AGING CHILDREN EXPERIENCE HAPPINESS, COPE

A new year presents many unknowns.  Probably we'll all be well-advised to focus on living in the present, day-to-day, wise to do at any age, but especially in our older years.  Making future plans can be complicated given the circumstances of each of our own lives coupled with uncertainties created in recent years by the pandemic.

Traveling life's road probably many of us have taken special notice of the years when as youngsters we just couldn't wait until we were older.  Then, we reached each succeeding decade -- 10, 20, 30, 40, 50, etc.  I was aware of turning 30 but gave little thought to that change.  When I reached 40 years I recall taking a bit more notice.  When age 50 rolled around I thought of that age as being a half-way mark in my life, optimistically assuming I'd live at least until I was age 100.

Having reached that fifth decade, years numbers after that seemed hard for me to believe I was really that age since in my mind I didn't feel that old.  Certainly, age 65 was a marker year, but 70 years -- really?  After that I began to lose track as my age no longer seemed important.  So much so that this year my daughter called to my attention I was actually a year younger than what I had been saying I was.  Oh, well!

Once I had some experience with unexpected aches and pains, I did begin to think in terms of the fact my body probably was reflecting some of the wear and tear of living all those years even if my mind did not -- or at least I thought my mind was intact.  That's what all those whose minds have flitted about a bit think, too.  I understand, so maybe I'm not as sharp as I think I am.  I confess, somewhere along the line I did begin to find writing down important dates, other matters have become more necessary to insure I don't forget, but I keep challenging myself.

I began to notice news stories of a few individuals my age and older engaged in physical events I was now less able to perform -- running marathons, playing team basketball games, weightlifting (none of which I did before, anyway).  Some had not taken up those sports unti their older years, but not an option for me now.

I don't really embrace the idea older people should aspire to engaging in activities to which younger bodies are most able which seems to be what attracts media attention in our youth-oriented society.  Still the search by some for eternal life goes on though no other animals seem to be capable of living forever either.

What is fascinating to me is how we all age differently, a fact of which I'm reminded when I'm tempted to compare myself to others featured in the media engaging in amazing activities.  I don't fret about all that and instead focus on what I can do, what gives me joy and pleasure.  I think most, if not all the bloggers I've encountered here, seem to be leading generally happy lives through their aging, older years, doing much the same.

The pleasurable experience of living is often revealed in the writings of numerous older authors I've read, also in how so many of even my now mostly deceased family members and friends chose to live their lives.

"Songs to Aging Children Come" Song Cover

Written by Joni Mitchel in 1969; featured on her album "Clouds".                                                    (This recording is reported on YouTube site as being sung by M. A. Ludwig)

  

Noting the happiness of aging children I recently noticed is Katharine Esty, who surveyed some of her contemporaries in the retirement community where she lives.  I wholeheartedly agree with her blog's concluding findings:

"I learned that one's attitude is almost as important as one's circumstances.  I also saw possibilities for a whole new vision for old age, a vision far larger than eldercare or geriatrics."

"Eightysomethings" written by Katharine Esty, PhD -- Expert On Aging Well and Family Dynamics is a book described as "A Practical Guide to Letting Go, Aging Well, and Finding unexpected Happiness", though I have not read it.  She notes: 

"People in their eighties have not gotten much attention from the media.  Baby Boomers and GenXers -- the adult children of people my age -- get lots of attention, but not the cohort of people over eighty, even though this crowd is growing faster than any other older group."

Esty shares 10 Questions with her responses of interest to individuals and their adult children or others wanting to understand the aging experience.  One question refers to the five coping skills she learned "...most eightysomethings use when it comes to having unpleasant health issues."   She perceives   individuals as being either Deniers, Stoics, Complainers, Worriers, or Realists describing their behaviors.  

Sooner or later all ages who survive will become "eighty something" or maybe even older.

Your thoughts and attitude about ageing through the years are welcome whatever your current age.

