Our own personal universe

Found this delight over on QuoteSnack.com ~ from Diane Ackerman's, An Alchemy of the Mind:

Imagine the brain, that shiny mound of being, that mouse-gray parliament of cells, that dream factory, that petite tyrant inside a ball of bone, that huddle of neurons calling all the plays, that little everywhere, that fickle pleasuredome, that wrinkled wardrobe of selves stuffed into the skull like too many clothes into a gym bag…

We take for granted the ridiculous-sounding yet undeniable fact that each person carries around atop the body a complete universe in which trillions of sensations, thoughts, and desires stream. They mix privately, silently, while agitating on many levels, some of which we’re not aware of, thank heavens. 

If we needed to remember how to work the bellows of the lungs or the writhing python of digestion, we’d be swamped by formed and forming memories, and there’d be no time left for buying cute socks. 

My brain likes cute socks. But it also likes kisses. And asparagus. And watching boat-tailed grackles. And biking. And drinking Japanese green tea in a rose garden. 

There’s the nub of it – the brain is personality’s whereabouts. It’s also a stern warden, and, at times, a self-tormentor. It’s where catchy tunes snag, and cravings keep tugging. Shaped a little like a loaf of French country bread, our brain is a crowded chemistry lab, bustling with nonstop neuroal conversations. I

t’s also like an impersonal landscape where minute bolts of lightening prowl and strike. A hall of mirrors, it can contemplate existentialism, the delicate hooves of a goat, and its own birth and death in a manner of seconds. 

It’s blunt as a skunk, and a real gossip hound, but also voluptuous, clever, playful, and forgiving.

BLOCK Grants

Wow!  Turns out that I am someone who thrives on blocking out my minutes & interests.  Who knew?  

Sheez - here, was always a true believer as myself as an "inspired winger."  That's how master teacher Yorvar Synnestvedt described me waaay back in my long ago days as a middle school educator.  It was certainly the image I held of myself. 

Plans were for schmucks, thinking ahead for boring closet bureaucrats. 
Those were the messages I processed in my early years & held as gospel for decades, even when my true self was screaming into my inner ears that structure provide a framework for freedom, for liberating my best efforts.

Reality - I now look forward with glee to the time that I know, "This is Thursday - this morning I will pace myself through my a.m. ritual, get a couple hours in writing, see one or two clients* in the afternoon and/or evening, do (fill in the blank) yard- and/or house-work, spend 30 minutes unstructured time online, enjoy an hour with John watching something online or part of a dvd, get to bed at a decent hour & up (even in the depths of cold, dark winter) again tomorrow at my preferred wake-up time of between 5:00 & 5:15 a.m."

Back in my days at Bryn Athyn Elementary School, then in the corporate world & in my early years at Delaware Valley High School, there were plenty of times that I was fairly or even spectacularly successful - but they came about in spite of my process, not as an anticipated outcome.  Was I always actually this way, this think-ahead blocks-of-time, think-of-moments-rather-than-minutes person ~OR~ did this self evolve as I aged & have fewer moments at my disposal?  Took me until this very moment to realize that my first experience of the liberating quality of blocking moments & activities happened in my last year at DVHS (a notoriously lax school for at-risk students, where my seat-of-the-pants approach served me well for my first years, getting familiar with the kids & courses), where I brought crowning success & closure to my teaching career because of finally fully utilizing the charming custom of lesson plans & study guides.  What a concept!

Over seven years since my last class at DVHS, the years are ticking by.  And I mean to make them count.  Over the past five years, I've discovered - only because it was pointed out to me - that I'm rather innovative.  For years, have adopted "Saved all my best lines for my 3rd act."  Well, here I be, with the 3rd act curtain up & myself center stage.  Let's make the most of it!

It helps that I've discovered that, along with being innovative, I am significantly more likely to do things when I know their why.  Take a walk around the block soon after I wake up is not likely to find me pulling on my socks & walking shoes; "get your heart rate up early in the a.m." IS.  "Take a break every 30 minutes" from your writing routine hasn't lit my fire but knowing that prolonged sitting is as deadly as chain smoking is good reason to get up & get OUT.

Turns out there's a lot of good to be had out of being a BLOCK HEAD, using blocks of time & activities as stepping stones to a brilliant tomorrow & a wildly fabulous future.  It is seriously cool to be 65 years old, getting to know a true self really well, partnering with her, guided by the sure knowledge that plans are treasure maps & thinking ahead is a hallmark of chronic accomplishment!

Winning Life Lotto

From Richard Rohr, via Kris Girrell ~ ~ "The flow of grace through us is largely blocked when we are living inside a worldview of scarcity, a feeling that there’s just not enough: enough of God, enough of me, enough food, enough health care to go around, enough mercy to include and forgive all faults."

