Emily's Mom

My Dream

2012-02-05T14:31:00.000-08:00

February 5, 2012

I had a vivid dream last night, so amazing that when I awoke I jotted down a few notes so I wouldn’t forget.

When it begins, I am eating at a banquet table and when the meal has ended it is time to board the ship. Just as the deadline approaches when we must all be on board for departure, I find myself with a few other stragglers looking urgently for the stairs that lead up to the ship. We run more and more frantically through hallways and dead-ends seeking futilely for the flight of stairs that will take us to where the others are, on board.

In the next scene my few companions and I find ourselves on a beach in a little cove. We can see the ship sailing away, but there is a rowboat on the beach and the young adolescent boy who owns the boat agrees to row us out to the ship. Just as we begin to climb into the rowboat however, he changes his mind and says that taking us to the ship is not something he is willing to do.

I next find myself aboard a tour bus which has stopped so that we can take a quick break. The others stay on board, but I leave my possessions on the bus and walk across the parking lot to a small building which I enter in search of a restroom. I wander through corridors of closed and unmarked doors in my unsuccessful quest. When I decide to give up and go back to the bus, I discover it has left without me.

I decide to stop for the night and try to reconnect with my group the following day. I know their next destination is a park in the region. I am walking along a busy road and cross a major intersection to get to a hotel I see in the mid distance. The weather is gray and cold, maybe even snowing a little. When I get to the other side of the intersection a bus pulls up beside me and a large group of rowdy and unkempt young men pile out, herded by an authoritative but friendly middle aged woman. I realize that they are a minor league baseball game and will be playing a game on the ball field right there. I am glad that I will be able to come back and see the game after I check in at the hotel.

When I reach the registration desk it is loud and confusing because a young family is checking in and their noisy children are running around. I ask the clerk to help me find a reference book to look up parks in the immediate area so that I can try to find my group the following day. When I open my wallet to find my credit card the only card I have belongs to my 22 year old daughter. It has a very flattering picture of her on it, smiling and confident at some scenic outdoors location I don’t recognize. I have left all my own identification on the bus with my other belongings. Somehow I am more curious about her picture than I am upset about not having my own cards.

That is all I remember of this exhausting dream. I have set my retirement date for May 31 – four months from now. My supervisor said yesterday that she and another co-worker would be planning my retirement celebration and to be thinking about whom I want to invite. It doesn’t take a degree in psychiatry to interpret this dream! I thought I was feeling pretty good about retirement, but clearly my subconscious is still afraid I might leave my identity behind, that I am being supplanted by young people who have no interest in me, that I no longer belong with the young families I represented for so much of my life, that people and work will move on without me and I won’t know where they are going or how they got there, and the path ahead of me is filled with unmarked doors, dead-ends, and confusing corridors. But if the baseball team is any indication, there may be unexpected opportunities for fun, too.

METRO Stand-Off

2011-09-30T05:34:00.000-07:00

Another chic silver haired woman boarded the train at my station the other morning, but I barely noticed her as I reached for a handhold for my morning commute on the crowded car. A few stations later, however, when I saw a seat being vacated I began to make my move, only to find myself confronted by stern eye contact as my counterpart claimed the seat. I recognized in her the same authoritative assertiveness I use to fend off oblivious young commuters who would sit while I am lurching toward an emptying seat.

But that’s not the end of the story. A few stops later when the seat next to my peer opened up, she reserved it with her hand and nodded to me. As I sat down next to her I thanked her and opened a conversation by chuckling that I could see that we had been silently sizing each other up to assess our relative ages. As it happens she is 71 to my 65, but the six years weren’t apparent to me at a distance. A scientist, she is working as an intern on the Hill, alongside twenties and thirties, during her sabbatical year from her job at a governmental foundation. She can’t imagine the void of retirement, and while her academic husband has his own interests, like me she is uncertain about the amount of togetherness retirement might bring. Unlike me she had no children and perhaps fewer extracurricular activities.

We live in the same community and seem to be kindred spirits despite our differences. As the train approached my destination, I handed her my card.

Weeding

2011-09-17T12:24:00.000-07:00

My garden was resplendent with sunflowers early this summer. A pair of Goldfinches feasted on the yellow flowers. The sunflowers had followed tulips and peonies and purple iris, and even a blooming of Virginia bluebells, successfully transplanted decades ago from my parent’s yard in Ohio, a gift to them from their neighbor, a retired professor of horticulture who specialized in wildflowers. Their ephemeral blueness this spring reminded me to venture out to Bull Run on a sunny Sunday for the annual bluebell walk which I remembered enjoying many years ago, and enjoyed again despite ankle deep mud from the previous day’s heavy rain. Now with a hint of October in the air, the garden is overgrown with empty stalks, grasses gone to seed, flowering catnip attracting alien felines, and flourishing pink morning glories climbing and covering weeds and empty flower stalks alike.
Today I tackled the mess, beginning the annual autumn clearing of the garden to prepare for next spring. I transplanted a volunteer oak tree which I had allowed to grow in my garden for probably three years, but which if I leave undisturbed any longer will turn the last sunny spot to shade and will be too big to dig up with any chance of survival where a tree is needed in the back yard.
My garden looks a lot like my desk at work, or the piles of paper around the house. Layers of files and memos and bills and theater programs and receipts accumulate, leaving an archaeological record of memories, meetings, and events. The chronicity of the layers enables me to find what I need, usually. Ideas flourish in the chaos. But there comes a time in autumn, when the garden has to be weeded, when what passed as a flowering meadow in summer has become an overgrown eyesore. When I weed and clear, I add to the compost pile, but I also create piles of cuttings, bulbs, roots to pass on to friends or neighbors or colleagues starting new gardens.
Sometime in the past decades the workplace moved from paper files to electronic. The transition is incomplete. I find myself caught in between – no longer using the folders I kept when I managed a program, but not organizing electronic records systematically. The volume of email is overwhelming – but sometime I can find what I need, through some mental process of memory and chronology similar to the radar I use to navigate the piles of paper at home and work. When I was actively managing a portfolio of assignments the knowledge I needed was at the top of my brain, easily retrievable, like everyday dishes always kept on the same shelf right above the dishwasher. As a manager, with responsibilities more diffuse and varied, I rely on others to maintain the paper trail and research the facts. Like a holiday platter rarely used, and pushed to the back of a cupboard or closet, the information I know I possess isn’t always readily found when needed.
In the autumn of my career it is time to begin to clear off the strata on my desk and my files and memories – to weed out the first drafts, briefing memos for meetings that have already happened, issue papers that were overtaken by events, redundant copies of items that are readily available elsewhere. As I do that I will uncover some treasures which I will pass on to others for safekeeping. I will remember a story I should tell to my successors. I may dig up some materials or ideas that should be transplanted where they can grow and spread. Sometimes I will just pause to remember a long gone colleague, like my parent’s neighbor who cultivated Virginia bluebells in Ohio, or the supervisor who taught me to “never assume.”
I only started on the garden today. I have hours of hard work left before it will be ready for snow. Maybe I’ll plant some new bulbs to bloom next spring. I’m not done at work yet, either, but it’s fall, and time to clean up the remains of completed work and prepare for the next season. I look forward to spending more time in my garden after I retire, but I don’t expect it to turn into a manicured flower bed. I suspect it will remain a semi-wild meadow. And I may sort through some of the piles of paper and photographs and create a few albums, but I don’t expect to create perfect order.

