1.30.15 The Beauty Before Him

        I would drive down the curving rutted dirt road, down the length of it, on summer days, through the forest and toward the pond, where I would find his log cabin, situated   in the woods just so, as I knew he planned so long ago, as he painstakingly designed and built it.

     I would get out of my car, and walk up to the shaded front porch, the Pine needles all about  for a lawn; the sounds of birds and wind through the Pines all one could want for music.

     "Around back" he'd call,  approaching vehicles easily detected.  I'd make my way around the small home beneath the canopy, to encounter such a view. Of Cranberry Pond far below, fresh and clean, gleaming in the thick afternoon heat, as wildlife quacked and called, splashed their landings and croaked their mating songs.

      There he would be, aged and wizened, a tall long man in his mid eighties, with checkered flannel shirt and well kept corduroys, a fine oval face with thoughtful pale grey eyes, that greeted me as he politely stood from his rocker on the back deck, and offered me a chair.

       We would sit, then.  Initially there is nothing to say, what with the stands of old Pine and Fir,  and the slender young trees further down the hill. 
       There would be a pitcher next to him with glasses, and he would pour for both of us, handing me the crisp cold drink.

     " I think most people have forgotten. Well water. How delicious it is. How  you never need anything else to drink." I said, joining him as he looked out over the beauty before us. The swish of the small breeze passing through the tops of the Pines far overhead. The scamper of some small creatures through the underbrush.

      Then, he'd turn to me and smile, saying "Oh, to hell and a hand basket, the world." And I'd laugh, and say "Socrates  wrote the same thing. Must be going on now for some time." He'd chuckle, sipping from his glass, now slick with condensation.

       Because then, I'd have to get down to it. The check in. The being a Case Manager from a Home Care Agency. That evaluated and offered a certain number of hours of help from Home Health Aides, back when the government had some wisdom about what was least costly and most wanted.

        But he knew... and he'd acquiesce, describing the progress of the Lung Cancer in his body. The changes to his abilities. The list; he could touch base with each pertinent factor for me,  and I'd write these down, until it was finished.

       I'd say " I'm sorry this is difficult. " , as we both looked out upon the  pond and the forest, living things moving and breathing and transforming.

       He'd told me before of his life. Of his wife, a beloved woman of laughter and song and jokes, affectionate and wise, who had gracefully filled his many days. Raised children with him. And while I listened to his stories during my monthly visits, I began to see who he was, this person five decades older than I. What his life had been for him. The years, the children, the move finally to this home he built, once the young ones were gone, and he could relish his time with her.

      This all pervading quiet and stillness that was as vital to him as breathing.  Knowing how blessed he was to be here, in this place, with his experiences, vibrant and rich, within him.

        And now, this illness. "All people become ill, you know." He reminded me, staving off  any expressions of empathy. And I understood. I understood that reining in my own sense of what this must be like was essential for him to manage his days. His present life.

        One month I arrived, and all was not well.

        It was winter now, the hill and ice challenging for many. The cabin warm and lit with low lamps and a crackling wood stove. The view out to the pond  enormous. Tracks of wildlife visible from wide back sliding glass door of the one room home. I could see  his tracks out to the deck and back;  snow brushed from the chairs .

        "They're moving in. Just called and told me their plans." He stated, looking straight at me. "There's nothing for it" he muttered, turning  away, taking refuge in the view out toward the sparkling iced pond far below.

         He'd signed over his home,  as his health  had declined ; he knew the time for a nursing home would come. But in signing it over , it seemed one daughter-in-law decided it truly was theirs. That it would be for the best,  taking care of him. And soon enough, visiting him at a facility. 
     They called to say they were  moving in with him.  Her husband was retiring.  The two of them had it all planned out.

        I felt like I'd been kicked in the gut. As if someone had snuck down to the rail yard in the deep night, and switched the tracks of his entire last chapter to a whole new destination, for the morning train to come upon, unawares.

         Without a word, he stood, pulling on his coat, so I grabbed mine, as he opened the sliding glass door and we walked out to the deck, each brushing newly fallen snow from the two chairs, cold and wet on our palms. We sat while still buttoning up, pressing hands into pockets then, on a cold cold  winter's day.

         "I'll be needing no more help; they'll arrive soon enough."

