Change Is Hard

…but change is certain.

Tag Archives: family


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Before and after

I think most people have a date in their past that bisects their own history. The date when everything shifted, the world tilted, life changed. A date that is used as a measuring unit against all events past and future.

For me it’s the year 2004, the year we lost both parents and moved into adulthood with stunning finality. Forever more when I hear a date related to anything, an event, a birthday, a bit of historical trivia I think…”that was before Mom died.” or “Dad had been gone a year by then.” 2004 feels something like a watershed, with all the life experiences prior cataloged as ‘before’ and everything that has happened since labeled ‘after.’

Yesterday my husband and I sat with a family member in waiting areas of two hospitals as her mother struggled to stay alive. We listened to her story, how her mother came to be this ill, what the prognosis was. While we waited we told family stories about relatives long gone, family members today, heard about her kids far away in another state. We laughed a bit, got teary a bit, hugged some. Worried a lot.

I wondered if the day would become her dividing point, the day she would remember as her world tilting, changing, forever different. Thankfully yesterday didn’t turn into that day. And this morning the sun is shining and there are new questions to ask, new decisions to be made.

I sat in waiting rooms yesterday and contemplated how life changes. How change is different for everyone. How I’ll never have to sit in a waiting room making life and death decisions for either of my parents. How I felt slightly guilty to be glad of that. But how I would have been grateful for time with either of them no matter how difficult saying goodbye would have been.

In the past month I’ve had three good friends lose a parent, witnessed three families defining before and after. I guess it’s natural.

But darn, change is hard.


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In a box

Mom's handwriting232 cropped 2xWe’ve been sorting stuff here. Boxes of stuff that has lived in the basement for almost a quarter century. Today I worked through several boxes of books, most of which I donated to our local library for their regular book sale.

And then there was the box of ‘office supplies.’

Most of what was in there turned out to be the dregs of my desk, emptied when I left the employment of a bank back in 1992. A rolodex filled with Realtor business cards, phone numbers to county water departments, tax offices, appraisers. Old business cards of my own, a clock, pens. Spent rubber bands.

And down at the bottom was a hanging file containing a pile of letters from my mother.

I’ve only read a couple, both from the mid 90’s. They’re nothing extraordinary, filled with weather and what’s blooming, lake temperatures and levels, birds she’d seen. Baby ducks. Many of them are handwritten, though in later years when she learned that newfangled word processor called a personal computer they began to be typed.

When I was a kid I watched my mom write a postcard to her mother every week. Tiny little script filling up every inch of the postcard surface. Often she ran the last sentence up the side of the card. There are a few postcards to me in the file too, completely covered in her writing.

I don’t have to read them all to feel good. Just seeing her handwriting makes me smile.

I know that eventually I should sort them out, maybe get them into a binder for easier reading. But suddenly that seems too hard. I’ve been scanning family pictures for days. Her face and the faces of all of us are everywhere I look, spread across the table, entrenched in the back of my eyes. Such young faces, all of us, even mom and dad.

We were all so young.

And now here are her letters and it feels as though she and dad are just off somewhere on vacation. That I’ll get another letter in the mailbox next week or the week after that, sharing the latest trip, the daffodils in bloom now, the bluebirds building in the nest box down by the water. Even now, eleven years later, when I go out to the mailbox there’s that little bit of anticipation about what might be there.

But now I have this treasure trove of letters.

I’m glad I kept them, and I’ll read them all again someday. It’s not the same of course. But it’s not overtly sad, just tinged a bit with wistfulness. I know I’m lucky she was a letter writer and I’m a saver. It’s good to see her handwriting, it’s almost like hearing her speak.

I guess there is some benefit to sorting through boxes. I found a hug from my mom.
Mom's handwriting234


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WordPress Photo Challenge: Harmony

I play clarinet in a community band and within the group are several parent/child combinations. I’ve been lucky enough to watch their musical relationships over the years. It’s been pretty cool, and I think it’s one of the best things about a community band.

For the past few years I’ve enjoyed watching a particular relationship right within my own section; a mother and daughter, both playing clarinet. I know the memories they make playing music together will last a lifetime. They have a special connection and it’s easy to see how much fun they are having.

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA

So for the photo challenge this week I could think of nothing more appropriate than the harmony so obvious between them as we readied ourselves to play a concert on Saturday. What they have is pretty remarkable these days – mutual respect combined with love and a lot of laughter. Just another example, as far as I’m concerned, of the benefit many kids get when they grow up playing music. Especially with their parents.

