The Many Faces of Soul Portrait

Soul Portrait was born out of my experience as admissions coordinator in a 120-bed nursing home. During a short span of time, I learned one of the greatest lessons of my life: we all want to be known, appreciated, and loved for who we are.  It took this experience, along with 25 years of working in the community on behalf of elders, families, advocates, and caregivers, to help me understand how critical it is for each of us to open up and share more of ourselves.

Soul Portrait is about making aging personal and having a voice in our health care.  Unlike living wills or health care directives that specify what actions should be taken for our physical health (including life support measures), Soul Portrait is about going deeper and revealing some of the things that enrich our life or present us with challenges.  It's a communication tool that encourages us to share more of who we are with family, close friends, medical care providers, and potential caregivers.  As a result of knowing us better, every one of these people will be empowered to advocate for us and support our quality of life. 

Soul Portrait also helps us learn more about ourselves by answering relevant questions and reviewing the life we've lived.  For example, when was the last time you thought about the little things others do for you that make you know you are valued, respected, and loved?  For me, it's when someone listens to me with their full attention. Because of Soul Portrait, I was able to think about how and why that means so much to me, and whether or not I give others the same respect.  I got the answers I was looking for when I reviewed how the issue of listening has played a role in building up or tearing down past relationships.  

Aside from health care advocacy and learning more about yourself through reflection and life review, there are other great uses for Soul Portrait.  Whether you are in a new relationship or one that has lasted 40 years, there is usually something you'd like to share with the other person that doesn't roll right off your tongue; Soul Portrait helps you express it.  If you have an aging parent, Soul Portrait is a great way to start the dialogue about his or her future (which involves you).  Maybe you work with older adults and know you can deliver better care but aren't sure how to go about it; or perhaps you are approaching old age yourself and have wondered how you can breathe life into your name on the family tree.  Soul Portrait can help.

Soul Portrait is a simple approach to making soul connections and fostering compassion for yourself and others.  Along with my experiences, reflections, and tips, there are many topics to think about --potentially interesting and revealing topics that can generate meaningful discussions with those you love, or enlighten those who may someday play a role in your health care.  Inside Soul Portrait, you will learn about my father, a fiercely independent man who would have preferred death to being dependent on someone else.  You'll read about Maria, an elder whom no one knew, and with whom no one could communicate.  There is a letter to men, written by a male friend of mine who wants to assure men this is not just a book for women.  You'll learn ways to complete your own Soul Portrait or help someone else create theirs.

If you want to learn more about the people you love, Soul Portrait makes a thoughtful gift.  And finally, if you want to express more of who you are to those same people, Soul Portrait is a gift you can give to yourself.

(c) Sally Z McBain

The Art of Aging

I've been writing about anchors that keep me grounded in the face of changes attributed to aging, some of which have thrown me for a loop. It happened fast; by no small miracle, I jumped from 40 to 65 in the blink of an eye.  Each day is a reminder I have less time left than I have already lived -- a sobering thought.

After a few weeks of being sullen and withdrawn, I was getting bored with myself and decided I'd had enough of the self-centered negativity.  Determined to do something about my attitude, I searched my life for all the things that keep me grounded in reason and make me happy.  I re-discovered the importance of exercise and friends, two anchors that keep me from drifting into a droopy, depressive state of being.   In the last couple days, I've identified five more anchors, without which I'd be aimless and more self-absorbed than ever.  The first three fill my creative needs; the fourth takes me out of my head and into action on behalf of others; and the fifth ties them all together.

                                                       

Art, writing, and photography keep me focused and challenged.  When I write something that comes together well, paint a flower that closely resembles the real thing (or matches my imagination about it), sketch the image of an animal, or take a photograph that captures morning or evening light, I'm filled with joy.

My interest in writing and photography started in earnest back in 1986, when I first moved to the Columbia River Gorge.  I knew I had landed in heaven, and I was driven to express the feelings of wonder that overcame me every day.  That relocation also marked the beginning of a painful transition; I had become a long-distance mother.  I wrote in journals as if there were no tomorrow, and then I moved into the world of poetry.  Both methods of writing got to the heart of my awe, and at the same time, tended to my emotional wounds.  

It has only been in the last decade that I started getting serious about water colors.  With each effort, I get better.  With each painting, I tell the little girl in me who felt she had no talent, she doesn't have to envy LC from elementary school any more.  When I go into an art gallery, however, and see what other artists have accomplished, I shrink back in humility.  Still, I try not to compare; my art is just what it is....my art. 

What I know for sure is that my own personal best will come when I paint every day, rather than when the mood suits me.  Since I was born in autumn, I start re-evaluating my life in late September; it's my time of renewal and my favorite season of the year.  I delight in the array of gold, orange, and burgundy; brave flowers that hold on until they can bear the cold no longer; an angled sun that gently brightens and softens wet leaves and boulders; and a harvest moon that shines through our bedroom window and prompts my nightly prayer.  By the time January arrives and others are committing themselves to New Year's resolutions, I am well on my way.  By early November, my goals are set.  This year, one of them is to make more room in my life for painting.

I'm beginning to see aging as an art form of its own.  I'm the artist who takes advantage of natural light to bring out the contrasting shadows, who makes my composition dynamic and interesting, simply by choosing the right perspective, and who throws on as much color as I can.  Like art, life is all about practice and trying to get our work to look the way we want it to look.  We screw up and try over again, but we remember our mistakes and learn from them.  I rarely throw a painting away; the really poor ones are my teachers, just as my life-mistakes have been.   

My fourth anchor is volunteerism; and it has taken several years to value its role in my life -- enough to finally do something about it.  All communities thrive through the work of  volunteers, and this community is no exception.  We are blessed with people who give of their time and talents to our youth, disabled, elderly, homeless, veterans, and others. Volunteering gets me out and about, meeting incredible people and making new friends.  I never cease to be amazed at how connected we all are, no matter the role we play.

Exercise, friendships, writing, photography, art and volunteerism will steady my life as I age; and I am grateful for them.  Gratitude, my last anchor for now, balances the fear and dread that come with the unknown.  Expressing thanks is the most important anchor of all; and it strengthens my faith that all is as it should be.     

There is no way I can know what the next few years will bring and what challenges will be set before me.  But I have today, and I'm relieved I broke through that terrible feeling of loss and anxiety.  My anchors have always been here, and they will continue to keep me grounded if I'm receptive to them.  Therein lies the greatest challenge of all; but I am more determined than ever to make the best of this life I have.  

                            
                      Oh Sis.  Let's enjoy our old age as much as possible.    CZJ


Author's note:  I write this post as millions of people suffer the losses caused by severe, powerful, and devastating weather.  Homes are gone, people have died, and life will never be the same.  My prayers and thoughts go out to each and every one.  That I can sit in my comfortable studio and think about my own challenges is a blessing in itself.  Life is one hit after another; yet somehow, through our anchors and faith, the human spirit is able to rise above it all. 

(c) Sally Z McBain

Friends

                    Make new friends, but keep the old; one is silver and the other gold.

Special friends

                               


 Introverts are known to have fewer friends than extroverts.  For me, it's about a limited energy level and wanting to engage in deeper one-on-one relationships, which also require more time.  Sometimes, and this is one of those times, I am reminded of the special role each friend has played in my life.   

There was Sally (her husband had the same first name as my husband and they lived next door to us), who listened to me process my first divorce.  On many occasions, I'd wander over to her kitchen for coffee and a conversation that was always about me.  She never advised, inserted an opinion, or judged; she just listened and supported me during the most difficult phase of my life.  

There was Diane, a new friend who loaned me money when I was down to my last few dollars, telling me to take my time paying it back.  Through her trust and generosity, she literally pulled me out of hell.  Women like Sally and Diane have blessed my life over and over again in the last 45 years; without exception, they helped define me.

