relationships

Time Well Spent

/ Ann Coleman / 6 Comments

I’ll be the first to admit that I messed up.  I’ve never had a good memory, so I usually write all my commitments down on the calendar on our refrigerator.  It’s old fashioned, but using a real calendar usually works best for me.  But from early May on, I somehow managed to get myself very over-scheduled.

You would think that someone who is in the habit of writing things down on the calendar would look at previous commitments before adding another one, but apparently I didn’t.  The end result was that the last few weeks have been a whirlwind of activity with no real downtime.  The things I had scheduled weren’t the problem:  a trip, a house-guest, a long-term babysitting stint, hosting a few family events, volunteering for a fund-raiser, meetings, dinners, lunches, etc.  They were all things I enjoy—just not all in the such a compact time period.

As an introvert who values having some quiet time on a regular basis, I was a little daunted when I realized just how crowded my schedule had become.  I considered backing out of a few things, but in the end I decided to simply soldier on.  I was the one who had created this situation, and it seemed unfair for me to cancel at the last minute.  Besides, there wasn’t really anything on the calendar I didn’t want to do.  I just wished I had managed to work a few breaks into the schedule.

In any event, my “busy time” seems to be winding down, and my husband and I are enjoying a three-day weekend with almost nothing on the schedule.  I say almost nothing, because I did promise to take my granddaughter to the zoo on Saturday morning.  (Actually, one morning I had told her I was taking her to school and she thought I said I was taking her to the zoo, and she very much wanted to go.  We couldn’t go to the zoo that morning, but I promised to take her as soon as possible.)

It would have been easy to cancel our visit to the zoo, but I’m not in the habit of disappointing a three-year old.  And besides, I knew it would be fun.  So we picked her up bright and early and spent a beautiful Saturday morning showing our granddaughter the local zoo.  She was thrilled by everything.  She loved seeing the animals, riding the carousel, watching the zoo train go by, and even took the time to literally smell the flowers along the path.  Honestly, it couldn’t have been a nicer experience.

Looking back on the past few weeks, I’m actually glad that I didn’t cancel any of the things I had scheduled.  I got to spend time with old and new friends, help support some worthwhile causes and spend quality time with my family.  Yes, I was busier than I’d prefer to be, and I’ll be more careful with my schedule in the future.  But sometimes in life, I think we just have to “go for it.”

Small World

/ Ann Coleman / 140 Comments

One of the nicest things about blogging is the connections you make with other bloggers from all over the world.  I may have started my blog simply because I love to write, but one of the main reasons I’ve kept it going all these years is that I really value the friendships I’ve made because of it.  The people who read my blog and take the time to comment on my posts have provided more encouragement, new perspectives, and advice than I ever would have imagined, and that’s a gift.  I may only know these people through our blogs, but they still touch my life in a real and positive way.

A few years ago, a blogging friend who lives in the Netherlands was in my area to visit her son, and she asked if she could stop by the animal shelter where I volunteer for a quick tour.  (I occasionally write about my experiences at the shelter.)  I agreed, and was happy to discover that she was just as nice in person as I had expected.  It was fun meeting someone from halfway around the world who I had only known through her excellent blog,  https://thecedarjournal.com/blog/ .

A few months ago, she emailed me to say that her son and daughter-in-law had bought a house here in St. Louis and asked if I could give her any information about the neighborhood.  As it turned out, I could give all kinds of detailed advice about the neighborhood, because her son’s new house was a mere two blocks from my own.

Last weekend, my friend came to visit her son and daughter-in-law and offered to meet me and my dog Finn for a quick walk.  Finn, of course, thought this was an excellent idea so I leashed him up and we met in her son’s yard.  I got to meet her husband, son, and daughter-in-law before we set out.  It was a beautiful Spring day, and I enjoyed our walk very much.  But I just couldn’t stop wondering:  what are the odds that someone  I met through my blog and lives in the Netherlands would have a son who moved into my immediate neighborhood?  Neither of them are originally from St. Louis, and she hasn’t lived in the States in years.  And yet there we were, walking and chatting like old friends.

Clearly, people who say, “it’s a small world” know what they’re talking about.   And you know what?  I think that’s a very good thing indeed…..

Clean Living

/ Ann Coleman / 81 Comments

I blame it on Agatha Christie.  Both of my parents were fans of Agatha Christie’s mysteries, so I had access to dozens of her books and read them while I was still young and impressionable.  Most of her works featured Hercule Poirot, a retired Belgian police officer who had a love for cleanliness and a passion for order and tidiness.  I read dozens of books in which Poirot solved his cases not just by “employing his little grey cells,” but by methodically gathering clues and putting them into the proper order.

