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