Lumosity

I am concerned about keeping my brain in good working order for as long as I may need it. I've had the small strokes that don't interfere much with my over-all functioning, but I'm doing what I can to maintain things the way they're supposed to work. A friend suggested I try "Lumosity," a brain training program for memory, problem solving, etc. on the internet. O.K. I'm all signed up.

Some of the games are very demanding, and I get very frustrated with them. Some are more like play, but presumably, they use brain areas that help me keep focus and stay sharp. Whether I really believe that is still to be decided.

My friend suggested it after I had the stroke. She is a smart lady and keeps her mind sharp by giving tests, grading papers, reading academic journals and generally participating in a very active intellectual life. She does engage in the games provided by Lumosity, but I think her brain is active in more demanding pursuits. Sometimes I set higher standards for myself, too. Sometimes I read a little Latin or memorize a new poem. Recently I began a casual reading of Dylan Thomas and T. S. Eliot. I was inspired by Thomas's "Go Not Gentle into that Good Night." Eliot's Old Possum's Book of Practical Cats was a delightful journey into the world of catdom. With the wisdom of Eliot, it is easy to revel in the joy of Andrew Lloyd Webber's "Cats," much of which translates well to people.

Most of the games I play are along the lines of Solitaire or Mahjong. All of these are better than the endless mind-numbing re-runs on daytime TV. Since I have little else to do, I feel guilty that I am not making my way through the shelves of books in my house. Well, I do read one now and then. Keep the brain active, conventional wisdom says. If you don't use it, you'll lose it. Guess what? Even if you do use it, you'll still lose it. That's the Second Law* rearing it's ugly head.

* Second Law of Thermodynamics' states that matter is continually moving from a state of order to a state of disorder. My grandmother said "The world is going to hell in a hand basket." Enjoy it while it lasts. 

Doctors You Really Should Avoid

It has long been a principle of mine that we should avoid knowing the name a a great many specialists. They may be wonderful and engaging people, but when you are familiar with them, it indicates you are experiencing rare and confusing symptoms not easily dealt with. It may be difficult to schedule an appointment and they cost more. It seems to be unavoidable since the kind of problems they deal with may be more prevalent as we get older.

I came to this conclusion when my child broke her leg on Thanksgiving Day in 1966. The family doctor was writing in the record on the desk and said, "Who's your favorite Orthopedist?" I found this shocking and disorienting. We brought her to the hospital to see the doctor after hours on a holiday. I didn't want it to get weirder than that. Since I just stared at him, he chose one for me. We dealt with the leg problem for a year and came to know the Orthopedist very well. She still has problems with it--knee replacement, etc.

Yes, you may require the services of specialists, but don't covet to know them up close and personal, or observe them at work. It may lead you into areas of study you aren't prepared for. 

How Important Is Home?

Where we call home is important to how we see ourselves. Our childhood home is significant in all the homes we create for ourselves after we leave it, but each new home seems to be a reflection of ourselves.

I had only two homes from the time I was a child till my husband died, not counting the dorm room at college. Since he died I have had four homes. I lived in a very nice town home alone for a couple of years, then my daughter's husband died and she moved in with me in the same similar town home with her daughter. Since my daughter is disabled, I tried to make that home convenient and satisfactory for her.  

When my health began to suffer, I moved to a retirement apartment that provided some amenities to lessen my stress: meals, light housekeeping, activities, etc. After a year of that, I found I was not happy or less stressed and moved to an apartment in which I was on my own again. This move has forced me to confront the importance of making home my refuge and my citadel. I have flirted with the idea of becoming a hermit ever since Frank died. Maybe now I am at the threshold. 

Being a hermit is not all that bad except that I struggle to find a reason to get out of bed. I don't have anything to do. Nobody depends on me. Sometimes TV is boring beyond belief. I can resort to the computer, and it does help. You see the result of my efforts in this blog. Consider what you want to do when you retire, and make plans that will provide a sustainable interest should you find yourself in a similar situation. Boredom is a terrible burden!
 