For me, among the countless wonderful things about being 65+ is the ability to look over the arc of years & see the magnificent flow of blessings that came from being born with a deep sense of the possible, rooted in an unwavering abundance pov.  Which is weird, since scarcity was commonplace in my family.  Not of money or resources, although we were most certainly one of the poorest families in an exceedingly wealthy community.  Scarcity of connection & emotional support, scarcity of any core sense of belonging. 

It was the flow of grace within & through me that stayed my course forward under invisibly spectacular deprivation, unseen but powerfully felt.  It makes no sense to me, being graced with that firm grounding while standing atop an utterly crumbled emotional terrain.

It seems to me that relationships of every sort call on us to hold an unwavering faith in there being enough of the Divine, of myself, of emotional intellectual affectional resources.  It feels to me that every relationship in our lives is a microcosm of our relationship with All That Is.  How well we bring to each the abundant resources all around us, even in the midst of harshness & hard times, builds our emotional/spiritual muscle & makes it easier, more natural to enjoy a tender, mutually satisfying relationship with the Divine that surrounds & is infused within us. 

The #1 thing that helped me see the abundance in my pre-John years was the knowledge that everyone did what they could with what they had - if they failed at times, so did I.  And what a blessing to have been taught from my earliest days that while we can judge a person's actions as mean or lacking, we cannot see their intentions!

Some people seem to feel that whether we are blessed or bogged down or even blasted by life is a matter of chance.  There may be some truth in that - it feels like I was born pre-disposed to look for the lesson in tough times & the beauty in each moment.  If we are born with a lottery ticket, then I make no bones about having come up a winner!


So, from my perch of 65+, let me rephrase the opening statement to one that reflects my wildest joy & deepest hope for EVERYONE - - The flow of grace through us is unfettered when we live infilled with a personal sense & worldview of boundless abundance, the knowledge that no matter what circumstances of deprivation might attend us, in the ways that matter most there will always be enough for all - enough: enough of God, enough of us, enough of community, enough of what nurtures, enough health & wholeness for all, enough mercy to celebrate inclusion & enough humility to forgive all faults - beginning with ours.

New day dawning

It appears that I’ve come to a parting of ways – giving up the person I am for the one that awaits being called into being.  They are both, as my Australian nephew might say, bonza Sheilas, but only one can stick around. 

It’s weird, because I like the person who’s evolved over the span of 65 years, but must bid adieu to her if my big vision is ever going to happen.  She’s just too easily sidetracked by things that feel like they matter matter matter, but really don’t.  She’d be the first to admit feeling boxed in by consistent focus, by following game plans & knowing ahead of time what is on next week’s month’s year’s agenda.

She is not sad – it was an ab fab six years.  And she’s the first to confess there are things even SHE'd like me to do, things she knows her time- & energy-consuming ways keep me from making so.

So, we part.  Maybe for a season, a year, or forever.  The parting is laden with good wishes, bright hopes for big doings, and hopes we reconnect down the road. 

For now, the Sheila coming to the fore takes a lot from her dear friend – a desire to rumble with destiny, a bold sense of pinning her manifesto on the door of anyone reducing oldsters elders ancients to “the aging population,” a deep love of play, a freedom fighter & gleeful liberator.  A new day dawns.

Holding Australia Fair in my heart

Downer of a day.  Lunch with a room-stranded older friend.  If he was living back  in the sweet place that was his home & multi-layered communities, he’d have friends dropping by his senior residence.  His church & neighbors would have set up relays of people to help him get back on his feet after a relatively minor stumble left his bedridden for several weeks, weakening his leg muscles.  As it is, though, while we’d love to take him out on a drive,  it is almost impossible to move him from the bed to his wheelchair because, months later,  his legs are still jello. 

Found myself thinking about Mom, who at the same age - 85ish - had a horrific health emergency while on holiday in Australia, put herself into training to get back to the USA to have a serious procedure rather than sticking my brother with the cost of having it Down Under (not covered under her Medicare).  Until seeing how stranded our friend is due to something as basic as loss of muscle tone, didn’t appreciate that while Mom was the one who walked from her bed to a chair in her room, then to the bathroom, then to the kitchen, then did laps around the kitchen island, then onto  laps around the deck, then venturing out to the front gate, then opening it & stepping out onto Dudley Street, then all those hikes up & down Dudley Street … while SHE was the one doing all that training, it was Mike & Kerry & Karen & Mom's Hurstville friends & family-of-the-heart & therapists who helped her literally get back up on her feet, who helped her take those first unsteady steps, who held her around the waist as she navigated to the chair, to the bathroom, who stood by her as she edged out into the hall, to other parts of the house, to the great big world outside her “Bryn Athyn” front door. 

John & I thanked Mike & Kerry & Karen for all they did to take care of their Nan;  am adding in my thanks to ALL who helped get her back on her feet, helped rehab her muscles & restore her energies.  Would our dear friend, living many miles outside his home turf, had a bit of the same.