These last few weeks have been difficult (refer to entries Anchors and Aging and Twelve Questions); I've been down in the dumps and fearful of the future.  It all began when I looked in the mirror and studied the deeper lines, disappearing eyes, and sagging skin.  My changing appearance became much more than mere vanity; it represented the harbinger of things to come.  At that very moment, I knew I was entering a new and challenging phase of life, fraught with all kinds of change and loss.  I knew I'd better embrace this process and all that comes with it, or be disappointed and depressed the rest of my life.  All of a sudden, and not knowing where to start, there appeared an emotion so strong, I felt like I was being dragged out to sea by an undertow.

It took a long walk with a confidante to realize how vital my friendships really are and how they serve as one of my anchors.  Like my friend, Sally, my close pal listened for a full mile or more as I told her what I was putting myself through.  A couple times a month, we walk on a park path that is just about a mile around; and if we have a big topic to discuss, we measure its importance by how many rounds it will take to sort things out.  That being determined, the other person is all ears as the ground is laid; and at some point, she is informed enough to ask gentle questions or share her wisdom pertaining to the issue at hand.  Often, we joke about the other's agenda and ask just how many rounds it will take to get to the heart of the matter, knowing full well, time is not an issue.  We put the other first in all those discussions, and we do it fully present for one another. 

My friends have given me gifts of generosity, compassion, kindness, and love (and a large dose of patience), asking nothing in return.  Without them -- friends from early childhood, school, college/post-graduate studies, and my jobs; friends who were mothers of my sons' friends,  neighbors, or wives of my husband's colleagues -- I would not have learned how to be a friend myself.  These women are not only anchors that keep me grounded; they are my teachers and mentors.  

A new friend recommended a video done by Shawn Achor (www.ted.com/speakers/shawn achor.html).  Achor (in some places, 'Anchor') is the ceo of Good Think Inc., who teaches  positive psychology.  I was struck by one thing he said about social support: it is the greatest predictor of happiness and success.  But, he adds, when it comes to social networks like Facebook, the friends who add most to our lives are the ones we've actually met. 

I've been all over the map with Facebook, not knowing whether to silently slip away or stick with it.  My real friends draw me back in, mainly because I want to see their lives evolve through photos and comments.  Looking at the precious photos of Nancy's granddaughters provides me with enough happiness to last several days.  It's inspiring to see how well Robyn is adjusting to a new town - with energy I envy; and it's inspiring to watch, in real time, Jan brave chemo with strength and courage, continuing to do what she loves.

There are times I forget that friends are critical to my sense of self and well-being, that each one brings a happiness and supportive element to my life that I couldn't get elsewhere.  Each one accepts me for the hermit I am, which adds to my joy. 

Walking and talking with my friend gave me a boost -- so much so, that I was reminded how much I value all the sensitive, caring women whose paths have crossed mine....and how much I need them still.   I can only hope, in some small way, I have given them something in return.  What I owe them now, is to keep their legacies alive in all the friendships I continue to value and try to nurture.  



(c)  Sally Z McBain



 

Twelve Questions

                                                              


Row row row your boat, gently down the stream.  Merrily, merrily, merrily, merrily, life is but a dream.    Children's nursery rhyme


To celebrate my 65th birthday, I'm going on a retreat.  I want to answer questions I've been asking myself for a long time, but have not fully answered.  Most of us know the glee of being away from phones, e-mails, have-to's, and anything else that distracts us from getting something done.  I need to face myself and my fears so I can move into a space of acceptance, self-confidence, and discovery.  Though they sound like a trite list of words, what I really want is inner peace and joy as I age; one cannot survive without the other.

The vanity issue I addressed in my last entry (Anchors and Aging) leads me to a tale of two older women.  I remember one homebound elderly client, tears welling up, who told me she no longer looked in the mirror.  She couldn't stand to see how she had aged, and she hated herself; she said she was 'disgusting'.  Her solitary confinement (dictated by disability and depression) made it worse, since she didn't see people who could validate her and give her reasons to celebrate life. 

My sister tells me her neighbor says the same thing about her face and body.  She avoids looking in the mirror so she doesn't have to think about it.  Rather than focus on her physical appearance, she moves ahead with her life.  These two women were/are in their late 70's; one was depressed, while the other is in a place of either contented resignation or mature acceptance.  Either way, she isn't miserable, nor is she isolating herself from others.  I have a feeling my sister's neighbor has several anchors in the water, many of which I shall be able to claim as my own...eventually.

Following are questions I will ask and answer before I go much further.  I realized I needed to come up with these questions after I wrote to a family member:  I'm doing a lot of personal work, mainly with self-acceptance.  I have been spending a lot of contemplative time assessing my sense of purpose, figuring out what I have yet to contribute to society, and thinking of ways I can give my creative self more space to grow.  Though in my heart I know differently, I feel like I'm entering this incredible new phase of life without much grounding.   I'm changing before my very eyes, and I want to meet those changes with strength and confidence.


What am I doing when I'm happiest? 
How can I rein in my constant need to accomplish something?
What do I love most about my life right now?
Where and from whom do I get my inspiration?
How have my priorities changed and am I giving due attention to them?
What is one new and/or positive thing I have learned about myself this last year?
What messages about me, or expectations from others, can I finally release?
How am I being true to myself?
What power am I going to give to the role money plays in my life?
What can I do on a daily basis that will help me deal with forgiveness, old guilt, and fresh sorrow?
How can I honor my introversion and still be present for those I love?
What do I feel the need to finish or do before I die?


I received several touching e-mails after my last blog entry, three of which were written by individuals on either side of 40.  Each person wrote about the challenges he or she is facing and how those relate to getting older.  As we age, it seems many of us become more introspective, realizing each day is a gift to be opened with care and thought.  We want, more than anything else, to be able to say, "I gave it all I had, and lived my truth in the process".

I am happy to report (though I'm still self-conscious about its seemingly rapid progression), I am no longer obsessed or depressed about the notion of looking old.  What I am, however, is determined to make these next 10 or 20 years as meaningful and rich as I can.  I want to be aware of what I'm feeling and doing, so this incredible dream becomes one I will remember when I'm on my last legs, and not one I forget because I spent too much time madly rowing.  In order to take in the beautiful scenery, I will need to lower another anchor. 

Next time:  my second anchor and how a friend helped me find it


(c)  Sally Z McBain

Family Advocacy

In the long term care business, advocacy is critical to providing the best care.  In conjunction with orienting new residents and families to nursing home schedules and protocol, the service of a professional advocate would have been helpful to my family during Mother's four years in and out of the assisted living and long term care facilities.

I experienced the need for an advocate when I complained to top administration in between my mother's nursing home stays.  Several times, I encouraged my father to get home-based help.  I called the head of the home care program to set something up.  After three unreturned calls, I gave up.  At the height of my frustration, I wrote a letter to his boss, the chief executive officer.  I received no response.  If you've gone directly to the top without satisfaction, what other recourse do you have?  Like many tired and stressed out caregivers, I was at my wit's end.  My parents were residents of an aging community that offers a wide range of services to which they should have had immediate access, but we were blocked from getting them.

A family advocate would have been an answer to a prayer.  An advocate would have followed up on our behalf.  In many health care centers, patient advocates come in the form of case managers, often connected with Medicaid.  Private pay residents, on the other hand, usually have to make their way through the system on trust.  It is the case manager who co-ordinates services for elders bouncing around on the contiuum of care; and it is because of the presence of state-funded case managers that I have always thought residents on Medicaid were assured the same basic services and care as those provided to private pay residents.  I have not researched the presence of private case managers today; but five years ago, there were none in the area my parents lived. 

