Inhale, Exhale

To every thing, thing, thing, there is a season.

Today is the first day of spring and a new season.

I'll be back soon to report of the buds of ideas that are currently filling my mind. Soon.

Free Friday

My Nook e-reader allows me to take advantage of Barnes and Noble's "Free Fridays" and this morning, I did just that. A free book will magically be downloaded to my very own reader. Free.

I have no idea of what the book is about nor do I know if I will like it, but the idea of a "Free" day was so appealing. For the past month plus, I have been getting up and out for my beloved writing class on Friday mornings. Not today! The college is on Spring Break and there is no class. So, I am "free" today. It feels great. I don't have to rush off to anything or do anything that I don't want to do.

The word "free" for the most unfortunate of reasons, instantly brings another word to my mind, "guilt". My mother is sick. Very sick. Not quite but not far from, terminally ill. My father is well. A healthy 90 year old. He takes very good care of my mother but can't do it all. He's lousy with food shopping and putting groceries away in the correct places. He has to be "watched". Earlier this week, I did Mom a favor and went over when they were out to clean her refrigerator. In it I found dry goods, things that belonged in the closet, not the refrigerator. Would be funny if it weren't so sad at this time. My mom was grateful when I told her that I relocated some food, in the slim chance that she might be mobile enough to actually cook. She knows my father does this yet she does not correct him. Neither did I. If we correct him, he might stop doing what he does for her and we can't take that chance. So, from now on, I'll sneak over to the fridge and take a peek. I don't always like what I see. Food not eaten. What are they eating anyway? Nothing.

The problem is huge. They need help but they don't think they do. I can't do much for them yet there is so much that I can do. Can't visit because I have a hard time coordinating my time with my mother's "good" times. Most of her time is spent in the bathroom or recovering from her lengthy toilet stays. If I go later, they're tired and it's time for their ritual TV viewing. I value my hearing and want to preserve it for as long as I can and know that their TV volume puts that notion in jeopardy so I refrain from visiting. Guilty as charged. I'm a nurse and will always be a nurse. Nurses make assessments, exchange ideas with their colleagues and their patients. That's what we do. We look, we think, we comment. We don't always get thanked nor do we always hit home runs in the field of intervention on behalf of our patients, our loved ones, our most precious charges. Ours is not an easy lot, we always teeter on the edge of good judgement but we can't not try.

Today might very well be the day that I work harder than I have ever before as a nurse. The day that I convince my mother to convince my father that it's time to let me help. Today might be the day that I start nursing, once again employing all of the things I have ever learned about communicating with my patient and my colleagues. Today I might teeter on the edge of sound judgement, knowing that I may not win my case and that I might have to suffer the consequences of having taken that step.

Free Friday? Only at the Barnes and Noble website. Not for me, not for many more Fridays.

Quando, Quando, Quando

I've started again.....Italian language classes. Its not that I have not been trying since God knows when. But this time I am really TRYING. I have a new teacher, Roberto. He's been teaching adult ed here in town for a number of years. His students love him. They learn things. They can speak Italian. He's not the greatest personality. He doesn't have the bravado and effusive personality of my last teacher who for two years wowed us all with his stories and his gift for making us understand the words. But he could not TEACH me how to speak. Now, I am not exactly what one would call "stupid" but grammar was never one of my strong points. Neither was paying attention. My strongest point in my years of schooling was "daydreaming" and "planning", not the lesson at hand, not the homework, not participating. Didn't have to. The kids with the strong points of "listening" "participating" and studying did all the work for me. Never make eye contact with the teacher. That much I learned fairly quickly. Pretend you're interested, change your facial expression.....Not the way to learn a new language, especially at my age of 64. But, as the Italians say, "quando?" Okay, so it's time for me to turn to my Italian/American dictionary. I have to go look up the word for "now"......

A presto!

Sad, but True, but Not So Sad

I have this little widget that tells me if anyone is visiting my blog and it tells me that absolutely,positively,nobody but myself is reading. Now, that could be construed as being very sad and disappointing but in my case, it is not. Instead of using the "750 Words" site, I can now use my little sad blog as a safe place to exercise my brain and use the skills I am in the process of acquiring.

