Just a Tooth

It's spring! And it's snowing in the Columbia River Gorge. I'm sitting at my laptop, coffee on the warming plate, staring out at the white stuff on our grass, and thinking about what to do next. Soul Portrait is finally out and can be purchased on Amazon and Barnes and Noble websites...or at any book store that will order it from Dog Ear Publishing. I'm so happy that part of the saga is over; it's beautiful and easy to read. As one friend told me, "You climbed the mountain".

When Soul Portrait arrived at my front door, I didn't open the box right away; I let it sit for a whole day, just so I could savor the feeling that comes with completion after so many years. The next morning, alone in my sanctum, I grabbed the scissors and opened the box that held my book. The cover is beautiful and I saw no errors on the inside. I held a copy in my hands for the longest time, stroking it so I could get a feel for it, so the reality would sink in. Later in the afternoon, my husband got out the champagne; as we raised the two Waterford crystal stemmed glasses given to us as a wedding gift, we both cheered, "It's done!" I knew I'd have to think about marketing; at that point, however, nothing else was on my mind but the accomplishment of finishing my book. I thought of all the authors in the world who write tomes....how do they do it without going insane?

But not everything went my way. Several months ago, while my new dentist was going through my mouth, he exclaimed my front tooth was suffering from root resorption. We suspect the tooth was damaged by metal braces I had when I was about 40. Since I had no idea they were not helping the situation, I kept the braces on for three years. Maybe they placed too much pressure on that tooth; I've not read that many enlightening articles about root resorption. The dentist told me it should come out or bone would be compromised, there could be inflammation, whatever. Long story short, I waited for 7 months before I finally consented to have it pulled and an implant put in. I had noticed some minor aching now and then, but I wasn't ready to plunk down the few thousand it would require. I knew at some point I'd have to bite the bullet and dip into savings, so now was as good a time as any.

What I didn't think about, or was in denial about, was that by the time Soul Portrait came on the market, I would be sporting a hideously gray provisional crown, made even uglier by a healing mouthwash that just happens to discolor teeth. So much for my biggest physical asset. Some of you have heard this story, but I hope I can be forgiven for repeating a few things. When I was a young girl, I asked my mother if I was pretty. Her answer was, "You have a beautiful smile, Sally". It wasn't exactly what I wanted to hear; but I was never shy about smiling after that. In fact, getting braces again when I was middle-aged was my way of keeping that beautiful smile. As I told my sister, I'll now be one of those women who covers her mouth when she bursts forth with a hearty laugh.

I've tried so hard to deal with my vanity as I age. I have friends who have had all kinds of procedures done to their faces, so I know I'm not alone in my vain pursuits. Still, I confess, I feel some shame, given how blessed I've been physically. With the exception of a few manageable issues, I'm healthy. Interestingly, I've taken up knitting again to direct my thoughts to things that really matter in life: there is nothing like knitting a prayer shawl for a friend to get me out of a self-pity mode.

My husband told me a story about one of his cows back in the day. She was an aggressive animal, so proud of her strength and her horns. None of her peers had horns, so she was able to poke them out of her path to the feed bunkers. She was bossy and arrogant. One day, my darling husband decided to put her in her place; after all, the way she was taking over, she could end up goring other cows. He asked the vet to saw off her horns. The way he describes her human-like sadness and embarrassment speaks to me. For days, she stood far from the others, under a tree. Her soul had been shaken. For days, I was despondent and felt the same way; but after spending plenty of time under my own tree, I got tired of hiding my smile and decided to get over it. My new photo on this blog speaks to the fact that my senses have come back. It's just a tooth, after all.

So, what have I learned about myself and soul? I've learned that how I perceive myself and feel about myself goes soul deep. My husband told me over and over, "It's just temporary." While I knew that, I also felt my soul had been assaulted. I learned that, yes, vanity is only skin deep, and yes, we are so much more than how we look; but when something becomes an integral part of one's identity, it goes much deeper. It goes straight to the soul.

The Library Escapade

It has been years since I've been a library patron. I had a friend who had a friend who worked in a library, and she said to my friend, "You'd be amazed at how dirty library books are." That did it for me; over the next few weeks, my library visits dwindled to nothing. I didn't want a bunch of filthy, possibly germ-ridden, books in my home, let alone in bed with me. I had options, of course, none of which included paying for my reading material; I could not afford that luxury twenty-some years ago. I thought about wearing gloves and a mask while handling library books, but decided that could be problematic if I were in public or wanted to eat and read in the privacy of my own home. I must have borrowed from friends or gone without and spent my free hours knitting instead. As much as I love to read, when push came to shove, I wanted yarn more than I wanted books.