A hefty portion of my inheritance from Mom

Very early this a.m., in the wisp of dawn, I came across a hefty portion of the inheritance received from my mother, rediscovered tucked into one of the books I was tucking back into their honored place in The Retreat's bookshelves.  

Mom didn’t leave much in the way of well-padded bank accounts or carefully tended stock portfolios.  She was like one of those contests I entered as a kid – you had to be present to win.  Those who were present in Mom’s life won BIG, as I was reminded this morning. 

There is something wonderful about handwritten letters v. typed.  As soon as I saw the stationary – 5.5 x 7.5” – knew who wrote it.  And the handwriting – seeing it brings me immediately into Mom’s presence, writing the letter on the wide arm rest of her big chair with a view out the living room window, the one Brenda always described as “in the Stickley style.”

Background:  Mom usually wrote out copies of important letters she sent as record of what she’d said.  My stomach lurched on the rare occasion when she didn’t; it was a sure sign the letter shouldn’t have been written in the first place.  One time, a short time before the letter next to me was written, she fired one off to “young” Alfred Acton (not the one who married m parents in ’36), who had performed a baptism; Mom wrote him a note, castigating him for it since she believed the person was involved in very public hanky panky - a belief based solely on something heard from someone else, aka back-biting gossip, which she loathed  Will always remember coming home from work to her crowing uncharacteristically about how I'd be proud of how she stood up for principle, how she’d really given him a piece of her mind, had made sure it got off in the afternoon mail – wasn’t I pleased with her standing up for what was right?  No, I was shocked.  And appalled when I asked to see what she’d written & she got sort of quiet & said she hadn’t kept one.  Stars to Mom that she immediately saw what she’d done, was even more horrified than I, sat write down & wrote another note, apologizing for the first, looking back with a shaken confidence at how easily she’d fallen prey to negative thoughts & destructive actions.  I heard from a deeply moved Alfie how the first letter troubled him, the second left him awed with Mom's ability to see the error & right it.  Looking back, it strikes me that she might not have written the letter she sent Peter without that earlier pair.

Back to my inheritance….

For the first time, was struck by the date at the top - - “12-8-2000.”  Did Mom use the non-USA way of dating out of deference for Peter Buss’ Anglo-South African roots?  And noticed the letter is addressed “Dear Peter,” not what I would have expected, not “Dear Bishop Buss” (as in Executive Bishop Peter Buss; the current Rt Rev Peter Buss would have still been spreading his ministerial wings back in ’00).  After rereading the short note, understand why – she wrote to him as a full equal.

12-8-2000

Dear Peter

Is true that you said that questioning ladies were forbidden to use any Church building for their meetings or is that a mistake.

If it is true, I think that everyone has a right to be heard.  If we don’t agree with them, that’s alright, too.  We do need to discuss this, together.

I am one of those ladies, although I don’t believe women should be priests.  That is only my opinion.  I do believe that women could help the priests in their understanding of people in the church.  I think that women could have more of a part in the administration.  (Mom told me the actual letter included “at all levels”).

Take care, Peter.

Cordially, Kay Lockhart

That is the sort of thinking that I grew up with –  respectfully hearing out others & expecting to be heard in return.  Not agreed with – heard  I saw that every day in my parents’ relationship.  My sister-in-laws seemed to experience Mom as dominated by Dad; maybe they couldn’t translate what they heard, which were true partners who were crazy in love with each other. 

Sadly, Dad died at 63, when Mom was just a year younger than I am now.  It was the third early, heart-ripping early death to shake her life.  She changed, became sort of a door mat for her children.  A trait she’d always shown with Peter & Mim, even when Dad was alive, took deeper root – she’d change her point of view as others revealed theirs, making sure they were similar.  It worked for my older sibs & s-i-l, but drove me around the bend.  Took Mom almost 25 years, but she finally realized the WHY behind her verbal/emotional “shadow boxing” – on her own, without Dad’s faith in her boosting her confidence, she didn’t have a clue about her WHO. 

Clearly, by the time she wrote her letter to Peter, she’d gotten wise to the ways of Katharine Reynolds Lockhart.  She was ninety.  She was born in 1910, raised in an era where women were politically invisible, then expected to naturally defer to men, where the laity were meant to take the pronouncements of a Divinely-inspired, all-male priesthood as gospel.  And she wrote a letter to the Executive Bishop of her church as if he was a good friend sitting across the kitchen table, sharing a cuppa with her. 

Can you think of a better inheritance to leave a child.  I can’t.

A camel is a horse...

Even as a little girl, I knew that Allan Sherman was one of the most brilliant, creative minds on the face of this & any other planet.  It was his epic appearance with the Boston Pops – debuting his weep-with-laughter, Peter & the Commissar – that first introduced me to the adage, “A camel is a horse that was designed by a committee.”