I can write about anything that I wish to. Secrets that are trapped in my brain, creative thoughts that never-wise come to fruition. I don't have to make any sense, need not create a powerful opening sentence or a dramatic, twist of fate wrap up. No audiences to wow. No teacher to criticize and correct. Only me, myself and spell check. How lucky can one aspiring amateur writer be?

Last year, a friend was kind enough to do us a favor that required lots of physical work and stamina. Each year, this friend orders four pallets of pellets for a stove which sits in the dining room of her home. When the season is over, and the pallets are empty, she takes them to the dump. Last spring, I had a brilliant idea. " Can we have the pallets?" I begged. "We can use them to make a dock down at the pond". Before one could say "that's a ducky idea", she and her very strong and able son in law had loaded them onto his truck, drove them over, and deposited them onto our then patio. Joe was not happy. He had not ordered the pallets and could not envision what I had, the little dock, all set for two beach chairs. Wine in hand, we would soon be sitting at the shore line, enjoying an afternoon watching the ducks and the gentle movement of the pond. I had "pretty" on my mind. He had "how do I get these out of here" on his.

Well, before long, Joe did get tired of the pallets on the patio and one by one, he dragged them down to the pond and randomly laid them down. No pattern. Not the vision I had. Just there.

The summer quickly passed. We moved to the top floor apartment. Packing, moving, unpacking, relaxing at the beach. Time slipped away and not once did I take the short walk down to the pond. The view from our new place is a spectacular one of the pond. No need to actually go down there, I can see it all from up here. I can see the pallets, strewn at the shoreline.

Spring is arriving early this year. We've moved, unpacked,spent a lovely winter in our new apartment. The entire pond is now as familiar to me as the back of my hand but the first real spring like day was too good to ignore. After a walk around the neighborhood on that glorious afternoon, I suggested that before going back indoors, we walk down to have a look at the pond.

A little burst of spring fever, a spurt of energy, and the four pallets soon were pulled together, in a lovely square, ends meeting, carefully lined up into what now appears to be a "dock". How fancy of us. A tiny fish pier steps away from our house. A few minutes of clearing dead brush and tree limbs and the area now became a "landing". Plenty of room for two chairs and maybe even a little outdoor table.....to hold a bottle of wine. We're ready now.

As we walked back up the stairs, we turned around to see our handiwork. Well done. Quack, quack.....coming to our dock, gracefully paddling in formation, our duck friends. They were coming to inspect, perhaps to approve of our work and let us know that good times were ahead.

We were pleased and amused at their gesture. Friendly birds. We came back upstairs and later that same afternoon, I looked down at the pond, admiring what we had recently created and to my complete surprise and utter delight, I watched no less than 24 ducks, all in a straight line, one behind the other, leap out of the water, onto the dock and up the stairs. The line, unbroken, took them to our back yard and across the lawn to another neighbor's bird feeder. Now, the line broke. No longer in formation, the ducks gathered around the base of the feeder and found their own feast. As they pecked around and stayed so long, it became apparent that there was a lot of feed on the ground, lots of refreshments.

So, spring has almost arrived and we're all set. We have our new place, they theirs. I doubt that ducks drink wine and I doubt, seriously, that you might find Joe and I pecking around the base of a feeder, but we're all getting happier every day. Bring it on Spring!!!

Friday's Class

“Tom, you’re alive!!! “ The words fell out of my mouth as if they had been too many gigantic jelly beans.

Before me stood Tom Cahill. Young, healthy looking, sporting his neat white shirt, understated blue tie, and beige tweed sport coat. Always dressed impeccably, ready for his client meetings. Tom Cahill, R.N., the father of three, one still a very young baby. Tom Cahill, the nurse who did us all proud by carving his way into the corporate world, hired by a major company as a “consultant”. The very sound of that word, at that time in my life, rang bells in my head and before me I saw fireworks in the sky. A man, a registered nurse, a consultant. A friend indeed, in an enviable position. That angelic, clean scrubbed face and lovely warm personality were parts of what made Tom a welcomed team mate. Tom, very much alive.

