Author: Beverly

The beauty of a life lived

Beverly Changethelens, Friends, Life, Senior health, Work

Throughout our lives, we are taught to fight age, to do whatever we can to rage against the years. I’ve always thought that there is something beautiful about a life lived; it is our story, our own evolution.

Although there was a time when my reflection felt like my enemy, these days I look in the mirror and smile at the passage of time. Yes, I look different, but why does different have to be bad? I’m evolving, growing, ever becoming. My face is changing; my youthful freckles are fading and being replaced by more and more fine lines. My skin continues to loosen; my hair is thinning and has a completely different texture than it used to. My stomach shrinks and expands and shrinks and expands as the years go by (I’ve learned so many lessons about myself through that).

Society tells us that we don’t look as “good” when we’re older, but it seems I didn’t appreciate how I looked when I was younger, either, so I comfort myself with the possibility that it’ll be the same as now (someday I will look at pictures of me now and marvel at how cute I was).

Another harmful thing we learn about aging is that life gets easier. I promise you, that is not true. If anything, it gets harder over time. But that teaches grit and perseverance. I have known hundreds of seniors in my life and work, and they are the strongest, most resilient people I know. That doesn’t happen in a month, or a year, or a decade.

To age is to get stronger – no, not physically, but we become stronger inside, we become ourselves. A well-lived life will see you bottoming out, over and over (and over), only to rise again to see another day. The trick, I think, is to make life worth it.

I believe aging is a gift, and our faces and bodies are just wrapping paper. Inside, in our souls, is a treasure that is steadily increasing in value. (Will I still feel this way in 40 or 50 years? I’ll have to let you know. 😊)

There’s a skunk in my backyard

Beverly Changethelens, Home, Kids, Life

If you read the title, you will probably understand that I no longer have a backyard. It is now the skunk’s.

Other than a very close call a few years ago, sitting quietly with a friend late one night when a skunk wandered a little too close for comfort, I’ve never had any experience with these creatures. And, quite frankly, none is enough experience for me.

But then this stinker started coming around, and I started staying in. Will he never leave?

Curious, I began experimenting. One day I tested his response when I knocked on the window – tail up, head down, I’m not sure he hears very well. Another time I banged on the door frame – minimal reaction, maybe because of the vibration. I opened the door and let it slam closed – he’s really not too concerned or threatened. Well, he does have some heavy artillery behind him. A few times Luc gently chased him out of the yard but it doesn’t matter what we do, the little fella keeps coming back.

Today I just observed and chuckled as I realized it was like a reverse zoo. The yard is becoming a little overgrown now, the grass a rich green without daily baseball practice and obstacle courses and tree climbing. There are birds and bunnies, chipmunks and squirrels, dandelion and a big patch of forget-me-nots in the distance.

I’m starting to respect that skunk. He’s more beautiful than I expected, a slight little thing that works with purpose and vigour, markings of white behind his head and on the tip of his tail but not down the back as I expected. His nose is narrow and he uses it like a tool as he digs out fresh grubs, maybe to bring back to his kids. He’s not aggressive and, whether or not I’m using the correct pronouns, he’s definitely no Pepe le Pew.

Anyway, it’s hot outside and cool in my comfy leather chair, and I have my own little nature aquarium to keep me entertained. I’ll just use the front yard, little fella. It’s all good.

Pandemic wisdom

Beverly Changethelens, Life

A friend and I were talking about this crazy pandemic and he said he received some good advice from a co-worker: “You just have to take things in stride, man.” It made sense, he said, this guy is older, he knows things, he’s lived. Turns out the wise guy is the same age as me.