Looking Over Into the Promised Land

2011-01-30T14:49:00.000-08:00

Over the last few years, as I approach retirement, I have had many occasions to reflect on my career, and the life choices I've made. This week a young woman whom I have considered to be my protege was promoted to be my boss - appointed to a senior executive service (SES) position as Associate Administrator of my office. SES is the top of the career civil service in the Federal Government.

I came pretty close, but I didn't rise to the top of my potential as a career civil servant in the Federal government. I could have (should have?) been SES myself. My mother, who would have been 104 this month if she were still alive, thought I was ruining my life when I married in 1972, at age 26. When I reluctantly confided in her that I was six months pregnant with my first child in 1981, she advised me that I didn't have to have that baby if I didn't want to. She had hoped to fulfil her broken dreams of being a career woman through me, and she saw me slipping off course. I was always a child with promise and shining potential. Yet by some measure I may have fallen short. Would my mother have been disappointed? I don't think so.

I made deliberate choices along the way to prioritize my children and home, my music, my life in the community, my church, and fullness of life in general, over career success. I built my own glass ceiling. I recognized the limits I was setting by choosing to work part-time, and in more recent years to reserve parts of my emotional and physical energy for other pursuits. Yet I worked hard and achieved recognition in my day job along the way. My skills and opinions are valued. I have had a meaningful impact on my agency and the programs it administers. My co-workers and managers express trepidation at the prospect of my retirement, and I don't think they are just flattering me. I have reached the top of the career civil service "ladder" short of the SES and that was good enough.

I sat down for lunch with my new boss after her promotion was announced and spoke candidly with her about my bittersweet feelings. I am proud of the young(mid thirties) woman whom I brought to Washington from our regional office in Atlanta to be on my staff when I was an office director, whom I promoted to team leader, and who succeeded me as Office Director when the stress of tha position became too much for me three years ago and the agency created a new "senior policy advisor" title for me. She acknowledges that she needs me to continue in that capacity to support her in her new role and she credits me with teaching and training her in many of the skills she brings to the top job.

If I'd chosen different forks in the road along the way, I might have been in her place before now. At this point,I know that I will never pursue a higher position, but I have no regrets about the paths I chose. There is a piece of me in her. And there is even more of me in Emily and David and Abigail, who have moved into adulthood as capable, compassionate, caring human beings. I had a multiplier effect as a result of the choices I made. And along the way I was happy and fulfilled in a multi-faceted career - not just in the office, but at home and at church.

Moses led his people in the wilderness for forty years but when the time came to cross into the promised land, he couldn't go along. The next generation reaped the promises of his leadership. I was a child of the fifties and came of age in the sixties when career possibilities were just beginning to open up for women. I fought some of the battles that made it possible for the next generation of women to move easily into leadership positions that would not have been open to them when I entered the workforce. I am glad young women like my protege have these opportunities. I only hope they don't have to sacrifice the other joys I found in the alternative paths I chose. I'm grateful to have had a foot in both worlds.

My new boss will be a strong leader. I'm going to have to step up my game in this final phase of my career to support her in her new role. That is a good thing! I've had a good career and I still have contributions to make - at least until May 2012, the most recent (and perhaps final) of my movable retirement dates.

The looming question that makes retirement scary is about identity. My career has been an important part of who I am. But it is not all that I am. I am coming closer to the time when I will be able to retire with dignity and not only accept but find new joy in my altered state.

Neighbors

2010-05-09T17:19:00.000-07:00

Our next door neighbors sold us the house we have lived in for almost 29 years. They raised their children in the house next door, but Betty and Irv lived there alone by the time we moved into the neighborhood. After Irv died Betty married a slightly older friend who had lost his wife. The two couples had played together in a senior doubles tennis league. We went to their wedding eighteen years ago, and they came to our Christmas party once, but we had never really socialized, beyond neighborly greetings. I'd probably been in their living room half a dozen times over the years, dropping off mis-delivered mail, or talking about our cats. We were polite and cordial, but Betty was a very private person and didn't invite a closer relationship. She was dignified and well groomed. I perceived her as very beige - with her carefully coiffed honey blond hair, pale skin, beige clothes, and beige furniture. Irv always seemed a little rough around the edges, but her second husband, a British man, was very distinguished and well mannered, even after he began to fade further into Altzheimers and blindness. I knew Betty had cancer, and caring for him was increasingly difficult, between her own surgeries and that they had briefly lived at a nearby assisted living facility while she recovered from one hospitalization. Recently though, they had been living back at the house - and were there when the oak tree across the street demolished their car a few months ago.

So I was surprised when I came home early one Friday afternoon recently and saw cars parked all up and down the street and heard lively chatter of young people and the clink of glasses from their patio. I knew right away that it sounded like the family gathering after a funeral - and sure enough, when I read the paper that day, her news obituary as published in the Washington Post. She was 87 - meaning she was younger than I am now when we became neighbors. I was shocked to learn she had died April 14, several weeks earlier, and I hadn't known.

Then this Thursday, I came home to see tables of household goods diplayed in the front yard - in advance of the estate sale which brought more cars to the block yesterday. It brought tears to my eyes to see Betty's bowls and pans and goblets displayed in the front yard for $3 or $5. Betty was such a private and dignified person that I think she would have been embarassed at the prospect of neighbors and strangers inspecting what she left behind. I can only assume that the sale of was of the less valuable things left after her adult children had claimed the family treasures they wanted. After the sale, workers began filling a dumpster parked in the driveway. I suspect that after renovations, the house will soon be for sale and we will have new neighbors.

I hope to give my children the gift my mother gave me of sorting through things, discarding, gifting and labeling, long before I die. But when I do die, I hope they will take what they want and then send the rest straight to recycling, charity or the dumpster. And don't put my poor shabby leavings out in the yard for all to see. While I live, I will revel in color, and texture, sumptuousness and sound. May no one ever remember me as beige or silent.

