The Rest of the Story

Many of my readers may remember a blog I wrote last winter titled You Gotta Have Friends. In that blog, I introduced you to a little coffee shop in my community, called Café Kolache. It’s a place where we are part of small group that gathers in our little town of Beaver, Pennsylvania. We meet at 8:00 a.m., and usually coffee and chit-chat until close to 9:00. Ironically, some of us were not friends when we started going there, but because we are regulars each morning in the same place, conversations began taking place over table tops, and soon we were inviting each other to join in the conversation.


Interactions like our experience there…bringing strangers together to become friends…is not lost on Kristi and Hugh Harper who own and operate this gathering place. They have started a series of videos titled Everybody’s Got a Story. They asked several of us regulars to the shop to sit for improv-style conversations. Hugh Harper served as our quick-witted moderator. I saw the interviews before and after mine, and admit I was nervous because some of the questions were so random and off the norm. My personal 15-20 minute interview was whittled down to a webpage- manageable 3 minutes. You can view the video of my interview from a link on the Café Kolache website or the Café Kolache Facebook page.

Mother Mary at one of her "favorite" birthday parties.

The focus of the segment chosen for me was marriage. During the interview, I talked about my beloved mother-in-law, Mary. We often referred to her as “the gray-haired lady with the smiling face.” Those brief interview moments were not enough to do justice to our “mother” Mary, so in this blog, I want to share the rest of the story.

I know there are many women who can’t find a good word to say about their mother-in-law. In fact, I read an article recently¹ that said, “according to one study, 60 percent of mother/daughter-in-law relationships — compared to just 15 percent of son/mother-in-law relationships — are strained. Words like “infuriating,” “depressing” and “awful” are only some negative terms used to characterize these tense relationships.”

I wasn’t a young, new bride when I met Mary. Having survived some negative relationships prior to this marriage, I had known other mother-in-laws that were more like the stereo-typical, negative version that are the butt of many jokes. From the moment I met Mary she was kind and loving. Admittedly, I was a little suspicious at first, but soon came to know those qualities as her natural demeanor. My only regret about my relationship with her was that it wasn’t long enough. She only lived about ten more years after I married her son, but in that time I grew to love her very much. I think it’s safe to say she loved me too.

Raised one of seven children in a farm family, her young life was hard. She left home in her early teens to work to help support the family. Her life became better when she met and married her one and only husband. He got a decent job at a local mill, made extra money on the side by playing in a big band at night, they settled into a little Cape Cod bungalow, practiced frugal living, and raised three children.

As a typical post-war bride, she followed the natural order of wives in the 50’s as a stay-at-home mom. She never learned to drive, never handled the household budget, and never desired to make her mark out in the world. She went to work at the local bakery when the kids were older and her oldest daughter started college. It’s was her only post-marriage paid employment.

Soft-spoken, but tough, she was slow to anger, quick to love, willing to understand others, unassuming, and genuinely kind.

By the time I came to know her, she was already a survivor, losing part of a lung to cancer. I was part of the family when she suffered with those who survived the death of her only granddaughter in a terrorist bombing. She also survived the death of her husband, the death of her neighborhood friends, and some of her siblings. The years ticked on.

With each of these events her tiny body became even more fragile. Assisted living became a necessity as her health and physical well-being deteriorated. It was fortunate the she was able to stay in her own home. With all of us children, and paid nursing staff working together, we were able to manage her care.  
  
You would naturally think the memory of losing someone so dear isn’t one you would recall with fondness, but in Mary’s case, I do. She had the best death ever, if there is such a thing.

Once her body started to shut down, the end was coming quickly. As families do, we all came together to be there for the end. For the last hours of her life, as a family, we sat on the bed with her, looked at pictures, played old recordings from her husband’s big band days, sang, and talked to her. We celebrated her life and her memories and her love while she was there among us. Could she hear us? Maybe, maybe not.

As each hour ticked away the breathing became slower, until she was finally at rest. In the end, each of us was still holding onto her, wishing for just a few more moments. It was the end of a life well-lived. After 15 years, I can’t mention her name without tears in my eyes. I still miss her.

Mother Mary’s advice to me when I married her son was that we should “take care of each other.” I try to take care of her son, but it was a blessing to have the opportunity to take care of her too.

And now you know the rest of the story.

You can view other Everybody's Got a Story videos at   www.cafekolache.com

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http://wisewomenofage.blogspot.com/2015/02/you-gotta-have-friends.html

¹http://www.today.com/id/32450000/ns/today-today_health/t/are-you-wired-dislike-your-mother-in-law/#.VZBzzkb1KJ8

Living in a World of Sensory Overload - Do I Have To?

Almost 20 years ago, my husband and I lived in an urban community. We had a beautiful, old home that had once been the manse for the local Presbyterian Church. The house had all that great woodwork that many people envy, and plenty of stained glass windows. However, behind our home was a four-lane highway, immediately next to that was an active railroad track. The front of our house faced the beautiful Beaver River at the confluence of the Ohio River. Just on the far side of the river was another set of active railroad tracks. The sound of the trains coming across the river was most certainly noticeable. Oh, yes…and we lived about 20 miles from the Pittsburgh International Airport, so we had “flight paths” overhead. You know that old saying, “location, location, location.” We had a beautiful home in a not-so-great location.

I’m usually an easygoing person. Short of social injustice, I don’t get easily riled up. However, one particular day I had an experience that was the straw that broke this camel’s back. I was solitarily working in my garden. Trains were running on both sides of the house, a plane was going overhead, a neighbor was cutting grass with a power mower, and to top it off, another neighbor was burning papers in a barrel and sparks from her fire were falling on me.  