Years later, married again and with a better-paying job, I bought novels, self-help, and spiritual books. I felt pretty flush when both my husband and I were working, and the first things I wanted were books of my own. I had to make up for lost time, after all. My shelf space expanded, and I kept buying.

There is a negative side to greed, but when you are spending money on something you think you have to have, you aren't thinking about the negatives. The last 5 years, I've given more books away than you can shake a stick at. Books weigh a ton; and when you are moving all over the country and back again, you want to lighten your load considerably, especially when moving rates are based on weight. Besides, as one grows older, one's interests change; certain books are no longer relevant to our lives. In the end, charities benefit; I have less to pack; someone re-buys my books and enjoys a good read; and we're all happy.

Now that we're retired, living on a fixed income, and trying to live a 'less-is-more' lifestyle, it's back to the library. So many books, so little time! Fortunately, the books I've checked out are not that old, so they haven't had a chance to get really grimy. On the other hand, one book was relatively new, yet already had an orange-yellow stain (sweet potato?) on one page and coffee stains on a couple others. The novel is Someone Knows My Name, by Lawrence Hill....a marvelous story that captured my attention the whole time it was in my hands. The moment I turned the page to see colored smears from whatever my fellow reader ate, I felt a kinship with him/her. I was not repulsed, only amused (I was munching on something at the time). I shudder to think what Hill's book will look like after a few of us are done reading while we eat (better than reading a public library book while sitting in the bathroom -- but that's just my opinion).

Being at the library is like wandering inside a cloud-lined cocoon; it's a different world, one that I have missed. Books collected over time speak to a town's history and reading choices of the people in it. The library takes me back to a sweeter period of my life, something a bookstore cannot do. I remember when, as a grade school student, I spent hours in the big old library in Erie. Now, the books reside in a modern building; there is no old-book smell or architectural charm. I went into the new library a couple times after we moved back, only to exit as quickly as I could. I couldn't feel the spirit of the little girl who lived and breathed books, communed with Edgar Allen Poe, and held in her hands the same volumes her ancestors held.

A library is a reader's paradise filled with brilliant writers here and gone, incredible stories classic and new, and knowledge about everything under the sun. Sometimes, I get so wrapped up in the excitement of entering a library, I don't pay attention to what my body is doing. The other day, I was returning a couple books and picking up one I had requested to be put on hold. While standing at the counter, I had to take off my clip-on sunglasses so I could find my library card inside the dark interior of my very large handbag. When I finished my business with the librarian, I decided to head for the stacks. I usually visit the novels first, and then the craft and cooking sections. But first, I was careful to put my sunglasses in an outside pocket of my purse. I'm always losing them, and lately, have made a concerted effort to tuck them safely away the minute I take them off.

When I finished browsing, I headed for the door and reached for my clip-ons. They weren't where I thought I had put them. I dug through my purse and when nothing turned up, I went to my first stop to see if I had only dreamed I put them away. They were not on the counter and the librarian said no one had turned them in. I retraced my steps through the stacks and eventually to a table where I emptied my purse. I handled everything at least twice, to make sure my clip-ons glasses didn't slip between notepads or my checkbook pages. I came up empty-handed.

These are my lucky sunglasses; I've lost them dozens of times in the course of 3 years, only to find them right where I left them. I refused to say they were lost again; still, I decided right then and there to go to Walgreens before heading home, so I could buy another pair. I didn't want to admit to my husband that I had lost them one last time, and he wouldn't know old ones from new ones. In any case, it wouldn't hurt to have a back-up pair.

Once in the car, and still determined, I furiously dumped all the contents out onto the passenger seat; they had to be there because they weren't anywhere else! I couldn't believe it. I stashed all the stuff (big bag, big stash) back into my purse, and with my jaw clenched all the way, went back into the library to start the process over again. One more dump on a table (a different one, just in case that would change my luck) and nothing. How on earth could I lose those things? I'd had them in my hand only 30 minutes ago! I gave the librarian my name and phone number, and she assured me they'd call if my clip-ons showed up. I walked back to the car in gale force winds (I had to hold on to a tree branch at one point to keep from getting swept down the sidewalk), cursing my carelessness and searching my surroundings -- sidewalk, bushes, pavement around the car, floor of the car. I wondered how I could have scoured every inch of where I had been, yet no glasses. They disappeared into thin air.