Was reminded of that on Friday, at the tag end of the book-keeping son of our now former client/currently pro bono & forever beloved friend explaining that all decisions related to his elderly mother were made en familia, usually via conference call.  Figuring out next best steps within their well-intentioned yet uninformed circle (aka committee) ~ ~  without benefit of, say, a Michelle Seitzer, someone available for anyone, anywhere to tap into extensive "coaching counseling connecting" knowledge of eldercare issues & solutions. 

Can't find fault with their sincere concern for their mater.  And I feel for their inner turmoil.  Most youngers in our age-atrocious culture ~ with its rampantly ageist, basically clueless aging upward attitudes ~ feel isolated & powerless when it comes to coping with a beloved parent dealing with the challenges of being closer to 100 than fifty. 

Youngers - particularly those in their early forties to middish fifties - tend to see the fragility, the increased dependency on others as a fate worse than death.  As they read my 90+ year old mother's description of experiencing that those very things, they struggle to believe that the more debilitated her body became, the more she realized she was NOT her body, that one day she would take it off as one does an old glove, nothing more.

I gave the sibs Michelle's contact info ~ michelleseitzer.com ~ but didn't come away from the discussion with much hope they'll reach out, open up their little circle of big hearted, limited sight children to in-the-know outside support. 

When I recommend a Michelle Seitzer or one of the wildly gifted elder support friends right here in my little hometown (living treasures!), folks can seem ruffled - what sort of resource am I, if not to DO those things?''

Because I can't.  Never knew any elderly friends or family.  Nor did John.  Mom was 90+ when she was reunited with her O! Best Beloved.  John's was 87 when she slipped from us.  Their close friends, in their 80s & 90s, experienced limitations.  Not a one of them, in our experience - not even "Aunt" Benita, bed-bound by severe osteroporosis - was anything close to decrepit. So, I never experienced helping people who needed high levels of hands-on support.  Even "Aunt" Benita just needed someone to make/serve dinner & clean up, then stick around for a lively discussion. 

But I love ferreting out others who are whiz bang at helping others facing  dependency issues be as INdependent as possible.  My experience is light-weight- super-sized socializing, via out & abouts or online surfing sessions.  Sarah's is in working brilliantly with every level of dementia.  Jency is a gifted soul who brings out the best in everyone blessed to have her support.

Am forever grateful to have a best practice experience of a family determining critical next best steps for a declining parent.  In making a particular crucial decision about their mother's care, they gathered the entire family together on conference call, included me & had an eldercare expert lead & guide the call.  Oh, and they included their mother, to get her opinion!  Far from a camel, that family was, to me, the sleekest of thoroughbred horses. 

Down with camels!  Here's to families, loved ones & care partners tossing out isolated decision making, once-entrenched ageist attitudes & "limited elder" expectations, instead embracing engaging, energizing & empowering practices.  Here's to survive & THRIVE!

Adventuring Without a Net

It’s funky, the moments in our lives that throw open doors to remarkable wonders.  They are rarely ones we plan & strategize. 

One choice that I made 25+ years ago & have kept was to live without a net.  Although that was my phrasing, looking back it feels like it meant living with the belief that everything will work out.  And, writing this, it strikes me that it was NOT a choice I made, but an acknowledgement of something that I’ve believed since forever, an essential tool that came with my instruction manual. 

It’s not that I chose to live without a net, but that I had enough grounding to realize I always have.

Okay – THAT is why writing is so vital to my understanding of what makes me tick.  It took writing this posting to realize that long-time truth. 

Which Dorothy Sayers’ book contains the exchange between Peter Wimsey & Harriet Vane about how they viewed life?  Harriet’s view was that as good as things got, she feared they'd come crashing down around her; Peter believed that at bad at things got, better was always waiting in the wings.  I am definitely Wimsy-cal.  When things were financially & professionally dark after Mom died in 2001 & my great corporate job went away, as did my family & even, it felt at times, my heart-center community & John wasn’t getting art commissions but the bills kept coming & the taxes were due - - my thought was that, if we ended up on the streets, THAT might deliver experiences that would become a run-away success, best selling book.  Always use what’s in front of you, put your shoulder to the wheel & move on – constructively. 

Use what’s in front of you, put your shoulder to the wheel & move on – constructively.  Seriously?  I  believe that?  Apparently – yes.  And didn’t realize it until right now.  It goes completely against my nurture, yet sang out so sweet & clear as I wrote it, no doubting it is my nature FINALLY come to surface.  Torn between sheez & WOW – guess both of them describe my feelings coming to this startling new peek into my inner workings.  Use what’s in front of you, put your shoulder to the wheel & move on – constructively. 

Years ago, a manager I thought of as putting in his time until hitting retirement, a couple years down the road, startled me with a radical insight to how I tick.  After what felt like prattling on about something needlessly long, I apologized for my verbosity.  He replied, “No problem.  You need to say something to see it fully, to understand all its angles.”  And he said that like it was totally normal, not irksome or grating.  It was how I processed.  Thanks, person whose name I can’t recall!