Things to Avoid When Getting Old

As I get older, there are some things that I don't want to do that seem to be required of older people. Some people have suggested I might benefit from using a cane, my doctor, for instance, since my walking has become unstable. Canes are really a mark of authority and mark the owner as venerable and respected, however, I'm not attracted by the aluminium ones I see, even if they are decorated with strawberries or candy canes. 

I'm not interested in the walkers that have wheels and look like a chariot, either. My sister-in-law was very pleased with hers because when she got tired she could sit on it, and it had a basket beneath the seat for carrying items. One friend was forever leaving it somewhere and then had to retrieve it later.

This may be a required skill for getting old, but I'm fighting it as hard as I can. If I have to use a cane,  I want one that looks nice, wooden, waxed and elegant. I might want to twirl it or flourish it on the street. In a pinch it might serve as a weapon. My husband had one that could serve as a stick to measure the height of your horse. I'm not sure that it's a requirement to be a Kentucky Colonel, but it sounds good to me. 

Waiting for God

English: Stephanie Cole on set with Doc Martin Series 4 in Port Isaac (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

I don't want to play the 'feel sorry for me' card, but I keep finding things that don't work anymore. It forces me to move on to find things I can do that I still enjoy. My fingers have become arthritic, and my vision is impaired so sewing is no longer a diversion. I was never an artist although my friend did all she could to bring that about. I can still type so the computer is my best hope to be productive and active.

I used to enjoy an English comedy about two old people in a home for old people entitled "Waiting for God." It starred Tom Crowden and Stephanie Cole. I loved it. Now I love it even more since I'm there now. They were forever battling the people who thought they knew what the old folks needed. They were still mentally active though somewhat less agile than they wished. They had strong minds and opinions and they planned to use them.

I'm with them. I did live in such an establishment for a year. I finally moved out and now I'm supposed to be old, lonely and embittered by life. At least, that's the view the popular magazines promote.

Betty White's show "Off Their Rockers" is a wonderful retreat from good sense and decorum and gives old people a chance to let their hair down and live it up. I know it's all in good fun, and most of us would not want to violate normal mores and customs in this manner all the time. But it does give me a good laugh to see old people having fun at the expense of the people with better sight, hearing and balance. At least in the safety of home on TV we get to see the joke and laugh with the old people .

Tribute to Jim Griffin

Jim Griffin died yesterday morning. I’ve known Jim and Lou for over 15 years, maybe 20. He was my Sunday school teacher for several years during that time. He was honest, gentle, and compassionate. I’m sorry the world no longer has his grace and wisdom. But I’m glad I knew him. I’m glad there are still people here than benefited from his grace and wisdom. I’m glad we were enriched by him. I hope Heaven has a portal for him to view the River in Judea.

Not Everything Is Getting Better

I really value the things that getting older has taught me. I really do believe that I'm a better person now than I was when I was younger. I really do make a better critic, and I really do enjoy life more.

But there are aspects of life that suffer with the aging process. My balance is going down the drain as I sit at the computer. My vision is getting worse every day. My hearing is probably going in the same direction, but it ain't over till it's over. I still have new projects, although some of them may be a rehash of old ones; I still make new friends, even though the activities we engage in may have shifted.

Forgiveness has become more primary to my life and my memories;  I have found the vehemence I felt toward people I used to dislike has faded, and it is easier to consign those who insult me to the providence of payback. 

One of the primary benefits of getting old is finding the things that are improving and adjusting for those that are getting worse. By and large, the things that are deteriorating are physical things and the those that depend of mental and emotional resources are improving. I think I can handle this. My brain is still making connections and my soul is expanding daily. I love to find the things I do better, and I get over the things I can't do anymore. Or I give my daughter and granddaughter a chance to show what they can do. I am still getting better as I get older. You too! Let's celebrate! 

Side Effects Did It!