Am I wise? I guess in many ways I am. I’ve worked for big business and small business and everything in between; I’ve been the boss and the newby; I’ve been held in high esteem and I’ve been bullied. I’ve been a workaholic, I’ve been out of work, I’ve been on salary, and done piece work. I have lived on both coasts of Canada and finally found my home in the middle. I’ve had a few big romances, and was alone longer than all of them put together. I have held the hands of people as they passed out of this world, and I have lost many whom I cared for. I’ve had a gazillion dreams dashed, and a couple of really important dreams that came true. I have not been thin (there’s still time!) but I have lost and gained and lost and kept weight off for years, and now (thanks to the ‘COVID 15’!) I’m gaining again.

So, yeah, I’ve lived. Maybe now I can claim to be a little wise. And here’s what I have to say about ‘You just have to take it in stride’: it’s almost right, but it would help if you lose the word “just.”

You have to take things in stride, but that means your own stride. You don’t have to believe what I believe, you have to believe what you believe, be who you are, and get through this in your own way. If you tend to get anxious, let yourself be anxious and work your way through it. If you tend to be depressed, find someone to talk to, or stay in bed and cry and get back up when you’re ready. If you tend to tell jokes, find someone to tell them to, even if it’s strangers in cyberland. If you need to vent your energy, get up, move, go for a run, or a walk. Whatever you’re feeling, let it out and it won’t seem nearly as bad.

This wise old gal would also advise you to be kind. And, again, be kind in your own way, whether that means checking in on a friend or volunteering to help a stranger, if it means hugging your child, or simply keeping a harsh comment to yourself. Being kind to others is like sunshine and vitamins and winning the lottery… it makes you feel really good. Try it. And don’t be afraid to get addicted.

The most important thing to remember, I think, is that this is a point in time. Although it kind of feels like it these days, this crisis won’t last forever. It might seem that the world is crashing down on you, but never forget that the world revolves, and you will eventually be on top again. Hang on.

Can we talk? It’s important

Beverly Community, Relationships, Senior health

As our population ages, the potential for the mistreatment of older adults is becoming a growing concern. Working with the Prevention of Senior Abuse Network of Simcoe County and Elder Abuse Ontario, I have been committed to spreading the word about elder abuse for several years and I’ve noticed two things that have me worried: 1. in many cases the victims don’t recognize the wrong doing, and 2. no one wants to talk about it.

This year the National Initiative for the Care of the Elderly (NICE) was awarded a New Horizons Grant which they will be using to host workshops and presentations about elder abuse throughout the province. The people from NICE have asked local CARP chapters to assist with this quest and we need your input. Please join us at our September members meeting to talk about what is being done and how we can do better.

CARP Barrie & Surrounding Area Member Meeting

Tuesday, September 17, 2019 at 6:30pm (doors open 6pm)

Sheba Shrine Hall, 142 John Street, Barrie

Mrs. E

Beverly Life, Relationships, Senior health, Work

During our fire drill/evacuation at work yesterday, I finally had the opportunity to spend some quality time with Mrs. E. She calls me the ghost, because she heard so much about me before she came but all but vanished once she arrived (one of the greatest challenges of my job).

At our retirement residence, I am the one you speak with if you are considering retirement living for yourself or a loved one. My role is to be a resource as you begin your search, show you around our residence and introduce you to the lifestyle, and ultimately guide you through the move in process. While one of the challenges of my job is pulling away once that role is fulfilled, it is beyond worth it to me, because I get to meet and help the most amazing people.

Mrs. E is an amazing people. Her niece and great-niece came to me in a near panic many months ago. Their beloved Auntie and Uncle lived nearly five hours away and they recently found out that Uncle has terminal cancer. He was declining quickly and would be leaving behind his wife, a fiercely independent lady who is 82 years old, and blind. Uncle had been Auntie’s primary caregiver for nearly her whole life and he was about to die. They didn’t know what to do, and they didn’t know how much time they had to figure it all out.

Mrs. E and her husband were married for about six decades; they didn’t have children of their own but doted on their sibling’s kids on both sides of the family. They worked together as antiques dealers in a small Ontario town; retired in their late 70s and their home was stuffed to the rafters with amazing antiques they’d discovered together. Eventually we learned that Uncle knew he was dying for a while but kept it a secret from everyone. He wanted to protect his beautiful wife, but finally had to speak up because a plan needed to be put in place for his wife, caregiver to the end.