The other week, Ron Nelson made a similar observation – I am an external thinker. 

Writing this post brings both those insights home, big time.  Writing helps me process, draw out things I had NO idea were lurking inside me.

Use what’s in front of you, put your shoulder to the wheel & move on – constructively.   Bizarre – in a good way.

This is an interesting how-de-do.  Adventuring Without A Net takes on a whole different meaning than what was intended when I sat down.   The editor in me wants to go back & change the early part of what’s written to make it more in line with where it rambled; better it stays as it is, as it rolled out. 

Use what’s in front of you, put your shoulder to the wheel & move on – constructively.  This is going to get some getting used to. 

Walking the Talk

With one phone call, John & I were given the opportunity to see if our walk matches our talk.  I am pleased to say that it did – 100%.

Ever since I started older2elder, have spouted, “If I’m not putting my job at risk, then I’m not doing my job.”  About a week ago, John & I realized the time had come for me to touch base with a client’s family about some concerns we had with her, concerns that would touch on things arching over a couple years, that was motivated by the parent’s chronic failure to thrive.

It’s a heartbreaking story, one too often told - bustling, active woman in her early 80s, widowed many years, diagnosed with early stage dementia, can’t take her meds so needs support, children are spread around the country, the closest one two hours away in a different state.  The decision is made to move her up to a daughter’s. 

Things did not go well. 

The move intensifies already existing, albeit tucked under the surface, tensions in the daughter’s family.  Within a year, things fall apart.  The parent is moved into a lovely senior residence that has a devoted staff BUT which is hours away from familiar surroundings, from friends of 50+ years, her church & work colleagues, neighbors not far from the house she transformed from falling down to welcoming, sitting on four acres of woods & meadows. 

Two years ago, she was about to take to a "last hurrah" trip abroad with family;  today, she is in a bed/sitting room with bed, 2.5 chairs, a night table, a bureau, her primary lifeline daily visits from her devoted dog.  The nights are all by herself. 

She watches whatever the staff puts on the large screen television, often a show about disclosing paternity or revealing someone is lying to a lover, often a news channel whose views are opposite to hers. 

Staff come in & out without greeting her, which she finds a major invasion of privacy.  The wheelchair she has is too heavy to take her out on drives (a struggle to get it into the trunk), while the walker’s “shelf” is too light-weight for sitting.  A physical therapist confides that for the 1+ years she’s seen our friend, it’s been a  consistent downward spiral, with no evidence of any motivation for improvement.  The family gave up on providing enrichment events – like movies or concerts – because she falls asleep during them.  They see everything she can’t do, don’t seem to understand how much she could – given the right environment & support.

My final straw was the daughter describing her mother as “done for” - - “It may be three months or three years, but Mom is done for.”  With that attitude from her closest care partner, I have no doubt it’s true.

We’d reached the point that had been jabbing at us for months.  So, I wrote a letter, much like letters sent to other families, outlining what we saw, observations & suggestions like it doesn't make sense for them to say, “Mom needs to have more fun” if they aren’t making regular opportunities for it to be had, hopefully every day.  They don’t understand that it is no great joy for their mother, who still has memories of a lively mind, one that’s waiting to bust out, to sit with a bunch of people with white hair & wrinkled skin, some of whom are asleep & only a few of whom are responsive to the event’s presenter. 

Their Mom wants what she remembers experiencing as everyday – a variety of ages & types close by, younger faces looking back at her, making her step livelier, remember better. 

She wants to have her friends at hand, the ones who remember when she was a kid in pre-WWII America, when she & her O Best Beloved were newlyweds, when they went dancing, gardened, entertained their extensive circle of friends with barbeques on the terrace & smore roasts ‘round the fire pit in the summer, with fireside readings in the den & fondue parties in the kitchen/dining room in the winter. 

With her well-being on the line, I wrote, directing the letter at the child who lives closest, with responsibility for her physical care, ccing her sibs.  That was late last week.  Today, was informed by the brother in charge of handing his mother’s finances that due to various factors – of course, NONE of which were related to the letter- they had to let me go.  I’d been working for them for all of six weeks.

And we are okay with it.  Because we’ll just do what we’ve been doing since before Christmas – we will stop by to visit her once, hopefully twice a week.  Watch old movies – especially ones with Fred Astaire &/or Audrey Hepburn, take lunch that she can eat when SHE wants rather than when the senior residence dictates. 

We will even save the family money, walking her beloved pooch.  Because it is what calls out to be done. She is another one of our cherished "starfish" - - we can’t save every older friend from falling prey to loneliness & isolation, but we can do what we can to help the ones who wash up on our beach. 

The unexpected gift we received today was discovering that what I spout & what we feel are one & the same. 

It is a blow to lose the income we got over the past six weeks from our twice-a-week visits, but it could have been a bigger hit because we never billed for all the hours we were there – we kept billing to 2.5 hours per visit, although it was closer to 3 hours, often longer. 