I have reconciled myself to the fact I am getting older. Getting older is not bad. Getting feeble, being weak, not being able to walk: these are bad things. And I feel them happening even as I am denying the reality. I stagger when I walk. I can't walk in a straight line anymore. I have begun to use the fitness machines in the exercise room. My logic is that I need to strengthen my legs, but I'm afraid my logic is faulty. 

I'm afraid I have suffered a TIA. It was not a big deal, but it has compromised my ability to walk and maintain my balance. It passed very quickly, but it has left me with some impairments. I think it's all physical. I don't notice any difference in my thinking, comprehension, or reasoning. Of course, if I had damage in those areas, I might not be aware enough to make a good evaluation.

I don't think there is any treatment for this kind of thing. I will see the doctor soon. I can blame it all on the commercials on TV. The vast array of side effects from medication are a sort of safety net to catch all the blame for all kinds of symptoms. It may not be true, but that's what I'm going with now.

What's a TIA?

I had an incident this week. I think it is one of those things they refer to as a TIA. No, I didn't call an ambulance or go to the ER. I did not have the classic signs relating to facial drooping, speech disruption, or weakness in hands or arms. My only symptom was a weakness in my right knee. My knee pops when I try to straighten it or stand on it. My foot also sometimes drags on the floor; this makes me stumble. 

I had problem with it a year or two ago and mentioned it to the doctor. He ordered a brain scan or MRI. I don't know if this is the same thing but it did reveal that my brain has been doing this for a while. I guess it still is. The doctor was very reassuring when he said that I did still have a brain, and there weren't any signs that it was shutting down. 

I did read up on TIA's just for fun. The article said I should respond to it as if it were a stroke because it may be a warning sign of a more lasting event within the near future. I will remember to take my aspirin and be active and practice my walking. It seems that training my brain is a very effective way to restore lost function. Walk straight and pick up my feet and avoid the stumbling. And I'll tell the doctor at my next appointment.

Watercolor Is Hard

My Watercolor Painting (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Watercolor is a difficult artistic medium. My friend who tries so hard to teach me the finer points of painting with watercolor is fighting a losing battle. I am not now, nor have I ever had artistic inspiration. I love to view good painting; I even love to understand the finer points of it's creation, but I'm not able to create it.

The fluid lines my friend creates with the sweep of a brush become blobs in my hand. I had a problem with leaving the glaze alone to let it flow and develop on it's own. She assures me this is where you let the water do the work. Under her brush it develops interesting designs as it dries. Under mine, it just dries.

I'll stick to writing, sometimes poetry, but always with words and metaphors, never with brushes and paints. I do go to the class and learn something, but I have no illusions about my creations. They are mostly a study in what not to do. My friend is dedicated and helpful, and I can't let her work so hard without trying to reward her for her efforts. No, I'll never be a painter, but don't tell her I said so. She deserves to see my  best effort even though I know it useless. I love her for her optimism. She thinks she can find the artist in there somewhere and coax her to come out.

A Bad Week

A week ago today a friend died. I found it a little traumatic although I've only know her since I moved to "the home." She had lived here for quite a while and seemed better adjusted to the situation and the limitations than me. I'll miss her. She knew who everybody was and could help me know who got along with whom and where everyone was from and what they did before they moved here. I'm coming up on my first year anniversary, so I ought to be able to manage from here, but even with a year under my belt, I'll miss Judy laugh and her joy and her philosophy. 

Another friend had an accident and broke his leg. Fred is not a friend I talk to a lot because he cannot hear. Sometimes I write notes to him which relieves the tension of trying to make him hear. I often sit with him in silence because I don't want to embarrass him or frustrate him. He was a physicist and taught at Pan Am University. I would love to get him to expound on physics and hear his take on Hawking and Dark Matter. 

Tomorrow I will try to go to the hospital and sit with him for a while and let his daughter get a break. Today at the memorial for Judi I read some poetry. It helped me find meaning in the loss of my friend. I hope I find meaning in Fred's difficulty too. Maybe it will help relieve my guilt at feeling so helpless in the face of his need. 
                  

