better on the test than nappers who didn’t get any REM sleep and non-nappers. Rather than simply boosting alertness and attention, REM sleep allowed the brain to work creatively on the problems that had been posed before sleep.”

No wonder Google now  encourages naps. Other great nappers include Albert Einstein, Salvadore Dali, Winston Churchill and Thomas Edison.

Back to my story: I spent two months (or more) preparing for the various components of my upcoming events–preparing  posters, writing blogs, tapping into social media to help promote the event, lots of phone calls, printing of new materials, practicing endless hours so that my talks were seamless–and yes, plucking the wiry eyebrows and checking off a rather formidable list of personal hygiene items.

But as the time came closer my world grew quiet. I stepped aside from other commitments. I spent time in my garden. I rode my  bike. I took naps. I envisioned myself fully present with folks who needed me not only to talk, but more importantly, to listen. Every time an anxious thought entered my being I imagined us (students, professors,  community  folk) in a circle laughing, talking, sharing, reading, crying. I decided that going to these events rested and fully present was the best gift I could give myself–and everyone else. In the words of Elizabeth Gilbert in Eat, Pray, Love, I wrapped us in love and light.

So…how’d it go?

Amazing.

I was received with kindness and ease. I was treated with respect and appreciation.

I was able to handle several days of a busy schedule and welcomed each event and each  group of people with joy, sweetness and intention. It is truly one of my best “author” experiences that will forever cherish. And I don’t believe it would have turned out so well if I hadn’t tapped into the secret of rest.

Rest doesn’t mean sleeping (although it includes sleeping).

Rest is a state of regeneration.

Our brains are “free” from our consciousness (and  critic) while we sleep. Solutions can “come to us,” when we stop trying so hard.

Rest doesn’t just mean catching some zzz’s. It’s whatever feeds your spirit.

Clean water, long walks, talking with people who invigorate your  mind and spirit.

It might mean creating a meal, deadheading a bed of flowers, bird watching all afternoon, pouring through magazines and surrounding yourself with  positive images. It might even mean addressing some minor irritations that are sapping you of your thoughts. It’s also body care–yoga,  stretching, getting a massage, swimming, catching up on dental appointments, perhaps doing a juice cleanse.

It means time for quiet. For  reflection. For envisioning how you want to feel at whatever is coming up for you. I wanted to feel deeply rested, present, and have the energy to give myself wholeheartedly to this endeavor.

Flash forward three years:

New opportunities are swirling around me. Several possibilities at once.

My head is spinning and my first thought is:

“Whew! There’s a whole lot about to happen–I better rest!”

 

You Can Absorb the Loss: Clean Pain and Clean Grief

In Marianne Williamson’s book, Divine Compensation, the author talks about a time when she lost a large sum of money because she didn’t properly market a presentation that meant a great deal to her. Crying in her father’s arms she told him that she’d lost $10,000, and she muttered how she was ever going to recover financially or reputation wise from this catastrophe. He just smiled and told her to say, “It’s okay. I can absorb the loss.” That got me thinking about a different kind of loss. The loss we endure when a loved one dies.

It hurts. It sends us reeling with pain, regret, guilt, and plain ole’ missing someone so dear to us. Sometimes the death of our loved one seems so unfair. The death of a child is beyond my ability to even comprehend. We lose loved ones in car accidents, too soon to cancer, and sadly, to suicide. Such losses seem truly unbearable. How do we even begin to absorb a tremendous loss?

First, there’s no right–or wrong–way to grieve.
It just is. I’m not about to give a lesson on grieving. It’s personal. It’s primal. And all I can say is that your body and spirit probably know how you need to do it–and it might take longer than you think, and it will probably take you to some pretty dark nights of the soul.

What is clean pain?
Clean pain, according to the Association of Contextual Behavioral Science, is when we accept pain. We don’t try to make it more–or less–than it is. We acknowledge it. We let it take us. We know that we will be in pain for a time. But we also expect the pain to subside. We don’t add to it–by fighting it, by denying it, by blaming or demanding or asking “Why me” a thousand times. We choose not to dwell on it, growing more and more anxious, creating scenarios that may never happen. We simply know that we are of this earth and that there will inevitably be times of physical and/or emotional pain. In other words…we absorb it. Let it in but see our souls as a sieve. The excess pain that cannot be taken in will be sifted and allowed to leave.

It’s easier to have clean pain when death is expected. I grieved my mother’s diminishing life and her forthcoming death long before it got here. She was 92. She had Parkinson’s, Alzheimer’s and heart disease. I did not wrestle with the fact that it was her time to go. I tried to make her last months comfortable and meaningful. I stood as they wheeled my mother out of our home. I had spent the last three weeks by her side assisting her as she passed over. It was grueling. It was not easy by any means. But it was right. I stood in the driveway and watched them lift the gurney into the Hearst. I watched as the taillights left my view. I bundled her sheets and walked to the garbage. Then I walked down to the river. I cried and I breathed. My last parent was gone. Not only did I grieve her. I grieved the shutting of this door. The next few months felt as if I had been charred in a great fire. I felt antsy and useless. I floundered and waited for hope, for life, for meaning to return.