This post is dedicated to Betty Sorenson-Sheffield, may she rest in peace. And to Dennis, her beloved husband. And to her adult children who mourn, and who grew up next door before I knew their mother, on Mother's Day - 2010.

Openings

2010-02-28T13:21:00.000-08:00

The Pretty Good Girls Book Group led me to a life-changing book recently - Olive Kitteridge, by Elizabeth Strout. It was a rare novel in that the central characters were old people, and even more unusual in that many of them were old married couples. I saw all too much of myself in the stoic, uncommunicative central character who was deeply interested and feeling but shared so little of herself. Olive's story is told from various perspectives in a series of short stories in which she is not always the central character.

I have always talked easily with a stranger on a train and shared personal stories with people I hardly knew, yet others have often perceived me as being cold or closed. I remember crying alone in a stairwell my freshman year of college when my first roommate requested a change, on those grounds. The same themes reverberated when my relationhip with a best friend from childhood ruptured twenty years later.

I've never been able with a straight face to buy one of those anniversary cards that speaks of "my best friend" just as I could never buy a mother's day card thanking my mother for always being there for me. Yet I also recognized my marriage in Olive's near wordless intimacy with her more social and outgoing husband, and her grief when he died brought tears to my eyes in empathethic anticipation of those feelings of loss.

I resolved long ago to be warmer with my children than my mother was with me, and I think I have succeeded, but even there, I have left much more space than many boomer parents have.

Social networking has made commonplace the kind of sharing that takes place with a stranger on a train or a casual acquaintance. But I see from the outside colleagues who are truly friends at work and share in each other's lives beyond the office. I have a large social network at church, but few truly intimate relationships there. I have some relationships that are long-standing and deep, but not very current because we live far apart. I need to pay more attention to those friends but also devote more time and attention to my friends who live nearby.

This week I visited a woman who died the next day. Seville was fiercely independent, perhaps because she was blind but never let that stand in her way of any achievement. She didn't share much of her battle with cancer. She was already in the hospital when she emailed the Pretty Good Girls that she would have to miss our January meeting, but we didn't know that. A personal friend, not from our church, enlisted us to visit her in the nursing home where she had gone for palliative care, in hopes of stimulating Seville to rally as her pain medicines were reduced. When I visited, she was initially alert and responsive. We didn't talk of end of life, but before I left, I knew that she was dying. I have been in the presence of death only a few times, but there is something different in one who is moving between worlds. Seville is mourned by a tremendous throng of people from her church, and her work, and her association with organizations for independent living and blindness, and other communities she was part of. She was always cheerful and smart and kind, but she didn't share her struggles with those who would have liked to have been there for her.

Just when I was already thinking about trying to be more communicative and open, the sermon this morning was about the importance of being open in our relatioships, as God is open to us. During Lent, we have an opportunity for prayer and laying on of hands by a lay person after communion. I am not ordinarily into that kind of spirituality, but I had a moving experience a year ago when visiting another church with John's nephew, who was living with us at the time. To my own surprise, I responded to an invitation to request personal/private prayers with their clergy during the service, and I asked for the minister's prayers for the nephew, who was troubled and seeking. I was moved to tears when after praying for him, with her hands on my head, she prayed for John and me as his caregivers. I hadn't realized how much I needed that blessing, and I never would have asked for it, but it shook me to the core. So last Sunday I asked for prayers for Seville, and the person praying added prayers for me and others who cared for her. Today I went back, after that sermon, and asked for God's help in opening myself to others, both by sharing and being receptive. The electricity of laying on of hands is remarkable.

I want to be a better friend, mother, wife. Before I die I hope someone can honestly send me a card to their best friend, to the one who was there for them. I want to be more receptive and responsive and I want to share more openly and easily of myself and let others be there for me.

Knitting

2009-02-06T08:29:00.001-08:00

I've become more and more engaged with my knitting lately. This latest project really brought together different strands of my life. I bought the skein of luxury yarn when on a whim last November I took a solo trip to Baltimore on a Saturday for a knitting expo I saw advertised in the Washington Post. As I knit the hand-dyed alpaca/silk/merino yarn into a scarf - from a pattern I found on the Knitting website Ravelry, which I discovered through the knitting blog Emily's college friends invited me to join as a contributing member - I was fascinated by the geometric pattern which emerged. A church choir friend, who is a physicist, says it has to do with fractals - a subject which she explores on her fascinating blog about science - Complexity Simplified - http://raimalarter.blogspot.com/. As I knit and watched the pattern emerge, it struck me as being like visual music. The color pallette of the yarn was like a tonal scale, and the colors knit together into chords and melody with variations. The same yarn, when knit in the round, for a hat, formed stripes instead of chevrons, and in a narrower scarf, formed a more random distribution of colors on the black background. So three products from the same skein were very different. In addition to my on-line knitting buddies, I recently discovered a community of lunch time knitters at the Department of Transportation, where I work, and I've joined with women of all ages from different agencies than mine, to chat and knit, thus expanding my network at the department where I've worked for over thirty years. Since I've joined Ravelry, several women from all over the continent have viewed and admired my scarf, so I've suddenly broadened my acquaintances well beyond my familiar circles of church, and work, and family.

Simultaneously, I loosened the privacy settings on my Facebook account, and as a result serendipitously reconnected with the first of our beloved au pairs, with whom I had lost contact many years ago, as well as accepting invitations to be facebook "friends" with several young colleagues.

One of my goals for the past year or so has been to get out of my familiar ruts and try new things. I wasn't making much progress. But suddenly, familiar trails seem to be taking off in new directions, and aided by the internet I am finding stronger connections with old friends, and making new ones.

Advice to Expectant Young Parents

2009-01-24T12:00:00.000-08:00

Here is a note I wrote to one of my daughter's friends, when I learned she was expecting:

Emily told me a while back that you were expecting I’ve been meaning to write you. Congratulations! It’s good that Steve is excited – it took John a few years after the fact to really get into the idea. But I can certainly relate to your fears. It really is a life changing event – but the wonderful thing is that once the baby arrives, you will be so in love with the little creature that you won’t be able to imagine how you ever lived without being a mother. All the things that you worry about giving up suddenly don’t seem important anymore anyway. John and I were married in 1972 in the throes of that round of feminism and Emily wasn’t born until 1982. I was really worried about losing my hard won feminist identity. Guess what – 26 years later I treasure most my “mom” self and reluctantly squeeze in my successful career.