Now, every time I write the word “caregiver” I wonder how much disdain that would cause Mrs. E. As I said, she is a fiercely independent lady, strong and healthy in spite of her years, but also capable and wise because of her years. She does not need a “caregiver.” In the end even she had to admit, however, she couldn’t live alone.

Retirement living was the perfect solution – a place Mrs. E could be independent but not isolated, close to her family but where she could have her own space and do her own thing, with help close at hand if she needed it. I proposed a suite that was laid out in a long, narrow pattern that I hoped would assist Mrs. E in feeling her way around her new home. This suite also had the benefit of a kitchenette so she could make herself snacks, and a patio so she could sit outside when the weather was just right. The crowning glory of this location was that it was directly across from the communal laundry room, she could continue to do her own laundry!

I quickly developed a deep respect and admiration for Mrs. E; I cared about her long before I met her. I was fascinated by the story of her life – born with vision that started to fail at a young age and gradually declined throughout her formative years, who found love and companionship with a good man, eventually becoming a business woman with a profound love for her work. Now, at this late stage of her life, she just found out that she was going to be all alone in the world within weeks. Can you imagine the range of emotions that must have put her through? Anger, sadness, fear; complete and utter heartbreak. It still makes my chest feel heavy to think about all these months later.

Do you know what lightens my chest, though? The conversation we had yesterday. Mrs. E telling me that she is okay. The house was finally sold and it is time to sign the papers soon. They had four estate sales to sell off her antiques. She is used to her surroundings now and has developed a new routine. She likes the people here; it is good to get to know new people again, and mealtimes were always interesting as they discussed their stories and day to day lives. Mrs. E told me she appreciates the assistance she’s gotten over the past several months but she is doing nearly everything independently again now, and while she will always mourn the loss of her dear husband, she is still alive and intent on living every day of her life.

Happy birthday, Grandma

Beverly Changethelens, Family, Life, Pics, Relationships, Work

January 2nd is always special to me; my dad’s mother was born on this day in 1896 and, although she’s been gone for nearly 26 years, she is still a part of my world every day.

Grandma was 75 when I was born and through her I grew up knowing that age is simply a number; that grey hair, wrinkles and hearing aids do not change who a person is inside. That understanding helped mould me into the person I am today and probably put me on the path to a career I absolutely love and cherish. I will always be thankful for the time I had her in my life.

When I was 17, Grandma came to visit for my sister’s wedding and I asked her if she would return for my wedding someday. She laughed and told me, no, she expected she’d be “pushing up daisies” by then. (In retrospect, it’s probably a good thing she didn’t wait around. Lol)

The other day my wonderful boyfriend brought me a colourful bouquet of my favourite flower… daisies. I think Grandma pushed them up just for me.

Thunder and lightening and love 

Beverly Family, Home, Life, Relationships

When I was a little girl, thunder and lightning storms were a big event for me. I lived in a small town that was built on a hill, and our house was perched at the top of the hill; we had an unobstructed view of a beautiful valley and never ending landscape of evergreen trees and open fields.

During thunder and lightning storms my dad would open our garage doors and set up a couple of lawn chairs. We would sit quietly, just me and him, and watch the tremendous show of nature’s vengeance and balance, bright flashes of light… count one… two… three… four… fi- then crashes of thunder echoing throughout Fox Valley.

I knew I should have been scared but I felt safe with my protector next to me, and free to let the excitement and adrenaline course through my body. Every now and then an especially loud BOOM would sound or bright flash would light up the sky and my dad would get this sparkle in his eyes. We’d look at each other, eyebrows raised, and smile in amazement before turning back to the show.

Nearly 40 years have passed and every time it storms I still feel the love, the connection. I feel safe and free and full of wonder.

Tonight I am sitting on a swing on the porch of a house I love as dearly as the house I grew up in. And every BOOM brings him back to me.