LANGUAGE SETS AN OPTIMISTIC MOOD

Consider with me whatever these thoughts surfacing in my mind during this pandemic may prompt you to think about in your own lives.  I think I am blessed with a somewhat optimistic outlook on life as I consider my situation, that of the current world and especially in my own country, the U.S.   I don't know why I tend toward an optimistic perspective, whether it's genetic, environmental, or due to other unknown factors.  Maybe it's the water I drink.

My mother mostly modeled positivity with a considerable dose of stoicism through circumstances she experienced in her lifetime including during the previous 1918 flu pandemic.  Years later we shared some unexpected significant life changes beginning when I was only a child to which we adapted.  I was able to observe her demeanor, how she coped, acquiring increasing appreciation and understanding for how she managed as I became an adult.

In my mother's case, her religious faith coupled with the secure foundation of her farm family upbringing were strong influences for her coping mechanisms in a very different time from that of my own generation.  Her religious/spiritual beliefs were personal, private, non-extremist, devoid of politicization.  They were not the kind pressed on me or others, a practice which might be better for all today to clearly separate church from state.

My life has been presented with its share of complications of varied complexities beginning when I was very young, so I have had adversities to address before, a few of which, unfortunately, could even be characterized as traumatic.  Fortunately, without denying such, I still developed an overall outlook somewhat like this song's lyrics.  (Much to my surprise I discovered among name vocal artists recordings a version by actor/director Clint Eastwood, not known as  a singer.)

Particularly during this pandemic time as I hear and read about many having all sorts of difficulties adapting and coping, I am grateful to feel fairly comfortable with how I have been able to manage, at least to date.  I do know what exists today is no guarantee for what the future may hold.  Certainly, my circumstances have not been without challenges as I age, incur some unexpected medical issues, and practice living in place in my home with no family nearby and too many friends long since deceased.

Also, anyone reading this blog knows I have very real concerns about the state of our government, our nation and the world.  I have ample reasons to be emotionally depressed, negative in attitude, even feel overwhelmed with the future's uncertainty.  For whatever the reasons, generally speaking, I do not feel that way though I am acutely aware of the potential for worse case scenarios both personally and with our country, even the world.  I do not ignore any of them, but they generally do not press on me emotionally though I do have my moments.

I try to consider what my options are in order to be as prepared as possible mentally and otherwise for what might occur which I've attempted to do throughout my life with varying degrees of success.  Beyond all that, knowing there are factors over which I have no influence, I simply go on with my daily life much as most of you probably do, too.  Always, the unexpected may occur, does and has, which is just a given, but I'll not fret about it.

A board game I had growing up was called "Pollyanna", the glad game, though I don't recall that I ever read the book which prompted the games creation.  I do know the name has become associated with describing someone "excessively cheerful and optimistic who wants to pretend life is all sweetness and light" as defined in Oxford Languages.  I certainly know life is not "all sweetness and light" as I'm sure you do, too.

Though I've never been accused of being a "Pollyanna" and never thought of my outlook on life as being excessively optimistic, some might not differentiate the nuances in meaning.  But don't confuse my type of optimism with that version prostituted to the extreme by our nation's leader's prevarications -- bald-faced optimistic-like lies.  

I do think between this pandemic,  how it's been handled, the general state of the nation and the world with the creeping autocracies featuring fascism ideologies, racism, environmental planet preservation issues, other inequities that a whole lot of negativity has been created.  This negativity permanating our lives can be as contagious as a self-replicating virus and we know something about that now, don't we.  

So, when I express some potential optimism and hope for the future I do so fully cognizant of the immediate reality, possible implications in the present and time to come.  (Countermanding this "permanating negativity" here's Steven Wilson's tune "Permanating" he performs with the Bollywood Dancers to lighten the mood.)

Positive Psychology  discusses that Pollyanna Principle but also notes "A tendency to be optimistic and find a silver lining does impact health and well-being" in beneficial ways as I think we need to keep reminding ourselves.  I think science and we can readily conclude the degree to which one is optimistic does have some bearing on the quality of our lives, though I wonder how many people agree with that view in practice.

I think the ability to find and envision reasons to be optimistic, thus have hope for our future, is vital to our mental, emotional and physical health.  I also believe the language we choose to use describing situations to others and to tell ourselves, especially, has some bearing on the attitude we create, thus influencing how well we cope.  (I rather like this version of jazzy sentiments Paul McCartney sings with artist Diana Krall and her musical group to convey the message.)