I realized I was the victim of “sensory overload.” What is sensory overload? According to the Psychology Dictionary, it’s a state where our senses are overwhelmed by stimuli, where a person is unable to process and respond to all of them.

Indeed, I was overwhelmed. Like the character from the 1976 movie, Network, (once critiqued as the “angriest movie ever”), I became “mad as hell, and wasn’t going to take it anymore.” So began our quest for a quieter place to live.

Turn the page, and we are moving into an Amish farmhouse, deep in a valley in the heart of an Amish community. We moved there in a snowstorm, with no comfort mechanicals installed in the house. The first night we moved in, I took our dogs out about ten o’clock at night. The silence was startling. To be honest, the quietude sort of creeped me out. I don’t believe I had ever been in such a quiet place before. Ever. I could actually hear my dogs peeing. As I waited for them to finish their outdoor toileting, I detected a sound from far away. Listening intently, I realized it was the sound of horses’ hooves clippity-clopping on the main highway almost a mile away, pulling a buggy, transporting one of our Amish neighbors from Point A to Point B. 

Beauty’s Only Skin Deep

Just to give you a little background here, I live in a small town. Our little retirement home is on a pretty, tree-lined street that has a direct path to the high school and our local swimming pool. Because of those destinations, we get many…and I mean MANY…teenagers passing by our house each day. Situated on a little rise over the street, often as I’m quietly working away up here in my little slice of heaven, these teenagers pass by, never aware that I’m within earshot.

For several weeks I’ve been working diligently at laying a brick sidewalk from the back of the house around the side to meet the front sidewalk. It’s been back-breaking work. I’ve removed the sod the entire way, divided and replanted many plants, scavenged about 150 bricks from various places, hauled them home in my truck, then unloaded them at the new sidewalk site, and spent hours on my hands and knees placing the brick. 

Sweaty and dirty, I stopped working today to get a drink of water and a little break. I was sitting on the little knoll in front of my house, lost in my own thought, when I heard two teenage girl voices approaching. Their conversation was spirited and giggly. It’s no surprise that both girls were working their cellphones as they walked along. In my old-lady kind of way, I knew they were in their own little la-la-land. 

Suddenly, a horn honked. I recognized the bright red, sporty-looking car of one of my bachelor friends, and gave a wave to him as he blew on by. Both of the girls, neither of whom actually saw the driver, quickly looked up with excitement. “Who was that?” one said to the other. “I don’t know. Nice car. I wonder who it was.”

I couldn’t help myself. I spoke up and said, “He was a friend of mine.”  

They looked up at me simultaneously. Obviously neither saw me until a spoke. However, here’s what REALLY torqued me about this little exchange...it was a look on their face. The look I can only describe as disdain! I could almost hear their thinking, “Who would be honking at you, old lady?”

Their arrogance was palpable! Do they think they are the only ones that emit enough beauty to have someone in a flashy car honk at them?

I’ve observed as time goes by, that we Wise Women of Age are not our mothers at our age. This whole blog that I write started with an essay titled “65 is the New 45.” My mother didn’t live to be 60. She died at the age of 58. However, even at my current age of 65, I’m a far better physical specimen than my mother ever was. I don’t think it wasn’t that she didn’t want to be. We’ve just had the information and education at our fingertips to provide healthier years of aging. 

Technology provides us with better health care than our mothers. Many of our World War II era mothers smoked cigarettes. We now know the dangers not only to our bodies, but also our complexions caused by smoking. We are nutritionally educated. Our mothers were meat and potatoes mavens, often topping off our dinners with high-calorie, decadent desserts. We women today now know what our mothers didn’t about physical activity and staying active. A body in motion stays in motion. We also know that life isn’t all work and no play, and we spend more time indulging ourselves. 

So what makes a woman beautiful at any age? Here are some of my thoughts on aging:

• Beautiful isn’t just physical. It's being comfortable in your own skin. It's a lifestyle.
• Don’t worry. Be happy. A Voice of America article refers to a study of 4,000 people over 5 years. Their study found that happy people had a 35 percent lower risk of death than the least happy.
• Self-image is how you perceive yourself. Your self-image is a number of self-impressions that have built up over time. If you project a positive self-image, people will be more likely to see you as a positive, capable person.
• How do you perceive life? Are you a glass half-full or half-empty kind of person? A 30-year study of 447 people at the Mayo Clinic found that optimists had around a 50 percent lower risk of early death than pessimists.
• A particular age doesn’t need to define you. I recently saw a news story of a 97-year old woman who ran a marathon! It's up to you to define the age you feel.
• Don’t let vanity get in the way of enjoying life. Yes, our faces and bodies age. Hopefully, with grace. Think about some of the most beautiful, mature women you hear about or personally know. You will find that those women who are fully engaged in living and have a joie de vivre appear to be younger.
• Do people enjoy being with you and around you? Chances are, if asked, they may use the word “beautiful” to describe you.

A while ago, I saw a friend of mine after almost 35 years. I couldn’t believe how age had depleted her! I asked my husband after the encounter if I really looked that old, but just didn’t know it? He assured me that I don’t. 

I would hope that my husband’s eyes age along with me, and that he always sees me as beautiful. As that old song says, “Grow old along with me. The best is yet to be.”

Oh, and about those smug teenage girls, they need to know this quote from the ageless Audrey Hepburn: “And the beauty of a woman, with passing years only grows!”

If you enjoyed this article, please pass it on to your friends who are Wise Women of Age.