          I understood. With more income at the house, and people to help, there would be no need for Aides to come by and banter.  To greet him affectionately, discuss politics and deliver him tea outside, while they  sat with him for a quiet moment, sharing the treasure he had found here. Listening to his carefully told stories.

        " She'll be redecorating; they have an addition planned." 

        I sat beside him, willing my own grief to become smaller than his. To manage to stop time for just a bit, and have this small moment with him.

         I turned to him, knowing the necessary rules that afforded him respect . The privacy of all his own losses. I imagined the daughter-in-law coming and changing the stark loveliness of his home, of the things he and his wife had chosen to put on walls and have for furniture. The serenity of the place  now, with his mementoes and sustaining quiet life. I sat and I imagined and I turned myself about, just to be with him, in this.

     In his declining health and his evaporating place on earth . I prayed he could maintain his hold on all that filled him.

       He sat next to me, a mere glance that told  me his intention was the same. That held his  hello and goodbye; the  entirety of his grief,  and surrender.

      We sat for awhile longer, and drank in the freezing cold air. It began to drizzle lightly, the wet seeping down into our hair, coating my arms and his, whispering its secrets across the forest . Of  rain stippling over the waters;  of the poignant nature of peace.

1.24.15 One of the things Jane Goodall studies is Grooming Behaviors.

One of the things Jane Goodall studies is Grooming Behaviors.

 She says "When in the course of evolution hair is lost and there is nothing to groom, 
the need for another friendly form of contact arises.
But the origins of language are fascinating. 
I describe scenes to you, and you imagine them.
 We can share things about attitudes, people: things not present. 
We make plans five years in advance. While grooming you don't need language.
 Grooming , aside from important practicality, 
functions socially to reestablish relationships, laying foundations for new relationships, repairs difficult relationships. It is a calming activity. 
Young chimpanzees are also groomed."

1.25.15 Making Every Tree Come Alight

A sunset at the end of last week,
 before the snowstorm. 

I love how the golden sunlight
 flies across the land
 from the horizon,
 making every tree come alight.

1.29.15 I Like How Growing Older

I like how growing older enables us 

to appreciate the difference between 

getting over something, 

and learning to live with it.

1.25.15 "And she turned off the light and closed the door...."

"And she turned off the light
And closed the door .
That's all there is;
there isn't any more."



                                                               T 2.9.15

1.26.15 Everybody Has To Eat: The Adolescent Broadwing Hawk At The Birdfeeder

Early this morning, preparing to walk lovely old Shiva Louisa outside, 
I passed by my living room window, and there was  an adolescent Broadwing Hawk,
 hungry enough in their first pass at a winter to venture to my bird-feeders
 and nab themselves a Morning Dove. 

Happens a few times a winter, yet I'd never seen the hawk before.
 Lovely. The hawk. Oh well, the Morning Dove. 

Everybody has to eat.

1.27.15 One Small Part of a Whole Altogether

As the skies and the earth and the air danced and sang and transformed bit by bit, 
while the sun crested the range and spilled down upon the lands far below,
 as it has for thousands upon thousands of years. 
And I stood and saw myself on this small part of earth,
 like Le Petit Prince, one small part of a whole altogether.

1.28.15 A Winter Garden

     A winter garden is filled with plants allowed to go to seed, and left for the winter hunger of birds and creatures. 
     A winter garden is found bustling with Sparrows and Titmouse and Finches and Junco, often preferring Echinacea and Monarda seed heads to the feeder fare, as they twitter and leap up to capture a plant, pull it down to the snow with their weight, and feed on the seeds found there.
     A winter garden starts out rich with a banquet of nourishment, and by March, is picked clean;
just in time for all the Collards and Kale and Broccoli plants ,watered through fall, and left in the ground,
to come forth with the earliest and delectable yellow sprays of blossom ,  calling butterflies and other early winged things, with delight.
     When there are no other blossoms anywhere at all.
     This is how you wander out in early morning, or dusk , and come upon legions of ravenous happy winged beings, celebrating early spring .