Our professional relationship began when Tom and his work associate, Maria, became part of the team that was sent by their consulting firm as my company was in the process of selecting a Disability Management firm, one that would revolutionize the way that the Colgate Palmolive Company handled non-work-related illness and injury. Together, we would formulate a plan of action and interview several companies, based on criteria selected by our consultants. We met often as a work group.

Mine was a somewhat lonely, beautifully decorated office. My building, headquarters for one of the world’s largest consumer goods companies, was located in the heart of midtown Manhattan, on Park Avenue, directly across the street from the Waldorf Astoria Hotel. One could not ask for a better location or a better view from the company cafeteria. My office was actually a suite of rooms, each dedicated to some aspect of corporate health and wellness. If the rooms were all fused together, truth be known, I had a bigger space than did the Chairman of the company but he had more windows and he had many more co-workers. I had a huge budget, all of the most up to date medical equipment, a lovely new ergonomic work station and a gracious waiting room for my clients. Behind my work station was a room that was designed to my specifications. It was called the “Personal Program Room”, a mini spa, complete with massage chair, room darkening blinds, and tinkly music. One could use the room for praying, dancing, exercising or simply taking time out to “chill” during an otherwise stressful work day. Two clinical rooms down the hall, another beautifully equipped room with a work station for the visiting physician and two “resting” rooms down a short corridor….but only one, solitary nurse.

The dubious distinction of being “THE” company nurse came with a few drawbacks. It was I who answered all of the emergency calls, and with no less than one thousand people in the building at any one time, there were quite a few each month. It was I who had the job description that carried the implied duty of “never losing my cool” and always being ready to soothe the crowds should there be a major catastrophe, real or perceived. All by myself….

So, the presence of another health professional in my workplace, if only for the duration of a meeting once a week or month, was a source of great pleasure. Tom filled the bill more than adequately.

“Come on in Tom, sit down. I’m so, so very happy to see you. I was so worried about you”

“Thank you. Believe me; I’m also very happy to see everyone”

“ Do you feel like talking about it Tom. If you don’t its okay”

“No, they told us it was good for us to talk about it. We still have regular group meetings”

Tom asked me for a piece of paper and a pencil and sat down on the visitor chair beside my free-formed desk. I closed the door and put up the “Treatment in progress. Please do not disturb unless it is an emergency” sign.

Slowly and purposefully, Tom started to draw a square on the paper. Along the sides of the square, he drew smaller squares.

“So, here’s my story” he began.

“I was at my office, preparing a presentation for the next day, working later into the night. I was starting to get tired and knew that I had to meet up with the rest of my team in the lobby of the building the next morning, so I called car service, boxed up all of my hand out materials, and scheduled an email to arrive early the next morning at my office in New Jersey”

“Oh, that’s right, now I remember, you live closer to the New Jersey office than the New York office, don’t you?
“Correct, I only live a few miles from the office, so close that I did not even turn my car radio on as I drove in”

“Oh, Tom, I have a feeling I know what’s coming next…..”

“When I arrived at the office, ready to print out my materials and head to meet my team members, I was greeted by office assistants who looked at me and screamed, started crying out, telling me that they were receiving an email that stopped abruptly during its transmission”

Tom sighed, took a deep breath, and quietly went on

“I had not yet heard the news but they had. Already in a state of panic, my incoming email, from my office on the one hundred and first floor of the North tower of the World Trade Center caused several of my Marsh McClellan coworkers to fall down into a fetal position”

Taking pencil in hand, Tom started to inscribe a series of little X’s, filling in boxes in what I soon understood was a diagram of the building’s northeast corner.

“This is where Mary sat, and this is where John sat and this is where Phil sat, and this is where Cathy sat, right there where the nose of the plane entered the building. And this, this is where I sat, right next to Ed’s office. I would have been sitting there had I not packed it in at 11pm on the evening of September 10^th.”

Three hundred and thirty two of Tom’s co-workers, including their solitary “company nurse” perished that day. I often wonder how well she kept her cool.

Festa delle Donne

Yesterday was a big day for the women in Italy. It was the Festa delle Donne, "womens' Day" the Giornata Inernationale delle Donne, a day when all women are honored for who and what they are and have done. In Italy, a simple branch from the mimosa tree is given, almost as a valentine,to women, by people who love them, admire them, or simply want to acknowledge their presence.