An advocate would have done wonders for our comfort level; instead, we had to be ever vigilant ourselves.  I'm sure staff were very frustrated with my dad and me at times.  We asked a lot of questions and had a lot of concerns about my mother's care.  Sometimes, assurance is all a family member needs; but when real problems occur, the advocate would also serve as a liaison to medical staff.  There are patient advocates (i.e state ombudsmen), but families need advocates, too.

Family members have to keep an open mind and do their best to appropriately connect with the peole who are providing these critical services.  If there is no professional or volunteer family advocate available, it falls on staff shoulders to let us into their world without making us feel like we are an intrusion.  

Busy people are intimidating; doctors and nursing home staff are always pressed for time.  Unfortunately, in a hectic work place, we encounter professionals and employees who avoid eye-contact, who don't smile, and who are in a hurry to get somewhere.  They put us off; and whether consciously or unconsciously, this may be their intent.  When I worked in a facility, I too, was guilty of rushing up and down hallways, hoping no one would come between me and my destination.  Time was short, and every encounter, intense.

Family advocacy is the answer; a consistent, friendly, "I'm here-for-you" attitude is all some of us need.  An advocate would help family members navigate the system, or facilitate communicaiton when there is a problem.  Many families don't need a thing; others, like mine, needed more support and information.

Most importantly, an advocate would provide the soul connection we all need.  Volunteer programs can train advocates to listen and follow through.  The advocate doesn't necessarily have to be a nurse, case manager, social worker, or chaplain, though advocacy is a natural part of their jobs.  An advocate can be an empathetic communicator whose main role is to help families make sense of life in a long term care facility.


(c)  Sally Z McBain

Nursing Home Families

I used to believe families who didn't visit their institutionalized relative were uncaring; and I judged them harshly.  I knew nothing about them or their lives, yet I judged.  So many elders are lonely; and volunteers and staff try their best to help.  But watching an older adult sit for hours at the door or window, waiting for someone who isn't coming, is heart-breaking; it always made me angry. Obviously, as a new admissions co-ordinator, I had a lot to learn about families.

After taking the time to get to know family members, it was clear my judgement was unfair, and in most cases, unfounded.  Family members who purposely avoid the nursing home are rare.  They are faced with many challenges:  dealing with their own health issues, trying to raise children or earn a living, or having to travel great distances.  Elder care facilities are a necessity for those who can't check in on a regular basis, let alone take care of their loved one at home.  At best, a daughter or son may only have time to visit once a week.  Sure, there is the occasional avoidance of an uncomfortable situation when a family member says, "I don't want to go in there any more than I have to; it's too depressing."  But most families do their best; they agonize just as I did when my mother was a resident; and they visit when they can.

On the other end of the spectrum are family members who regularly enter the long term care facility to check on a relative.  A 70-something daughter good-naturedly told me, "While my friends are taking cruises all over the world, I'm cruising to and from the nursing home."  Another daughter came twice a day, every day, to feed her 90-year-old mother.  She knew the older woman needed loving, relaxed attention during hectic meal times; in general, however, she was not convinced her mother was getting the best care possible.  There always seemed to be a shortage of staff, which meant some residents had to wait for help; and she wasn't going to chance it.

These two women and my father, who was at my mother's side most of the day, every day, are the ones who have something to contribute to institutional culture.  They are part of the connective tissue holding the system together.  A wise head nurse once said to me, "We send our children to school, but do not presume the teachers will take over total responsibility for their rearing.  The same is true for nursing home care.  Families can't expect a nursing home to meet al the needs of a resident.  It isn't that they don't want to; it's just one of those facts of life.  Staff have to focus on a resident's physical health needs first." 

The trouble with encouraging family involvement is that family members can be time-consuming and an emotional drain on staff.  Some relatives are tenacious in their quest for answers and solutions.  If they get nowhere with line staff, they head for the director of nurses or administrator.  Starting out on the defensive, the relatives gird themselves for condescension and excuses. From the get-go, there is fear and distrust.  There are others who prefer to complain to a staff person with whom they have bonded, but who then has to take the message to a supervisor, who has to take it to the next level -- all of which takes a lot of time, reassurance (sometimes, false reassurance), and tact.

As long as they are appropriate and non-threatening, family members are entitled to intervene on behalf of a relative who may be frightened of retaliation or too weak to advocate for herself.  Sometimes, however, staff do not view angry family members as appropriate; and they don't always know how to work with them.  Tragically, nursing homes have been known to bar an aggressive family member from their premises.  If a resident cannot see her closest relative, what is the effect on the resident's overall health and well-being?

Open and honest relationships, along with quick attention to problems, are two major ways to avoid misunderstanding or confrontation in a long term care facility.  There were a couple cases where, had it not been for my good relationship with the head nurse on Mother's floor, I would have called the state omudsman to report neglect.  My concern about a call bell that hadn't been fixed for at least two weeks should have been a priority.  Instead, I had to mention it several times, while trying to calm my parents each day we waited and were told it was being worked on.  This highly respected nursing facility finally provided us with a door bell that sat on her night stand.  The bell did not ring through to the nurses' station; but we were told they would hear it if they were in her hallway.  If they were in her hallway?  On many occasions, and for stretches of time, her hallway was empty. 

This episode did not make any of us comfortable, given my mother's increasingly deteriorating health needs.  She was discharged before the call bell was repaired.  Any trust I had was gone; and when it came time for her to return the last week of her life, even with a Hospice nurse coming in now and then, I was more watchful and present for her than ever.

Families don't just sit around and think up things to complain about.  They complain for good reason, and it is incumbent upon the rest of us to listen carefully and act on those complaints immediately.  It takes a concerted effort on everyone's part to tame emotions and solve problems.  For the family member who has stepped over the line, who has no time to participate in a parent's care, or who is coordinating care from three thousand miles away, there should be a family advocate.


(c)  Sally Z McBain

The Helpers

The whole idea of compassion is based on a keen awareness of the interdependence of all these living beings, which are all part of one another, and all involved in one another.    Thomas Merton

Describing how a nursing home is run and what actually takes place are two different things.  Nursing home staff are generally dedicated to making life pleasant and safe for residents; but with staff retention problems, ever-changing state and federal rules, and soaring numbers of elders needing care, it is an ongoing challenge.

Families and people in the helping professions have lives separate from their responsibilities to an aging relative or their jobs as caregivers.  They struggle with personal issues of their own.  They, too, are lonely and afraid at times, just as are the residents.  We have all met employees, professionals, and family members who are frustrated, tired, not focused on the task at hand, wanting desperately to be somewhere else, and feeling no one cares about them or appreciates what they do.  But the focus on elders must remain paramount, since they are the ones receiving (and paying for) care.  This presents us with a conundrum, because it is the need for attention, love, and human connection that gives helpers the necessary compassion and stamina to maintain that focus.  They relate to the pain, frailty, and dependence of another person because they've been there themselves in varying degrees; it is this ability to relate that requires a new look at how we do business in aging communities and care facilities.  We need to connect with one another on a more personal level, to appreciate those feelings we all have in common.

Institutional life is challenging on a good day; but when emotions run high and problems are overwhelming, we think we don't have time to tend to the people who are trying to make things better.  Instead, we see them as part of the problem.  By doing so, we point the finger away from ourselves.  Everyone blames someone else for a responsibility we all share.  While we are busy placing blame, we miss the opportunity to see what makes up an institution.  At its core is a congregate of individuals.  An institution is not just 200 beds filled with frail elders or disabled adults; they are separate individuals, just as are the people who deliver compassionate care -- the paid staff, the volunteers, and the families.