1.29.15 Sometimes It Does

     The supervisor of home health aides added, on the phone, " And he grabs the girls, so watch out." Gave me a pause, as I left the Home Health Care I worked at, as a Caseworker, and headed off to the man's home.I was 33, several months pregnant, and learning this new job, after working in and managing residential programs for awhile.
     Turns out he rented the back end of a house, in Sunderland; I drove out back, got out of the car, and knocked on the worn door. A voice yelled out 'What do you want?", so I cracked the door open, and said "I'm from Home Care, here for a visit."
     "Oh, alright, alright, if you have to." I heard, and made my way into the dark apartment.
     There past the hallway was a small kitchen, the open gas oven heating the place. He was in his early eighties, with worn working-man's pants and shirt that hadn't seen a washer in awhile, the windows and floor and counters cluttered and dirty, HIs face scrabbled with whiskers that were neither beard nor shaven, but in that land in between.
     He took my measure, as he limped with a cane to a metal chair, pulled up to a Formica table, settled himself with a oomph of discomfort, and asked me what the hell we all wanted now, for Christ's sake.
     I stood in the doorway, looking all comfy and standoffish, a necessity for older people who have pride, and are caught in the truth of having seen better days. You just have to start out being matter of fact, so they can relax about the circumstances they find themselves in, as you stand there, in their home, figuring out what kind of help they could use.
     I made some small talk, asking what it was like to be retired, versus getting up early to milk cows and farm potatoes. He glared at me for a moment, then decided to take me at face value, and said "Oh, I miss it some. Being younger, being able to get around. Having things to do. Being able to keep up." He went on, about how it was, and what kinds of situations he dealt with, another important part of being older I was learning. Because the person in front of you, the young person, had idea the person you were; which was in fact a big part of the person you still were today. They didn't know and they couldn't see it and they hadn't known you, and there was a real danger that they would take one look and think that's all there was to your whole life, when in fact you had HAD a life, and muscles, and brute strength and responsibilities and a marriage and sex and beer on weekends with friends.
     When it all begins to change, which it does if you live long enough, and you're not surrounded by offspring with lots of time and money, well then it gets dicey. The ability to care for yourself, to cook and move about and shop and do your laundry. And it gets all tangled up, with hiding how you are living, and scaring people away so that in that moment, when they see your toenails or your sheet or your toilet, you won't see the truth of things too.
     So to support older people, you have to be real casual, and act like you don't notice things, while you squirrel your way carefully into their lives. And you can't be all thin skinned, because they're scared to death about seeing for themselves where things have got to. Nope, you have to just focus ahead of you, same as counseling teenagers, the both of you safely looking ahead and not at each other, and only then, can they feel safe and respected and in control. And in those moments that follow are the opportunities to support them.
     We kind of got a little banter going on, and I edged over to the table, put down my folder, pulled out a chair, picked up the miscellaneous pile of items and moved them to a chair in the tiny living room, and distracted him by talking, while I sat. Once I sat, I was in, of course.
     I changed topics, and said "You know, I see how hard it is to keep up, visiting people all day long. I hear how hard it is, and how the aides cook wrong and shop wrong and clean wrong, and how lousy it is to have them around." He looked at me warily, and then agreed. "Those girls are a pain. They snoop and look down on me and buy the wrong things and can't cook like my wife did. What's wrong with them?"
     I commiserated, and then I leaned in, and said "You know, you worked all your life, and you need help now. You need to just get that they're going to do things all wrong, that your wife isn't here anymore. I really need you to do this. I want things to be as ok for you as they can be. I know it's lonely and it's a pisser, to not be able to take care of yourself. But you need to learn to not be a big crab. So these aides can begin to catch up. You need someone to help you catch up. You do. I'll even make you a bet, that you act all cross on the phone, so your kids think you're a jerk, and don't come find out how bad off things are. " He looked pretty angry there, for a moment, and then just sad, as he looked down at his hands. "Yeah, I guess I do that. "
     "So, listen to me, can you give this a try?" I asked, staring at him so he had to look up. "You know, no one but you, and me, and maybe your kids, will have any idea who you have been your whole life. But there you are. We know. And you deserve better than this. You do."
     He looked away then, which I expected, because this was just plain hard. Hitting it right on point.
     "Oh, alright. Just because you're so bossy. And nosy." He replied, and I sat back, and agreed I was such a pain it was ridiculous.
     "Okay," I said. " So, I'm going to put in an order for an aide again. And I'm going to show up just before they get here later on this week. And I want you to remember the good man you have always been, even though things have gotten away from you here. I'm going to sit here with you and remind you of all that, and when that young woman comes in, let's not be embarrassed or feel bad or be mean. I'm going to tell her that you're all frustrated by not being able to catch up, and real glad she's here, to slowly catch up, week after week. We're going to sit at this table, and you're going to make her welcome. We're going to talk about how lousy it is to grow older and how things get out of hand, and how much you will appreciate her help. Then, I'm going to tell her that you know you've grabbed some women who came to work here, and you realize you need to be a gentleman and give the Aides some room and some respect, so they can do their job and feel as comfortable as you would have wanted your young wife to have felt, if she did this for work. That sound right?"
     And he ran his hand over his bristles, said "Alright. Alright."
"Hey, that's good." I smiled at him. "Because I want to help you turn things around. Life still isn't easy. We know that. But we can make it better. And hey, maybe things will get cleaned up, and you can give your kids a call sometime, have the aide make up a soup and some biscuits, and ask them over for lunch. I think they'd like that."
     "Let's not get all carried away here, woman" He crabbed to me, but his eyes held a faint note of possibility. I saw it there.
I arranged a new aide, an older woman who took no crap. I spoke to her, filling her in on the strategy, and she liked it, me paving the way. I arrived about 10 minutes before she did, and sat myself down, making room for her at the table too. Began talking him up, while I asked if it was ok if I just wiped the table a bit real quick, and he told me a story about he and his wife years ago. I saw that he had some cleaner clothes on, and had put his dirty clothes piled up in a hamper, tried to straighten his bed, that still needed washing, as we heard a knock on the door, and I went to answer it.
     I invited her in, introduced them, and we sat, going over the same stuff I'd said to him earlier in the week. I told her the story he was telling me when she arrived, and he broke in and finished it, while we all smiled at what he held dear. I mentioned that it would take awhile, with visits twice a week, to get things up to speed, but that he realized he couldn't keep up, and that after a lifetime of hard work, he was ready for someone to come in and do things all differently, and see if he could get used to that.
     It kind of set things up, parameters, for everyone, then. I wasn't really allowed to go by so often, but I just realized that in the long run, clients would settle and come to accept an Aide coming on in to their house and doing things all differently, if I started things off on the right foot.

