Category: Friends and Family

Mary Ann

I bet you thought that I would be writing about meeting George and Amal Clooney at a market in Provence, France.  I wish.  However, this blog is about another George and Amal Clooney who live in my neighborhood – a pair of red foxes.

Last December we started seeing two beautiful red foxes in our backyards.  They were courting, and the male was wooing his pretty redheaded vixen.  Hopefully, a family would result from all this romancing.  We hoped too that they would set up housekeeping in a den nearby. During this time, everyone on my lane called each other when we had a fox sighting.  Everything stopped to watch them chase each other.  

We decided to call the pair George and Amal Clooney.  George was the voice of Mr. Fox in the animated film The Fantastic Mr. Fox.  The foxes were equally as handsome as the original Clooneys.  They were the stars of our neighborhood!  Then suddenly they disappeared.  We missed them so much.  They brough such joy to all our lives. 

Time passed, and George and Amal showed up on the other side of our townhouse complex.  They settled behind a set of townhouses in a lovely, wooded area with a little stream running through it – a wonderful place to raise their kits. George and Amal then had their babies and the other half of the complex got to see them grow up.  I did not. I was and am GREEN!!!  The neighbors still call one another with each fox sighting.  The Clooneys have enchanted everyone and united the whole neighborhood in a unique way. 

However, I had my National Geographic moment. I was driving past the pond on a rainy day, and I spotted Amal hunting along the edge of the water.  As a mother, she now had several mouths to feed, and as the kits grew so did their appetites.  Amal was intensely searching for a mouse. Then, she leaped into the air in an arc that is a common fox hunting technique. She missed the mouse. At that moment, I lowered my car window to take a picture, and it made an eeeeeeeeee sound which caught her attention.  She looked right at me. and our eyes locked. This went on for like 30 seconds. We were looking into each other’s souls. Then she started to walk towards me.  OMG, was she going to yell at me for the eeeeeeeee sound and ruining her mouse hunt?  Meanwhile, I am fumbling around trying to find my phone in my purse and turn it on to get a photo.  Amal was still moving towards me then she turned and went over the bridge running in front of the car into the woods.  I finally found the phone and did get a shot of Amal running by me before she ducked into the woods. I shall never forget this encounters, a truly priceless moment for me.

The foxes have united our community in such a fun way.  With a world full of turmoil and negativity, George and Amal have brightened so many lives, and now there is another generation to carry it on.  I am still GREEN! 

Note – If you notice, Amal’s tail has no fur on it.  She probably has mange.  I have been in touch with our local wildlife center to figure out how to help her. They suggested we could trap her in the fall after her babies are grown and treat her.  The kits need her now.  However, her kits and probably George will get mange from her.  His tail is very bushy.  Apparently, a healthy animal can recover from mange, but if you read about it online, there is not much hope and so much suffering for the animal.  The history of mange is heartbreaking and why wild animals have it.  You can research all of this on the Internet if interested. 

To avoid insulting any of our readers, I submit my disclaimer at the top. No one is drunk! So, how did this all come about?

For years my sister had told me how fun Bunco has been for her.  I had no clue what Bunco was other than some kind of card game.  I have never been great at card games. A couple of times I tried my hand at Bridge but found that players were quite serious. Game is a play or sport, which to me signals fun. Taking a game seriously wasn’t my cup of tea, so to speak.

A friend of mine invited me to join a group of women who thought they may enjoy a monthly game of Bunco.  I attended the organizational meeting to learn about the game and to visit with other women while eating luscious food with a glass of wine.

At the meeting guidelines for participation were set. We were to meet once a month, rotating hostesses. We would serve wine and hors d’oeuvres and limit the ante to $10. Each of us left believing we had a game plan (excuse the pun) and looking forward to the next month’s gathering.

The following month we met once again to play Bunco. Appetizers and wine were served as we awaited the arrival of someone who actually knew how to play Bunco. That person never arrived. So we ate, had a glass or two of wine, and visited happily. We would learn how to play the next month.