Improving care to the elderly must include active support of the helpers.  Active support includes training, mentoring, advocating, and counseling.  If we focused more on the helpers, what would happen?  Would family members be less worried about the care of their loved one?  Would it reduce the staff turnover rate?  Would it save money?  Would it increase tolerance and eliminate the opportunities for abuse?  I think the answer to each of these questions is 'yes'. 

Working with people day in and day out requires tact, validation, compassion, and a lot of patience.  If helpers are drained of energy and hope, then we need to change the way we think about institutional care by changing the way we help the helpers.  


(c)  Sally Z McBain

Soul-level Care

Even with the shift in national attention towards elder care, problems still exist.  There is a gap between what facilities advertise in glossy brochures and what they actually practice.  Many of these places are built and purchased as investments; as with all investments, the bottom line is profit. 

The success of long term care of any kind, whether at home or in a facility, depends on the staff providing the care.  They too, are part of an investment -- not only of money, but of the soul kind.

Most people go into the elder care business because they are dedicated to the well-being of elders.  The problem is that many of these individuals are in danger of burn-out, which leads to exhaustion and turn-over, which lead to low morale all around, which can lead to verbal or physical abuse if not recognized and managed quickly.  It may seem like an obvious conclusion, but challenges faced by staff in elder care facilities are directly related to the level of care and attention given to residents.   We must address these challenges.  

Only after months in and out of the nursing home which housed my mother, endless hours observing dynamics between residents and staff, and then finally having the chance to talk with staff members -- only then, did I come face to face with what I perceive to be the main threat to the delivery of good care.  In spite of what some administrators and nursing home owners may think, it isn't just about needing more operating capital.  It is as much, if not more, about the need for soul-level connections between people who reside, visit, and work in elder care facilities. When that is accomplished, less time will be spent on problems that arise out of fear, hopelessness, anger, and exhaustion. 

Soul connections, those life-changing 'I honor you' moments that are exchanged between two people, are at the heart of Soul Portrait. When we start to look at institutional care more closely, one role at a time and one person at a time, attitudes and practices will change.  Each of us needs the soul- connections that validate us as unique individuals -- whether resident, professional, or loved one.  It takes very little time to make such a connection, yet it's not a priority in the delivery of care.  We are too busy tending to physical needs and dealing with everyday problems; we can't be bothered with learning more about each other or getting to know one another on a deeper level.

My perspective on nursing home care and my opinions about improving that care developed not only out of my career, but also out of my role as a daughter-caregiver.  Both roles frustrated and angered me at times; I felt helpless to change the system.  Being a resident's daughter, however, helped me break through my paralysis; I mustered up the courage to write a letter to the 25-member volunteer board of directors of the aging community in which my parents resided and my mother died.  I wrote about my experiences and specific concerns regarding Mother's care.  Neither administration, management, nor board members responded.

As the weeks passed with no response, I began to feel invisible, just as I did when I walked down the corridors of the nursing home trying to make eye contact with busy personnel who wanted to avoid a connection. 

No one was willing to take a step out of his or her comfort zone to ask pertinent questions about what I had experienced.  Later on, I figured the total lack of response from anyone (including the chaplain to whom I sent a copy) had come out of advice from their attorney.  Was I just another trouble-making family member, or worse yet, a lawsuit waiting to happen?  They were afraid, and one way to deal with fear is to deny the existence of a problem.  Because my family had long been connected to this church-owned community, I let it go; I was tired and grieving for both my parents.

Over time, and when my anger and disappointment passed, I got more determined to search for answers to the elder care dilemma.


(c)  Sally Z McBain

Nursing Homes

There are times when even to live is an act of bravery.     Lucius Annaeus Seneca


Even though I'm the one writing this, it is my mother's story as much as it is mine.  Any anxiety I may have about aging is directly linked to her experience; and I am not alone.  A friend shudders each time she comes away from a visit with her mother, a nursing home resident.  "I hope I can figure out a way to commit suicide before I ever get to that point", she proclaims.  I know how she feels.  We don't want to think about getting old, let alone lying in a nursing home bed.  We don't want to talk about it, and most of us don't even want to hear or read about it. 

It doesn't matter that statistics are in our favor.  Chances are good if we do go to a long term care facility, we will receive therapy, recuperate, and get back home.  But as we watch a parent or elderly friend enter a facility, it's difficult to separate ourselves from the event.  We look on as they trade individuality, privacy, and control over their lives for help they cannot get in another setting.  We've seen the insecurity, loneliness, isolation, and fear that are an integral part of institutional culture.  We've heard residents cry out, "I want to go home.  Will you take me home?"  Resignation and hopelessness are reflected in eyes that once lit up at the thought of a familiar kitchen, bedroom, or workbench.  We wonder if someone with dementia is better off, not knowing where they are.

It has been almost six years since my mother died in the nursing home of a well-respected church-affiliated retirement community.  I owe it to her memory, and to families of other residents, to write about her journey.  As often as our family visited her, she had to take the journey alone.  She was the one eating the baloney sandwich or small piece of fish inside a huge bun.  She was the one trying to maintain her dignity while getting the cool shower, and as she said, 'feeling like a horse being washed down in a stall.'  She was the one who couldn't get to the bathroom by herself and had to depend on a call bell (that didn't always work) to get assistance.  She was the one lying awake in a strange bed in the deepest darkest part of night, suffering from a urinary tract infection and hearing a frustrated aide say, "You have to go again?  You aren't the only patient we have, you know."

Such is the cold, hard truth of nursing home life, in spite of the fact that nursing facilites are filled with compassionate professionals who are doing their best to give good care.  I didn't appreciate this until I walked into one as an employee.  I had been hired as the admissions co-ordinator for a 120-bed facility in Nevada.  Up to that point, and because my career had focused on shoring up the local community-based care system for at-home elders, I viewed nursing homes as dumping grounds for sick, older, and disable adults whose families didn't care or didn't have the time for them. 

As the director of a five-county federal and state-funded area agency on aging in Oregon, I worked with a team of staff members who were trained in Medicaid nursing home rules and regulations.  They were charged with surveying nursing facilities and reporting non-compliance back to the state office on aging.  Our staff meetings didn't focus on the good in those facilities; we talked about bed sores, odors, soiled sheets still on beds, illegal patient restraints, and elder abuse.  I didn't trust nursing homes, and I didn't try to understand life in them, least of all from the employee's or family's vantage point.  I could not see beyond the misery of residents and depressing surroundings, which I blamed on bad administrative practices and poor staffing.

My thinking changed as soon as I admitted my first resident into the health care center in Nevada in the late 90's.  It didn't take long for me to realize that not only had I judged all nursing homes unfairly, but I had dismissed the roles played by loving family members, volunteers, hard-working nurses, dedicated certified nurses aides, and support staff at all levels.

It became clear to me that a pardigm shift had been occurring right before my eyes.  Society began to hold older adults in higher esteem, to consider them a natural resource deserving respect and protection.  More laws were put into place and nursing homes were held even more accountable.  Eldercare became a national priority.

next:  Personalizing Health Care


(c) Sally Z McBain

My Ideal Vacation

Towering trees, mountains, and a lake recently provided my ideal vacation. Nevermind this particular vacation lasted only 2-1/2 days; it was all I needed to forget the phone, internet, violent news, daily responsibilities, and myself.  I came home feeling light as a feather and wanting more.

After several days of preparation and anticipation, we left town on a hot summer Sunday morning, canoe tied securely to the top of the car and a tote full of art supplies squeezed between two suitcases full of clothes for all kinds of weather and coolers with enough food for several days.  We came home with a canoe that never got wet, water color brushes that remained in their case, clothes that never saw the light of day, and food that went right back into the coolers. 