And we will still call her every night at 7:30 with our usual, “Just checking in.  How’s your evening going?  Watched Fred this afternoon in Yolanda & the Thief – did the leading lady, Lucille Bremmer, play the older sister in Meet Me In St. Louis?”   

If a paying client wants the hours we currently dedicate to her, then we will say sad farewells to our dear older friend;  until then, we will continue seeing  her for as long as we can.


And - with John's encouragement - I will continue to put jobs on the line by speaking up for an older friend's well-being.  The families who appreciate, seek those insights gleaned from decades of up close & personal experience will bring us officially on board as care partners. Those who don't, won't.  Okay with us, because we will just keep doing what we do for as long as we have the time & resources to make it so.  And feel bless for the opportunity to walk & talk awhile with cherished older friends, forever in our hearts.

Unintentional Research Project

As Gomer Pyle would say – SuhprEYES!  SuhprEYES! SuhprEYES!  I conducted an unintentional psych research project & didn’t even know it!  Am still pondering the interesting, ponder-worthy results.

Over the past 6+ months, I sent out two crowdfund requests to the Universe.  My first fund-raising attempt was last fall, via an online campaign, seeking to raise $20,000 to underwrite my stretch goal of taking a year to really focus on doing all I can to help overhaul - revolutionize - our nation's abysmal culture around oldsters elders ancients.  Three people contributed; raised $250.00.  This spring, I sent out a half the number of requests via snail mail, focusing on a single goal - getting to next month's International Association of Gerontology & Geriatrics World Conference, held every four years, in San Francisco;  doubled the number of contributors & raised enough to make my goal. 

Nine contributors, out of 150+ contacts.  Double the number in the 2nd request, zoom the dollars past the first go 'round.  What could account for the difference?  Two things stand out.  People who received the snail mail had a greater sense of immediacy - no need to go online.  All the info & the request were right in front of them, in their hands.  The second, more interesting possibility connects to the recipients; the first mailing was limited to my friends & pleasant acquaintances in my little hometown, a tight-knit community that prides itself on its generous spirit, while the second went farther afield, to my broader community that includes friends beyond the physical/mental/emotional boundaries of my birth place. 

Out of the 100+ people who responded in my little hometown, three contributed & two sent lovely notes of encouragement.  I am sure that ALL who received & read the snail mail notes smiled & wished me well, whether they checked out the full online request or not. 

Out of the 50+ people who received snail mail requests, six responded, several sent encouraging e-mails & “You, go, girl!” notes.  There was a greater response from people who were NOT raised or lived in my little hometown than from within.  Appreciably larger.  They connected with me about their contributions, which ranged from a heartfelt $10 to a check large enough to get me to & from SF, with a visit to my nearby cousin thrown in. 

It was NOT the response I expected, but looking at the results got me thinking about my little hometown, which has a sterling reputation for generosity & caring for others.  It would be interesting to do a serious study on how much those traits extend to everyone or are actually linked to family, friends, fellow workers, familiar souls – all of which also figure prominently in the make-up of my hometown.

.

And then there is the impact of the “Doctrine of Use,” a core tenet in the faith that roots us.  It is a beautiful belief, the first article of faith I shared with my future husband.  We are put on this earth to be of use, for the love of use rather than any sense of honor, glory or gain.  Perhaps where people not raised with such a deep love of altruistic service saw a goal worth supporting, those who think that being useful for its own sake is the highest use we can serve might hesitate.  Shouldn’t I be doing it on my own, quietly & unobtrusively?  Might they consider asking for help to be unseemly?  It’s possible.

Just as it’s possible that people in my larger, broader community don’t sense me as an outlier, while those in my smaller circle easily could, without even knowing it. 

FACT:  I’ve always been different, although not obviously so.  Years & years ago, I observed to a friend that people seemed quietly put off by my unconventional nature.  She immediately protested, pointing out a mutual friend who was VERY unconventional yet fully integrated into the hometown fabric.  Yes, she was unconventional – in a conventional way, while I am (still) conventional in an unconventional way.  With me, people SEE someone who like them, but they SENSE that I am not. 

In looking at the results to my two requests, the one limited & the other broader, it is clear that people who were only part of my broader community felt considerably more invested in helping me reach my goal than those in the smaller circle.  This has set my brain to rumbling, wondering if it is simply an anomaly or if there is a something connected to our teachings about sovereignty of use – and the suggestion that not only selfless but invisibly provided use is the highest of all. 

Going to have to do more thinking about this.  AFTER getting back from the conference to which I am going, with bells on my toes!

Reiner & Brooks set up their longevity

Tonight, Carl Reiner debuts his HBO special, If You're Not In The Obits, Eat Breakfast.  Together with his LONG time side kick & fellow maker of mayhem, Mel Brooks, he created the 2000 Year Old Man. Both men seem to be taking their comedy to heart, creative productive hilarious in their 90s.  And why not - every day. they do the max they can within those given hours.  They keep going because they get off their asses!