You can see other interpretations of harmony as comments to the original post. Or you can check out a few of my favorites here, here and here. It’s a good theme. What do you find harmonious around you? We’d love to see, share it and link to the original post.

Guaranteed to make you smile.


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What’s it like?

Quite a view.

Quite a view.

People ask me some version of this all the time. “What’s it like to be retired?” The question is both easy and very difficult to answer. “It’s wonderful!” is the quick, and truthful, response.

But what’s it like?

I know retirement is different for everyone. But for me the sensation is like being weightless. Light. Timeless. It seems filled with infinite everything. Though of course I know intellectually that’s not true, the infinite everything part anyway.

Snowstorms no longer keep me up at night wondering how I’m going to get to work. Weekends have no meaning, in fact I rarely know what day it is. Time is both elastic, stretching out into the future and moving so fast that my old life seems like a movie staring someone else.

I feel a bit suspended, both in time between chapters in my life and way above the world just watching, as though I’m an archivist taking note of events that somehow have no direct impact on me. Which, intellectually I also know is not true.

A more solid answer, one that would have fewer eyes rolling, would be to describe a day in the life of a newly retired me. I’m sitting here in the breakfast room scanning in photos that my mom had stored in a box high in a closet for many years. They’re mostly photos of all of us as kids, school pictures, formal sittings for church photos, snapshots of random moments that didn’t make it into an album. I’m truly lost in time.

And I’m not at work in a beige cubicle. I’m not turning down loans, not arguing with brokers, not attending meetings, not pushing production. Not working weekends. Not commuting in rush hour. No, instead I’m sitting in a sunny room surrounded by the faces of my family. And my view from this work station is spectacular. Sunshine, brilliant white snow, birch trees, blue skies, puffy clouds. Don’t think I don’t know how lucky I am.

So what’s retirement like?

The truth is it’s indescribable. I guess you’ll have to experience it for yourself to understand, and I hope you all have that opportunity sooner than you think. Based on experience I can tell you it will be here in the blink of an eye.

And you’re going to love it.

Pretty

Pretty


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Scanning memories

Technology. It frustrates me, confuses me, tests my patience, pushes my buttons. I’m not even on the learning curve but usually somewhere far behind it. So I’m feeling pretty progressive these days as I help a friend scan her family photos. And I try not to think about discussions we had in library grad school about technology changing and future generations (or even sooner) having to move collections of documents and data to whatever the latest viewing technology is available. That someday no one will be able to view CDs full of data unless they have an antique reading device. And that paper documents still available from centuries ago are still readable if they were preserved.

But that’s another blog.

This one is about the process of providing access to memories for everyone. The way to distribute family photos among surviving members electronically, quickly and efficiently. And that’s a misnomer in itself. Once a file is complete the transfer to other people will be quick. But putting that file together takes a long time.

I love the 'mid-century-ish" of this. And it was mid century too

I love the ‘mid-century-ness” of this. And it was mid-century too.

I cleaned out a closet this week and found a box filled with random photos, some of them very old, of family. They are so fun to look at, and bring back so many memories that I want to share them with my brothers and sister. So I’m scanning them into a file. And I’ve found that scanning a friend’s family photos is much faster than scanning my own.

Working through a pile of photos spanning my own history takes time. Time to peruse each image, each face, to take in the background and figure out which house, which city, which trip, which year. To sort out which baby image belongs to which child.

Time slips away as I am immersed. And then the dog barks, or the snow slides noisily off the roof, and I am jolted back to reality. Mom and Dad are gone. My brothers and sister live far away. I miss them all but am still very thankful that I have the memories captured in these random photos.

And so I scan the next picture and smile at the baby smiling back and remember summer days and adventures from long ago. Someday this project will be complete and I’ll be giving them their memories for review. I hope they enjoy them as much as I did putting it all together.

I can’t see how they won’t. Who can resist pictures of cute kids?

Lean on me...

Lean on me…


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Happy birthday sister!

Happy Birthday to my sister…

Wonder what's in the news today?

Wonder what’s in the news today?

…life long learner, educator, caretaker, excellent baker, friend.

May your birthday be full of light and laughter….even if that has to wait till after work. In fact, let’s just say that this whole weekend is your birthday!

We love you!

-The rest of the Badger kids

Badger kids all together.

Badger kids all together.


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Christmas arrives

My community band played our holiday concert last night, complete with Santa conducting one of our pieces. It seemed a bit early to me, playing Christmas music on the first of December, yet I know many radio stations have been playing Christmas music for weeks. And the crowd seemed to get into the spirit, clapping along with “Here Comes Santa Claus” and “Sleigh Ride.”