The Study of Adult Development

Marcus Tullius Cicero, after whom Teuffel named his Ciceronian period of the Golden Age. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

An acquaintance here at "the home" has tried to establish a book review club and invited me to participate. I agreed to give a book review in August. I thought that would give me time to prepare if I couldn't get out of it. The other side of that is it will give me the opportunity to talk about something that has been enlightening to me. I love the study of Adult Development--a relatively new area in the field of psychology. Child Development has been around for a hundred years or so, but nobody took a look at how adults develop beyond maturity at around 20 until almost the middle of the 20th century.

There have been a few people who commented on aging and developmental concepts like Cicero's De Senectute  and the Bible in various places,  but it wasn't backed up by any data or scientific records until the results of the Grant Study published in 1977 in George Vaillant's book Adaptation to Life.  One well-known book based on the study was Passages by Gail Sheehy, but her book was sort of pirated from the study. The Grant Study participants were exclusively male sophomore students at Harvard University. The author applied results to women, however, at the time the study was conducted, women were not questioned, interviewed, or followed.  


When the study was conducted, women were not big participants in the workplace. Their lives were not comparable to the men in the study. Daniel Levinson did write a developmental study of women's lives called Season's of a Woman's Life after he wrote Season's of a Man's Life. He dealt with some of the differences in the lives of men and women. It seemed that Sheehy applied the results of the Grant Study to women without the integrity of using women as a base of investigation.

The results are becoming more universally accepted as education and employment have become more equally accessed by men and women. I found the study of Adult Development fascinating. It has provided me with anticipation as I age. There are still summits to climb and battles to fight. Getting old has been saddled with a bad rap. Lets don't give up till it over. 

Swimming for Exercise, Not Boiling

Kaya focusing on the ceiling as she warms up with the backstroke. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

I did something dumb again. I've done it before, and I would have thought I would learn the lesson and not repeat it. But I didn't. I went to the pool and swam, and played, and talked for about an hour and a half. I got blistered. I don't think it's really bad, but my shoulders are definitely red and tender. My face looks flushed and I dread wearing real clothes. That's the reason I'm still lazing around in my sleep shirt today. I can avoid the outside world for a while and my skin will return to something that wont be shocking to people.

I'll try not to do it again. If I go swimming early in the morning maybe I can really take advantage of the pool and not get the heavy-duty rays that turn me into a boiled lobster. I want to get my swimming back to something that can legitimately be called exercise. The pool here is large. I'm hoping that five laps three times a week will help me strengthen my upper body muscles and give me more endurance. I'm really tired of hurting all the time and feeling like a slob.

I want to improve my back stroke, my side stroke, my skull, and my frog kick. I was never good at the breast stoke anyway. It sounds like the good, strong strokes would strengthen my upper body and reduce my chronic weariness. Please say it so!

Writing a Personal Essay

Author: notafish - Delphine Ménard Source: self drawn. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

            


Writing an essay is harder that it sounds. When I was in school the teacher gave requirements and rules about style and language. Now I’ve come to a place where I want to write a personal essay and there aren’t any rules. 

I write some blogs and the subject of the blog determines the subject and style. Now I want to write an opinion, but I’m not sure what the subject is. Maybe it’s just things I want to say. 

There is advice I want to give my grandchildren, wisdom I would like to impart to friends, council I want to share with strangers—all kinds of stuff I just think people ought to be aware of. It is a little scary to think I am the authority on a wide variety of issues these people ought to following. The responsibility is awesome. But it would make my life easier if I didn’t have to suffer the futility of dealing with those who don’t know how to get along. 

A few of them think they know how things ought to be done. Of course, they are misguided. I try to have pity rather than scorn for them, but sometimes it’s hard. I know several people who think they are smarter than the rest of us  and are ready to snap everyone into shape for the project they have designed. 

I have a friend who I like a lot, but she is an artist  and thinks she can make an artist out of me. I sincerely doubt that will happen. I enjoy the interaction, but I’ll never be an artist. I don’t do well in crafts either, no matter how simple. I just don’t enjoy it. I won’t sacrifice the time. 