Picturing Walgreens and their huge wall of concealers, foundations, blushes, mascaras, and eye shadows, (a consolation for having to make a quick detour), I got into the car one last time. As I was getting situated in my seat, I heard a familiar sound. I knew that sound; it was the sound of the tiny coiled spring mechanism that gives stretch to clip-on lenses!

In the process of putting on my seat belt, I lifted my left arm to see if I was correct, and there they were -- my sunglasses hooked on a stitch of my hand-knit sweater and hanging by one clip. They must have been sticking up out of the outside pocket of my bag and got caught when I threw it over my left shoulder on my way to the stacks. They went everywhere I went; they were with me the whole time. If I were into anthropomorphizing inanimate objects, I would think they had a great time watching me look for them, snickering as I searched like a wild woman.

So, what did I learn from all this? I learned several things: (1) Stay focused and slow down; (2) appreciate avid readers who have taken out the garbage just before settling down to read, have cut a finger while trying to read and chop veggies at the same time, have suffered a cold and blown their nose all over a book, or have eaten a 6-course meal while reading the very book I'm about to bring home; (3) donate over-sized handbags to charity; (4) wash my hands now and then when handling library books; and (5) do some research on all the germs that have killed library patrons in the past. It's the least I can do, just in case.


(c) Sally Z McBain

My Soul Council

Methinks all things have travelled since you shined, But only Time, and clouds, Time's team, have moved; Again foul weather shall not change my mind, But in the shade I will believe what in the sun I loved. Henry David Thoreau


This winter has been one of clouds and fog, sadness, and personal indecision. Two close friends are battling cancer; a couple more recently lost their mothers; another is suffering over the life-path her 18-year old son is taking; and yet another friend is trying to get psychological help for her troubled daughter. In the middle of this angst, I'm nervous about the dental surgery I'm soon to have. And then there is the upcoming debut of Soul Portrait, which is in the final step of the publication process. I'll soon receive my copies and try to decide what to do next; I'm having a difficult time letting go.

Once again, my thoughts travel all over the place and I struggle to stay in the moment. It's life, I know that; but when it happens, I find myself at a loss. What do I do about this? How do I handle that? How can I be supportive? Should I express my feelings about such-and-such? At moments like these, I wish my mother were alive so I could talk to her, absorb into my cells her silent wisdom.

There is one place I go that immediately fills and speaks to my soul. On a walk around our neighborhood, I'm able to be in the moment. I look up into the pine-lined basalt bluffs on one side of me, and soft, rolling high hills on the other. In between, our town stretches out alongside the Columbia River, taking on the shape of a horseshoe as it follows the natural flow of the water. It's the town I have come to love more than any other place I've ever lived. It was here, back in 1986, that I developed an intimate relationship with Nature through my poetry, photography, and walks in the Gorge. Nature enveloped me in her forgiving love; and I found peace over and over again. My soul was comforted.

I still find myself drawn into all that is silent, beautiful, and mysterious. Inside this world, I see life clearly, especially if the sun is shining. Light, as my younger son once told me, is what brings out the beauty of a photograph. It's also what brings out clarity of thought. Nature is miraculous and soul-filling. Soul-deep. Soul-soothing. Soul-encompassing. I look at the naked hibernating oak trees and am overwhelmed with Nature's wonders, knowing beyond a doubt I am part of every tree, leaf, and animal that adorns or travels worn paths behind our home. A friend of mine fills her soul by going to the sea; I fill my soul by walking among big boulders, deer tracks, and trees.

These winter days, when I feel adrift inside clouds and gloom, I walk through this familiar scene and find myself talking to those who have passed on....Mother, Dad, Rosie, George, David, Grandpa Z, Grandma B, and Arthur. Where are they? Are they part of the breeze that brushes up against my face? Do they hear me say their names? Do they know how much they mean to me?

In rain or shine, they are members of my Soul Council, the ones I go to when I want to feel unconditionally loved, and when I need to sort through things I may think I don't understand, but have no real doubt I do....at the soul level. Talking to them reminds me that my thoughts are more upsetting than reality, that life is just doing what it does naturally. Walking with them brings them back to life in my life.

A few years ago, I might have read the words I've just written and thought I was losing my mind. It took the deaths of my parents to help me realize that even after our seemingly final transition, we live on in the dreams, thoughts, triumphs, and tears of those still here. By recognizing my Soul Council, I am honoring my own soul, the very essence of who I am. Soul defines me; and if I listen to it, it always leads me in the right direction. I've known it subconsciously for decades, but it has taken this long for me to recognize the presence of something deep inside, and then, to trust it. The older I get, the more often I go to my Soul Council to be reminded of all this.