Checking out the music prior to the concert

Checking out the music prior to the concert

We had only four weeks to get ready for this concert; just a month ago we were playing Halloween music in our first concert of the year. It always feels strange to be rehearsing holiday pieces early in November, long before any of us are bitten by the spirit of Christmas.

It reminds me, every year, of the late 70s when my mom owned a ceramic store. We started firing glazed Christmas trees in October. In order for people to have their trees for holiday tables we needed to get them done prior to Christmas. And given how many we put through the kilns we had to start weeks before anyone would typically think about decorating with trees and ornaments. I remember feeling that Christmas was over the weekend before the actual holiday because we were finished putting Christmas ceramics projects through the store. And I remember listening to people talk about their plans for Christmas and being perpetually surprised that it was still in the future.

The real deal.

The real deal.

That’s how I feel this year. Now that the concert is over I feel like I can relax. As if the holiday was done. No huge holiday event hovers over me. No frantic planing, shopping, cooking, cleaning, no real plans at all. And while that is a peaceful feeling, it isn’t all good. I notice Christmas trees lit in living room windows as I travel past houses at dusk, I see the Christmas lights up in yards, and I smile a bit wistfully.

So a little Christmas cheer is in order around here. I think I’ll put the big wreath up on the front of the house and plug it in. That’s about all the preparation I think I can deal with and it’s enough to make me smile when I pull into the driveway.

What is enough for you? Are you doing the full Christmas tree, house covered in lights, piles of gifts, huge holiday dinner? Or are you scaling back this year? For me, for this year, a quiet Christmas will be just the ticket now that the holiday concert is a wrap.

Music stand reflects light

Music stand reflects light


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Time marches into Christmas

I belong to a cyber group of running women; friendships formed years ago when we ran together and separately are maintained now mostly via email. Some of us still run. Some don’t anymore, but encourage the rest. We are all important to each other. This holiday season our Energizer Betty suggested a challenge – that we each commit to walking or running at least one mile every day, beginning on Thanksgiving and continuing until the New Year. It seemed sensible, so I’m in.

What’s one mile, right? For a person bent on getting her 10,000 steps in every day this should be a piece of cake. But here it is day four and it’s cold outside. I don’t want to go to the park for my walk, don’t want to even walk down the street here at home. So I head to my backup walking place – the mall. The stores there don’t open until 11 on Sundays so I arrived just before 9, hoping to get my three miles in and be long gone before holiday shoppers descended.

The parking lot didn’t look that different, perhaps a few more cars, and I headed inside confident I could get my walk done. I was surprised to hear Christmas music blaring from the overhead speakers and all the lights on. The stores were raising their gates as I moved along, and people were beginning to stream in through entrances I passed. Santa was already ho ho hoing on his big chair, the movie theaters were open and smelling of popcorn.

Obviously things were beginning to jump already.

I wove my way through the shoppers moving more quickly than normal as I found myself marching to the fast paced Christmas music. After only one loop, a measly one mile, I gathered my coat and ducked out to the car. I’m going to have to get going sooner in the morning if I plan on using the mall for my walks from now till Christmas.

On my drive home I turned up the radio and soon was listening to the Trans-siberian Orchestra‘s heavy pounding relentless Christmas music. I usually love their stuff, but this morning I felt it was pushing me on down the road, that I was too swiftly moving toward some unknown future. Time is moving so fast. Our community band’s holiday concert is this Tuesday! I’ve barely put the gardens to bed and here we are pushing up against Christmas.

She was having a good day.

She was having a good day.

I visited Aunt Vi this afternoon. She’s 100 years old now and spends most of her time sitting in her recliner listening to her bird chirp, watching traffic go by on the road. All those people coming and going, she says, where are they all going? I don’t know Aunt Vi, I don’t know. We’re all going somewhere in a hurry, trying to keep up, headed toward some unknown future, moving quickly to the beat of relentless holiday music.

We’re all in a hurry to get there. But I wonder where the ‘there’ is. Aunt Vi is 100 and she’s no longer running to keep up. I hope I can learn that lesson too. I hope I can slow down and enjoy each day. And I’m probably going to need to find a calmer place as a backup for my walks.

As we rush toward Christmas and the end of another year I hope we can each find moments of calm, peace, beauty and friendship. I’ll be looking for those things on my daily walks.

I hope you find them too.

Friends

Friends