There are various means we can use to best adapt to whatever our situation.  Resilience is a means defined by numerous dictionaries and psychologists as our being pragmatic, able to adapt, withstand and recover from significant stressful events, adversity, trauma, threats, to return back into shape.  We're all mustering our resilience to survive this pandemic, our governmental and world situation as well as our own challenges.

I find being resilient, even stoic for a limited period of time, beneficial.  Combined with a degree of humor, being realistically optimistic without rigidly specifying a specific time when all will be resolved or overcome, can be a healthy approach to survival.  

Critical, too, is having hope for the future, again without defined timelines given the uncertainty, optimizes my overall wellbeing to travel the adversity of any rough and rugged road ahead.

I wonder how others view the manner they approach what they do to effectively deal with life's adversities, be it this pandemic or other experiences including from the past -- if either optimism or hope are present in your life now and as compared to other times?

REASSESSMENT

I’ve taken quite a lengthy break from writing here.  Thanks to commenters for your continued interest despite my mercurial writing commitment.   I really haven’t known if I would resume writing, but concluded if I did, I wanted a limited publishing schedule and posts of relatively short content.   We’ll see how well I can follow that plan as it’s no understatement to say that I can tend to become a bit verbose as you likely have noted. 

Also, especially since 2016, when I begin to write I’m often challenged with thought intrusion associated with preservation of our threatened democratic republic’s freedoms.   Consequently, I experience frustration resisting excessively writing about the state of our nation.   I realize too much of this subject matter may be less than appealing to readers here, but I seem to feel the need to express myself.

Those were my thoughts before the most recent actions initiated by our nation’s leader who has now unleashed the potential for even more dangerous unpredictable world events.   Escalating uncertainty ensues with unknown consequences.  Additionally, indicators of our planet’s climate changes, denied by this same leader, increasingly manifest themselves in destructive weather events around the world we read or hear about in our daily news such as the present horrendous Australian fires.   

I long for a nation and world that seems not to have so many more such serious issues demanding immediate resolution.  I entertain the hope we will overcome these challenges for the betterment of humankind but wonder if any will occur in my lifetime, much less that of my children and grandchildren.  Perhaps in a more desirable environment my thoughts and writing would explore light-hearted topics.  I try to differentiate between what I can realistically do to positively influence matters and what is beyond my control.   

The manner in which I can act to impact the situations has altered through the years.   My ageing, physical condition has gradually limited me more, but the very least I can do is to vote as I have now arranged to do by mail should I be unable to visit my voting site.  Traditional voting sites are changing in California and elsewhere, anyway.  We just need to insure as best we can the security and integrity of our states voting systems.  We also need to combat voter intimidation through limiting laws and any gerrymandering prevalent in some states. 

We can combat the forces that defy our nation’s values with the November 2020 national elections offering a significant major opportunity to do so.   We need to facilitate new voter registration through every method possible as one means of accomplishing this opportunity for necessary meaningful change.   

Meanwhile, we’re all faced with finding coping mechanisms to aid in retaining our sanity for relief from the unbidden heavy life complications foisted upon us.   We each do so in our own way.  I use a variety of methods in an effort to balance my thoughts with other input.   Just a few alternate focus areas for me include following my distant family members activities, listening to music, pleasurably reading both fiction and nonfiction, engaging in a variety of other involvements that also serve as distractions, but humor of all kinds is a saving grace. 

I never knew what one favored type of humor, often flippant and funny, sometimes with serious meaning, was called, “Paraprosodokian”, where the statement ending can be quite unexpected, a reversal  from the beginning of the statement, such as: 

"War does not determine who is right – only who is left."

What prompts your choice of writing topics? 

How do you cope with any frustrations you may feel with life issues? 