Your children could turn out to be superstars like Emily and Ember, but they could just as well turn out like Steve and Trisha – and in my short acquaintance with you two – that seems pretty good!! (and I could tell you some stories about Emily growing up. Mostly perfect – but not quite always! My mother always used to say to me, when I was “bad” – “There was a little girl who had a curl, right in the middle of her forehead. And when she was good she was very, very, good, and when she was bad she was horrid!” That applied to Emily too. )

Smart kids aren’t always easy. The book that saved my sanity was titled “The Difficult Child” . And aside from later behavior, as an infant, Emily was diagnosed with “failure to thrive”. Needless to say, she did thrive eventually (though from her blog and Facebook page, it sounds like she’s still throwing up – and she sure isn’t plump.)

Trust your instincts. Maybe you read in my profile on my blog. “They taught me everything I needed to know about being a mother.” There are tons of books about the first few months of your child’s life. Remember they’re only infants a very short while - and they really don’t need all that much then. It’s pretty hard to go wrong. It’s later that it gets challenging – and by then you’re on your own. You won’t have time to read the books, and there aren’t that many of them. Just love your child – whoever she or he happens to be – and each is different. David and Abigail aren’t Emily, but they turned out OK too! Have you read David’s travel blog?

My parenting style was very laid back, compared to many of the young mothers I see now who are micro-managing every aspect of their child’s life. My garden is kind of wild and overgrown, too, but I put in intensive labor several times a year, and plant hardy perennials. I make sure the flowers are in the right location and give them just enough water and compost to survive, and pull out the worst of the weeds – but I don’t plant neat beds of showy annuals. The flowers in my garden have to be pretty scrappy to survive and thrive. I parent pretty much the same way I garden. Above all the flowers are to be enjoyed. I walk around my yard in the morning and admire whatever is blooming at the time.

(I hear natural childbirth is pretty much out of favor now. My kids were born at the up tick of the pendulum, or may just after it started moving down again. I was lucky to have had all three totally naturally – and I wouldn’t have missed that experience for the world. I was so committed, that I didn’t even take so much as a Tylenol during labor. If I were doing it again, I don’t think I’d be quite that fanatical, but I would certainly put in a word for going natural – without an epidural. I don’t know if the doctors even present that to expectant mothers as a reasonable option any more. I’m not saying my labors were quick and easy – far from it – but with advance training, it was certainly possible. Remember that labor and childbirth are your experience, and don’t let the doctor manipulate you for his/her convenience and insurance. I advocate breast feeding as long as possible too. That’s not easy either. You would think it would come naturally, but it doesn’t Most mothers quit before it becomes easy – but it’s worth hanging in there. After the first 4 months or so, it’s a breeze – much easier and better than bottles. I nursed all three for a minimum of 18 months – I think David was closer to two years.

Enjoy the spring flowers! I have tons of iris. If you want some tubers for dark purple ones, I’m always having to thin them out.

Let’s get together soon! I want to see your big belly.

EPILOGUE: I met baby Cole when he came to Thanksgiving dinner with his parents when he was two months old, a happy healthy breast fed baby, born at home by natural childbirth. His parents are elated.

Making an Impression

2008-10-12T17:26:00.000-07:00

I sometimes wonder if I've made a difference in the world - left any impression at all. And then when I least expect it someone will say something that lets me know that my words and actions have affected others in ways I may have been totally unaware of. Or someone will quote something I said that I had long forgotten. Obviously sometimes I have left a bigger impression than I realized or intended. Sometimes the words of wisdom that people attribute to me amaze me. Was I really that profound or observant? That can be sobering because then I wonder if I have also left a trail of injuries that I will never be aware of.

Two friends in particular often remind me of things I told them about the children when they were young. I wish I had written down those memories myself. Several weekends ago I visited with a friend I hadn't seen in many years and she recalled how Emily had once said to me, "I wish I had an ordinary mother!" and I replied to her, "But you're not an ordinary child!" I had totally forgotten that exchange, but it rings true.

Today as I was sitting outside the front door putting on sneakers to work in the garden, a well dressed middle aged man came up the front walk and approached me. I thought he must be a politician, but he said his girlfriend lived up the street and he'd been admiring my garden all summer. He said he had stopped to take pictures several times and wanted to share them with me when he got them processed, though he didn't know the names of any of the flowers. I'm used to compliments on the garden (though this wasn't a particularly great year after the initial flurry of tulips, because I neglected it all summer), but this particular fan surprised me because he obviously wasn't a gardener himself, as are many of the admirers of my flowers.

I guess I can only aspire to be more aware of my power to inspire or harm and choose my words and actions carefully so that I more consistently spread joy.

Happy New Year

2008-09-01T07:16:00.000-07:00

It's Labor Day - what has always seemed to me like the real New Year's Day. The summer ends and people get back to "real life" whether it be school, or the more routine rhythm of work after the relaxed (or more frantic) pace when vacations mixed things up. At church, the leadership refers to September as the beginning of the "program year." In the Federal government, the new fiscal year begins October 1, so we're wrapping up one year and preparing for the next after Labor Day. Choralis will hold its first rehersal of the 2008-2009 concert season tomorrow night. And this year, of course, the Presidential campaign will be in full swing.

With a clean slate, September has always seemed full of possibility - new beginnings. After the summer break, with fewer meetings and rehersals and obligations, I have always been optimistic (usually overly so) that I will have time to do all those enticing activities that September invites me to join. I can fit them all in, really I can! This year will be different. I can do it all! I can say yes to anything I want!

Being older and wiser, I know full well I will soon be bogged down, but I can still enjoy the boundless possibilities of the new year! I wonder now how I did it all as a not-so-young mother of young children while maintaining a career. I have a lot less on my plate now.

When the children were young, fall also brought with it the inexorable approach of the Christmas holidays, moving toward me like a hurricane. The holidays are less work now, and I anticipate them with joy, but September is when I begin to become aware of all I need to do before they arrive. This year may be even more exciting if Emily's plans to host her friends here materialize, as I hope they will.

When I was asked to share something little known about myself at an executive retreat last winter, I mentioned that we always seem to have some random person living in our basement. It is true that over the years we have often hosted someone extra in our home. My friend Ruth and her daughter Holly lived with us intermittently for more than a year when Emily was little. Then from 1990 to 2000 we had ten au pairs. Our retired rector's granddaughter Erika lived with us for two years while she was in graduate school, followed by two Smithsonian summer interns, and then for a year by their friend Zia, a Turkish graduate student . When Abigail left for college, David moved back home for a few months, and when he left, his friend Mark stayed on until the end of March. We actually had an empty nest for twelve days before John' nephew showed up on our doorstep and we extended an open-ended invitation. When there is a vacancy at the Churchman hostel, we don't have to advertise. I'm not sure how the word spreads through the universe that we have room, but we find ourselves surprised and blessed in ways we can't anticipate by the presence of these young people in our home, even as we are sometimes stressed by them.

