Real Grown Ups..My Little Sister

I took this picture of my sister and my niece getting ready to catch the bus for the first day of school back in late August (they start earlier there than MI). It was the start of the school year for my sister too, as she works as a elementary school counselor in the area. (You may not be able to see it, but the backpack is pink camo print--fitting for a princess-pretending, soccer powerhouse, plays-in-the-dirt-but-likes-Hannah Montana-kindergartener!)

My only sibling, my sister is 3 years younger than me. And--big dramatic pause here--she turns the big 4-0 in a couple of weeks. "One day it happens--you think to yourself, 'you know, that music is kind of loud,' and you reach over... and turn it down...and you are 40." At least that's what the card I'm sending her says. And no, I'm not worried about her reading it here first, because she doesn't read my blog. She only recently got a computer in the house connected to the Internet. She would admit to a little fear of it, but mostly it's just that she just thinks the kids (and she and hubby for that matter) have better things to do than surf the net--like "get outside and blow the stink off you", for goodness sake! (something my mom used to say regularly). And get outside she does. When I recently made the mistake of commenting that I had to get up at the ungodly time of 5:45 am to be able to carpool to work with my hubby, she said in her understated way "yeah, I was up at 5, out the door to run at 5:15 this morning." She admitted that due to the dark and cold and wind she did say to herself 'this is crazy'. But then she ran anyway--probably her normal 5-7 miles. She runs year round, switching to a treadmill only when it gets way too cold to be outside. She has run at least 3 marathons and I don't know how many half marathons over the last few years. She complained to my mom after a recent half-marathon that she seems to be getting slower. Then proceeded to share that she came in second in her age group and in the top 100 over all. She's fast--she qualified for Boston, but just couldn't get the logistics to work to go. And at only 5 feet tall, we figure she has to take a lot more steps per race than some of the runners! She's gutsy and tough though. In high school she ran hurdles--hurdles! And she managed to finish--with a decent time--the grueling 2007 Chicago marathon before it was called off due to heat. The year before that, she ran in the very brisk (ok, being southern Indiana girl she called it "brutal") Detroit Free Press Marathon.


She's a great mother. One of the things her little country church does twice a month is take their youth kids to a local food pantry to help sort items. She takes my nephew, who couldn't believe there were people around that couldn't just go buy groceries. My niece, who is actually too young to be in the group, went each week to help pack boxes and carry as well. She's teaching them already the satisfaction and thankfulness that comes from helping those who don't have the blessings you have.

Her job as a school counselor is a tough one. When kids act up in school or just seem to be having a rough day, they go see her. She gives them playdough to distract them and occupy their hands so they can talk about their feelings. Some come from slightly broken homes where Dad and Mom spent the night before yelling at each other. Some come from really broken homes where Dad spent the evening hitting mom or abusing them. How much must it break your heart to talk with a child who is experiencing the devastation of incest? You would think it wouldn't be too bad in a small town in heartland America, but the problems are there and she is their advocate, helping them cope or getting them the help they need even at their very young ages.

Real grown ups--like my sister--do the hard thing, even when it requires sacrifices and personal discomfort. They role out of bed and hit the pavement out of discipline and love for what they do, knowing it makes a difference in their life. She gets medals all the time for running races--for being self-disciplined enough to train and compete. But it's what she does to make a difference in others lives, and how she teaches her kids that it's not really all about us and our little world of comfort and material stuff, that is truly medal worthy. And it makes me want to be like her when I grow up.

Real Grown Ups Revisited

In honor of my friends that just moved to Louisville, CO (near Boulder), an early post about a woman I met on an airplane that lives an unusual lifestyle in that area.

Real Grown Ups: Dorothy

Love is Hard Work

"Love is a form of hard work the young can not foresee."
Richard M. Cohen, from an article in O Magazine

I spoke briefly with my dad on the phone last week. Briefly, because he won't talk long, and is usually quick to hand off the phone to mom. If I happen to catch him alone, he still won't talk for long. His southern gentleman humbleness kicks in and he insists you must have something better to do than to talk to him. So I have to be quick to ask questions if I want to get any information on how he's actually doing. And though he won't say it, I know he is tired. It's been a rough few months for Dad. He takes care of my granddad, age 99, and my grandmother, age 90. Taking care of them includes driving to their house almost every morning to take my grandfather to the "Cardinal Drive-In" for coffee and breakfast. This used to be a time for them to visit and relax, but increasingly my granddad is forgetful enough that Dad fears his repetitious comments will annoy the regulars. He often wakes from his afternoon nap not knowing where he is, which means he can no longer be left at home alone if grandmother has a doctor's appointment.