Now that I think about it, I guess everybody I know in “the home” has the same conviction: Their system would simply their life too. If we would all behave as they demand, life would be simpler, at least for them. 

Memorial Day

A United States poster advertising World War I Liberty Bonds (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Today I am forced to remember people who have touched me with their service in the Armed Forces. My father served in the First World War. He rarely mentioned it, but it gave me a sense of pride even when I had no memory of that event. My parents had friends who were serving in the Second World War. Then, my mother was active in the Red Cross and my father sold War Bonds. I remember the ration stamps Mama had to use for buying some items, like sugar and the meatless Tuesdays. Now I have a more personal connection to the military. Two of my children and several of my grandchildren have served.  Military service in defense of my country is a personal matter when it involves family members.

I don't always agree with government actions and political slogans, but I find it hard to blame the men and women who serve with these ulterior motives. They have a different perspective on war and service than those of us who lurk back here behind the lines. Being in the line of fire changes the truths you look at and the potential for personal sacrifice.  

Today I'll think more about the people who have committed their time and lives in service to our nation and less about the speakers and the flag waving, more about the country's support of the military and less about the support of Congress or the President. The current scandal over Veterans getting health care is an on-going problem. I question so many aspects of health care already; adding the regard for veterans to the already insurmountable mess the health care industry is already in leaves me thinking we need to view this as some different battle and take it out of the government control. It was a huge mistake to surrender health care to government in the first place. What else is at risk with government take-over?  

What Are You Reading?

Deutsch: Viktor Frankl (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Winston Churchill, Prime Minister of the United Kingdom from 1940 to 1945 and from 1951 to 1955. Deutsch: Winston Churchill, 1940 bis 1945 sowie 1951 bis 1955 Premier des Vereinigten Königreichs und Literaturnobelpreisträger des Jahres 1953. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

George Vaillant

Cover of C.S. Lewis

An acquaintance asked me to give a book review. I agreed to do it, but then I got cold feet. The books I read are often not the ordinary kind of thing most people want to hear about. I  recently read Viktor E. Frankl Man's Search for Meaning. I work on George Vaillant's Aging Well repeatedly. George Vaillant has a new book out entitled Triumphs of Experience, but I think it will be similar to his previous studies of stage development. I'm guessing every audience will think I am both slow and boring.

I am also working on C.S. Lewis's Out of the Silent Planet, and
Winston Churchill's The Gathering Storm. I shouldn't have agreed to give a book review. I'm pretty sure nobody will want to hear what I read.

The works by Frankl, Churchill and Lewis are certainly not new material. Mostly they were published in the 40's and 50's. It really dates me. But somehow in this kind of company I don't mind. Vaillant is current. His new book was published in the last year, but it's about getting old, at least about the new research on getting old.

If I don't back out, I'll probably do the Vaillant book. Every since I first studied Adult Development for my degree, I have been fascinated by the subject. It's wonderful to know that as long as you live there are still stages to achieve and wonders to comprehend. I have no doubt that Frankl, Churchill, and Lewis never stopped growing and learning, but Vaillant describes it and illuminates the process so that you never have to be bored with life, even when you have retired or you abandon a career. It ain't over till it's over,  folks.

How About a New Start?

I must confess that I've fallen down on the job! Getting old means I am supposed to have acquired wisdom and I should be sharing it so that others may benefit from what I've learned. By the time we are 50 or so we should be able to mentor others and pass on some or our wisdom and knowledge. This happens when we are parents by simple osmosis, but in some cases we have to seek a way to accomplish it and find other people to receive our modeling and example. 

At least this is the message of George Valliant in his book Aging Well. This is one of the marks of successful aging. Mentoring helps you to feel useful and active and in touch with other people, especially those who are younger.

I've found a way. They aren't younger than I am, but some here enjoy reading poetry with me. We read favorites of different members and discuss the style and rhyme and meter as well as the message, and often the poet's life and experiences. People that don't participate have taken notice and given us news items of interest to poets and told us about poetry contests in the newspaper. It's sometimes hard to tell if other people think we are strange or just want to see what kind of bait they can throw out. I'm easy! I'll nibble at anything.  