John and I have new matching scars. This summer I took an unbroken fall onto my chin while ice skating and had five stitches. Then last weekend, John fell while running and had seven stitches in his chin. Emily asked when we were going to start slowing down. I was appalled by the question because I'm trying to speed up, not slow down!

I enjoyed travelling this summer - two very different trips - a family expedition to Great Britain where we stayed in five star hotels and manor houses in Scotland, Wales, and England and enjoyed hiking in the picturesque Lake District and the Cotswolds - and then with Abigail to visit Emily in Tanzania - staying in Emily's house and visiting the rural district SIC serves, before indulging ourselves in a safari. I bought a new camera and enjoyed taking pictures and winning prizes for them at the county fair.

I also really ramped up my knitting this year and won prizes for knitting, too. Since my change of jobs last January, I find I have much more energy and creativity in my spare time. I'm not working many fewer hours, but I am much less stressed and enjoying myself more. It took about six months for my body to recognize that the stress was gone so that I woke up one morning about six weeks ago suddenly realizing "I feel Good!" I still feel valued and useful at work, but I'm out of the direct line responsibility for the day to day administration of the grant programs. At this pace, I look forward to working a few more years before I retire. But when I retire, I think I'll find plenty to do. At its best, retirement will be a perpetual September - full of opportunity and invitations to join. So, No, Emily, I'm not going to slow down; au contraire, I look forward to speeding up!

Christmas Together

2008-01-21T09:35:00.000-08:00

Churchman Family - Christmas Eve 2007

(Emily is wearing a dress tailored for her by her roommate Glory)

For one short week, the Churchman family gathered for Christmas. David had been living at home since September. Abigail and Emily left Grinnell and Arusha respectively on December 21 at about the same time. Both arrived on the 22nd within hours of each other. I met Emily at Dulles International and she had time to shower before we all left to pick up Abigail at National Airport, at the end of her long ordeal, which included an overnight stay at the Des Moines airport when all flights out were cancelled by fog and a bus trip to Omaha. I worked until Friday, the 21st and hadn't managed many advance preparations, but that day I finished shopping, baked the favorite chocolate frosted cookies and strung a few new energy efficient LED lights outside before they arrived. We didn't get the tree until Sunday afternoon. Before he left for the holidays on the morning of the 24th, Mark, the young man currently living in the au pair room (we always seem to have some random person living in the basement) participated by putting one decoration on the tree, the bird which appears to be alighting on Abigail's head in the picture. (Of course, I didn't notice that until after the pictures were taken!) But at least it landed on Abigail - Each year I buy a Christmas ornament for each of the children,which they hang in the windows. Abigail's theme is birds, David's, music, and Emily's, stars. The tradition began when a friend of mine from Rockford sent Emily a brass star for her first birthday. I remarked on the appropriateness, for a child born on Epiphany, and to this day, Frances still sends Emily a star each year. I started adding to them when David was about five, and chose music as his theme, long before he knew he would be a music major. I chose a dove for my peaceful and joyful baby Abigail, and she continues in life as a mediator, empathizer, and peacemaker. And of course, there is no question about Emily's stardom; in whatever she undertakes, she shines brightly. Did I really know my children that well or did my expectations help shape them? Or was it random luck?

Emily's visit was a whirlwind of activity, as always. We celebrated a very traditional family Christmas Eve and Christmas Day, and held our usual "cookies, cider, and carols" party on the 28th. David had left that morning for his road trip by car, disappointed that his plans to take Greyhound were foiled at the last minute by an ill-informed ticket agent at the DC terminal.

Emily's friends came by bus and rail and plane from all over the East coast for a few hours or a day with her, often following her around on her various errands, as I did, too. She was generous with her scarce time at home. On the 31st she flew to Chicago to spend New Years Eve with other friends, and then on to San Francisco for the annual meeting of her employer, and visits with friends on the West Coast. She flew in to National on the morning of January 7 and out to Africa from Dulles in the afternoon. I came home from work for lunch with her and John and Abigail, to steal a few more minutes with her. She won't be back home until next Christmas. (She's invited Abigail to visit her in Africa next summer, and I'm thinking about going in late summer, too.) Her visits always leave me exhausted in her wake! She doesn't leave a minute un-programmed.

Abigail was home until the 19th. When she left for her second semester we were really back to normal - almost. If it weren't for Mark, we would really have an empty nest now - but he is back, and we enjoy his company.

Then the equilibrium tipped at work. When my job seemed too consuming, I've flirted with the idea of retirement, and my agency has talked about ways to reduce the stress to encourage me to stay around longer. Recently I'd gotten a second wind and was enjoying my job as an office director more, but the plans set into action took on a life of their own, and on January 9 they announced my job change, along with some other personnel actions. Friday was my last day as Director, and tomorrow I will be in a new role, as a Senior Policy Adviser. I'm sitting at the same desk (at least for the time being) in the same office but will be liberated from the day to day hurly burly of the core business process of grants administration to be able to focus on bigger picture issues and lend my institutional memory and program expertise to agency wide initiatives. I am responsible for one interagency initiative that has a staff of four persons (including a senior team leader) who will report to me, and I will direct the work of a cross cutting team staffed from various headquarters and regional offices, but my supervisory duties will be substantially reduced. This is a good move for me at this stage in my career, but I have mixed feelings. I will have to find a way to draw energy from the new assignments, as I have from the demands of my old position. (The official position description for my former job actually included the following statement: "The pace and volume of the work can tax an individual physically and mentally." That was a true statement!) But I have been thrust face to face with the realization that this really is the closing phase of my career. My unofficial title is "guru" and I have the respect of my agency. Assuming I work in this new position for three or four years, which I fully expect to, I really will be at full retirement age. As I wrote about Commencements last spring, with endings come beginnings, but at this phase of the life cycle, the endings can be easier to recognize than the beginnings.

On the domestic front, I've been in an unprecedented surge of creativity and productivity with knitting. But that's another blog. You can see my creations on http://www.southsideknitting.blogspot.com/. I am inspired and encouraged by this community of young knitters (friends of Emily) who invited me to join their blog.

And I continue to make with music, singing with Choralis (http://www.choralis.org/) and taking on the occasional organ substitute job at St. George's. I practiced this morning because I agreed to play next week, and was pleasantly surprised to find I wasn't as rusty as I feared I would be.