Driving them to their many doctor's appointments is another way dad takes care of them, driving to a city about 45 miles away. Recently on one of those visits, after the doctor's had given my grandmother a clean bill of health (at least for her age), Dad left her on a bench inside while he went to pull the car up to the door. In the span of those few minutes, Grandmother stood up, passed out, and hit her head on the bench. She has struggled with blurred and double vision since, and the doctors are not giving them much hope that her eyesight will improve. In that instant, she lost the ability she still possessed to drive short distances to go to the store or post office, and along with it another layer of freedom was lost and another layer of responsibility added to my dad's. Adding to the load, my mother had knee replacement surgery in August. While the knee is healing well, she had difficulties with some side effects from medications given to her in the hospital. Dad was also her primary caregiver, and while not an invalid by any means, she needed help and transport to her appointments and therapy (she is back to driving herself now). And during this time, she has been unable to help with the grandparents. Fortunately, my dad's brother has been traveling back from out-of-state to help.

We've all suggested they get some help. Help from friends at the least-and they have on rare occasions--and in home professional help as well. My Dad has not pursued it yet. He says he feels that this is something he needs to do--and then quickly will add "wants" to do as long as he is able. They are his parents and that same southern humility doesn't allow for him to pass off responsibility to someone else lightly. He looks tired. He struggles to keep up with his property and theirs. He longs for time alone to do what he loves best--spend time outdoors in the hills and woods of the area. And yet even exploring the option of putting his parents in a nursing home is not something he is ready to do. Not while he is still able to do these things for them.

I tease Dad that when he gets old and senile I will bring him north to my state and "put him in a home" and just tell him he is actually in Florida or someplace warm. In reality, I can't even yet imagine that time. I pray that with the longevity that runs in our family I won't have to deal with it for quite a while. If I really stop to ponder the future, I don't know if I will be able to do for my parents what he is doing for his. Logistics aside, do I have the fortitude to bear that burden? I'm beginning to think that it is a calling in many ways, and not something everyone can do. The same author I quoted above says, "We live in the real world and ask only what reasonably can be delivered. Love is picking up the other when the times come. And come they do." I pray that when that time comes, I will be able to do the hard work required and to be prepared to deliver the love that is needed.

The Things I Remember

"Stories are for joining the past to the future. Stories are for those late hours in the night when you can't remember how you got from where you were to where you are. Stories are for eternity, when memory is erased, when there is nothing to remember except the story."
~Tim O'Brien, "The Things They Carried"

I can remember attending my great-grandfather's funeral. I was only 5. I remember that it was at the small country church up the gravel road from our house. Like you would imagine a one-room school house, it had a vestibule and one small sanctuary room, the far end elevated a step and accommodating a piano and pulpit. I walked there, with a relative, (I think my aunt), not my parents. I remember standing in the pew to sing, a man in a white suit, and looking in the casket at my paternal grandmother's father. He and my great-grandmother Cox had lived down the road from us in an old farmhouse. I remember visiting them, and I think, walking around in their yard and looking at their flowers (later note-my mother confirms that while the other grandkids didn't spend much time with him due to his hearing loss, he used to carry me around in the yard and talk to me). My mom has a picture of me with the two of them, taken in their kitchen, held in my grandfather's arms. They look proud and enthralled by the energy and whimsy that can only come from a little girl who is well loved.

I remember Grandad Cox sitting on the concrete front porch of my grandparent's farm house in his rocking chair with the wide flat armrests while we all sat in various chairs or on the cool concrete as we grew sleepy after Sunday dinner and sought out a cool spot after the residual heat from the kitchen leaked through the rest of the house. My great-grandmother would be around for many more years, living to be 98 years old. She died shortly after I was married, having spent her last years alternating monthly between living at my grandmother's and her sister's house. She was mostly unable to care for herself at the end, and so hard of hearing that time spent there left you exhausted from speaking loudly all afternoon so as to include her in the conversations. But, we did it, uncomplaining. Where I grew up, you showed respect to your elders--you honored them.