Now, I'm reclaiming my dedication to writing. I've entered a contest. I'm ready to begin a new writing regime with deadlines and expectations. Next, I have to establish a daily word minimum and choose a genre to work in. I'm really interested in fiction. Maybe I'll start there. And also a little poetry. I'll let you know. 

America, Bless God!

     Everywhere I go I see the sign "God Bless America." I am not sure if it is a prayer, or a plea, or a command. I believe God has blessed America.

         At our very inception we have documents and historical evidence that our forefathers sought God and His blessing. The Declaration of Independence and the Constitution placed liberty and freedom as a top priority. God blessed those ideals. Slavery was surely a blotch on that intent, but the ideal itself triumphed. Even though it cost a destructive and divisive war, those blessed liberties won. America bless God.

         There have been other difficulties over which we have struggled, other wars which have tested our resolve, other calamities which have required our resilience. America bless God.

         On September 11, 2001 we experienced major attack on our homeland. We had never experienced bloodshed from foreign attack on our continental shores before. Let us not assume that God has deserted us. America bless God.

         In 225 years of this nation's existence God has indeed blessed us. It is time to return the favor. AMERICA BLESS GOD

Memories: Joy Unending

Cover of Humphrey Bogart

Watching old movies is a nostalgic adventure. Tonight I watched Casablanca. Humphrey Bogart never gets old, but I remember other people when I watch the movie besides the stars of a bygone era. I remember my mother and father taking me to the movies and even though I didn't understand the political intrigue depicted, I recognized their admiration of the of the stars and the story. 

The movie came out in 1942 which made it very timely for what was going on. In 1942 the United States had entered the Second World War but Europe had been embroiled in it since 1939. The story is a tragic love affair that is torn apart by the war. Casa Blanca was ar risk of becoming German territory. Rick's bar was a refuge for American and European ex patriots.




When I was first exposed to the movie, I did not appreciate it's very political and patriotic theme. Now I do, but I'm still struck by the many old stars in it. Ingrid Bergman, Louie Armstrong, Sidney Greenstreet, Peter Lorre, S.Z. Sakall, Paul Henreid, and Claude Rains make me realize the vast talent present in the old movies. They don't have the graphics and technical advances or more modern movies, but they had some extraordinary actors who used emotion, expression, and delivery.  Even in black and white I was impressed with their delivery and skill.

This screenshot shows Sydney Greenstreet and Humphrey Bogart in a discussion about whether Sam (Dooley Wilson) will come to work for Greenstreet. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

This movie also had some memorable lines: "Here's looking at you, kid;" "Play it again, Sam;" "Of all the gin joints in all the cities in all the world, why did she have to walk into mine?" "Round up the usual suspects."

Old movies bring back lots of memories of lots of people, and not all of them are actors.

Related articles

• This week's film: Casablanca

Take Care of Your Hippocampus

Biological neuron schema (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

When I got my MS degree, the prevailing wisdom said we should not be foolish about doing things that damaged brain neurons because they are not replaced. We had all the neurons we were ever going to have in early childhood, and by the time we were 18 or 20 we would begin to lose them by the thousands every day. Some activities cause more loss that is necessary: alcohol, drug use, toxic substances in food or air.  For this reason it makes sense to preserve your brain cells if you can. You will lose lots of them anyway, but don't be careless with them.  

Current research tells us that we can guard against loss by using them. We should be doing things that put a demand on brain cells because the more they are used the less chance they have to atrophy. It's the same message we get for using our muscles: use it or lose it. When we use the transmitters in the cell, it is stimulated to replace it. This keeps the cell active and vital. Doing crossword puzzles is stimulating to the brain cells and replenishes the transmitters in them. 

It also makes new connections. It is the number of connections, not the number of cells that makes you smarter. The message you need to hear about your brain is: keep it active and use it a lot. 