Aside from my own actions and their possible consequences, I try not to question too much anymore. When I need clarity, I call on those individuals who passed on their DNA to me, either through their genes or their love. I am who I am because of loved ones who are no longer standing in front of me, looking into my eyes, hugging me, laughing with me, cheering me on, or offering consolation. I carry within me Mother's depth of courage, Rosie's infectious joy, Dad's focused determination, David's everlasting love, George's encouragement, Grandpa's gentle nature, Grandma's quiet humility, and Arthur's artistic discipline.

Some would call them angels. I like the term 'Soul Council', an idea I borrowed from Peggy La Cerra, Ph.D.; only she calls it a 'Sage Council'. In a piece she wrote for Spirituality & Health, she says, "An imaginary sage council is a panel of wise individuals who can be brought to mind when you are stressed or fearful, or simply looking for sound guidance. Consider those people, living or not, whom you most admire -- people whose character, wisdom, and way of being in the world you wish to emulate. Imagine them as available to advise or inspire you whenever you need them." I love this idea, though I wouldn't use the word 'imaginary'; and I prefer to call upon those who have passed through the ultimate portal to a soul realm.

Life is all about soul. It's also about knowing what soul is, how it looks as a collage of components that make up our unique portrait, and how to honor it. Soul is everything that tells us, intuitively, who we are. Soul needs attention and care. Knowing how we express the needs of our soul helps us give it that tender care. My soul needs Nature, but that's only one part of my portrait.

After re-reading the opening quote, I've decided to add Thoreau to my Soul Council; in fact, I think I'll appoint him the honorary chairperson. After all, he speaks directly to my soul.

The Gift of Another Year

While I wait for Soul Portrait to be published, my mind is spinning like a top. I received a sample of the book a couple weeks ago, advised Dog Ear Publishing about minor format changes, and finalized my choices for the cover design. My photographer, now a good friend, took two beautiful photos (one each for the front and back) that will invite readers into the world of soul-sharing. The back cover image is the Columbia river flowing through part of the gorge, which warms my heart, since the Columbia River Gorge is my favorite place in the whole world.

There are days I'm calm about it, knowing Soul Portrait is in the hands of capable professionals; and there are days I'm higher than a kite, edgy to see it in its final form, and filling my life with activity so I don't obsess about it. Soon, I will have the entire proof on my computer (unfortunately, they don't send out hold-in-your-hands galley proofs -- I'll have to copy it on my printer, which is hardly the same) and will have to carefully read it for the hundredth time to check for errors and typo's. I've been advised by a friend --one who has gone through this a couple times -- to ask someone who has never set eyes on Soul Portrait to read it from beginning to end for spelling errors. The designer at Dog Ear thinks it will be about 116 pages, so it's hardly a daunting task. It's a great suggestion, and I have just the person.

In the meantime, I'm thinking about my goals for this next year. I just turned 64, which means I've entered my 65th year of life, and I want it to be a meaningful one. By the way, I've turned a corner about aging: I'm no longer lamenting the speed with which I arrived here; instead I'm just grateful I got this far.

So, what do I want this year to be about, aside from Soul Portrait's debut? For several years, a close friend and I have been following a concept from Mira Kirshenbaum's book, Gift of a Year. The point is to live life fully and with awareness, not having to look back and wonder, "Where did the time go?" Each year of life is a gift, so we savor it and respect the time given to us. We choose a special focus for the year and dedicate ourselves to it, knowing whatever we do will add to our lives in some way. Each 'gift of a year' has personal growth and spiritual components to it; sometimes we choose the same one and other times we take slightly different paths; but always, we check in with each other on a regular basis throughout the year to see how we're doing and what we're learning about ourselves.

This year, there are two things I want to focus on: (1) clearing my to-finish list, thereby adding both physical and spiritual energy to my life, and (2) writing letters (the hand-written, put-on-a-stamp, head-for-the post-office kind), thereby reaching out to others in a more personal way. My first letter towards this end was to my former mother-in-law (my sons' grandmother), wishing her a happy birthday, recounting memories, and thanking her for the role she played in my life. She is living her 90th year and I want her to know, even though I'm no longer married to her son, that she impacted my life in a huge way. I admit, there were times I was extremely frustrated with her; but it's amazing (now that I'm a mother-in-law) how much I value her forgiveness of the past and the love she has expressed over the years.