My personal trainer of several years left my gym, so I've started with a new trainer, whom I like even better. I got a Wii for Christmas and enjoy playing virtual tennis, baseball, bowling, and even golf and boxing - and in the spring, maybe I'll play tennis again for real. I belong to a book club that meets once a month for dinner and discussion, and a women's group that meets two Saturday mornings each month. So forget the photo albums that are two years behind, and the messy closets, and the piles of paper to file or throw away, or the letters to write, or even the blog to update. I'm too busy! Maybe when I retire ....

Happy New Year

2007-09-29T16:35:00.000-07:00

September has always seemed like the beginning of the year to me. Summer ends, and with the beginning of the school year comes the start up of new activities. It has always seemed like a time for starting fresh - when everything seems possible and time is expansive before the calendar fills up. And, of course, working for the Federal government, the new fiscal year officially begins October 1, with new performance goals and measures and a year stretching out ahead to achieve them (or not).

September is also a time of changes - new schools, new activities, new schedules, and sometimes new friendships, or at least the renewal of old ones as people come back together after vacations. Everything is charged with more energy in the fall. The trees change colors, and the muggy heat of summer in Washington is broken by a few crisp days. And after tomorrow, no more lazy days or nights watching Nationals baseball games until next April, in the new stadium.

One of the rudest shocks of being an adult and working a real job is that summers are not automatically the time off they are when you are a student. But there is still a more relaxed atmosphere, with any luck. For the past few years, it seems that the pace has been even more hectic in the summer and I have felt cheated. But for the past week at work I have finally felt some relief from the relentless pressure. It may be temporary, but for a few days I chave been able to breathe, and think, and call a friend for lunch. I'm looking forward to being on jury duty for two weeks starting October 1, and to two consecutive weekends out of town (one to visit John's siblings and one to celebrate our 35th anniversary belatedly. We've begun planning a trip to Scotland and England next May when John runs the marathon in Edinburgh (instead of the trip west.) Taking time to do things for myself definitely makes me enjoy life more, and will hopefully enable me to keep working productively longer.

News from Abigail at college is reassuring. After a tough first week of her freshman year, she has made friends and joined activities and she sounds intellectually excited by at least one of her classes. Emily, in Africa, is discovering how hard and lonely it is to be a manager. Both are looking forward to visits home.

I am truly enjoying having David at home, and he seems relaxed and happy. I'm not sure how long it will stay this way. I'm almost afraid to breathe for fear it will end. I know he will need to move on soon, but for now I'm just enjoying his good company. He's working for a temp agency now and planning to travel after the holidays.

So the new year is off to a good start - and for the time being I've found a new equilibrium.

Vacations

2007-08-19T17:22:00.000-07:00

I'm officially on vacation for the next ten work days. I believe in vacations. I need vacations. I think everyone needs to step back from work to regenerate at least once a year - hopefully for at least two weeks. One of the perks the Federal government offers its recruits is the generous annual leave allowance - generous, that is for American employers. For the first three years, new employees struggle because they only get 13 days of annual leave per year (in addition to 13 days of sick leave), but annual leave has to be used for all personal days and hours off, not just vacations. After three years it goes up to 20 days, and after fifteen years, to 26 days (five weeks +). As I was coming up in the agency, I saw my supervisors and managers (and mentors) enjoying the benefits of their higher salaries and time off in exotic travel, and extended vacations.

But today, it seems harder and harder to take a real break. The expectation is that the Blackberry and cell phone will stay connected, and that you might call in for an important conference call while on vacation. In Saturday's New York Times (8/18/2007) there was an article in the business section about how American white collar workers are taking shorter vacations, or no vacations. They are giving up on the two week family trip, and instead taking more extended weekends - because it is easier to "keep up" with the office if you only take off a Friday and Monday for a four day weekend. When you take a longer vacation, (or rather, really take a vacation), it is too overwhelming when you come back. The article cited people praising the benefits of these mini vacations - mainly as better than not getting away at all. But at the end of the article there was a caution from work-life experts, that we may be paying a price - and that people need to take a real break to remain productive and creative.

I certainly believe that. Even on a two week vacation, my experience has been that it is near the end of the first week before your mind really breaks away from the office and begins to heal and restore itself. It is in the second week of a vacation that you reap the benefits.

So I am taking a vacation, of sorts. I went into the office for several hours today (Sunday) to clear off and organize the piles on my desk so there's some hope that people will be able to find what they need, and tomorrow I will review a document that really has to be done before I leave, but after that, I hope to devote 100% of my mental and physical energy to myself and my familiy. This particular vacation isn't just the relaxing kind. I hope to do some basic organizing at home (closets, paperwork, photos, etc.)before hitting the road Thursday to take Abigail to college. David will come along so I won't have to drive back alone. Enroute we will visit my brother in Columbus on the way out, and my brother in Michigan on the way home. We may stop to visit one or two graduate schools David is interested in. But the focus of the journey is delivering Abigail to Grinnell. So it will be an emotional journey, too. I've been through this before, but each time is different. I don't know how either of us will react to the separation.

When I get home, the nest won't be quite empty, after all, because David will be here. It will be good to have him back at home - but as an adult companion, not a child. We will all have to reset our expectations and maybe realign the nest a little.

John is already beginning planning a big trip for next summer - to the Pacific Northwest. Now THAT will be a vacation. Anticipation is part of the experience! Between now and then, maybe I'll try for some of those four day weekends - and certainly a week at Christmas when Emily is home, and a week in the spring. Hopefully that will be enough to keep my stress induced migraines and asthma at bay -and to keep my energy level high and my enthusiasm intact.

Restless

2007-07-29T10:22:00.000-07:00

It's only natural that with all the transitions going on around me I should feel restless, too. I'm in the middle of change, and I'm inevitably changing too, but I don't know what is next for me. I've never had a good plan for life- but so far I've done OK by muddling through and enjoying each phase of life as it happened. Everytime I've felt dissatisfied and anxious and started trying to figure out how to get to the next place, a door has opened in front of me and I've gone through into a new and satisfying place. I don't know why that method should fail me now when I find myself again in a new state of disequilibrium. Sometimes the transitions have taken longer than others. Sometimes I've been more self-aware and articulate about my need for change, but always the needed change has come. It hasn't always been exactly what I thought I was looking for. Sometimes the change has happened around me while I stayed in the same place, so the scenery or responsibilities have changed. Sometimes I've just been open to spontaneity. Sometimes I've lobbied for what I wanted and sometimes it was handed to me unexpectedly.

Exactlhy what will I be doing a year from now? I don't know. But it will be OK.

Google Earth

2007-06-16T13:15:00.000-07:00

I have discovered Google Earth. It is tempting to spend hours zooming in all over the globe and exploring the levels of information. The satellite pictures bear evidence of all manner of human impacts on our fragile island home - from dams and highways to schools and parks. You can see the devastating destruction of scorched villages of Darfur and entire mountaintops removed in Appalachia to uncover coal.

