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My Blog
I will be writing a blog entry every Monday, starting in April. I welcome response, so that women can begin a dialogue here, with one another and me, on topics that matter to us
Aging And Loss
In the past few months several of my friends have been diagnosed with serious illnesses. Some have diseases that have worsened. All of them are dealing with the news with much more equanimity than I would be. They have fears, and they try to live as best they can. What has moved front and center for me as I watch them cope, is my own age: it is more and more clear how finite my life is, and that I am closer to the end than the beginning. It is surprising to me that I am not more afraid. Perhaps because I am quite healthy, and whatever I may be realizing, ill-health seems a problem for the future, even though I realize that future might be closer than I think. What I find myself struggling with is how I live my life. I am a worrier, which I’ve certainly shared before. But I also spend an inordinate amount of time doing what I ‘should’ and what I ‘need to’, leaving little time for play. I often ask other women how they used to play as children and how they play now, and watch as they struggle with the concept for them now, as they age. What I’m learning about myself is that activities that began as ‘play’, soon become work. And that is my own doing. I take Nia classes twice a week. Nia is a form of dance/exercise with a spirit of joy at its base, which is why I enjoyed it in the first place. Often it feels like an hour of exercise now, necessary for my health, but not nearly as joyous. Which bring me to how I spend my days. I create lists in my head of thing I must do, and both Nia and swimming become just two other items on my list. When I realized this last week I determined to make a small change. When I went to my local pool to swim my laps, I lost count and was actually aware of the feel of the water on my body, as well as the sensation of my body slicing through it. I left the pool with a smile, the first time I felt more relaxed after my swim than before it. Hopefully I will continue that pattern this week. Because I have committed to marketing my memoir, I still spend an awful lot of each day fulfilling the tasks I have set for myself in that regard. ‘I have set for myself’ are the key words here. If I set those tasks, I can alter them. If I do a little less each day, it doesn’t make me a quitter. Nothing dire will happen. By the way, I am telling myself this as much as I am sharing with all of you. That is my goal this week. Figure out what I can drop, or drop as a daily task, so that I can get back to something I enjoy: re-reading and then moving forward with the multi-generational novel I had begun when my memoir became more than just a memoir. My partner tells me he always knows when I am writing – not the articles for The Transition Network or the blogs for HuffPost – but the novel. I am much calmer, and more content. So why do I so easily set it aside? Why do those ‘shoulds’ loom so large? Maybe it doesn’t matter. Just knowing they do is enough for me to make a conscious effort to change. I choose to feel pressure to keep on keeping on, and I can choose to let some of it go. I welcome your comments because I know I need help here. I know I say I want to change, and think of ways to alter my behaviors, but I so easily fall back into familiar patterns. Perhaps I can incorporate your ways of living with joy as central into my life. The solutions of others have often altered my patterns when they most needed to be changed. Please give me some feedback. This week I honestly need it.
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Tagged aging, chore versus joy, compulsive behavior, daily tasks, illness, joy in live, self-awareness, self-pressue
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My Mother’s First Heart Attack
My mother’s first heart attack affected my entire life. I was only four, my sister 8, and we were sent away to a distant Aunt and Uncle. I had no idea if I’d ever see her again. When we were allowed to return, my dad told me it was my job to watch over her to make sure she lived. Jus typing the words is still frightening, though my parents have both been dead for years.