A newer finding on the care and training of you brain says that, contrary to the former information , you really can form new neurons in the brain. This is called neurogenesis. It happens in the hippocampus where new memories are made. The hippocampus is a structure in the Limbic system associated with emotion. The new cells won't replace your old cells that have died. The old cells still die and their information is gone, but the new cells can and must be trained to make new memories and learn new information. The neurogenesis is stimulated by demand on the brain. Learning a new language or doing difficult math problems is a possibility. Reading physics papers and playing music that requires concentrated study might accomplish the goal.

Use your brain. Use it a lot. You will benefit from the effort of learning and you might even grow some new cells. It's up to you!

Bible Study and Poetry Reading

I am feeling sad and lonely. And very bored. Last Wednesday I finally got a group of people to join me in Bible study. I was thrilled. Then on Friday I invited several people to join me to read poetry. Sad to say, nobody showed up, but take heart. On Saturday afternoon, quite by chance I met Alberta in the library and we did read some poetry and talked about it and some of the authors we like. These events should give me some encouragement But today I still feel that vacant spot in my future. 

I don't want activity. I want purpose. I want something to extend beyond the moment when we meet. It's not that I miss reading the Bible. I do that alone. I comment on it and research it and examine it's truths alone. Poetry reading is sort of like Bible reading. There are truths contained here that take meditation and reflection and exploration. Sharing it with someone else is valuable and it blesses me. Hearing someone else's view or interpretation is important, too.

I think this is a very boring subject to most people. It doesn't have any explosions, and nobody gets dismembered. There are no touchdowns or home runs. We all keep our clothes on.

Bible study and poetry reading touch the heart of  faith and the beginning of emotional connection to others. Both activities embrace the world of ideas. Nursery rhymes were some of the first poetry we learned, and they stay with us all our lives. Poetry carries the passion of the young lovers and the lament of the bereaved. 

I want to continue to share this message: Study your Bible and read poetry. Both will bless your life. 

Getting Older, Living Longer

I finally got someone to agree to read poetry with me and she didn't show up. Oh, well, I can read poetry alone. Maybe that's the way it's supposed to be. Poetry, like art, can be enjoyed alone. The communication is between the author and the reader, or in the case of art, between the artist and the viewer. 

When I read Robert Frost's poetry, it's my soul crying out to him or the universe or the snow storm that resonates in my mind. I don't really need other people. It is nice to share the experience with others, but the poem is just as meaningful when I read it alone.

The research studies teach us that isolation is detrimental. We will live longer is we have more human contacts. When I was studying to become a psychologist, one professor informed us that human contacts are correlated to longevity. He said that even if you don't like the person, you do need to maintain the relationship. More relationships mean a longer life. I keep remembering the old joke about living longer: Maybe you don't live longer; it just seems like it.

After living at the home for a little over five months, I have decided that I'm willing to take the risk. I don't really want meaningless connections. I would enjoy some relationships with more people if there is something to experience together or we can discuss ideas and events that bless us, but just joint boredom doesn't meet the criteria for friendship, support, or even casual acquaintance. I'll keep reading poetry and seeking someone to share it with. There are other things I'd do with others. Watch TV as long as there is enough silence to hear what the actors are saying. I'll even attend the watercolor class as long as I'm not really expected to be an artist. Human contact that is meaningless doesn't excite or inspire me. I don't think I'd go to the trouble of extending my life if that's all there is to it.

See also Alone in the Universe

Let's Go to the Art Exhibit

Sometimes there is a break in the clouds and the laughter pours in like the morning sun to fill your day with new light and a moment of hilarity. Today the residents of "the home" had the opportunity to visit the art museum and go to Dairy Queen. I went. We rode on our bus which is pretty convenient unless you need a wheel chair or walker, but, even then, it's mostly possible. There are people who are more concerned about the walker than the safety and convenience of either themselves or others. 

Several of the people who participated are members of the watercolor class that Renee teaches. She is an excellent artist and I enjoy her flamboyant and gregarious personality. 