Since I have a tendency to analyze everything under the sun, I've been wondering why and how this break in our normal routines affected me the way it did.  I think it was because nothing else interrupted the flow.  My husband and I have always had a reason for traveling to incredible places: home re-locations, business meetings, or visits with family and friends.  When one travels that way, there are timelines and few opportunities to wander around and really get to know an area.  When we moved back to the Gorge, for instance, we passed the Great Salt Lake, an area I'd like to explore -- but not at 65 miles per hour.  You don't lollygag when you know the moving van is ahead of you.  And when my younger son was in school there, my husband and I couldn't stay long because of our jobs.

We've been all over the country, but rarely - rarely - have we ever just gone somewhere beautiful and restful for the sake of going somewhere beautiful and restful.  This time, thanks to retirement and time on our hands, we did; and it didn't take long to get used to the luxury of sitting on the deck of a lakeside cabin and soaking it all up.  I said to my sweetheart, "This is great. We are getting away from the world and each other - together!"   Our husband-wife personas were left at home and we were content to sit with each other as old buddies inside Nature's best.

Not only are vacations good for a marriage that can get ho-hum or too often emphasize a couple's differences, they're good for the soul -- like a battery, they recharge all the senses.  My husband is happy when he's fishing, which he did in earnest as soon as he unloaded the car.  He looked at the 48 steps from cabin to water and decided casting from the dock into the deep lake would be perfect.  As for feeding my soul, photography took center stage.  We couldn't take a walk without my pausing every few minutes to catch the sunlight through heaven-skimming ponderosa pines, acres and acres occupied by grazing cattle and horses, an osprey's nest and its juvenile occupants learning to fly, or the green-blue lake and summer mountains streaked by thin ribbons of snow.  I was totally relaxed, which is not my normal state; I'm usually up and doing something productive...something that has a tangible outcome (like a hairless carpet).

My mind is just as busy as my body.  Yoga and meditation provide brief, quiet breaks from my daily brain bursts; but this vacation gave me the chance to get away from worrying about our aging dog, coming up with an answer to "What's for dinner tonight?", or thinking about my next Soul Portrait workshop and blog topic.  This vacation reminded me of the value of relaxation and the fun of doing only what I want to do; but it also made me very grateful to have the extra funds to take this trip.  All around us, we see people living hand-to-mouth; in fact, we met a woman who is trying to keep her business afloat.  Single and 65, she is supporting a disabled daughter and working every day; retirement, let alone a vacation, is out of the question.  

The morning we got ready to leave the cabin, I slowly scanned my surroundings, knowing I'd have pictures to remind me of the bliss, but feeling sad.   With fingers wrapped around a last cup of coffee and tears welling up, I said to my husband, "I don't want to leave."  I've never said that before; I've always been anxious to get home.  Yet, even as the words were coming out of my mouth, I started to think about Molly and if she was doing okay at the kennel.  That was another blessing about time away; she doesn't have many more years with us and I swore I'd never complain about her hair again.

"I don't want to leave."  What is inherent in that statement?  Was I content enough to stop the clock for a few more days?  Am I pushing myself too hard at home?  We are retired, for Pete's sake; I can stop trying to prove something to myself any time I want.  Do I feel guilty when I'm not painting, writing, cooking, or knitting?  Is aging gracefully about knowing when priorities need to change, when vacuuming or fixing the perfect meal or having shiny stainless steel appliances is secondary to sitting under a tree with a clear head and a full heart?

                                                                        

Most Oregonians know about Wallowa Lake, just outside the town of Joseph, and  positioned at the foot of the Wallowa Mountains.  Joseph (named after Chief Joseph) is founded on the history of the Nez Perce; it is also a Nature-lover's dream.  In spite of all the summer visitors, it was quiet and serene. Residents of neighboring cabins and year-round homes were my kind of people -- quiet and thoughtful of others and the environment. It was heaven on earth and I can't wait to get back.

                                                                           

(c) Sally Z McBain

                                                                            

                                                                        

Why Write?

I'm just going to write because I cannot help it.   Charlotte Bronte


The more entries I place in this journal, the more I ask myself why I'm doing this...and making it public.  There are several reasons, and perhaps the first is the most critical for my sense of joy and well-being:  Writing offers a protected world where I can express my dreams, emotions, and thoughts.  It's a safe haven for discovery; and with that as my foundation, I integrate layer upon layer of Self.

Writing is one of my centering practices; it calms me and keeps me on my spiritual path.  If I don't write, I tend to get restless.  There are things I need to figure out, relationships I need to sort through, and problems I need to solve.  In her book, Storycatcher, Christina Baldwin says, "I believe the kinds of writing millions of us are doing in our diaries and journals are attempts to heal the split in the human mind and in the human experience."   Writing helps me get to my truth.

My writing is, on first glance, centered on myself; but I've always believed that to know Self is to know the meaning of life...at least a big part of it.  It's all in my writing --the ever-sustaining universal breath, basic needs that connect me with everyone else, and a full range of human emotion.  While it might seem that an over-indulgent ego is what propels me or anyone else to write, quite the opposite is true.  Writing is my way of never forgetting that life isn't just about me; I know I'm a tiny fleck in the scheme of things.  Like Virginia Woolf said, "When you consider things like the stars, our affairs don't seem to matter very much, do they?"   I do a lot of thinking about those stars and everything around and beyond them, especially when I'm deep in an ego-propelled frame of mind.  Writing helps me heal the split, as Baldwin puts it.  It also helps me see life from someone else's perspective.

For most of my adult life, I have struggled with guilt and pain related to my two divorces.  I wanted to know why, to understand my role in those failures.  Today, I have my answers; threads of understanding and acceptance connect much of what I write.  It took many years, but I reached this place by putting my thoughts onto paper with poetry and prose.  Writing inspires me to take a closer look at forgiveness, love, and gratitude.  Granted, it's a lot easier to write about these things than it is to practice them every day, but the act of writing is the inspirational nudge I need to move forward.

The best I have to share with my children is the essence of who I am.  To hide my lessons or dismiss my progress is to deprive them of a basic part of who they are and will become.  Someday, from their unique experiences of me, they will garner insights into one life that contributed to theirs.  Perhaps they will be 60 years old when they feel like reading, just as I was when I reached for my grandfather's diaries.  On those pages, where he wondered if anyone would ever read what he had to say, his adult graddaughter got to cuddle up in his arms again.  I could see the metal head band of his hearing aid reach around and into each ear.  I could taste the candy corn he always put within reach before he read Uncle Wiggly to me.  Most of all, I felt an overwhelming compassion for the physical suffering he endured day after day.  His diaries add to my sense of love, belonging, and personal history.

Finally, having my own blog is one way to reach out to others who experience life similarly. It also offers assurance that these writings will always be accessible to my family.  Just a few weeks ago, a brush fire came dangerously close to the house.  We were ready to evacuate in case the fire spread (which it did not), and had everything together.  I was exhausted and had no energy to grab all my journals; but it was comforting to know that someday, a son or grandchild might just stumble onto my blogs.


(c) Sally Z McBain

Fire!

                                                                    Eagle Caves                   


It was just past 1:30 p.m. when I heard a knock on my sanctum door.  I take my afternoon nap in there because it's at the back of the house where I don't hear traffic, horn-blowing trains, or lawn-mowing neighbors.  My husband never disturbs me when I'm taking my nap, but this time, he made sure I was awake:  "There's fire.  You'd better get up."  

The adrenalin surge was intense; my heart pounded like the beating of a drum.  I could feel every nerve and muscle respond to the threat, and I was up in a flash.  My limbs were wobbly from shaking, but I scrambled to tie the laces on my tennis shoes and head to the kitchen sliding doors to look up at the ridge behind the house.  Smoke billowed up from the escarpment off to the west, and I knew it was time to fly into action.