But when I zoomed in on our house, I saw a curious circle of white spots in our front yard and realized that it was our lawn chairs, where a generation of young people have gathered, and laughed and enjoyed each other's company.

In my lifetime, I have not done what I should or could have to prevent genocide or ecological holocausts, beyond sending meager dollars to organizations fighting for causes I supported. But I raised three children who are caring and smart and who have friends as talented as they are.
Emily is working in Africa to wage the battle against AIDS. David is making music that will enrich and inspire people. Abigail is embarking on her liberal education. Maybe that is what I was meant to give to making this a better world. I hope it is enough.

Transitions

2007-06-10T13:00:00.000-07:00

All three of my "children" graduated this spring. There must be a better term to use to refer to the young adults who were my children. First they were my babies, then toddlers and pre-schoolers, children and teens. It seems strange now to call them children when they have become such different beings. But they will always be my children.

Emily finished graduate school and left for her first real job, in Africa, even before her official graduation ceremony (where honors surely followed her name.) Neither John nor I can say we read her entire thesis, but we read enough to be impressed. Her Masters degree is in global public health and she says her first job scored nine out of ten on her "dream job meter." She installed SKYPE on my computer and taught me how to use it the night before she left so we could talk to each other at no charge - and with a clearer connection (most of the time) than cell phone. My friend Barbara tells about the infrequent and slow letters she exchanged with her mother when she was in the Peace Corps forty years ago. It is certainly easier for mothers to stay in contact with their children adventuring overseas now than it was then. Emily was only home for four days early in May, but as always, she organized and mobilized her friends and family into a frenzy of activity, and she packed her belongings for me to stash after her departure. We were both relatively dry-eyed at the airport.

David graduated from college. I enjoyed the solitary drive to Iowa, while John and Abigail flew out. David was a gracious adult host for three days of receptions and concerts and ceremonies, and then we drove home together. I have cherished those college road trips with my children - time and distance that ease the transitions. On the road I listened to the composition that he wrote for his senior project - for tenor voice and piano, performed by college faculty. He combined texts from Exodus (The Lord has triumphed gloriously, the horse and rider has he cast into the sea), President Truman's announcement of the dropping of the atomic bomb on Hiroshima, and the North Korean press release on the resumption of nuclear testing last year. The complexity and depth of language and music was incredibly moving.

Abigail's senior prom and graduation are only a week away. For her senior project she spent hours writing, designing, and drawing a graphic novel/comic book. It was great to see her so engaged in a project and it turned out very well. Last Thursday was the final choral concert for her school. I expected to cry buckets - since I have been attending school concerts roughly since Emily entered kindergarten in 1987 - but I think I exhausted the emotions in anticipation because I was almost dry eyed at the event. Abigail predicted that I would cry and she wouldn't, but she did. I was glad to see that, too. One of the amazing things about her school (which David and Emily also attended) is that it is grades 6-12 and it is a joy to see the children you have watched since they were children blossom into such dignified and talented young adults - Abigail among them. Just in the past six months I have observed her assume a new aura of dignity and composure. Last fall I couldn't picture her being ready to go away to college, but now I can. And she's chosen to follow her brother to Grinnell - which I think is a really good choice for her - socially as well as academically. She has sound values, and they will be respected there. It was very strange at David's graduation, hearing seniors speak of their four years there, and looking back on their growth, and knowing Abigail would be there as a freshman in a few months.

So, John and I have been trying to prepare ourselves for the empty nest - but now it appears David will be coming home at the end of his summer job. We encouraged him to take a year off after college, but somehow I didn't let myself think that he might spend much of that time at home. But he is, and I'm glad. The house is full of music when he is here. He was only here a few days before he left on a two week camping trips with two friends, and now he and his girlfriend are here for a week. In the fall he will be composing and researching graduate schools, and he wants to sing in Choralis with me. I'm sure he'll find an ultimate frisbee team, too. It will be challenging - but good - to establish a new adult relationship. I want to give him as much space as he needs to be comfortable here.

For the month of June, one of Emily's college classmates is living with us. I expect we will continue to fill the house with miscellaneous long and short term roomers and guests as we always have.

Graduations aren't just one day events - they are major life transitions. And all three are happening at once - and not just for the graduates. I have graduated from being the parent of school aged children and have to figure out what that transition means for me, too.

The whole Department of Transportation moved into a new headquarters building this spring, so I am also adjusting to a new office and a different (longer) commute. I am still over-busy and stretched too thin, but enjoying my job, while at the same time thinking toward the transitions that will come before or when I retire. May 2008 is the earliest I could retire - but that's less than a year away now, and I don't think I'll be ready then. I may have an opportunity for a temporary assignment to another position and I have to decide whether I am willing/able to stretch out of my comfort zone and accept it. John has always said he will work until he is 72, but as he approaches 65 next fall, he is beginning to think about 69 or 70. Right now, I can't imagine not going to work most days - I would just like to take more time off, while still having a job to go back to.

The dog is getting old, too. Darcy will be twelve in October. She sleeps more, and hides under the bed, and has grey hairs. She doesn't run as fast or far as she used to. John pampers and spoils her, but says no more dogs after she dies. We'll see about that. The cats are fun - I definitely see cats in my future for a long time - and always at least two of them.

Alive and Well

2007-01-28T14:39:00.000-08:00

I've been busy at work - too busy - but I'm having fun again. My group is finally almost fully staffed so I can delegate some of the details. I'm learning to let things roll off my back and try to focus on the things my colleagues and superiors seem to value in me - the broad knowledge that comes from being around a long time and being curious and interested. We have a lot of bright young new staff and I'm trying hard to be a mentor and inspiration for them - to pass on the institutional knowledge I possess to the next generation - while at the same time looking to them for inspiration and for the future of the agency. They bring skills and abilities to the workplace that many of the retirees they are replacing didn't have. But it also takes time to understand the complex programs we manage and the institutional framework we work in. They are impatient. I hope they stick around long enough to be fully productive and valuable. I found a lifetime career I could be proud of in government service. I hope at least some of them do too.

Wouldn't it be nice if the wisdom of age and the energy of youth could come at the same time and last a lifetime?

Emily's Mom with her Family - Christmas 2005

2006-06-17T11:41:00.000-07:00

Blackberry

2006-06-17T11:04:00.000-07:00

They issued me a Blackberry at work this week, but didn't offer any instructions about how to use it. The first day the telephone on it kept ringing but I couldn't figure out how to answer. I finally found the right button and it was a wrong number, of course. I explored the email fu;nction on the Metro, and took it home to let Abigail and David play with it and instruct me. But really, I figured it out myself, mostly. By the end of the week I had learned to access Emily's blog while riding the Metro. I tried to post a comment, but the visual verification screen was blank so I couldn't post my witty remarks about "Writing and Riding on the Metro".