Most of the people who undertook the journey were able to walk around and enjoy the display. They listened to the description of various techniques and expressed admiration for some of the pictures. Some people did not ride the bus but came in private cars. Judy and Ram came alone and Sarah, the Enrichment Director, came and brought James. Sarah knew she would have to return to "the home" for Social Hour which began at 4 pm so she had to get back in time to prepare for that. When it was time to return one of the bus riders, Jim, joined Sarah, the ED and James, but he did not inform Remee who had arranged the tour.  She became very distraught going back to the restrooms in the museum to check to make sure he wasn't there. Then she went to the library next door and did not find him there.

At that point she decided we would seek him at Dairy Queen and hope he was not lost forever. 

One of the other riders said, "You would think he would be more considerate than that."
Another said "I don't know him. Is he really like that?"

Jim is the head of the Resident Council and most certainly is not inconsiderate or irresponsible, but he does ordinarily drive his own car. He is not used to reporting to a keeper. In his defense, he said that their were people sitting near the door who saw him leave with Sarah, but they denied any knowledge of his whereabouts.

All was well. At the Dairy Queen Sarah, Jim. and James were resting comfortably in a booth eating ice cream. Renee challenged Jim immediately and prescribed 30 minutes of standing in the corner for breaking protocol.

Renee was overheard vowing never to arrange, supervise, or even suggest an activity again. 

I had fun. Remember school outings. There was always some disruptive kid who got lost, or sick. He or she was scolded and reprimanded, but the rest of us enjoyed the whole thing immensely.  

Is It Really a Phone?

I have become disillusioned with my lovely new phone. It has many functions and will do many tasks, but I don't know how to operate it and all this technology is wasted on me. When I want to make a call the keyboard is hidden. There are rows of icons to choose from, but none of them relates to making a call. I just want to call the bank and check on my balance and make an appointment with the dentist. My 11 year old granddaughter looks at me with pity. She tries not to be insulting, but it's not hard to feel out-dated and inept under her watchful eye. 

The phone did come with instructions, such as they were. They were printed in two or three languages in very small type with a photo of the phone detailing the function of the buttons displayed. 
If I can find the English version of the instructions and the magnifying glass, I might figure some of it out.

Oh, I can play a game on it, but it runs the battery down in about five minutes. Sometimes newer and better just means I can't do it. Getting better as I get older may take a long time. 

A New Year to Explore!

Sometimes we get obsessed by sadness and nostalgia of time passing. We sing "Auld Lang Syne" and count our regrets and failures, but we also have an opportunity to explore a new year with new opportunities and new obstacles, new acquaintances and new heights to climb.

This year I'll face some new challenges in "the home." I'll remember the "way things used to be," and create an identity that includes the way things are going to be. This is called "growing up." Here at "the home" most of us don't want to grow up. Most of us want things to be the way they were. We have memories that contain our ideal life. Growing up means we will never repeat that life--it's a great memory and we can claim the things we learned to help us through this new stage, but the time that has passed has taken the former life with it. Growing up is the only option. 

That's not quite true. We can hold to the past, and become bitter, and stagnant, but we lose the ability to achieve and accomplish and experience joy.

The Best is Yet to Come

Somebody said to me, "I'm getting better as I get older." Hallelujah! I'm in good company. I believe that. I want to make it a new battle cry. Commercials and nationwide advertising looks at the older generation as past the prime of life and less than modern or current. Style and fashion certainly dismisses older as worse, old hat, decrepit, and senile. Most of us don't do the Charleston anymore, heck even the young people don't do the Charleston. My generation did the Jitterbug, and that is now retired to the archives too. I don't even know what the new get-down dance is, line dancing, maybe. All this is for the young, agile, and athletic. The body does limit the physical activity, and much as I proclaim my mental activity to be still vibrant and insightful, my body is yielding to old age.

I walk slower and get tired quicker than I used to. I find slow walking gives me a chance to view the vegetation and watch the birds. I hear people say all the time, "Stop and smell the roses." Going slower means I can reflect on things with greater attention. I kinda like it.