Only two days ago, and in light of the Colorado fires, we got out the list of things we would take with us if fire threatened.  Because I'm the appointed family worrier (I keep telling my husband I'm not a worrier, but a planner), I've always been the one to bring up the discussion of disaster preparedness, especially for earthquake and fire; and now that summer is here, it's not just a matter of 'if', but 'when'.  So, we talked and prioritized again, making a fresh list.  And then, we put it aside. 

I was confident that if we had warning, we could get through an emergency.  We had warning this time, and I knew exactly what to do next.  While my husband set up the sprinklers, I spent the next hour gathering (1) things we need, (2) things we cherish that would fit into one of our two cars, and (3) things we don't really need, but want, like the perfect black pumps I just purchased.  There was no way I was going to leave a pair of perfect black pumps that took me a year and several shipments from Zappos to find.  My husband would understand; when the search began, I made sure that he was aware of my desire/need for a pair of perfect black pumps.  I was not in the mood to hear, "Did you really need these?", when the time came for me to model them.  With a bunion on one foot, pumps today just don't work for me; but I love the look, so I persevered.  I have no idea where I'll wear my perfect black pumps, but they're finally mine and I will take them with me to my grave (children take note). 

That I can ramble on about a pair of shoes speaks to my incredible relief; we got through it unscathed.  We waited it out until after dark, and while there were still several small fires, they were not a threat.  Picture a sleepy village lit up at night by mini-torches, and that's what it looked like.  We knew they had nowhere to go, so we went to bed and slept soundly. 

This morning, the hill is charred and there are pockets of smoldering brush; with the exception of what I think are two scorched Ponderosa pines way up high, the trees survived.  We have seen a person moving through the trees here and there, so we suspect there are a few fighters combing the area, making sure the fire burned itself out.  Our fingers are crossed.

As far as we know, neither person nor home was hurt or damaged by fire.  We don't yet know how many acres it spanned, but it was on the Portland news almost as soon as it happened.  When I heard that, I decided to call my sons before (if) they heard it on the Seattle news.  We could see pockets of flame when the wind thinned out the smoke, and the house began to absorb the smell, but we were okay so far.  I let them know there was talk of evacuation, but we were prepared.  Both cars were out of the garage and headed down the driveway.  Boxes were ready to be loaded at a moment's notice. 

My biggest worry this morning is how I'll ever clear out the house.  As soon as I realized what was happening, I closed the doors to every room, but only time will reveal the long term effect of the smoke.  My husband spent most of the day out in it, but wasn't at all concerned about his lungs.  I, on the other hand, could barely breathe, and had to hold one of my father's old hankies up to my face.  I spent most of the day inside, except for the times I went out to greet concerned neighbors.  Of all the homes on our street, ours was closest to the fire; however, we took a drive around the area this morning and saw how dangerously close to flame and thick smoke were other homes.

We purchased our house because it is up against the cliffs we so love about this area.  Scrub oaks and Ponderosa pines provide our place of worship, our relationship with wildlife, our peace of mind, and our quiet solitude.  We always knew fire was a risk, especially during the Fourth of July weekend; and sure enough, two kids are suspected of playing with fireworks.  We've been told the same thing happened five years ago.  Fire in these parts isn't a surprise, but it is a shock.

I asked a neighbor why helicopters weren't out, and he remarked they were most likely all in Colorado.  Scores of fire trucks and personnel were gathered at a near-by high school, ready for action.  The same neighbor, who had been listening to his scanner, explained they had come from towns and villages all around, and were here to save endangered homes while Forest Service crews battled the flames on the ground.  Someone else said they were here to step in wherever they were needed.  Whatever the reason, it was comforting to know people ban together when there is an emergency.

After we gathered up all our priorities, along with the things we could live without (but didn't want to if we didn't have to), I walked from room to room to take a look at what we would lose if the fire came up directly behind us.  As it was, it was 300 to 400 yards to the west of us....way too close for comfort, given how quickly fire takes off in Gorge-powered winds.  Slowly scanning all our mementos and treasures, I came to the conclusion that it is all just 'stuff'.  I looked at decades of tangible memories and settled on the truth -- fire can not destroy memories that mean the most.

After my initial panic subsided, my thoughts and prayers were focused on the people saving homes and lives all over this country.  We are blessed to have such skilled, brave, and dedicated individuals among us.  I will continue to pray for residents of Colorado, especially all those who had to evacuate and will have no place to call home.  For a few hours, I knew the initial fear they must have experienced.

We'll leave the house closed up today and the boxes will remain packed.  I'm too skittish to relax completely. We'll keep looking at the hill, and when we are sure, maybe life can get back to normal.  On the other hand, what is normal, really?   I'm just grateful, that as I write this, all is well in this household.

                                                                         

                                                                           

Connections

Beyond that world of opposites is an unseen, but experienced, unity and identity in us all.   
                                   Joseph Campbell


As I prepare to give a workshop on Soul Portrait in a couple weeks, I think about the nurses aides who helped my mother in her last months of life.  Later, I will write about them and the challenges they face in a job that is often thankless and overwhelming.  Our health care system is dangerously close to being void of meaningful human connection; and health care workers need soul contact as much as their patients do.  What follows is part of an entry I wrote two years ago in Sojourn (a former blog) -- with a new conclusion.

My husband and I were eating lunch in a small restaurant when I overheard a waitress say to the bartender, "I hate it when customers don't make eye contact.  I may be just a waitress, but I'm every bit as good as they are."  She sounded angry and didn't seem to care who heard her.  When she brought our bill, I told her I could sense her frustration.  In reply, she said, "There are times I feel invisible."

Who among us hasn't felt invisible?  More to the point, who among us hasn't ignored someone else because we were deep in thought or conversation?  I remember coming out of a grocery store several years ago, unlocking the car door, and saying to myself, "Who checked me out?"  While waiting in line, I had leafed through a magazine, inched up to the clerk with my eyes on the conveyor belt, and focused on the business at hand.  I was so busy making sure she entered the correct prices, I never once looked at her.  I watched a pair of hands bag my groceries while I wrote a check and said my perfunctory "thank you".  Without a glance back, I aimed my cart for the exit and headed out the door.

Because I was so engrossed in what I was doing, I missed an opportunity to recognize the person who was helping me do it.  I totally ignored her.  Eye contact is not only about human connection, it's about being in the moment.  I was somewhere in the future, concerned about getting my stuff home and into the pantry so I could move on to the next task.

When I was in junior high school, I had the privilege of meeting a well-known speaker before she was scheduled to address our class.  She took my hand, looked me in the eye, and very deliberately said, "Sally, I'm so pleased to meet you."  Our first encounter lasted only a few seconds, but right then and there, I knew I wanted to experience that validation again.  And I wanted to do the same for others.  With the firmness of her hand, the tone of her voice, the mention of my name, and the look in her eyes, Mrs. Whitney illustrated the power of a soul connection.

Decades later, I met an author, a religious figure from our community who is respected world-wide.  I went to a book signing where she inscribed the following in my copy:  'To Sally, in whose eyes ideas glow and truths live lively.'   Surrounded by a flurry of activity, this adored writer never looked directly at me; and yet with good intentions, she chose to write about my eyes.

Eye contact is only one way to make a soul connection.  I love hearing my name spoken; in fact, one of my closest friends has a way of saying 'Sally' that makes my heart melt.  She puts a soft emphasis on it, as if the name 'Sally' is the only name in the world that matters to her.  With such a heartfelt  introduction, we make an immediate connection.

A similarly warm feeling arises when someone uses my name in the greeting of an e-mail.  Typically, most e-mail senders don't bother to acknowledge the one to whom they are sending the note.  One could say my objection is a generational handicap; but since my kids always begin with 'Mom' and end with 'love' (with no hints from me), I know it isn't.  What's up?  Are people in such a hurry they feel compelled to get out their message and get it out quickly?  Has etiquette died for the sake of convenience?