I may not have Poirot’s detective skills or brain power, but I must have assimilated his love of cleanliness and order.  How else do you explain the fact that the spices on my spice rack are in alphabetical order?  Or that the books on my bookshelf are grouped both according to the author, with subcategories for hardback and paperback books?  I read a home-decorating article once that said end tables must be decorated in groups of threes, and now all my end tables have exactly three framed photos or knick-knacks on them.

My kitchen is small, so I have an extra pantry in the basement where the food is sorted according to size and expiration date.  The tops in my closet are hung according to style, with the sleeveless tops at the far right, followed by short-sleeved, three-quarter sleeved, and finally, long-sleeved.  Those are the casual tops.  The dressy ones are on the rack directly above, similarly sorted.  My shoes, on the other hand, are just haphazardly stuck in there, don’t ask me why.  Poirot would be horrified.

Luckily, or unluckily, depending on how you look at it, my husband is at the complete opposite end of the spectrum.  I have a photo of the contents of one of his drawers I keep just in case I’ll ever need it for blackmail.  If I tell you the photo contains both underwear and a screwdriver, you’ll get the idea.  One of the many reasons we have a happy marriage is that we never share closet space or dresser drawers, and I do all the cooking.

I have long since learned to stop apologizing for my compulsive desire to organize things, or to try to change my husband’s lack of organization.  (Clearly, he didn’t grow up on Hercule Poirot novels.)  Because I’ve learned that a happy home doesn’t have to be either clean or messy.  It just has to be the place where we get to be ourselves, and know that we’re loved and accepted for exactly who we are.

A Grand Surprise

/ Ann Coleman / 110 Comments

I have to be honest:  I didn’t see this coming.  In the first place, I never gave much thought to what my life would be like when I became, shall we say, “a woman of a certain age.”  Like most young people, I secretly believed aging was something that happened only to other people, but that I would maintain my youthful vigor right up to the day I died.  (Even if I lived to be 100.)

Yet slowly but surely, my body began to succumb to the ravages of time.  I still remember the morning I woke up and found I couldn’t read the newspaper because the print was suddenly fuzzy.  I blinked repeatedly and even put in eye drops, but nothing helped.  It took the better part of the day before I realized the time had come for reading glasses.  And the first time I noticed that my neckline was both sagging and full of wrinkles, I almost threw away my make-up mirror.  The only thing that stopped me was the knowledge that I couldn’t safely apply my mascara without it.

But what really surprises me about reaching the ripe old age of 64 is the change in my behavior. And this change can’t be blamed solely on my age.  I know for a fact that there are precisely three reasons why I am now doing and saying things I never thought I’d say or do, and those reasons are my three grandchildren.

To be honest, I didn’t give becoming a grandparent any more thought than I gave any other aspect of aging.  When I first heard that my daughter was going to have a baby, I was thrilled, but I didn’t really believe that becoming a grandparent would change me very much.  And yet it did.

From the first time I laid eyes on my new grandson, I was smitten. That’s only natural.  But the problem was that overnight, I turned into the typical obnoxious new grandparent.  I had tons of photos of my grandson, and I shared them with everyone who crossed my path.  How could they not want to see the most adorable child in the history of the world?

So imagine my surprise when grandchild number two came along.  Not only was she equally adorable, but she was my first granddaughter!  That had to be shared as well.  And not just by photos.  By the time I became a grandparent to two adorable children, I was also sending friends, family, and old schoolmates videos of them.  Regularly and relentlessly.

By the time the third grandchild was born (another boy), I was a hopeless case.  I talk about my grandchildren, I write about my grandchildren, I share photos and videos of my grandchildren with all and sundry, etc.  In short, I’m a typical grandparent who is hopelessly in love with the three little people who gave her that title.  And yes, it’s a sign of my age. But unlike those others, it’s a sign I happily embrace…..

A Fresh Start

/ Ann Coleman / 104 Comments

When the pandemic first hit, I hated hearing people say, “things will never be normal again.”  It seemed to be such a pessimistic view, and predicted a future I didn’t want to face.  I didn’t want to live the rest of my life in fear of a virus, and honestly, I resented the suggestion that I would have to do just that.  It was almost as bad as people saying they didn’t mind the lock downs because they liked staying home.  I like to stay home too, but there’s a huge difference between choosing to stay home and having to stay home.