I give credit for my letter-writing campaign to another dear friend, who shared a book entitled, Always First Class, by Oregonian, Lois Barry. After going through Barry's enchanting world of letter-writing, I knew I had to get back to that time when things went at a slower pace and were more personal. Call it an aging thing if you wish (and I won't take offense), but the bottom line is, many of us are giving away our lives to electronic devices. I fear for the destiny of the hand-written letter and civility in general (I recently had a meeting with a county official who carried on a conversation with me while he checked for in-coming e-mails). At the same time, I'm also heartened at what seems to be renewed interest in the art of writing a letter (several books on the topic are available); some of us are reacting to e-mails written in haste, with no greeting, discernible body, or signature. More often than not, e-mails begin much like a horse charging out of the starting gate at the Kentucky Derby; they are written quickly and to get a point across.

There are many people in my life with whom I haven't connected in a very long time. Christmas and birthday cards are sent with little notes, but I rarely sit down and spend quality time with the recipient of my good wishes. E-mails aren't usually that personal, though with some thought and effort they can be. I've received some powerful e-mails that meant so much to me I had to print them out and tuck them away for safe-keeping. Still, there is something wonderful about opening up a stamped envelope and finding inside a personal letter, filled with news about the sender, written in a familiar hand, and signed with love. Letter-writing is a way I can make time for those special people in my life -- quality time, slowed-down time, just with them.

As for the to-finish list, authors Joe Dominguez and Vicki Robin (Your Money or Your Life) suggest unfinished business is just as energy-sapping as is all the crap we save that collects and procreates (like paper) around us. It's all clutter. I have so many unfinished projects and books, that I feel like I'm in Unfinished Project Purgatory. There are 2 unfinished needlepoint and 6 knitting projects that are cluttering up my sanctum; and there are 10 partially-read books on my shelves. It would take a psychologist to analyze my problem; still, the outcome is a confused, mis-directed, brain. Even though I have written out my list of projects (and that helps), I keep re-registering them with my already overloaded brain cells. I want to get those things off my list before I feel even more overwhelmed; but I also want to enjoy the process while I'm doing it, deliberately and with care. And then, I will try to figure out why I jump from project to project and book to book. I will work at slowing down -- and really, maybe that's my gift of a year....slowing down and savoring life, projects, and people.

The planning month is over and my gift of this next year has begun. The big gift is knowing I'm alive, in good health, and surrounded by wonderful people. Freeing up my psychic and physical energy by finishing projects and reaching out to others by writing letters will require my keeping up with the practices of gratitude and meditation. While God/Spirit has given me a life filled with family and friends, these two practices are the gifts I give to myself.

