Yours ’til the kitchen sinks

Beverly Changethelens, Friends, Life, Relationships

A personal positive I have found with this pandemic tailspin is the extra time allowed me to renew my love of reading. I can’t remember a time that I haven’t had a book or three in the works, but this past couple of decades of personal growth has seen mostly non-fiction and text books. There was no time to read for pleasure – I was busy becoming!

I was a real reader when I was a kid. I recall often sitting in a corner of the school library, trying to find something I hadn’t already read. True to form, I usually brought Nancy Drew home but I secretly checked to see what the Hardy Boys were getting up to first. Judy Blume? Was my hero. Then Sweet Valley High to Harlequin to Danielle Steele and beyond as I advanced into my teens.

Romantic love stories became my jam. Everything became about love – it was all I saw. I read so many stories. And I loved loving people so I knew romantic love was going to be A.Mazing! And I wanted it. Oddly enough, Judy Blume’s characters grew up, too, and her stories were so relatable – Forever is one of the few novels that remains on my bookshelf. “I do love you. For now. But I could never say forever.” And I never have. (Because, you know, Wifey!)

My fiction picks evolved as I matured and I got into more mysterious stuff like John Saul and Stephen King. That was when I began going without sleep to finish a book. There was no glory greater than the book I couldn’t put down. In retrospect, I think The Celestine Prophecy significantly altered my life’s course. It was the first time I recall understanding that the concept of the self-fulfilling prophecy, which I had been warned against my whole life, could be used for good. Kind of like “be careful what you wish for because you might get it”… I was, like, okay! I’ll be careful, promise! As I packed my car and headed out west.

The need to read slowed considerably in my late 20s. Love and life were a lot different than I had expected, romance gave way to seven habits and reading became about learning. And I had questions, let me tell you. Why wasn’t I perfect at all times? What was I doing wrong? How could I do better? How could I be better? Surely I would be perfect eventually.

I read about how to make friends and influence people, I read about mars and venus, and I even read a surprising number of books written for dummies. I wasn’t offended. All of these books have value and helped me become the person I am today – tremendously imperfect and I like me just fine! – yet that prophecy I was trying to fulfill took me away from fiction for longer than I realized.

But what I’ve learned during this terrible time of isolation is that a good story can be really good company. Right now I’m reading The Hate You Give and it is so well written that the words on the page make me feel like this woman is sitting across from me and telling a riveting story of the time she witnessed one of her best friends being killed by a cop, and what it felt like to live in her shade of skin through the things that happened after. Very timely. Very enlightening. Very engrossing.

Anyway, while replying to an invitation to a nice, socially distanced B.Y.O.Lunch party my very dear friend is hosting next week, I was signing off and wanting to express my excitement in seeing them and was reminded of a story I read as a kid where pen pals would end their letters in the most silly ways like ‘Yours ’til the kitchen sinks’ and ‘Yours ’til Niagara Falls’. I used to have a lot of fun thinking up my own.

I don’t really know why I’m telling you this. I guess it’s just that, maybe, if you’re lonely, it might feel like I’m sitting across from you and telling a story about how I love to read, and maybe it’ll make you feel a little less alone.

Yours ’til the cookie crumbles,

Bev

Photographs and memories

Beverly Work

There is an old black and white picture of my mom, dad and older sister, taken in the hospital after Cathy was born that I have always loved. I remember looking at it when I was a kid and all I could see was the pride bursting from my dad’s face.

This was not the dad I knew, of course. He was similar but his hair didn’t have the grey that accentuated his curls, the 70s moustache wasn’t yet a thing, he looked smaller, almost innocent. He was a young man in love, he was loved, and he had made a human being to love with his love.

Even with my child’s eye, I remember understanding on some level that he wasn’t that man anymore. I mean, he was still that man, but he was also more. And I thought about all the things he had done since then.

He had adopted a son, my brother, Tom. He had another girl, me, which I figured must have been pretty boring because he had already done that. He had bought a new house, had studied every day after work to earn his high school diploma, and he even left his home and family for a year to learn a trade so he could get a better job that paid more money and didn’t have the hated shift rotations. He had become a volunteer fireman, a Scout troop leader, a player on a softball team. He took us on hikes and camping and to movies; he told us jokes and made up funny stories; he drew huge pictures on walls, and he even built other walls.

The dad I knew then always had a pencil behind his ear, a measuring tape clipped to his front pocket; he’d sit at the kitchen table, head down, tongue sticking out of the corner of his mouth. Planning, building, improving.

Whenever he saw my mom, he became a peacock. I couldn’t put it into words at the time but he came to life in her presence. He stood taller, she was like his compass, his north star. He loved to tease her, and he was a happier, calmer version of himself when she was in the room.

Those were the days when wintery Sunday afternoons were for playing Jim Croche on the stereo in the basement, my dad was usually singing along. I would listen to the words as I entertained him with my dancing shows. “Photographs and memories, all the love you gave to me, somehow it just can’t be true, that’s all I’ve left of you.” And somehow, even then, I knew he wouldn’t always be a part of my life, but I knew he would always be a part of me.

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.