Now I realize I probably misunderstood what people were saying.   I think they really meant that our lives would never be exactly the same as before.  And that, of course, is true.  Many people lost loved ones, others lost their livelihoods, and everyone discovered just how quickly life can change for the worse.  I don’t know that I’ll ever feel truly comfortable in a crowded room again, or trust that I can find everything I need at the store.  The past three years have changed me.  But the good news is, not all of those changes are bad.

Before the pandemic, I left my house regularly to run errands, shop, go to work, etc., and never once thought, “Is this outing worth the risk?” If I wanted or needed to go somewhere, I simply went.  But after March 2020, I began to think carefully before venturing out of my house.  Suddenly, I knew exactly what my priorities were (caring for my grandson, helping shelter dogs, shopping for necessities) and what commitments and activities I was willing to give up.  Living through the pandemic helped me better distinguish between what I need and what I want.

And when gathering with my friends and relatives became potentially dangerous, I quickly learned which relationships I was willing to put on hold and which ones were too important to live without.  My immediately family became my “social bubble,” but I was very intentional about staying in touch with friends and extended family through phones calls, texts, and e-mails.  (I never did figure out how to work Zoom.)  I may not have been able to enter my Mom’s apartment, but I dropped off provisions and later, meet her outside for a socially-distanced visit.  Nothing emphasizes how much people mean to us more than the thought of having to live without them.

In this post-vaccination world, I’m back to doing many of the things I did before Covid hit.  But the truth is, I’m really not the same person I was three years ago.  I always wondered how I’d handle a crisis, and now I know. (My husband’s cancer diagnosis in June 2020 was a part of that lesson.)  I’m more willing to try new things.  I have a better sense of my true priorities, and I think I can see both my strengths and weaknesses more clearly.  And those are all good changes.  Sometimes, “not going back to normal” isn’t such a bad thing after all….

Room for Improvement

/ Ann Coleman / 73 Comments

One of the downsides of buying “fixer-upper” houses is that they require a lot of work.  Over the years my husband has become adept at hanging dry wall, replacing basic plumbing fixtures, doing light carpentry, etc.  My job is usually painting and assisting, although once I surprised him by widening a doorway with my trusty crowbar.  (Sadly, my husband wasn’t impressed.)   But some jobs require a professional, and that’s when things get a little tricky.

The problem is while I love home improvement projects once they are finished, I hate the process of actually having the work done.  It’s not fun having to live with the noise and dust of demolition, and I’m not a fan of having workers in my house, no matter how nice or professional they are.  It never fails that if I get up extra early to be showered and dressed before the crew arrives, they don’t show up until around ten in the morning.  But if I dare to venture down into the kitchen to get my early morning Diet Coke, three carpenters are sure to come in the back door, calling out a cheerful “hello” while pretending not to notice I’m still in my pajamas.  You get to know the people who work in your house, but we don’t need to know each other quite that well.

Our latest project was supposed to be tearing out the carpet in the small family room off our kitchen, leveling a small section of the floor and laying down a new laminate floor.  What it turned into was the complete demolition of the entire floor (you could see the slab the room sits on), redoing most of the joists and then laying a new sub floor, laminate floor, baseboards and thresholds.  They also repaired some hidden holes in the exterior walls (we were wondering how a chipmunk got in our house).

None of this was easy.  I know because I could hear the workers complaining as they struggled to remove wood that was rock hard and nailed in with what seemed to be a thousand nails per square foot.  And just to make things extra fun, the nails were so old that the heads often came off when they were trying to pry them out.  I thought the worst was over when they began laying the new floor, but soon discovered that involved using the loudest nail gun I’ve ever heard.  And of course the sound of it terrified our dog Finn, who promptly took refuge on our antique and recently-refinished dining room table.

The project is just about complete as I write this, and the new floor really does look good.  It’s nice to know that the chipmunk entrance is now blocked off and new insulation has been installed.  A few hours with a good vacuum and a few dozen dust cloths should clean up the last of the mess, and then we get the fun job of moving our heavy furniture back into the room and finally placing my Christmas decorations where they belong.

Right now I’m swearing we’ll never tackle another home-improvement project, but I know that isn’t true.  Time has a way of making bad memories fade away, and eventually we’ll add that dormer to our bedroom I’ve been wanting for years.  All I ask is when that day comes, please ignore my whining and complaining.  Because no one likes to be reminded they really should have known better….