I remember very little else about my great-grandfather. I learned years later that he had not allowed his daughters to learn to drive, but that they waited until he went off to work, then taught themselves. My grandmother worked at a cafe in town when she was only 18, supposedly without him even knowing it.

My grandparents are both still living alone, "in town"(they sold the farm house only a few years ago). They are only able to do this because my dad and mom take care of them, checking on them every day. Some days dad takes Grandad Douglas to the local restaurant to visit, but most days now he's not up for it. He recently renewed his drivers liscence. After driving to the nearby town and taking the test, Grandmother had to drive him home-he was too tired. He doesn't really drive anymore. He is 99 years old after all. It's a "I am still a grown man" kind of statement. Grandmother turns 90 in July, and I'm sure she will fight to keep her independence, when he is gone--the same determined spirit she had when she was young still peeking through, even as she seems to emotionally hang on my father more and more. Having spent so many years caring for her own frail and demanding mother in her last years, she will not give up easily to being cared for in the daily routine things.

I am going to visit them in a couple of weeks. Getting a little older tends to make you take stock more often of how "you got from where you were to where you are", and there are times I see their life patterns imprinted in mine. How sad it is that we usually know so little of the truth and the real stories of our grandparent's lives. It should remind us to ask better questions of our own parents and grandparents that are still living. We should ask them to share their stories. We may be surprised at what they remember.

Real Grown Ups: Stories of people that are well on their way to being "mature"

Filling out the usual plethora of forms at the doctor's office the other day, I came to the blank marked "person to contact in case of an emergency (not living in your home)". I started to do the usual and write in the name of my in-laws (my parent's don't live locally), when I realized I could put my daughter's name in that blank. She is after all a married, self-supporting 21 year old adult with a cell phone and a car. I stopped a moment and let the gravity of that hit me--she is now a real grown up. Now I know a lot of people would say 'heeello!' She's been married and gone for almost a year now! But if you have grown children, you will know what I mean when I say it is a process. Seeing your child--the one whose nose, bottom, and tears you wiped--as an adult takes some getting used to.

It's not like we haven't been having 'grown up' conversations for a long time. This is the kid who at the ripe age of four asked at a restaurant, "Mommy, what does 'gay' mean?" and wouldn't take 'happy' for an answer. We've talked about what it means to 'be good' and later what it means to live out your faith in a school enviroment where your beliefs are not the accepted norm. We've talked about what it means to love your friends even when they are not being very lovable. We've talked about how to love your brother even when he is driving you absolutely stark-raving-maniac-crazy. We've talked about what it means to love someone so much that you can't see straight or see yourself living without them. We've talked volumes about other essentials over the years--clothes, art, movies, music, chocolate, hair--the list would be enormous. We're big talkers. We like to think and work things out verbally, much to the dismay of our more inward thinking husbands. Lately, we've talked a lot about what it means to do what you really love and to do it for the One who deserves all our love and lives.

Yesterday, she and favorite son-in-law went with about a dozen people to Detroit to minister to homeless people. They didn't preach, hold a rally, or try to get people into a program. They just loaded up their cars with blankets and groceries and met the needy and poor where they were--giving them a little help, listening to those that wanted to talk, praying for those who needed hope. They showed their love for God in basic, but tangible ways.

Tonight, hubby and I sat and listened as they shared their desires and dreams of going to South Africa this summer. While not really the first step--God has been doing things on this front for a while now--it may be the next leg of the journey to making overseas mission work their life's work. God has been weaving the threads of their lives together toward this purpose from the beginning. And through a web of interconnection that only God can pull together, He has led them to not only those who can make this dream a reality, but also those who share their enthusiasm and prayerfully support them.

Trying your best to live a life of love. Showing others love in hands-on, unselfish ways. Working toward making your God-given dreams a reality. Isn't that what being a real grown up should be all about?

And at the very least, isn't that the kind of person you want to call in case of emergency?

Real Grown Ups: stories of people that are well on their way to being "mature"

This is the story of a bachelor. Not a long time bachelor, but a man who was married for 40 years to a wonderful woman, and had been adjusting to life alone for 2 years. Retired, with grown children and grandchildren, he had long served as front door greeter at his local church, always the first one to offer a good morning and a handshake to regulars and visitors. He had served in leadership there as well, offering sound counsel in the middle of many trials. People knew he was in the building when they heard his familiar whistle. (people don't whistle enough anymore!)