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Tagged care-taking, childhood responsibility, frightening, heart attack, life-event impact, mother
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Fall/Winter Time Of Life
For the past couple of years I have been a member of a listserve for my class at Sarah Lawrence College. The daily/weekly/monthly sharing has been awe inspiring to me: the depth of it, the warmth, the support, the caring. Last week one of the women I didn’t know well at college, but have come to know through the list serve, told us all that she had been having trouble breathing, discovered she had liquid in her lungs and had to go into the hospital to have it drained. She, herself, has been an alternative health care provider since graduation. A few days ago she received her diagnosis: advanced stage lung cancer. The outpouring of love and offers of help has been sustaining for all of us, but for me much more has surfaced. I find myself thinking about this woman when I am falling asleep, and she is often the first thought on my mind when I awaken. Talking to a close friend in Port Townsend last night I mentioned that I feel so helpless living three thousand miles away, and don’t know what kind of help I can realistically offer. This PT friend has suffered with multiple and serious illnesses over the last few years so it was comfortable to talk about the seriousness of the diagnoses without immediately jumping to ‘she can fight this’. What if she doesn’t want to? What if she is numb, or terrified, or needs to find a way to make peace with the last part of her life so that she can leave this plane with a clear and open heart? How would I even ask? Our friendship is new. Then my close friend from town called back and said she had a suggestion. ‘It is often very difficult to talk to friends about what you’re really feeling, because your friends are so frightened they have a hard time listening. You are a perfect person to offer emotional support: whatever she needs to talk about or share, you will be there. If you can,’ she added. I didn’t have to think about it long. I knew it was the right suggestion for me, and one I could gladly offer. If I don’t know how to respond to what she shares, I know I can say that, as well as I’m glad she is able to speak about what is in her heart. I will listen, without judgement, and without solutions. That is something I am good at. Last night I sent an email offering to be that person for her, if it feels comfortable in a week, a month, or not at all. She has just returned home from the hospital, and is seeing the oncologist today, taking along a fellow graduate from SLC, one of eight boys who graduated with us, so that someone can hear what the doctor says. Several of us suggested she have someone with her, since it is difficult to remember much when we are frightened. In my own life, I am a worrier, although I know it is useless to worry. The things I worry about come to pass or they don’t. I have no idea when life-threatening illness might strike. I am of an age where it could be anytime. The illness of my new, old friend on the East Coast brought this issue home. How do I want to live this last third of my life? What do I want to let go of, like worrying, or doing activities because I should don’t enjoy, or sitting at this computer long after I am ‘done’ emotionally – the list goes on. Can I retrain myself, so that every day is filled with more joy than not, more pleasure than not, as well as the people I want to be with and the activities I really love? Most important, how do I come to terms with the face that life is finite, and that I am closer to the end point than the beginning? I need to learn about acceptance, and how to reach that place within myself so that I am less fearful about many things, not just end of life. I will probably be writing about these issues with some frequency because for me writing is a way ‘through’. I welcome your thoughts, because I always gain a great deal from the perspective of others. Perhaps we can open a dialogue about this difficult part of life and find peace with one another.
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Grandpa Walton Surprises Us All
The first time I went to a set to see my words come out of the mouths of actors in front of a camera was amazing in more ways than one. Grandpa Walton’s activities turned out to be illegal, and unforgettable.
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What Makes It Work
I am sitting on the Washington State Ferry after picking up my Mac which crashed in Seattle. Good news: I didn’t lose any data; bad news; a four hour round trip, twice. There is no Mac service place on the Olympic Peninsula. I have a warrantee, and certainly wasn’t going to pay a tech to fix it, since I had no idea how costly that might be. On the drive today I found myself thinking about why the relationship with Wonono has gotten so much easier over these past six years. Once we adjusted to how different our upbringing has been, and how that upbringing shaped some of our attitudes, life became easier. But what seems most significant to me is that for each of us, how we treat other people, how we deal with one another, how we handle problems as they arise – has been similar from the beginning. I have been told I am ‘too honest’; I would suspect he has been told the same thing over the years. I would prefer blunt to beating around the bush, or worse, fabrication. So would he. For both of us, connection to others, connection to what is live in everything, is of paramount importance. He can be abrupt; I often explain what I think and feel over and over, from every angle, so that he will understand. As the years have passed, I do less of this, because I trust that he knows where I am coming from, and often, now, what I am going to say. When he first moved here and read my memoir, he reached the part where I described the kind of man I had come to believe I needed, and the personal traits that were important to me. I will never forget hearing him exclaim, “Hey. That’s me!” He was right. I believe we recognized this similarity of world view in each other. It has held us in good stead, and made our relationship grow stronger over time. We know who we are; and we know who the ‘other’ is. IN a lighter vein, we have a very similar sense of humor. Perhaps Jewish and Indian humor, and the wry way we view ‘funny’ is similar. It is certainly similar for us. We both are very affectionate, and need touch on a daily basis. We both enjoy sex, and sex with each other, even at our advanced age! We both love to eat, and to eat well. And more and more we trust that we will weather difficulties with each other because we both really value what we have with each other. We both feel seen. Our interactions are relatively easy. Sure we get annoyed with one another; but the annoyance passes quickly. Even when we can’t reach agreement about something, that’s alright. We each are comfortable allowing differences. Bottom line, we truly appreciate one another. And that makes all the difference.