Time To Talk

I recall that Saturday, May 13, 2006 morning standing by my husband's bedside, still absorbing the fact of his unexpected death during his sleep. The understanding and supportive police officer stood quietly across from me at the far corner of the foot of the bed. He had arrived at my home within a few short minutes in response to my emergency 911 phone call, after I discovered my husband's lifeless body whose facial skin was already cool to the touch of my fingertips and lips. The officer had offered his help with various questions as to what I might like him to do, or what did I want to do ... whatever. I just recall his calm, rational manner, but I cannot bring to mind many of the specific words exchanged between us.

I'm sure he must have inquired about the circumstances of my husband's death which I vaguely recall describing to him as I, too, was trying to make sense of it all. I think I told him of my husband having just seen his doctor the previous morning for a follow-up visit. For the prior two to three years, my husband had periodically undergone various tests to determine whether or not he had a small abdominal aortic aneurysm. Sometimes the aneurysm appeared to be present, sometimes not, but the medical action plan had been to track the small bulge for any increase in size. Tracking had been an ongoing problem since the bulge often was hidden from view during ultrasounds. The definitive angiogram or MRI (Magnetic Resonance Imaging) tests could not be administered since he had other serious medical problems making either test unsafe for him.

My husband had told me the Dr. said the results of this most recent ultrasound once again failed to reveal the aneurysm's presence, but they could not conclude it no longer existed, much less know its current size. Once I made that 911 call, I know I remained on the phone with the operator until the police officer arrived. I know I phoned each of our children, reaching my son immediately, leaving a message for my daughter for our later conversation, but I cannot recall making those calls, when in the sequence of activities I made them, or receiving calls returned. I do remember my son saying he would immediately begin making arrangements to fly home. He arrived later that night. My daughter and granddaughter came home at a mutually agreed upon later date, but we had frequent phone contact daily until then. I don't recall whether that day or later days I phoned others significant in my life.

I knew I must remain strong for my children and myself. I was very good at that with lots of experience. Always before for me, once the crisis was over would be time to emotionally let down. This time proved to be the same only to a degree, but different in so many other ways including the process that lay ahead of adapting to my life being forever changed.

Later the officer went outside to direct the emergency teams. I expected their arrival would be heralded first by the large red fire truck with sirens screaming, soon followed by a small red paramedic truck, from having experienced that scenario before numerous times when I had to call them for my mother. This time, when they arrived on my street, there was no siren since I presume they had been forewarned there was no life in the balance here. An advance directive clearly specified no extraordinary means were to be taken to prolong my husband's life, but he was past the point of having such techniques administered anyway.

Before the officer went outside to direct paramedics to our house, I stood by my dead husband's side, thoughts racing through my mind of those hours from the last time I had spoken with him, had seen him breathing peacefully in his sleep, until the moment I found him. So many words came to mind. For much too long there had been sensitive topics around the edges of which we skirted, that might gradually emerge from time to time. There were those topics with other issues of more recent vintage where the rocky barriers had only begun to be worn down, allowing our words to begin sliding more easily over their once razor sharp edges.

I told the officer, as though somehow he could call back my husband and we could rectify this matter that was pressing on my mind, "There was so much we needed to talk about...so much that we hadn't had an opportunity to yet say...."

In retrospect now, I pause to think, that fateful Saturday the 13^th day he died was the same day and date we had begun our first full day as husband wife so many decades ago. We were married on the preceding Friday night the 12^th -- the exact same day and date I shared my husband's last wakeful living moments, two months shy of our forty-third wedding anniversary. Just imagine, in forty-three years, we still had much love and laughter to share, so much more we needed to talk about.

CORTEX KINKS - - A DIFFERENT VARIETY

The real adjustments to a loved ones loss come not during the first 8 or 9 months following their death, but afterward, or so it seems to me presently. I expect the adjustments are different for each of us with many situational factors resulting in each individual’s experience being quite unique. Even for me in another situation the loss experience was different -- losing parents, close friends, other relatives -- from loss of a spouse.

Typically, as I realized had been true with me, I was solicitous of others who had experienced a trauma event, including loss, during that early time frame of months. I've come to wonder if perhaps during that time period there evolves for the bereaved an unrecognized gradual acceptance of that solicitousness that develops into a degree of dependence. Perhaps it would be better to not have so much attention then, as inner resources are often rallied to take us through the briers and thorns along that rugged path when we may automatically have been able to muster the inner resources to navigate successfully on our own. Perhaps the solicitousness would be of greater benefit later.