I have resisted accepting a Blackberry for a long time. Actually I just tried to keep a low profile and hoped they wouldn't offer, or insist. One of the things I like least about being a manager is the subtle expectation of 24/7 availability - being deemed essential personnel. Of course I like being important and respected - but I rail against the idea of work creeping out of its boundaries. During the nearly twenty years that I was fortunate enough to work parttime, I learned the importance of drawing firm lines between work and home and not letting either violate the other. For that reason, I resist the idea of telecommuting. I don't want work to intrude into my home space or mind. When I am at work, though, I want to be wholly there.

The Blackberry to me is a symbol of carrying work around everywhere and always. I don't think the current shredding of boundaries is healthy for anyone - and certainly not for families!
Now I sound old, and I know times and work have changed, but I fear that today's young people will pay a steep price for the way they have co-mingled their work and personal lives. What poses as flexibility is often just scope creep. I read an article about a young working woman who praised the flexibility of her work schedule which allowed her to be at home in the afternoon with her children after school and catch up on work at her computer at midnight! Yes, but when did she sleep, or relax, or make music? I was incredibily lucky to work parttime as long as I did while the children were young, and make real contributions to my agency and continue to progress professionally, while still having time to make a home and be part of the neighborhood. Now I work intensely during the time I am in the office, straggle home exhausted after 7 PM (though admittedly I don't get into the office before 9 AM) and sometimes bring work home or go in to the office on weekends, just to keep up. Part of that is because of my position, but I don't think even the junior staff have as much down time as we did at a comparable stage in our careers. The expectations continue to accelerate. Email and cell phones and pagers and Blackberries contribute to the hectic pace and the expectation of an instant turnaround to every assignment. There is more and more information to process. We are certainly more productive - or at least we DO more - but I don't know if the end result is better.

So I'm using my Blackberry on the Metro, to check my calendar before I arrive in the morning, or to send one last email on the way home, instead of reading a chapter in my book club book, or purusing the Washington Post, or knitting. I feel hip and youthful and important. But did I just add another half hour to my already long work day, and take more time away from my leisure?

Emily's Worldview

2006-06-05T20:16:00.000-07:00

Emily's Worldview

Emily is back in Africa this summer. This time her trip has official sponsorship since it is a formal field work requirement for her graduate program. Her blog includes her posts from Africa.

2006-06-03T17:23:00.000-07:00

I turned 60 on May 4, 2006. For the previous six months I struggled with what it meant to me. I don't feel old, but I know I'm not young. I'm getting eager to retire from my job, but I still want to work at something and don't know what I want to be when I grow up.

The "goose-egg" birthdays - those that end in zero - are hard to wrap ones head around. How can I go from being a child of the sixties to being in my sixties? I firmly belive you can't ignore these symbolic milestones. I have to address them head-on. So I talked to people about my upcoming birthday, and my office threw a "surprise" party. (I found out and had to feign surprise.) I chose seven of my closest women friends and daughter Emily - representing various decades and different aspects of my life (family, church, neighbors, chorus, work, tennis, long term friends) to be my guests at a restaurant to celebrate. I told John I wanted an upgrade to my diamond and he obliged with the perfect ring.

But the week before the scheduled dinner I still wasn't feeling great about the occasion, when Abigail and I traveled to Iowa several days after my birthday to see a musical David produced and directed. David produced the words of wisdom that put it into perspective for me. He gave me a shout-out in the program that informed the attitude I needed to take. Tears welled up in my eyes as I read in the credits - To my mom - who embraced a new decade on May 4.

So here's to my sixties - a decade I can embrace!

Bittersweet

2005-12-28T19:41:00.000-08:00

I love Christmas. This time last year Emily was in Africa, but this year she is at home for two weeks (before flying off to New York and Boston to visit friends before returning to Atlanta.) David is home for his long winter break and his friend Emily will visit for a week. Abigail is still a "child at home" in the wonderfull comfortable words of the hymn paraphrase of the 23rd psalm (no more a stranger or a guest, but like a child at home) but I am painfully aware that we only have one more Christmas before she too will be coming home from college for Christmas.

I will have to find a way to reinvent the way we celebrate Christmas. But for now I am happy baking and getting ready for our traditional "cookies, carols and cider" party Friday night. With the new baby grand piano in the living room, and David home to sing and play, it will be special this year.

Depression

2005-11-08T15:20:00.000-08:00

I recently emerged from a period of depression. I was hating my job and beginning to count the days (years, actually) until I can retire. I was feeling overwhelmed and incompetent. Just like the last time I was depressed for an extended period, several years ago, the cloud lifted when I gave it a name. When I acknowledged that I was depressed, I realized that I wasn't thinking rationally. I am much more competent than I felt. I began to enjoy my job again, and to regain my energy. I didn't need medication, or even to change my exercize or diet, just to name the disease.

My mother and grandmother both suffered from depression - to the point of being hospitalized. So I am aware that I need to monitor myself - and someday I may need treatment. But for now, the black cloud is gone from over my head and I feel joy again.

I can remember one time when my mother fretted over the tree in the backyard and had it trimmed severely, and then worried endlessly that she had ruined it. I recognized in myself the same kind of obsessive, paranoid, self-critical thinking.

One thing that helps me is music. In the summer my chorus and church choir and bell choir don't meet. Next year I should find a summer singing group, or practice the piano, so that autumn doesn't find me down in the dumps.

My children need to know this is in their genes, along with the alcoholism in their paternal ancestry.

Emily's Worldview

2005-11-02T18:46:00.000-08:00

Emily's Worldview

This is the link to Emily's blog. I started mine so I could comment to hers. Now I'm beginning to think about what I want to say. In my profile I say that I am the mother of Emily and David and Abigail. They taught me how to be a mother and now they are teaching me how to live the rest of my life.

Being 59 is a lot like being 15. The issues are the same: Who am I? How can I make and keep friends? What do I want to be when I grow up/retire from my current job? How can I feel attractive in this changing body?

My children have grown into competent independent young adults. They inspire me to stay young and healthy, competent and independent.

Emily's Principles

2005-10-21T10:21:00.000-07:00

Emily's principles of living are simple and make sense. Why should it be so hard to follow them?

1) Show love towards the people around me.2) Avoid supporting sweatshops.3) Minimize my personal impact on the environment.4) Eat food that is natural.5) Live with what I need, and not with what capitalism tells me I should want.