The third get-together arrived and … you guessed it! No one knew how to play Bunco. We decided our best option was simply to get together once a month to chat, eat, and have a glass of wine. One of the girls laughingly said, “Well, here we are. The Drunko Bunco ladies.”  We all had a good laugh. When the invitation went out to gather the next month, the email subject line said: Drunko Bunco. So here we are, several years later, meeting regularly for dinner and a glass of wine and not playing cards.

One of my acquaintances recently had shoulder replacement surgery. I was among several friends who gladly provided meals for her and her husband. I knew how helpful a few prepared, home-cooked meals would be.

I was reminded of the time several years ago when I had a bone removed from my wrist and a plate installed to keep my hand from flopping around.  The visual is comical; the surgery was not.

When I am not feeling well, I just want to sleep – uninterrupted.  So I told my friends I did not need anything from them. Even my mother came to stay. I asked her not to keep coming into my room to “check on me.” It was disconcerting trying to sleep, knowing someone was watching every few minutes. (Several years later, my mother still complains that I didn’t want her help. I had hurt her feelings, unintentionally.)

A couple of weeks into recovery my arm was still puffed up like a balloon and I was in major pain. I did not want to take pain pills that make one’s mind do weird things while I was alone. My cousin came with food she had picked up from Whole Foods. Several different and yummy dishes.  She opened the containers and lightly put the lids over the top, as I had no use of my hand. She saved me!  From that moment on, I realized how important it is to let people help me.

I like helping others. When they don’t accept my help, it takes away my joy. With that in mind, I learned when people offer to help it is because they want to help; not because they feel obligated. Being a gracious recipient is harder for many women than being a gracious provider. We need to remember to accept help as readily as we offer to give.

Do you remember at the end of the eighties, in fact 1987, when Rosamond Pritchard’s Shell Seeker became an international best seller?  Pritchard is a wonderful storyteller and at the time she had a huge following. Her stories captured family dynamics, warts and all, in a magical and engaging way.  

I really don’t remember the plot, but there is a line in the book that has stayed with me for all these years.  It was “The best gift parents could give their children was their independence.” I hope I got that right.  I was a parent at the time, yet I don’t think I really understood the power of those words.  As my parents aged, I began to appreciate what Pritchard was saying.  My parents gave my brother and me a precious gift in staying independent as long as they could take care of themselves and when they couldn’t, they had saved money for long-term care in their home.  This allowed us the freedom to have our own lives.  So many people today are caring for elderly family members, and their lives are not their own.  They care with love and dedication.  God Bless them.  However, their lives revolve around another person. It is wearing on everyone.

Now that I am older, I am tying very hard to follow my parents’ example.  I want to give this gift of my independence to my own children so they can have their own lives.  I have tried to put away as much money as I can, live as healthy as I can, and prepare my home for mature living while I can.  As people live longer, the care of the elderly will have to be addressed as a society. Only 7% of older people have long-term care policies. Those policies are expensive and limiting.  Unless you are rich, this is going to be a challenge for most people with their parents.  

This is the time to think about all of this for yourself.  Let Rosamond Pritchard’s words ring true and guide you to make some important decisions about your and your children’s future.

Note: Ms. Pritchard’s books have been reissued so you still get them on Amazon.  There are some Shell Seeker movies on Netflix as well.  I intend to reread the Shell Seekers whose words helped shape my world. 

Mary Ann

Fourth of July. Independence Day. Whatever you call it, today is a day to celebrate America.  Although the forefathers declared independence on July 2^nd, the Declaration of Independence was signed on July 4, 1776.  Or so the story goes.

For Americans, the national holiday occurs as the temperatures are warming  … or should I say, heating up. The day is filled with parades, cookouts, and fireworks viewed with family and friends.   Children drip popsicles on their sneakers and dads smear barbeque sauce on sizzling meats.

It is a day to honor our country with its official colors – Red, White, and Blue.

“The Star Spangled Banner”, “Proud to be an American”, “Stars and Stripes Forever”, and countless other patriotic songs fill the air. People are friendlier as if celebrating Christmas in July.

For me, it is a day … or a week … to remember my sweet brother who was a proud American. Having served in the Army when the military still had a draft, my brother was always patriotic. Maybe it was fitting that he was passing during last year’s celebration. At 74 his body finally gave out the morning after.