I always rally well in a time of crisis, quickly erecting my temporarily less-than-substantial fortress with thick tall walls of whatever materials are readily available. But then, if I reach out through any windows in the fortress others are most likely to respond. Not all who offer solace can be postponed to provide it for a later time, nor would most understand that was the sole intent to have them in reserve. There seems to be a qualitative and quantitative element and time limit, as I, too, have likely followed, on providing immediate comfort versus that reserved for later, that can result in abundant resources that are inadvertently squandered before a time when they may be more desired. Perhaps, that, too, is unique to each individual -- both the mourner and the comforter.

I've come to think, I had been running on emotional high gear, or even overdrive, most of these past months. But, something happened following fast-paced Christmas holidays joyfully spent with family, though I'm not sure what -- giving way to another life adjustment phase, I suppose. I realized after the first of the year that I needed to slow down and allow life to catch up. After denying my son's suggestion that might be the case, I began to reassess my perception and could only conclude I did, indeed, need to anchor at one spot for a time.
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My pace became more measured -- more like a vehicle moving at a steady speed in drive, though with an unsteady foot on the accelerator, occasionally resulting in sudden high rates of movement, or including even periods of being on cruise control. The early roller coaster ride became more like a boat ride skimming across the smooth slick calm of ocean waters in balmy weather conditions with fluffy white clouds floating in the blue skies above me. However, there was not one speck of land in sight, not even a sand bar, an atoll with a tropical palm tree, or a northern hemisphere evergreen waving welcomingly in the distance.

In January I began making a more successful concentrated effort to follow a regular early sleep time routine. This was haphazard at best as I like writing in the night, also being up and about in the day, but with such a life, when is there time for sleep? I had no difficulty sleeping, if I just stopped long enough. I began concentrating on an even more scaled-back part time work schedule, having eliminated completely for now one work location to which I had previously gone. I've found it is the actual going out to work each day that is vital for me, otherwise I could easily fritter away every wakeful minute with nothing accomplished. I have the utmost respect for anyone who is able to prioritize their activities at home for constructive gain when they don't have to leave the premises for work. This had not been an issue for me in past years, but for some reason seemed to become an issue with which I have had the most difficulty.

I ceased trying to work-in an afternoon adult education class around my work, instead taking only one night class. That seemed to feel more realistic. I limited all other commitments as much as possible though some unexpected events still arose. I lessened activities that I experienced as being obligations as best I could. I had mixed feelings about whether or not that was wise. Ordinarily, my experience is that the more I have to do, the more I get done; that I work well under pressure and time deadlines; that I thrive on situations with potential for the unexpected happening; that with not enough to do I procrastinate, not even accomplishing a meager task until the last minute. So the choices sometimes seemed like a Catch-22 – would I or wouldn’t I get more done?. Obligations might have had little or nothing to do with what I was experiencing, as I really couldn’t tell, but I just felt I must change some things and see what happened.

Uncharacteristically, I experienced some sense of accomplishment when a number of annual medical and professional requirements were completed in January, though some remain. These once seemed all quite routine to be worked-in throughout just the normal course of events, not meriting special recognition for their completion. I look forward to approaching them in that manner once again.

I relinquished a self-imposed idea of blog obligation. Instead, I was satisfied with just writing about ... whatever ... whenever ... seeing where my mind and heart took me. I had all sorts of ideas, even a few drafts written on pertinent serious topics of the day about which I had genuine interest and concern, but seemed unable to complete them in a manner I found acceptable for publishing here. I hoped that would change in time.

I indulged in a couple of DVD movie marathons as the mood struck me, but found I did not become personally invested in most movie comedies or drama plots and characters. Laugh lines, stories, just passed through my eyes and ears barely registering, much less taking up residence for any meaningful recall at a later time. Did I enjoy them? I think so, but am inclined to think they merely filled my mind, absorbed my attention.