We all want and need to be loved, acknowledged, heard, and appreciated.  Man or woman, Democrat or Republican, gay or straight, doctor or nurse's aide -- no matter who we are or what we do in life, we need each other.  Remembering our connection is what helps us understand, respect, and accept one another. 

I wrote that last sentence with conviction, and now is the time to own it:  I will try to remember this the next time I get upset with someone from the other political party (every single day).  Still fresh in my mind is something I read this morning; and it gave me a jolt.  Poet Theodore Roethke said, "Listen to the haters:  they may remind you of new ways to love."   If there is a time ripe for listening, this is it.  These days, we are afraid of what the other party will do to the country if they get in - or remain in - power.  In the blink of an eye, our fear can turn into hatred...and for some, it already has.   

Each day I look around me and wonder how I can make a meaningful connection with people I meet.  I will try to send e-mails with the reader's name in the greeting, look directly into the eyes of the checkout person at the store, listen to a friend process a problem without interrupting, and say 'thank you' every chance I get.  I'll take my time, because I remember something else Roethke said:  "The greatest assassin of life is haste."

If there is anything that would make our lives better, it would be taking life at a slower pace.  Being attentive to the moment -- and pausing to acknowledge another person  -- is life-affirming; it gives meaning and comfort where we may feel none is possible, on a day we may have started out wishing we could have stayed in bed.


(c)  Sally Z McBain

Living in the Moment

"There is only one moment in time when it is essential to awaken.  That moment is now."    Buddha


For thirty years, I was a devotee of self-help books, each one helping me see life through a clearer lens.  I have given some away, but there are several others I'll never part with; one of them is Ekhart Tolle's The Power of Now.   It carried me over the threshold from oblivion into awareness....over and over again.  I bought the book in 2001 and read it once a year for six years.  Then one day, I put Tolle back in his place on the shelf, alongside Wayne Dyer, Pema Chodron, and Thich Nhat Hanh, thinking I finally got the message.

As I approach 65 years of age, thoughts and fears still drive me to distraction.  I acutely remember the aging process of my parents and wonder if I will have to endure the same indignities and frustrations.  Am I going to drive my kids nuts?  Will they be understanding and patient with me when I start to forget things, ask them to repeat everything they say, or fall asleep at the drop of a hat?  What if I start calling them several times a day?  What if I have to give up my home someday?

Recently, I got out The Power of Now and re-read this quote:  "Do you have many 'what if' thoughts?  You are identified with your mind, which is projecting itself into an imaginary future situation and creating fear.  There is no way that you can cope with such a situation, because it doesn't exist.  It's a mental phantom."   According to this statement, I'm an expert on mental phantoms.  I'm replacing the current moment with anxiety over something that is yet to come...if it comes at all.  I could get hit by a truck tomorrow or die of a heart attack before I have a chance to get old.  If I can't get back on track, I will miss the joy of living my life to its fullest.

Being in the moment isn't just about not worrying; it's about focusing on what I'm doing all day long.  Why is it so difficult to think one thought at a time, take one day at a time, and do one thing at a time?  The older I get, the more I realize this is the only moment I have.  This very moment is my life and it's up to me to make the most of it.  I've lost precious time by mindlessly multitasking, looking back, and planning ahead.  "Live each moment completely and the future will take care of itself.  Fully enjoy the wonder and beauty of each moment", said the Indian yogi, Yogananda.  I've squandered too many precious moments thinking about the future.

Non-awareness puts me in an unconscious state; and if left to continue, will claim my life.  I'm sure of it; I'll be 85 and wondering what I did all these years.  I'll have photos, paintings, writings, and knitted garments galore; but was I really focused on them when I shot, painted, wrote, or knitted them?  Will they just be part of a collection, or will they represent one woman's consciously lived life?  I'm the only one who can answer those questions.

I wrote the following in my journal less than a month before my mother died:  I feel as if I'm standing inside the eye of a hurricane.  It is quiet, still, serene.  Mother is stronger; Dad is more cheerful.  It's a blessing fraught with dread; but here and now, we rest together -- maybe for a week, maybe for just a few hours.  I have a short while longer to study their faces, treasure the sound of their voices, listen to them breathe.  I won't lose this moment.

Since then, I've become acutely aware how short life really is.  Thanks to Ekhart Tolle, I'm getting better at staying aware of the moment, in spite of the random, racing, brain activity that still has its way with me on a daily basis.  It takes commitment and re-commitment to live in the moment.  But the pay-off is well worth it; when I live in the moment, I never lose it.

I used to write in a diary as a young girl.  Each day, I would jot down everything I did that day.  A few of the entries were simply, 'boring day'.   In my early 30's, I learned about journals and filled notebook after notebook, going into much more detail about my thoughts and  feelings.  Now, I've gone back to writing in a diary.  There's something comforting (and very simple) about keeping track of what I do each day.  Not only can I look back on the week's activities; I can check in with myself to see if I engaged in those activities with awareness.

Another moment has arrived:  my fingers are clicking away at the computer.  Ice cubes in my glass of iced coffee are getting smaller and smaller, and the quail is calling to his mate.  Right this minute, I'm living my life the way I intend - without a worry in the world. 

                                                                 June poppies           
                                                                           
(c) Sally Z McBain
Adapted from my former blog, Sojourn

To See and Be Seen

Recently, I took the plunge and signed up on Facebook.  At first, I felt as a scuba diver must feel when swimming among exotic fish.  All the faces of people I hadn't connected with in decades, or ones I had never ever seen, were just as colorful and plentiful...and now, I am one of them, one of 900 million people wanting to see and be seen.

Initially, all I could do was float over the sea of faces, in awe of how many old friends and family members are on Facebook.  Soon, I was commenting on photos and reading what others had to share.  Exchanging quips with my niece was fun; as soon as I made my presence known, she wrote, "There goes the neighborhood!"   Of course, I translated that to mean, "Oh, my beloved aunt, I'm so glad you finally decided to join Facebook!"  Her comment marked the beginning of  old home week, and immediately, I became part of a ready-made, reunited community.

Until I got into the swing of things, I felt like a voyeur; however, I finally figured out that people let me see what they want me to see -- in most cases, that includes a photo of them and their families, unique pictures they have taken, announcements of special events, and brief exchanges with friends, which you can 'like' or 'comment' on.  Those of us who are new friends may have to guess what they're talking about or who's who in the family/friend line-up...that is, if we care to take the time.  Facebook requires time some of us didn't think we had; but when you're among friends, it's amazing how fast the time goes.

It didn't take too long to learn how Facebook works.  With one click per person, I re-connected with high school and college chums; and with another click, I un-friended one of them.  Several days in a row, he and like-minded pals were getting high on politically motivated anger, never giving thought to the fact that their vitriolic comments might alienate a whole lot of 'friends'.  They can believe what they want and are free to share it with the world; but I don't choose to be greeted with hatred the minute I open Facebook.  Does this childhood acquaintance know I gave him the boot?  Maybe he does, but I'll venture to say, he couldn't care less and won't miss one face among a couple hundred. 

The thing that strikes me the most is the number of 'friends' (in quotes because, in this case, I consider it a loose use of the word) some people have.  How can one possibly count hundreds of people as friends?  Four, five, six hundred -- I don't think I even know that many people.  On the other hand, if I want to get word out about Soul Portrait, which is a primary reason I joined Facebook, I'd better get used to the fact that a great many of my future 'friends' will start out as complete strangers.  There are public and private options that come with Facebook accounts, but I'm still in the process of deciding what's best for me and who belongs in which category.