The mimosa is a beautiful sign of spring, a branch with many, many yellow blossoms. The delicate blossoms hold on to a much stronger branch. This conjures up an image. The strong branch,the family,with all of its history, its good memories, its bad memories. The family that one cannot chose. The foundation. The delicate flowers represent to me those things which so many women balance on the branch, every day of their lives. As each of the delicate flowers hangs in trepidation on the branch, so do so many of the challenges that women have before them. Birth of a child, household management, illness, death of a loved one, tears, laughter, education, support, sleepless nights and self-deprivation.

Oh, I know so many women who are skilled in the art of self-nurturing. A lot of them have never had a child of their own, some not even a mate. Self-nurturement is an art, not something to be criticized by any means. Some of us are able to learn it and use it, while others fail miserably in their attempt.

A lot of the great women I know have not been given the opportunity to indulge in the art of self-nurturement. Some have lives that are filled with childcare, children who will never grow up mentally and will always need their "mommies". Some have lives filled with personal tragedy, personal illness or a sick or disabled child or family member, a spouse who clings to her for life.

Some of my friends have been stay-at-home moms, others have had great careers. A lot of my women friends are talented. Art, music, writing, home decorating, public speaking, the list goes on and on. I am in a state of constant awe, never at a loss for being blown away by these ladies.

So, to all of the women I have been so very privileged to have met in my life, and to all of the women who are out there, "doing their thing", keeping the mimosas blooming, Auguri! Best wishes! And a million thank yous for being who you are.

Baby Lessons

You know what they are, a lot of you have them. They’re the reason for believing that life truly can be beautiful. They are the little folks who do their noble best to keep us honest, humble and ensure that our treasure chest of fun memories is kept full. They’re Toddler grandchildren.

It was a pleasant post-season Sunday afternoon, we nearing completion of a babysitting weekend and with not-quite-three-year-old Lucy in tow, we're headed for the Hyannis dock area.

Always on the lookout for ways to both educate and amuse my first born wonder child I coaxed her out of her car seat

“Lucy, let’s take a walk over to look at the boats”

No hesitation, out she sprang and off we walked, hand in hand

“These are called fishing boats”

“Where do they go Nonni?”

“They go out to the sea, look, way out there”

“What do they do out there?”

“Well, there are fishermen on the boats and they catch fish”

“How do they do that Nonni?”

She looked up at me with those big green eyes, ones that had just recently evolved to the color that they will be for the rest of her life, big like her mommie’s, full of trust and expectation. My own little captive audience. Now I knew that a full explanation was required. Let’s make this a real learning experience.

“Lucy, do you see the nets, those ropes that are tied to the side of the boat? Those are what they use to catch the fish. The fisherman come to the boat, get inside, drive the boat out to the sea and when they are there, they drop the nets into the water”

Full speed ahead, Nonni, you’re getting better at this teaching moment every second. She’s getting it!

“How do they know there’s fish in the nets”

“Well, they do it all the time so they can tell” How the heck do I know, I suddenly realize. Okay, you’re doing fine, she’s a bright kid, just keep talking. She’s learning about a bit of Cape Cod, her mother’s legacy…..

“What happens next Nonni?” She cocks her little head to one side and looks up to me

“When they have all of the nets full of fish, they bring them in on their boat, back to the place where the boat is now” Okay, it’s getting cold out here…..I have to wrap this up soon

“Then what happens?

“Well, the truck from the supermarket comes to the dock and the fisherman put the fish into the truck”

“Where does it go Nonni?”

“The truck takes the fish to the supermarket”

A hesitation….the little wheels are turning, I can almost hear this magnificent toddler brain as it makes sense of all of this. Full circle, she now understands the food chain. So, why the scrunched up little face, the face that signals, there’s something that I really DON”T understand……

“Nonni, how do they know what to buy”

“ Huh? Who sweetheart?”

“The FISH Nonni. How do they know what to buy when they get to the supermarket??”

“DUH?”

Time has passed, all too quickly I’m afraid. Fast forward three years

“Lucy, who is this Taylor Swift person”

“Duh?”