Family Matters

     While Soul Portrait is in the hands of the publisher, I decided to write a couple blog entries about the book.  Not only can it serve as an advocate's reference (see last entry), it can also act as a bridge to family communication about the future, which can lead to planning ahead for the 'what ifs':   What if I can't take care of myself?  What if I have a catastrophic illness and can't afford to pay for my care?  What if I insist on staying at home, despite everyone's fears for my safety?  What if my kids insist on taking me to a nursing home?  Or, what if I've always assumed I can live with one of my sons someday, but the very thought sends him reeling?     
     The following quote comes from an AARP web article entitled, "8 Rules for New Caregivers":  Start with a candid conversation.  Talk with your parents about how you will be helping them to meet their needs.  Unless they are severely incapacitated, they should continue to make their own decisions and remain a central part of all discussions about their care.  Encourage them to articulate their concerns:  Most likely, your parents are worried about becoming a burden and losing control of their lives.  Have an open conversation about what role your parents want you to play.  Establish limits so they don't form unrealistic expectations.
     In some cases, this approach may work; yet there are potential challenges.  First of all, if you are a new caregiver and are just now having this conversation with your parents, it's more than likely too late to have honest, comfortable dialogue.  It is not the desired way to make a parent feel as though she is an equal partner in future planning.  By the time your role as caregiver has begun, there are frightening and pressing issues to address, many of which close in on a parent's comfort zone.  It can make a parent feel like she already has become a problem, which can create an atmosphere of defensiveness, denial, and fear. 
     Second, how do adult children know when the timing is right?   By the time a parent is 'severely incapacitated', guilt and worry are already playing havoc with family dynamics.  On the other hand, if the parent is still active and mentally sharp, he or she might feel insulted and threatened by an out-of-the-blue 'candid' conversation.  I personally know wealthy parents who would be suspicious, assuming the kids are thinking ahead to their inheritance instead of their parents' well-being. 
     Third, many of us no longer have living parents.  We ARE the aging parents (even though many of us are only in our 60's), and I'm guessing that most of our young-to-middle-aged kids are not thinking about being stuck in the role of caregiver anytime soon.  They have plenty of other things on their minds, and may not be ready to think about how our aging will impact them. 
     The timing for discussion about an aging parent's future is sensitive, no matter who brings it up.  This is one of the reasons I wrote Soul Portrait.   It is not dependent upon having a family discussion.  It will be there when and if a family is able and willing to make the time to talk; but if they cannot do so, Soul Portrait can provide the basis for planning when the time comes.
     Those of us who have formally entered the world of aging are acutely aware of our mortality and the increasing odds that the older we get, the more likely we will be dependent on someone for the care we receive.  We witnessed and experienced a lot of pain with the aging and demise of our own parents, and want it to be different for us and our children.  That knowledge and experience make us the logical and more informed initiators of conversations about a future in which our children have an interest.  When we do that depends on our feelings about aging, their receptivity, and our relationship with them.
     We have the opportunity to make our kids equal partners in pro-active planning, rather than to become the subject of a 'candid' conversation prompted by them after something happens.  There may come a time we have no choices left, and if our kids know us better, and have expressed their own concerns and limitations, we'll all benefit.  Doing this before something happens feels much better than suggesting that adult children "Establish limits" so their parents don't "form unrealistic expectations".   I can just visualize sitting in a chair while my kids run down a list of limits they have set.  It not only separates me from them, it would feel demeaning; but that is exactly what can happen when adult child and parent stay on different sides of the topic, each steadfastly holding on to their appointed roles rather than discussing the issues together as equals when they have the chance.        
     Aging is a family matter and by talking now, we can avoid much of the guilt, anger, helplessness, and regret that we may feel later (I liken this process to putting on our life jackets before the boat leaves the dock, not after a storm kicks up and leaves us thrashing around trying to find them under a seat).    
     When it comes to families, relationships are all over the map.  Ways of communicating are just as varied.  I know several families that suffer from estrangement and anger.  This has happened in my own family, and it casts a dark cloud over all our lives.  My friend, Lynn, tells the story of her daughter who hasn't spoken to her in years, yet Lynn does not know why.  She has done her Soul Portrait for her daughter to read after her (Lynn's) death.  Therein, she tells her daughter more about herself, and how sorry she is for whatever she did to keep her daughter at such a painful distance.  She likes to draw, so she has several small pictures beside her notes.  As for Lynn's possible dependency someday, Soul Portrait will be there for a caring advocate.
     Many people my age do not have children, in which case, I encourage them to think along the same vein with someone close to them, preferably someone younger whom they trust and love.
     For those of us who have lived a very private life and do not wish to talk about who we are at the soul-level, Soul Portrait is still a valuable communication tool for a time when things might change.  And if it's too late for planning together, it will be a valued legacy to leave behind.  For those of us who are talkers and more open, Soul Portrait can be the entree to a discussion about, not only who we are, but what we need in order to thrive. 
     Over and over again, I have seen families twist and turn over the choices their aging parents made.   Over and over again, a determined elder will choose to stay at home until he dies, making it unbearable for the adult children who are frightened he'll fall down the stairs or slip in the tub and lie there until someone sees the mail hasn't been collected.  With no prior communication to guide them, the kids blindly traverse elder-care territory searching for help and being exhausted from worry, lack of sleep, urgent flights across the country, and frantic phone calls.  Those of us who have been-there-done-that do not wish to put our children through the same thing.
     Beginning the dialogue early about where we see ourselves in the next few years is what our kids deserve.  Even if we just suggest that we want to talk someday, they'll know the door is open in case they end up being the initiators.  The worst thing we as aging parents can do is shut them out or be insulted if they think we are 'old'.  We may not feel old, but by the time we reach 60 (and some would say mid-50's), we are considered by gerontologists to be in the 'young-old' category.  It's the perfect time to be thinking about how our aging and possible dependency will affect our family.  Once that's done, we can go back to jumping out of airplanes, traveling around the world, or writing the great American novel.
     Aging should be a special phase of life, one filled with joy, creativity, and new adventures.  Soul Portrait was written with the intention of savoring who we are and sharing our discoveries with those we love.
    