Getting Better

/ Ann Coleman / 95 Comments

As my 92-year old mother often tells me, it’s hard to be old.  I may be almost thirty years younger, but trust me, I know what she’s talking about.  I’ve never been a vain person (or had reason to be), but never before has looking in a mirror resulted in quite so much shock and dismay.  It’s been years since I could read a book without a pair of reading glasses, but now I also need the glasses when I go shopping, because otherwise I can’t read the price tags and expiration dates.  And when I first started walking shelter dogs over twenty years ago, I was happy to walk any dog that needed to go out, no matter how strong or rowdy.  These days I gravitate toward the dogs that are smaller and calmer, desperately hoping that someone else will get to the mastiffs and rottweilers before my walking shift is over.

There was a time when I took my pants to the tailor to have the waistline taken in, because my waist has always been one size smaller than my hips.  Nowadays, I take my pants to the tailor only if I need them hemmed…..and that’s not because my hips have gotten smaller.  I could go on, but the list is too depressing.  I know all these physical changes are a normal part of aging, but that doesn’t always make them easier to accept.

Still, the part of aging I find hardest isn’t the loss of my youthful vigor or looks, but the loss of the many people, both family and friends, that I have known and loved.  I know I’m lucky to have my mother still in my life, as many of my friends have become the oldest generation in their immediate family.   But I still miss my father and my grandparents, and all the other people who passed away before I was ready to let them go.  Loss of loved ones is a part of aging that can be very hard to accept.

Thankfully, there is an upside to growing older, and that is that once we’ve reached the point where we have more years behind us than we do ahead, we’ve also had the time to learn a few things.  We’ve figured out just what a precious gift good health is, even if we can’t read the small print anymore.  We treasure our friends and family even more because we know they won’t be with us forever, and we also know how much we’ll miss them when they’re gone.  If we’ve been paying attention at all, we finally realize just how precious and fragile life really is, and that so much of the stuff we spend our time worrying and fretting about doesn’t matter in the least.

The good thing about aging is we often become more honest with ourselves and with others, daring to share our true selves with the world and allowing those around us to do the same.  We know how important it is to support each other through hard times, and we learn the value of overlooking so many of the things we’ve allowed to divide us.  If we let it, aging can actually bring out our best selves, which is always a good thing.  Even if we can’t actually see it in the mirror……

Opting Out

/ Ann Coleman / 84 Comments

Sometime it’s hard not to be discouraged.  I think that two-plus years of dealing with Covid-19 has left most of us a bit drained, and often operating on our last nerve.  It doesn’t take much these days to provoke an angry reaction, and patience is often in short supply.  While things have certainly improved from the pre-vaccine days, we haven’t managed to return to the normal life we long for.

I still feel nervous when I walk into a crowded room, have a love/hate relationship with face masks, and worry every time I have a sore throat that I’m coming down with Covid.  (I have seasonal allergies, so a sore throat and a runny nose are normal for me at least four months of the year.)  I hate going to my doctor, because he still refuses to see any patient that has Covid symptoms, and almost all symptoms could be Covid.  And, as petty as it sounds, I’m tired of watching my favorite restaurants close down because they can’t get enough staff and/or supplies.

All of which is to say that these days, I’m not always my usual, mostly-cheerful self.  I’m much more thin-skinned, and quick to feel offended or hurt.  I still have good days, but there are too many times when I can best be described as crabby.  And I’ve decided that I really, really, don’t want crabby to become my new normal.

It’s easy to be cheerful when things are going well, and easy to be touchy and rude when they aren’t.  It’s easy to respond to rudeness with anger, and to lash out when someone directs a snide remark my way.  It’s tempting to engage in an on-line argument when someone posts a particularly obnoxious or inaccurate meme, in the hopes of “setting them straight.”  In other words, the opportunities to be nasty to other people are almost limitless.

But, as I said, that’s not the person I want to be.  And so I’m making the deliberate decision to “opt out” of the whole mess, as much as possible.  Because I really don’t need to respond to someone looking for an argument, or react when someone says or writes something that hurts my feelings.  I know there will be times when I’m tempted to give “tit for tat,” as the saying goes, but I hope that I’ll be strong enough to know that by doing so I’m only making a bad situation worse.  Sometimes, silence really is golden.

I’ll try to remember the the person whose words or actions bother me is probably also operating on his or her last nerve, and may not even mean to cause offense.  I’ll try to act the way I want someone to respond when I inadvertently offend them, by giving the benefit of the doubt.  Mostly, I’ll try to remember that, while I can’t control other people’s words and actions, I most certainly can control my own.  And that these days, it’s more important than ever to try to be my very best self.