I remember just days before hospice brought a hospital bed for his last days on earth, how important it was to him to ensure a fresh, untattered flag was flying in front of his home. As he struggled to changed out flags and attach the new one to the pole, I ran to the garage in an effort to find better string. I found fishing wire, which worked perfectly.  Once secured, he put the flag pole over his shoulder, stepped up to his walker, and shuffled across the long porch. He struggled to maneuver down three steps making his way to the driveway and the location of the bracket.

He wanted to hang the flag himself. When it didn’t sit quite right, I asked if I could help him lift the pole to the next level of the bracket.  Seated properly, he stared reverently at Old Glory – the Red and White stripes and the White stars on the blue background waving in the breeze, a nod to his love for his Country. Then he turned and made his way back up the steps, across the porch, and into the house, where he immediately sat down and repositioned the oxygen feed to his face. The struggle was real.

At that time, and now – a year later, I am reminded how freedom is not free. Hundreds of thousands of men and women have made the ultimate mental and physical sacrifices for us to be able to celebrate this day. My wish for today is that each person who lives on American soil will take at least a brief moment to reflect. Sure, America has challenges. Yet, we are still lucky to live in this country. To enjoy freedom and independence. Yes, I am proud to be an American. Happy 4^th!

Cynthia

Cynthia

An imperative to providing the right level of care for one’s loved one – mom, in this case – is to understand where she is and what drives her. At times I want to blurt “it’s not always about you,” but in reality, it is. It is always about the person for whom you are caring.

My mother has always been a narcissistic extrovert. She loves being the center of attention wherever she goes. And she always wants to go.  Yet as her ailment progresses, she finds it more and more difficult to do and to enjoy the things she loves.

We were invited to my aunt’s home for lunch. Prior to leaving I had a webinar. I ensured mom was completely dressed and ready to go, except for putting on shoes. We wait until the last minute to put on shoes as her feet swell. I reminded her to keep her feet up in her recliner and I would help her put on her shoes just prior to leaving.

After the webinar I went to help her. She was completely worn out … from attempting to put on socks and her shoes. Finally, she got her shoes on without socks. She was so tired she wasn’t certain she would make it to the car. Still, she wanted to go. So we went.

We had a lovely lunch at my aunt’s. I signaled to my aunt that I needed to take mom home, but my aunt had made a beautiful coconut cream pie and insisted we have dessert before we leave.  Mom graciously ate the dessert. Then we hurried off, expressing our apologies.

Once home, mom immediately plopped into her chair, barely able to move. She caught her breath and said, “I just get too tired.  I want to go, but it makes me exhausted.” After helping her into bed, I pondered, “how could I have made this easier for her?”

The answer. I cannot. The best I can do is allow her to operate at her own pace.

Cynthia

A few months ago my brother, my soulmate, passed away.  I was devastated. I could not imagine life without my big brother, to whom I looked up. Over the months before his passing I took my turn at caring for him to give his wife a break. He became frustrated and agitated at the loss of his independence. The days and nights ran together for him, his wife and for me. At the same time I was caring for my mother who also was a hospice patient and my granddaughter who had multiple issues and eventually surgery the week before my brother passed.  During this time sleep evaded me. My energy dropped. Yet, as we women often do, I pressed on.

Throughout the months of caregiving and the days after he passed, friends checked in to see how I was coping. Often just a quick phone call or a short text of “thinking of you” with a heart emoji was just what I needed to know my heart was enfolded in their love.

My brother was very spiritual and patriotic, but not religious. In planning for my brother’s Celebration of Life my nieces, sister, sister-in-love, and I decided to serve foods he enjoyed. Because I frequently made pies for him, I volunteered to make 200 mini blueberry pies for the “party.”

Friends and family gathered one Saturday morning to help. How comforting to be surrounded by friends and family during this time of intense grief. I had an opportunity to share some memories of my dear brother.

Having always valued my friendships, I have an even greater appreciation for the “little things” one can do to support a friend in grief. A card, a note, a smile, an ear. Never think your small expression of caring goes unnoticed.  It means the world, even if the recipient cannot respond at the time.