                                                              
                                                        

Advocacy in a Book

     When people ask me what Soul Portrait is about, I have a difficult time giving them a short-and-sweet answer.  The idea for the book was born before the turn of the century and has only recently reached full maturity.   By taking as long as I have, with writing, re-writing, and testing the waters by sharing it with others, I helped Soul Portrait grow up.  Actually, the process of writing a book is like rearing a child; there comes a time you know you have done the best you can and have to let go.
     Soul Portrait is many things; but first and foremost, it's about Making Aging Personal.  It's about sharing the deepest part of ourselves with loved ones who may someday be our caregivers and health care advocates.
     I worked in a nursing facility in the late nineties and was struck by the helplessness of the patients, people who could not communicate their needs and desires -- the very parts of them that made them uniquely human.  One cannot help but put oneself in the place of a completely dependent person, which is exactly what I did.  I felt overwhelmed with grief for all of us who cannot, and may never be able to, express our feelings and needs to the people who are in charge of our care. 
     Who knows what my favorite foods are and how I panic when I'm feeling closed in?  Who cares that I meditate each day and love the poetry of Rumi and Hafiz?  Aside from my husband, who knows I can't go anywhere without a good book and my knitting?  These are things I'd like my family and caregivers to know about me, should the time come I can't speak for myself.  Soul Portrait is the best way I can do that; it's a MAP to my soul, an easy one for family, caregivers, and friends to navigate.  It's every bit as important as my Health Care Directives, both of which I keep in my fire-resistant file box.
     I'm told that a friend of mine (in another blog, I called him 'Sam' -- not his real name), the day before having major brain surgery, stopped the surgeon, looked straight into the man's eyes, and spoke about his career as an artist.  He emphasized how important the use of his brain and hands were for designing and creating his art.  Sam asked the surgeon questions about his own work, knowing the surgeon would understand what he was saying, that they had something in common:  eye-hand co-ordination played a major role in each of their lives. 
     Sam knew if he and the surgeon connected on a human level, the surgeon might view him as a person with a life and purpose, as opposed to an interesting surgical challenge.  Maybe he thought the surgeon would take special care of him if they made a personal connection.   More likely, however, is that he simply wanted to get more personal in an atmosphere that is often cold, hurried, and focused on records, x-rays, and treatment.  Sam wanted to go deeper.
     Most of us derive comfort through personal contact, and when circumstances threaten to make us anonymous, we are fearful.  That's what Soul Portrait is all about --- letting others know more about us by encouraging them to look beyond our age, debilities, and diagnoses. 
     The delicate brain surgery failed, and as Sam lay dying from the ravages of a major stroke, one of his old buddies stayed by his side and became his last companion and advocate.  One of the most important things this childhood friend knew was how much Sam loved classical music.  He made sure the radio was on with the kind of music Sam listened to every single day while working in his studio.  Still, there was so much more to know about this incredible artist.  
     After he died, the people who loved Sam had to piece together the sequence and events of his life, so we could figure out who he really was.  He kept his life very private, which meant his relationships were also kept private.  We were like the blind men trying to describe an elephant, each of us having been exposed to only one part of our friend and basing our assumptions about him on that one part.
     As soon as a few of us learned of each other, we began to talk, write long e-mails, and grieve, in order to find solace in our loss.  The more stories we told about Sam, the clearer the picture of the man became.  Like each of us, he was multi-faceted, a different person to business associates and fellow model airplane flyers than he was to his family and intimate others.  We needed to know who he was so we could celebrate his full life.  And we needed each other.   
     Soul Portrait is not only for the Soul Portrait creator.  It is also for family and friends.  Soul Portrait encourages connection, empathy, love, compassion, and respect.  When we know a person beyond what we see and assume about them, as family and friends we can be better advocates.  As caregivers and health care providers we can deliver better care.  Physical care requires sensitivity, skill, and attention to human dignity; but it is not the same as feeding the soul.