Shine On

/ Ann Coleman / 106 Comments

I lost a blogging friend last week.  It’s odd how the people we meet only through their blogs can seem like friends, but I guess that’s what happens when people write about their own lives, honestly and openly.  Those who read and comment on their posts really do feel as if they actually know the person who wrote them.  And few people wrote more openly and honestly than Martha, the late author of .https://whitehairgrace.com/

When I first started following her blog, Martha was writing about striving to live her remaining years as fully as possible.  I’m about 15 years younger, but her words still spoke to me.  We live in a society that values youth, and it can be a challenge to look for the blessings that come when we have more years behind us than we do ahead.  Then she was diagnosed with cancer, and that became the topic of most of her writing. Still, her spirit shone through in every post, despite the struggles with treatment, the brief remission and finally the acceptance of her upcoming death.  I won’t even try to explain how much I valued her blog, because I don’t have her eloquence.  I’ll only say her posts were a gift that I very much appreciated.

My regular readers know that I volunteer as a dog walker at our local shelter three times a week.  It’s very satisfying to help shelter dogs, but it can also be very draining, both physically and emotionally.  Those of us who spend a lot of time in shelters develop close friendships, probably because we support each other through the hard times.  One of the people I leaned on the most was an adoption counselor named Sherry.  She always listened to us, answered our questions, and offered comfort and encouragement when we needed it.  She was usually cheerful and upbeat, and known to break into an impromptu dance when she thought the occasion warranted it…and the occasion almost always did.

Sherry was in the middle of her own battle with cancer when my husband was diagnosed.  And even though she’d retired from the shelter and was undergoing very difficult treatments, she called me at least once a week to ask how my husband was doing.  They had the same kind of cancer, so her advice was on target and very helpful.  The many, many, people who knew her were devastated when Sherry passed away.   I was amazed at the sheer number of heartfelt tributes that appeared on social media, and I’m suer that was just a fraction of the people she’d helped in her life.

I honestly believe that people like Martha and Sherry are examples to us all.  They weren’t perfect, and didn’t pretend to be.  But they shared the best of themselves with others, each in her own way.  Whether it was  in the blogging world or the shelter world, they helped others with their openness, their wisdom and most of all their generous spirits.  They were the kind of people who light the way for others who are sometimes still stumbling in the dark.  May their light shine on forever…….

Success!

/ Ann Coleman / 84 Comments

Every once a in a while, something happens to restore my faith in human nature.  Usually, something rather simple, like an unexpected act of kindness.  Rarely does it have anything to do with the internet, which usually frustrates me, or social media, which far too many people use as an excuse to let their inner bully come out to play.  But much to my surprise, this time what gave me a much-needed burst of optimism was the combination of the internet and social media that is the WordPress community.

A couple of weeks ago, I began having trouble commenting on other blogger’s posts.  Then last weekend, I found I could no longer reply to comments on my own post without logging in again (complete with password) each time.  I exchanged tons of emails with the Word Press help staff as we tried repeatedly and unsuccessfully to fix the problem.  When I discovered I could still write a post, I wrote two short posts just to let my readers know what was going on.  I did that partly because I wasn’t at all sure I could keep blogging and didn’t want to simply disappear without letting anyone know why.  But if I’m honest, I was also hoping that maybe one of my fellow bloggers had suffered from a similar problem and was willing to share the solution.  I thought it was a long shot, but worth the try.

The response was more than I could have possibly hoped for.  The tips and suggestions were plentiful and very helpful.  For the first time, I began to believe that my blog really would be fixed, which was a huge relief.  But what really lifted my spirits was seeing how many people I know only through my blog were willing to take the time to try to help me get my blog back on track.  Some offered repeated suggestions, even providing helpful links.  One woman (thank you, Margy!) even chatted with a Word Press tech on my behalf and reported back the answer.  I was amazed at how generously people gave  their time and knowledge to help, without expecting anything in return.

Sometimes blogging seems to demand too much of my time, and every once in a while, it feels like a chore.  But I’ve always stuck with it because I valued the creative outlet writing my blog provides, and I also valued the relationships I’ve developed with other bloggers from all over the world.  And now I know for sure that blogging is worth the effort, because it shows me, repeatedly, just how most good people really are.

The last email I received from the Word Press techs (aka “Happiness Engineers,” but it’s hard to say that with a straight face) provided the answer I needed to get my blog up and running properly again.  Thank you, Paulo.  It has something to do with enabling cross tracking, which I didn’t completely understand but my son did, and he explained it to me.  I’m sure that I’ll eventually encounter other problems, but that’s okay.  Because I’m part of the Word Press community, and we have each other’s backs.