Carl Reiner says what's been eating at me over the past week - “You have to have a reason to get up."  Our beloved, much missed friend, Anne Hyatt, comes to mind, as does her awesome sons & daughters - she was always looking for the next thing to do, they were always focused on making it possible for her to stay active, to get up & moving.  She didn't dilly dally around, not even when it came to dying - she fell on one day, declined on the next & on the 3rd, after the family had gathered from points north & south, made her exit.  All this with dementia that left her unable to remember from minute to minute the day or date, yet always ready for the next moment of joy.  She would have been a great addition to Carl & Mel's weekly movie nights! 

And I can imagine her charming Dick Van Dyke (91), mirroring in word & deed his byword - "Keep moving!" - advice I'm sure Kirk Douglas (100) would agree with 100%!

Our genetic disposition toward long life is determined by our parents plus the lifestyle habits developed over the years, but THE thing that makes our lives worth the living is having interests.  That is where the Hyatts stood out head & shoulders above 99% of even the most parent-lovin' kids - - they made sure their Mom had something grabbing her attention & heart.  Painting, listening to live music, checking out the local jazz scene, basking in sunset drives or up river rambles, going out to restaurant with slavishly devote'd staff, or dining in with friends at her senior residence - - her table was famed as THE place to party, with 6 & 7 people frequently ringed around her table for four!

Anne, Carl, Mel & Dick - soul mates.  None of them might not hit year 2000 (don't bet against such longevity - they did it before), but they did & do showcase what can be DONE when oldsters elders ancients keep their interests perking, get off their asses & get moving!

After 90, people don't retire

they inspire!

Skyhooks or Cranes? (Danny Iny)

It was comforting, reading his chapter in Engagement from Scratch, that in some ways – however big or itty bitty –  Danny Iny seems somewhat like me.  At least he was back in 2010, with some things seriously going for him, positioning him with strong growth potential, but the results not happening.

Background:  Back in 2007, at 24 (25?), Danny founded a start-up that went bust by the end of ’08.  He found himself with a semblance of a client base, burdened by debt & striving to keep afloat. 

The key word – STRIVING. Danny didn’t fold; he flexed his entrepreneurial muscles & forged ahead, still enthusiastic eager energized.  As he says, “I reached out to my past clients, went to every networking event that I could find, rebuilt my consulting practice, started paying off my debt, and go back on my feet.”  Danny didn’t wait to feel stabilized; he DID things that made it so. 

In Peter Vogopoulis, Danny found a kindred spirit.  Like Danny, Peter was a bustling business/marketing coach, working with entrepreneurs & seriously small businesses (0-10 employees). 

The two became concerned with the many MEs (as in me myself & I) they saw – people with inspired ideas but without the means ($) to pay for the training they needed to flip from dream to DONE.  The two wondered - How to support grievously under- or unfunded entrepreneurs?

Danny & Peter gave abundantly of their time & energies, but realized they could totally deplete themselves without making much difference to the huge problem.  They looked around for training that could fill that need & discovered – there wasn’t any.  So, they built one themselves, a task to which they were well suited, with experience in both marketing & education.  (Now who does that sound like?  Or, right – me!)

The partners developed a program, designed a website, kicked off a new blog, launched a business.  The two men were fired up, eager for all the hits on their blog that would drive traffic to their website & sign up ready to roar trainees.  Reality was a tad different – they scored abysmally low readership, no sales.  Zilch.

One of the many things they learned – and I learned, thanks to Engagement…. – is the best website & blog is worth nada if readers don’t respond to a clear call to action.  The whole reason for writing a blog – convert interest into activity!

Peter & Danny’s weren’t.

So, they stepped back, reassessed rejiggered revamped their approach.  Things improved, readership soared 300% ~ to 25-30 readers a day.  They needed to jump start way more people (the MEs) who needed them.  Here’s the core of their aha:

·         There’s no getting around the fact it takes time to grow a blog. 

·         Put one foot in front of the other, walk don’t run.

·         Build a solid scaffolding on which to drape your efforts

·         To build something BIG, begin with something small & effective, repeated over & over, slowly but surely closing the distance between dream & DONE.

Danny grabs my hyper-focused attention when he says, “Try to run before you learn to walk, and you’d never stop crawling.”

Moment of silence, please.

That one sentence describes the very thing that doomed me in elementary school &, in lesser ways, in high school & college.  See, the messages I processed from my considerably older (and probably oblivious) siblings was to bide my time for the great & grand gesture – which never came.  I am sure that they knew all about the importance of taking small steps, but all I heard was “big & bold.”  Duh on me!  The years I wasted looking for skyhooks instead of using earth-bound cranes.