      So in the beginnings, when someone's life and home had really gotten out of hand, I intervened and had the satisfaction of getting things settled down.
     Sure enough, the next month I went by, and things had gone smoothly. Floors were clean, clothing was clean, he was being respectful and the Aides were willing to help him shave, and set him up for showers.
     The month after, I went by while the Visiting Nurses came to visit, gave him a quick once over, and I distracted him while they quietly clipped his nightmarish nails. SO many older people end up with nightmarish toenails, and then all they can do is keep hiding them. But we got that squared away, I got them connected up with the life he had and what his wife had been like and how well he farmed, until there was some respect in the room and some ease in his demeanor, and he kept up with the monthly visits for his nails.
     The next month, I bugged him about the meal and the kids. And he laughed at me, telling me what all of a bully I was, but with pleasure in his smile. The Aide was there, so we talked over what kind of meal could be made ahead of time (and afforded) and they planned it out, so that when he called his kids, he could talk to the Aide about the timing.
     Lo and behold, the following month I went by, the meal had taken place, with a few phone calls I made to his kids, updating them and setting them at ease. Whatever was between them all, his shaven face and clean clothes and clean home and chicken and biscuits somehow did it enough, and he began having them by each month.

     A few times, when they called to bring him out to lunch, he actually (with prompting from me) accepted, the Aide having gone and bought with his tiny money new pants and shirt and shoes and jacket, for "going to meeting' as he called it.
     It was still a small dark tiny place he lived, he still wiggled the coat hanger on top of the old tv, the radio crackled, and the bed sagged. His wife and friends were gone, and he couldn't get around much. But he was friendly to the Aides, so had a chance to have that be a sort of visit, together with meals on wheels that he began to accept without scaring the delivery volunteers.

      They even began bringing him hunting magazines from the library, and a few other things, and then picking them up and replacing them with new ones the librarian had put aside for him, all a big conspiracy.
     Sometimes when we are in need, and life is tough, it doesn't work, what people offer us. And sometimes, it does.