Not so wonderful granddaughter

Beverly Family, Life, Relationships, Senior health, Work

I love my grandmother. She is a strong woman who has been through a lot in her nearly-90 years. She takes it all in stride without complaint or excuse. She is no saint but, in this day and age, she’s about as close as one can get. But I have a confession to make (and it horrifies me to mention this publicly) – I didn’t call her during Christmas. For the very first time in my 44 years, I didn’t speak with my mother’s mother to wish her a happy season and tell her that I love her.

Yes, I was busy. Yes, I sent a gift. Yes, she had other relatives around her, but there is no valid excuse. I felt guilty about it from the get-go but I kept putting it off, putting it off. Yesterday I learned that my siblings also didn’t contact her and my heart broke in two.

I called her this morning and she was delighted. No attitude, no words of reproach, no judgement, she was just happy to hear from me. Which made me feel better, but kinda made me feel worse.

I’m telling you this for one reason: I get it. I’m no different than you, I get lost in my life and assume that the elderly person I love will be fine without me. But I work with seniors and see it every single day… the loneliness, the feeling of insignificance. I should know better.

This a large part of why I believe in the retirement lifestyle so strongly. Yes, it’s important to keep in touch with your grandmother, but it is also comforting to know that when you can’t, when life pulls you in all directions and best intentions get pushed aside, you can trust that she always has someone to talk to, to smile and ask about her day. There is someone to make sure she eats healthy and often; there is someone to make sure she isn’t hurting or taken advantage of; there is someone to pick her up when she falls. It’s not as good as a call from her grandchildren but it’s the next best thing.

Now, go call your grandmother. Tell her I said hi.

Heavens to Murgatroyd!

Beverly Funny, Life, Work

{This was emailed to me by an old friend… definitely worth sharing!}

Heavens to Murgatroyd! Lost Words from our childhood: Words gone as fast as the buggy whip! – by  Richard Lederer

About a month ago, I illuminated some old expressions that have become obsolete because of  the inexorable march of technology.  These phrases included “Don’t touch that dial,” “Carbon copy,” “You sound like a broken record” and  “Hung out to dry.”

Back in the olden days we had a lot of moxie.  We’d put on our best bib and tucker to straighten up and fly right –  Heavens to Betsy! Gee whillikers!  Jumping Jehoshaphat! Holy moley!  We were in like Flynn and living the life of Riley and even a regular guy couldn’t accuse us of being a knucklehead, a nincompoop or a pill. Not for all the tea in China!

Back in the olden days, life used to be swell but when’s the last time anything was swell?  Swell has gone the way of beehives, pageboys and the D.A, of spats, knickers, fedoras, poodle skirts, saddle shoes and pedal pushers.  Oh, my aching back.  Kilroy was here but he isn’t anymore.

We wake up from what surely has been just a short nap and before we can say, Well I’ll be a monkey’s uncle, this is a fine kettle of  fish! we discover that the words we grew up with, the words that seemed omnipresent as oxygen, have vanished with scarcely a notice from our tongues and our pens and our keyboards.

Poof, go the words of our youth, the words we’ve left behind.  We blink and they’re gone.  Where have all those phrases gone? Long gone:  Pshaw! The milkman did it! Hey, it’s your nickel. Don’t forget to pull the chain, knee high to a grasshopper.  Well, Fiddlesticks! Going like sixty.  I’ll see you in the funny papers.  Don’t take any wooden nickels. Heavens to Murgatroyd!

It turns out there are more of these lost words and expressions than Carter has liver  pills.  This can be disturbing stuff!  We of a certain age have been blessed to live in changeful times.  For a child each new word is like a shiny toy, a toy that has no age.  We at the other end of the chronological arc have the advantage of remembering there are words that once did not exist and there were words that once strutted their hour upon the earthly stage and now are heard no more, except in our collective memory. 

It’s one of the greatest advantages of aging.

See ya later, alligator!