As far as clean or dirty pain. My mother’s passing was clean. And since that time I’ve lost others I love. It’s not always a clean pain, but at least I am aware that that is what I choose. Not to fight with death. To absorb the loss. My heart and mind is boggled at times. I can’t fall into the quagmire of the whys. There is no why that will make sense to a hurting, grieving, all encompassing loss.

But I do know that the more I allow, the more I absorb the losses that come my way, and the more that I (to quote Byron Katie) “love what is,” the more at peace I am.

Linda Ronstadt Has Parkinson’s: Why and How Parkinson’s Affects Your Voice

Linda Ronstadt announced to AARP that she has Parkinson’s–and can’t sing a note. Linda is the voice of my youth. I sang Desparado more times than I can count. You’re No Good, Don’t Know Much…and part of me is sad to think that this song bird is silenced. In the words of a fellow Parkinson’s thriver (he’s more than a survivor), Michael J. Fox, “Parkinson’s a disease that keeps on giving.”

We know that Parkinson’s causes hands to shake and feet to shuffle, but there’s a whole lot more going on. It’s a neurological disease that affects the brain and the nerves–and nerves serve as a highway that signal to the body its movements and function.

Parkinson’s is something that I know a thing or two about. My mother had PD (as she called it) for the last ten years of her life.

What is Parkinson’s?
Here’s a simple lay-person definition.
You get Parkinson’s when your brain doesn’t produce enough Dopamine, a chemical it needs to help the firing mechanism in your nerves. Without enough Dopamine your nerve endings don’t get the message of what to do. That causes all kinds of problems. Parkinson’s medication is mainly a synthetic type of Dopamine. It usually relieves the symptoms for a few hours but must be taken regularly. It never fully eliminates the problem, but it helps, and works best if taken on a regular schedule. Some days are better–or worse–than others. No real rhyme or reason…

According to Mayo Clinic Parkinson’s symptoms include:

Tremor. Usually it starts in a limb–and it starts at rest–a shaking leg, “pill rolling” rubbing your fingers together repetitively), head movement, knee bouncing.
Slowed movement (bradykinesia). Known as the Parkinson’s shuffle. Walking, getting out of a chair, cooking, dressing maneuvering across a room are all affected. Changes in flooring can virtually freeze a person with Parkinson’s since the brain is trying to process how to handle it–giving it another overwhelming task to perform.
Rigid muscles. Muscles become stiff and range of motion can be limited, so lifting your hands to put on a shirt can be difficult, or bending. Soreness can also accompany the stiffness since the muscles are working so hard and yet can do so little.
Impaired posture and balance. Your muscles are misfiring and grow rigid and this can lead to becoming stooped over. Balance is a HUGE problem with those who have Parkinson’s. Not only do they feel imbalanced, but because of their uncooperative and stiff muscles fall hazards are common. This can lead to needing someone in the home or traveling with the person with PD in order to prevent a devastating fall.
Loss of automatic movements. Known as the Parkinson’s mask, a person with Parkinson’s may lose their ability to blink, smile, use gestures when talking or show any emotion, which can affect their communication needs and relationships. They also might not swing their arms when they walk, which also causes an imbalance.
Speech changes. Many folks with Parkinson’s find that their voice grows softer. They may also slur, blurt or not be able to maintain a natural rhythm or tone to their speech, and they may lose their ability to sing and have a pitch to their voice.
Writing changes. Most folks with Parkinson’s find writing a challenge. Their handwriting grows smaller and eventually illegible.

Is there any good news?
Yes, there is!
I won’t kid you. This is one tough disease that affects every aspect of your life. It takes enormous fortitude and patience from you, the person with PD, and from your family members whose lives are also affected. You may (you will in time) have to give up driving, perhaps even cooking (how come they never recommend you give up cleaning?) and you may need help getting dressed, going to the doctor, and you might need to consider not living alone. All that is overwhelming, but I ask you to look for every possibility that some good can come out of this.

So, here’s the good news.
You need people. That’s a good thing. You get a buddy to hang out with. We need to be needed, so trust that whoever is in your life to help you is there for a reason, and that they’re getting something out of it, too.
You haven’t lost your sense of humor. If you have, go find it. It can get pretty darn hilarious trying to get your shirt on for 20 minutes only to find that you have it on backward and inside out–and you kind of like it that way!
Embrace the chaos. Curse, cry, scream, laugh it off. It’s your life, so hell, make the most of it.

And one good thing–you can dance.
I’m not kidding. Dancing, yoga, tai chi are all things you can do. Ironically, your brain can actually grab onto the flow of music and you can move with fluidity.

Let me tell you about Kate Kelsall. She’s a gal who has had Parkinson’s for over ten years now. She’s also a blogger and a wife and whole lot more. She got PD in her early 40s and her enthusiasm for life amazes me. Her blog is called Shake, Rattle, and Roll–and that’s just what she does.

Here’s a short note for Linda:
A few million of us are thinking of you today. If thoughts are a form of love, and I happen to believe they are, then a whole lotta love and support is coming your way.
Yes, your news makes us a bit nostalgic, but in our hearts, you’ll forever be our song bird.
So sing a new song. Dance, love the people who are in your circle, and open wide and let them love you back.