Some might say I'm making much ado about nothing, but this is still new to me.  I can engage in the process, remain a passive onlooker, or completely disengage from the process.  I also have to figure how much time I'm willing to contribute.  Knowing loved ones are only a click away -- sharing their activities, thoughts, and photos -- makes Facebook worthwhile.  We've made our soul connections through the years and Facebook is an added bonus, a reminder that we aren't all that far away.  I remind myself if we need to talk at length, we can call or e-mail. 

Facebook is for fast connections, not soul connections.  I would always choose soul connections over fast connections, but the latter are simpler.  Facebook makes it easy to touch base with someone you haven't seen for 40 years.  You make your presence known; she answers how good it is to hear from you, and asks where are you now; and you move on to the next person you haven't seen for 40 years, perhaps never saying another word to either one any time soon.  We know the other person is there, that our past is still in tact and our memories shared; but neither of us has the time or energy to try to fill in four decades of life-details. 

Superficial chit-chat is difficult for me because it's so....well, superficial.  I much prefer meaningful connections; but knowing that isn't possible, I attempted to find a middle ground with one guy from high school.  My message to him was briefly conversational, with one or two questions that would encourage him to respond.  I haven't heard from him since. I've received the 'friend' response from several people without one word exchanged.  Finally, I tested the waters by writing a couple notes, but to no avail.  When nothing is said, and only a face appears on your page, you wonder, 'why bother?'  Are we making connections or not?  Do these people truly want friends or are they just collecting faces as if they were stamps?  And does it really matter, as long as we have access to each other's page?   I hope I get used to this; but I can see why some people have let their pages go idle. 

One man I know and tried to 'friend' responded by e-mail and told me he was afraid he had let too many weeds grow on his page and wasn't using it much these days.  Was I another weed?  He did not 'friend' me (and contrary to those who have hundreds of friends and can't begin to keep track, I know when I'm being ignored).  This gentleman and I e-mail a couple times a year, so I knew we wouldn't lose touch.   I admit, I wanted to work up to 50 friends and he would have made 48; but the very fact that I'm even looking at numbers makes me feel like I've entered some kind of competition.  There are just some people who attract more people; and I say, ''More power to ya.'  Still, a name will pop into my head just as I'm falling asleep and I know I'm going to try to find that person on Facebook; when they aren't there, I'm disappointed. 

Facebook can be great fun or just another chore, depending on one's attitude and energy.  I want to let certain people know I'm right here and thinking about them often. Everyone on my friend list is important to me, whether they are there because they care about me, want to learn more about my book and blog, or feel the need to add yet another face to their first 400.  Their motives don't concern me, as long as they're getting something out of it.  What does matter to me is why I'm there.  At some point, I'll have to accept the Facebook notion of 'friend' and not worry that I'm not giving everyone quality attention....or any attention, for that matter.  If I can't get to that point, I'll silently slip away.

All this begs the question, what if I go missing from Facebook?  Will anyone care?  More importantly, will anyone notice?  I could be gone for weeks, curled up in the corner of my studio, stuffing my face with chocolate chip cookies and suffocating in swirling dust, yet none of my 'friends' would know.  But for now, I'm staying put.  There's something that tickles me about being a voyeur without breaking the law.  I promise those of you on Facebook, I'm quiet and never stay too long.  It's like a wise man once said,  'Short visits make long friends". 

                                             Lupine in The Columbia River Gorge
                                                                         

Between Friends

Years ago, a very smart author/friend of mine suggested I focus on marketing the legacy component of Soul Portrait, rather than the 'what if' aspect of aging and the possibility of being dependent on someone else for our care.   "Obviously it could still be used for caregiving, but by putting the focus on legacy, it makes the whole thing more palatable", she wrote.   

Like anyone who has written a book and dreamed of it catching on like wild fire, I thought about this for a long time.  I knew nothing about marketing, and certainly, she knew what she was talking about.  Was my friend right about the topics of aging and dependence not being palatable?  

To a certain degree, she was; but that's  because we're afraid of being physically or mentally incapacitated. Talking about those possibilities makes our skin crawl; in fact, just the thought of being helpless puts us in a state of denial.  Because we never see ourselves in that position, we decide not to think about it.  It doesn't matter that only a small percentage of us will ever land in a nursing home; we are still afraid of getting old and being dependent on someone else for our care. 

I have a friend who can't even say her age (63) without feeling a sense of horror; if I accidentally make her one year older than she is, she quickly and vehemently corrects me.  She's not alone; there are times I think about my aging and am amazed that I'm almost 65.  Who?  Me?  65?  Can't be!  And then, there are those who age with grace and accept their aging with an attitude that is enviable.  It seems to be no big deal for them.  When I'm around someone like the latter, I know I can do it, too.  And because I'm a planner by nature, one way I accept aging is to plan ahead.

I believe that once we talk about our fears, we can put them into perspective and start approaching life with joy -- not only for ourselves, but for the sake of our families.  Soul Portrait is a pleasant way to think about these things and start the dialogue with our kids or our parents.  Not only that, depending on where the conversation goes, it can lead to self acceptance and soul-level connections.  I don't know of a family that couldn't benefit from more acceptance, understanding, and forgiveness.

I always encourage family members to use Soul Portrait as a non-threatening introduction to 'the talk' with their aging parents.  What happens to their parents later on will affect their own lives in ways they never imagined, and it's so much better for everyone if aging parent and adult child plan ahead together.  How many of us who are now in our 60's have cared for our parents with no clue as to what they needed to thrive at the soul level?

After fighting my usual self-doubt, I had to honor my instincts and let go of the notion that my book would take off like gangbusters; marketing the truth was the only way I could proceed.  And now that it's out for all to see, my doubt has vanished.  I wrote Soul Portrait to help people deal with the fear of growing old and possibly being dependent upon someone else.  The way to do that is to make aging personal.  What follows is the e-mail response I sent to my friend.

I initially reacted to your use of the word, 'palatable', which would suggest that my current approach is distasteful.  If it is distasteful, it's because we all want to avoid talking about it.  We are frightened of aging and being dependent; however, to dilute my message would be to mask the truth.  The purpose of 'Soul Portrait' is to give people something to think about and to honor those who cannot speak for themselves.  

My target audience is family, institutional staff, medical personnel, and baby boomers.  We can initiate discussion with our parents; we can think about our own futures; we can care for our elders in a more personal way; and we can change the way we and others think about aging.  Our society is in need of a paradigm shift and my approach is just one small contribution to changing the current culture of elder care.

I feel compelled to talk to people about the unspoken, painful issues.  We have buried our heads in the sand for too long; and it's affecting the way we care for our elders, why elders are undervalued rather than cherished, and why they would rather die than go into a nursing home.  Our fears affect our families and those around us; we pass on the message that aging is bad.  Our society has taken a wrong turn by relegating our elders to second-class status, and thus, making them feel unworthy of our attention and respect.

Soul Portrait provides us with a way to leave a legacy to those we love, yes, but it is so much more.  It's about the future and life review and memories and personal everyday issues that impact how we feel at the soul level.  Families don't typically plan ahead for personalized health care.  Instead, we spend years on genealogies; we prepare our wills and Advance Health Care Directives for when we are dead or on our way out; we even pick out our urns, grave stones, and sites for burial.  We've saved up as much money as we can to assure our continued standard of living through retirement, and maybe we're paying huge amounts of money for long term care insurance.  There is a part of us that knows we could be dependent some day; but that's where our preparation hits a wall.  Soul Portrait is one more facet of retirement planning, because it takes us one more step towards making aging and health care personal.

As one 80-year old friend tells me, "Old age has a way of creeping up on you."  When it arrives, we don't always know what to think about it; and in most cases, by the time a crisis hit -- if it hits -- we lose our ability to make choices about our care. Soul Portrait is a comforting wake up call for all of us.


(c) SallyZMcBain