Next:  Soul Portrait and Family Communication

                            
                                         Soul of the gorge:  The Columbia River
    
    
    

My Publishing Saga

     On September first, I signed a contract with Dog Ear Publishing in Indiana.  I chose them because of their website.  I could follow the user-friendly directions, and I liked its personality; it seemed a natural fit for a company with the name 'Dog Ear'. 
     For the next two weeks, I edited Soul Portrait several times.  Talk about a maddening process.  If you have spell-check, that takes care of a lot of sloppy mistakes; but when I came across 'as', meant to be 'at', I knew I'd have to keep checking.  Over and over again, I read that book.  I have read books with glaring typographical errors, and I always think, "How could they possibly have missed that?  The poor author!"  Now, I see how it can happen.
     When you send in a book to be self-published, unless you have paid extra money to have them edit for you, everything must be exactly as you want it.  It has to look exactly the way you want it and be spelled exactly as you intend.  Exactly.  If you see a typo after they already have it on their computers, you pay 25 dollars overall for them to take the time to correct text, in addition to 2 dollars per correction.  I was in a tizzy making sure it was picture perfect.
     Finally, the day came when I was ready to send it off.  It was September 13.  My husband was fishing in Canada (where we used to live), and I had 10 days to myself.  Talk about heaven.  I sure do love that man; but having the house and kitchen to myself for over a week was wonderful -- even if I did spend the whole time on Soul Portrait.  The best thing was being able to eat pasta almost every night:  fresh basil, diced garden-ripe tomatoes, shopped (see what I mean?) garlic, and red pepper flakes bathed in red wine vinegar and EVOO (as Rachel Ray calls it), then eagerly dumped on top of hot angel hair pasta and topped with crumbled feta cheese.  He wouldn't touch that with a ten-foot pole.  It's not as much fun to eat something your spouse turns up his nose at; so I was able to savor each delightful mouthful in peace.  But I digress.
     This was it!  I took a deep breath and hit the 'send' button.  Then I called my hubby, told him to put the phone away from his ear, and proceeded to scream from Oregon to Ontario that it was gone, finished, mission accomplished!!  He was really happy for me -- at least I like to think his delight was all for me.  Actually, he could have been even more relieved that he'd never again have to hear me read re-edited sections aloud to him.  Soul Portrait was born in 2000, and here it is 2011.  I haven't worked on it steadily, of course; but we both knew it was high time to let it go.
     I was getting out my wine to raise a glass to myself when I decided I'd better make sure it got to Dog Ear in one piece.  I went straight to my 'sent' e-mails, only to find it was a mess on my end, so I called to see if they were reading the same thing I was.  They were.  The spacing was off and several paragraphs were in all caps.  Come to find out, the word processing program I used was not compatible with theirs.  It's called Open Office, and it was put into my computer by a "I-know-what-I'm-doing", really young, really well-intentioned computer nerd.  My helper at Dog Ear (nice guy named Mark) had thought if I sent it off in rtf (rich text format), it would come through okay.  It didn't.  He was gracious enough to count that as a trial run, so I sent it off again on the 14th, thinking I had converted it to Microsoft Word.  No luck; Open Office was still in charge.  Mark was still gracious and very patient with my frantic attempts to get control of my computer.  I started to hyperventilate, but drank my wine that night anyway. After all, I had taken the first step.  Now, I just needed to think.
     The only way for me to do this right was to re-type the entire book.  By sheer luck and pressing lots of keys, I found an unadulterated version of MS Word on my computer and got started.  After I was done, I went in to make and save a couple changes.  I couldn't edit.  My Word document was locked up.  I hit a few more keys, but was at a loss.  I immediately called a reputable geek who told me to bring in my laptop.  He fixed me up and I came back home to finalize my changes and make sure nothing else had gone awry.
     Anyone of you who has read Soul Portrait knows it isn't a huge tome, but it took me the rest of the 14th and all day the 15th to get it done to my satisfaction....then more editing.  I placed all the phones under pillows or in drawers so I couldn't hear them ring (I don't know how to turn off the entire system).  I let e-mails sit until I needed a break, and I only breathed fresh air when our golden, Molly Margaret McBain, promised me she really, really had to go out to pee.  I had done that for almost 10 days anyway; but this time, I didn't even look at messages left on the phone system to see if there were any emergencies or if my mate had caught his dream Muskie and won the family tournament.  I had my own emergency.  I'm easily distracted, and this was my last chance.  It worked.  Everything worked, and all was well.  I sent it off a third time, and you know what they say about the third time. 
     My professional photo, taken on the 16th, came out just fine (my neck never looked so good); this week, I'll get that off to Dog Ear, along with a brief bio and back cover text for Soul Portrait.   In a few days, I meet with the photographer again to hopefully choose one of her Nature photos for the cover of the book.  Then, I wait.  Mark tells me it could be 4 months, so chances are good Soul Portrait won't be under anyone's Christmas tree.  That's okay.  If it's worth doing, it's worth waiting for.  I can wait.
    

Mt. Hood