Skyhooks & cranes are terms introduced by Daniel Dennett in Darwin’s Dangerous Idea.  A skyhook reaches down from the sky & pulls up creations from the earth.  It is, alas, purely imaginary.  Cranes build up from the ground, creating the Empire State Building & the Golden Gate Bridge & … well, anything that soars to any height!  They build their wonders incrementally, step by step. 

For shockingly long periods of my all-too-short life, I regularly banked on skyhook-worthy miracles instead of taking the time & steps to secure a stable foundation.  Sigh - even when I stopped seeking impossible skyhooks & settled down to the slog of getting things done, my catalogue of habits kept messing up efforts to actually flip from dream to DO. 

It seems to me that finding Engagement from Scratch – dozens of meme-exploding voices – is second only to connecting with John in shaking up my perception of who I am & how far I can reach.  Today, it’s easier to see if I’m wishing for skyhook supernatural solutions ~OR~ acting from a super nature that understands we have to walk before we can run, build a strong foundation before we can cut the ribbon on a soaring skyscraper.

My spirit does cartwheels reading that building relationships is at the heart of rewarding online activities, particularly blogging.  That little-known bloggers are as important as big names.  That EVERYONE has value. 

As Danny closes his chapter, “A loyal & strong audience is much more than a bunch of readers – it is a living & breathing entity that ties real people together.  In other words, it is a community.” 

That sings to my soul!

Forward to C C Chapman

Okay, it should say "foreword by..." but I was being cute!

Check out his website & you'll discover "CC Chap - I do stuff. I go places."  Defines New England plain spoken!  Like his foreword to Engagement from Scratch.  Straight forward, great stuff!

He is spot-on about passion - it IS contagious.  Grounded passion.  Without a stable foundation, you come across as Tigger when you want to be experienced as more a Kanga. (apologies to everyone who isn't a Winnie the Pooh fan - and if you don't know the difference between a Tigger & a Kanga, I strongly recommend you read yourself in). Genuine passion acts as a magnet - people long for passion & even the most self-absorbed taker respects the real deal in others. 

"You have to be the perfect mix of cheerleader, scout master & army general in order to foster your community."  Amen - the general part is new to me, am getting more at ease in the essential role of strategy & well-executed implementation.

Small wonder that I knew by the end of the 1st page of the forward that THIS was my book, THESE were destined to be my people -- "Figure out how you can help others, tell them stories, and share openly everything you know so that people will recognize you as someone you can trust."  wow...  This person, fellow tribe members "get" me.  In my experience, those very behaviors bred distrust.  With my family, with my work cohorts, with romantic others.  My sibs & sister-in-laws were, possibly still are, convinced that I had a hidden agenda behind my "manipulative" niceness.  At work, people would say, "You're different" - they couldn't figure me out*.  A heart's desire (so not John) told me that his friends distrusted me because I was too open, sharing.  But here, right there on the first page & throughout the book are people who are just as free & easy with offering knowledge & help as moi.  Home at last!

In writing online, "The ones who share more about their lives are the ones who allow more to connect."  This sentence sums up my first experience with C.C. Chapman (does he go by CC?  Chap?  other?), on his website.  His article - One Last Summer All Together - goes straight to my heart.  His oldest son is heading out to college in the fall.  The dynamics will never be the same, so he is savoring this summer.  The photo is one of him with his kids - when they are little.  PING to the soul!  The man clearly practices what he preaches - am all his.

My life dances before my eyes reading, "Never stop nurturing your immediate network, but always try to reach out & bring in their extended network as well."  This is a quality & attitude I readily admire in others & feel is lacking in moi.  Am blessed to have friends with the special gift of fostering growing expanding their real-life community, a grace I hope to bring to my online community.

The best piece of advice CC Chapman received was "to find a mentor who will challenge you."   I look around my room at the scores of books taking pride of place on the shelves, each a treasured voice & beloved mentor.  Then I look forward in the book next to me, where so many members of my tribe await me.  CC/Chap/whatever sets a high bar - "In the following pages you'll meet a slew of great mentors who will open up, share their best advice, and challenge you to be better.  The best thing about most of them is that they understand the small town mentality, if you contact them after reading what they have to say, I bet they'll respond because they are building their own community & know that every single person matters. ~ Always remember that if you are good to others & never stop working hard, amazing things will happen."  wow.

Home at last.

*For years, I'd respond to "You're different" with a smile & immediate disclaimer - "Oh no I'm not, not at all different."  The fact of the matter is that I was.  By nature & nurture, I was brought up with a deep love of being useful.  In the business world, that trait set me apart from most people, although I hadn't a clue.  There was a reason for people to feel I was different.  It just was a difference they were unfamiliar with, so it made them sort of uneasy.  My disavowing it didn't help.  My career - which had been middling mediocre - shot off like a rocket when I finally started responding differently.  If someone said, "You're different" (and I am still amazed at how many times they did), instead of push-toshing them, I'd look them square in the eye, lean right into their space, drop my voice & say, "And you have NO idea just how different I am."  They loved it!  And started whole-heartedly trusting me.