Then one day the bachelor fell in love and became a groom again. He met a woman who is beautiful inside as well as outside. A missionary, supported by his church, living in Spain, she had been a widow much longer--for 13 years. They married and since she was not quite ready to retire from her mission work, he began a transcontinental commute. To Spain to be with his wife for a month, then back to the states to see his children and grandchildren for a month. Difficult, but when you start mixing your lives together late in the game, there is a lot more to accomodate. Young newlyweds have the advantage of starting with an almost blank slate, intertwining every part of their lives from before they even say "I do". Older newlyweds have entanglements on every front that have to be unwound more slowly and then carefully woven together.

The bachelor, become the husband, is now 75. When he was newly married, he asked a computer techie friend to look up the words to an old love song so he could sing it to his bride over the phone, something he still does after 4 years that still results in giggles on the other end of the line. He has become involved in her ministry and has tried with no measurable success to learn Spanish. For now, they still commute and he is still there at the door each week when they are in the U.S.

Recently, while waiting for a flight to Spain, he was approached by an airline representative. The flight was overbooked, and they offered him $900, a stay at an airport motel, and his supper if he would wait until the morning to fly out. He didn't consult her. He didn't think about what they could do with the money. He said, "No". He wanted to be with his bride. He says simply, "I'm a romantic", and leaves whistling an old love song that we all should hear.

Real Grown Ups:Stories of people that are well on their way to being "mature"

Skiing out west is not a vacation for wimps. Each day, you have to get up early (if you are serious), pull on layers of clothes, check and double check your gear (did I get my chapstick, neck gator, mittens?), drive to the mountain on treacherous roads, carry your skis and poles from the always distant parking lot while wearing boots that are designed to hold your calves “comfortably” in a bent knee stance (good for skiing, stupid for walking), in an altitude that your lungs are not accustomed to, in temperatures that are usually unpleasant. Are we having fun yet? We pay for this experience! Ahh, but once we are schussing downhill in knee deep powder, it all becomes worth it. The world comes into focus and we say “This is EPIC!” Or at least that’s what my son-in-law says, but I would agree. But as with many ‘epic’ sports, I am cautious--an intermediate that knows my limits. I can comfortably navigate the “blues” (medium difficulty runs), but draw the line at mountain black diamonds (most difficult).

So I found myself at Copper Mountain, CO, taking a Blue Tour while the rest of my fam hit the steeps and sought out the free snowcat skiing in the back bowls. In our blue group of 5, I quickly assessed that I was the youngest (trust me, it was obvious), and that myself and another gentleman named Les, were probably the best skiers. We soon found out that it was possible to ride the snowcat up the mountain, and ski down behind it on what would be a really cool blue-level run. When I expressed interest, Les offered to come and try it too. We used the buddy system, watching out for each other and exchanging small talk. He was from Washington State, a retired nuclear physicist (I managed to say nuclear correctly, avoiding a Bush moment!) who was on an extended ski vacation. His wife had not been skiing with him recently due to a knee replacement. He planned to ski 14 out of 16 days. We were well matched in skiing ability. So as my husband quipped to Les “either you ski like a 42 year old woman, or my wife skis like a 70 year old man!”

Yes, Les was 70 and 2 months old. After asking if we minded him joining us for lunch and afternoon skiing, he shared a bit more with us. He had climbed 7 of the ‘14ers’ in Colorado (mountains over 14,000’) and had climbed Annapurna, a mountain in Nepal (26,538 ft the 10th-highest summit in the world). He had worked as a glacier guide.

When I asked him how he had met his wife, Betty, he told a rather long story of an ill-fated hike many years ago. Due to bad weather and other mishaps, he had ended up hiking quite a bit with Betty. He was married at the time, they became hiking friends on the trip. A couple of years later, he arrived home following a conference in Chicago to find a note from his wife saying she was leaving him. With surprising emotion in his voice for an event that happened almost 40 years before, he said, "her father had a lot to do with that". “So what did you do?” I asked. “I went and found Betty”, he replied. They have been married 39 years.

A long marriage like that is not for wimps. You have to do things that you aren’t accustomed to and go through things that are often unpleasant. You have to look out for each other when things are treacherous and carry each others burdens. It’s only accomplished through sacrifice. But when you take that kind of risk, and plunge into that kind of love, it is truly “epic”.