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Difficulties In Love
Obviously this is a topic that will take more than one paragraph, but I thought I would begin to tackle it today. My partner, Wonono, and I have been together for six years. The first one was extremely difficult, for many reasons. First of all, if you don’t believe our society is made up of different ‘classes’, I beg to differ. Our relationship has made this abundantly clear. I grew up middle class in Roselle Park, New Jersey. My mother was extremely progressive. When I was in elementary school she and my friend Kenny’s mom were glued to the television at our house watching the McCarthy hearings. I doubt that anyone else in that conservative little town was watching them, but both mom’s were pretty upset by what they were seeing. I knew my family was not ‘typical’. Wonono grew up in a poor Chicano/Native American family in Santa Barbara, California. His home life was chaotic, with drug and alcohol abuse and all that goes with it. Finances were always tight; gifts rare if non-existent. Though we have a similar political and personal perspective in how to ‘be’ in the world: how to behave towards others; what matters and what doesn’t; what to work for; as well as a very similar sense of humor – we also entered the relationship with definite preconceptions about money, about our place in society, about what ‘work’ means – about lots of things. I suppose most of my friends over the years have also been middle class. So I had assumed that my belief system reflected reality. He and I struggled a lot that first year, and it was very painful because in some ways we had very differing views on what was real. I believe education matters a great deal; I have always planned ahead: what do I want to study, what will I ‘do’ with my degree; and how will I improve my lot and that of my children. He certainly wanted to protect his kids, but he also felt compelled to work for his tribe, for no recompense, and dropped out of college because of familial issues but never went back. Graduating and planning were not in his lexicon; he didn’t want to join a system that had repressed him and his people for centuries. It took me a long time to let go of the notion that his beliefs were self-destructive. I have read widely in the past few years in both black, Indian and Chicano literature and found that he is not alone in this view. Of course there are non-white Americans who want to ‘move up’ in the national hierarchy, but there are more who believe the cost is very great. I’m sure this gives you some idea of what we faced, joining together. I have learned that my reality is just that: my reality. It comes from my background, what I have lived through and learned, and what I have been taught, as does his. And there’s the rub. Over these years I think we both have learned an enormous amount about acceptance, and because of that, our love has grown and matured. More about that another time.
Cleaning As Therapy?
Today at 9 AM I began a thorough cleaning of my house. I do this every third week, and have for years. Although many will tell you that I am a neat freak, which is true, I loathe cleaning my house. It is tiring, boring, takes too much time if you do everything, including dusting, and just plain unpleasant. Or at least that’s how it feels to me when I’m doing it. After I’m done, however, I always feel a sense of exhileration. The entire house smells great, table tops shine, the kitchen looks used but spotless, and the shelves behind the bed have no dust balls on them, merely books. I take pride in how well I clean, even if I don’t enjoy the process when I’m in the middle of it. So every three weeks I keep on keeping on. This morning while I was slaving away a woman I don’t know very well stopped by with some papers for me to sign. She seemed a mused when I answered the door mop in hand. I told her I hated doing it, but thought it was silly to hire someone as I’m still fully capable. If my partner wasn’t tending our garden on a weekly basis, which is quite large and take hours of his time, I would ask him to clean with me, rather than hire someone. Maybe when I’m seventy I will decide to change my tune. Do I feel I’m not entitled to the help? I don’t know. When my kids were little, I did hire someone, and advised my younger daughter to do the same a couple of years ago. Taking care of two toddlers is work enough. I don’t know how you could even clean with them underfoot. I loved having someone else do the heavy lifting, as it were, although I also felt kind of guilty I had handed off ‘my’ job to another woman. Which didn’t stop me. What surprised me was what this woman said with a big smile: “I really like to clean.” She continued, “If I can’t clear my mind, and meditation doesn’t even work, I clean.” By the time she’s done, she explained, whatever was bothering her is a thing of the past. And then she repeated, “I actually like to clean.” I will try to take her words to heart in three weeks, though I think I will still find the three-hour chore unpleasant. I would rather take a walk through the fort near my house to clear my mind! Even on a gray day! But as I’m vacuuming next time I’ll at least ponder her words, and try to clear my mind as I work. Maybe it will make it feel less unpleasant. It’s worth a try. How about you? Do you clean your own house? Do you let ‘mess’ accumulate? Do you enjoy the task, or hire someone else to take care of it? Even in this mundane realm I’m reminded that we’re all different, and there is no ‘right’ way.
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Tagged chore vs joy, cleaning clears the mind, cleaning house, drudgery
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Becoming A Hollywood Writer
See the wacky road I took to get my first job in Hollywood writing for The Waltons.
First Video: Becoming A Hollywood Writer
I spent hours today creating my first, two minute plus video, on how I became a Hollywood writer. It is a little over two minutes long, but wouldn’t upload onto my blog because it had too many MB’s. I have an email out to my web designer/expert on what to do about this problem since it seems silly to only be able to create one minute videos, and will be able to surmount this problem by the time I create another one. When I do create a video, it will take the place of that week’s blog, and should post as a blog. If you want to see the edited version (the original was a little over 3 minutes long), go to www.facebook.com/NancyAlvarezWrites and there it will be. Enjoy. Next week I’ll just blog.
Health Scares
First news is that I have chosen to take another week off! Said I would and I now have a plan. My birthday is at the end of February, so I will take that week to coddle myself – a novel notion. The very idea makes me smile. Why have I taken so long to realize I need to do this? Other info. Last week my youngest grandson had diarrhea and a fever of almost 103 for over four days. We all began to worry that something was seriously wrong. My daughter took him to the doctor several times, but he didn’t even have his typical ear infection. I went on line, and the stuff I found was terrifying. Another visit to Urgent Care on Friday, and then by Sunday, he was behaving so oddly – sleeping fitfully for twenty minutes, awake for twenty, crying – that the doc told Leah to take him to pediatric urgent care to rule out a few serious possibilities. Reassuring news! We waited for hours, first for the place to open, and then to hear from my daughter. It’s amazing where the mind goes, but I admit to being a worrier. Not quite as bad as my father, but not good. The doc there thought he had a rotavirus, and the little cutey seems to be getting better. We drove down here yesterday, and watched him toddle all over the house. His fever had broken. Holding him has never felt as sweet. Playing with his older brother was a real treat. I look at my daughter and have to hold back tears. When she and her sister were little I sometimes wished I could keep them inside always so they would be safe, and nothing horrible could happen to either of them. Now I want to corral both daughters, their husbands, my grandsons, my partner Wonono’s daughters, and his grand daughter. Of course I can’t. I tell myself worrying about their safety is a big waste of time, which it is, and mostly I don’t even think about possible dangers. But something like this brings up all the old anxiety, the downside of all this love in my extended family. Today I am grateful for them all, every last one. A wondrous thing, health.
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