I wasn’t drawn to recreational reading, as I was unwilling to focus intently on the words, much less relish their meanings, nor did I wish to concentrate to a degree necessary to mentally store all that information to access later. That said, I also purchased more books to read during that time. I am fairly confident, their content was not going to be absorbed by placing them under my pillow at night, so what was I doing?

I made little or no effort to attend the free Sun. afternoon jazz concerts on a regular basis in which I initially took refuge. That regular attendance pattern was broken when rare rain-predicted weather conditions cancelled one group. When I did resume going, I often arrived late or didn’t stay the full time though that is acceptable in that informal setting.

I restricted my Internet use of the computer. I still found I was unable to resist writing some notes to myself in notebooks in my purse, car and on paper pads scattered about the house. Finally, I wrote many of these words (in the present tense which I have changed) as a draft that I might or might not post. I felt strangely relieved to have them out of my mind -- I hoped -- but wondered if that peace of mind would continue, or how long before new thoughts would come to once again begin the cycle of distraction.

A few days later unexpected storm clouds blew which sent me to depths I had mostly been able to avoid, but there was nothing to do but take the soaking from the rain, while in the process the thoughts traversed the wrinkled brain eventually releasing those cortex kinks, a different variety from those about which I previously wrote HERE.

I found myself thinking that instead of my trying to relate to others, a distancing and detachment would be much more desirable including jettisoning this blog. Memories of times past with loved ones no longer present often intruded. The questions, insecure feelings, self-doubts, loss of confidence in trusting my own perceptions arose. Recriminations those few times in past years, for being so open, so trusting, for risking, muddled my thoughts. The most innocent comment or observation by others could set off waves of thoughts, even concerns, affecting my feelings and attitude when I was alone at home.

I was aware that for some time I did not always relish spending time in this house. I did not consciously feel a cloud descend upon me when I passed through the doorway, but I was aware of a decidedly differing atmospheric change that often slowly seemed to envelope me. Perhaps it's simply that there was time to think, that there was the once longed for, but now uncharacteristic quiet, this household had not known in over forty years. I had forgotten the pleasures of quiet inside a house, and now it seemed strangely out of place. I refused to regularly turn on a radio or television just for company. I wanted to readjust and once again take comfort in stillness that previously I could only seek out by staying up after everyone else had gone to bed, often into the wee hours.

I relished the quiet as I wrote those thoughts above with only occasional outside sounds penetrating my awareness – short quick high-pitched clicking notes emitted from an iridescent green-throated hummingbird hovering over a bird of paradise in full colorful bloom outside my window, the low muffled distant sound of an occasional environmentally polluting vehicle – a long standing nemesis which I ignored for the moment.

A number of weeks, maybe even a month later, I’m now skimming along the surface of a calmed ocean, the skies are blue, the house is quiet except for the sound of soothing orchestral melodies uncluttered with lyrics, the throbbing pounding of drum beats, the metallic twang and screech of guitars, or the toy piano artificial sounds of a keyboard. I’ll save all that loud raucous music for another time when I’m in a different mood.

THE VERY ORDINARY -- EXTRAORDINARY

(This started out as an intended humorous commentary about a mundane aggravating frustrating unwelcomed after-holiday experience I had, then I clearly seem to have lost control of the content as the words went elsewhere on their own and I, too, became just another reader.)

ONCE IN A WHILE I get a hankering for various foods that I can picture in my mind, almost literally smell and taste in my mouth. I had been thinking about one particular such food combination around the time I gave thought to menu planning for the the past holidays. "What was there to plan?" I asked myself at that time, since there was only me at home, so instead I went out to eat on Thanksgiving -- an account about which I wrote previously.

Despite the fact I could have been with friends, I wanted to see what being alone on a traditional family holiday would be like. My reasoning was I might just as well become accustomed to being alone, since that was my life now. Somehow it seemed to me the longer I waited to have that experience, the more difficult adaptation might be. I didn't expect any serious issues, so I had no negative self-fulfilling prophecies. After all, there are people all over the world who for one reason or another, by choice or not, find themselves alone.

That's not to minimize the feelings, reactions to memories I found myself experiencing on that occasion, but I could embrace the sadness, the loss, the wistful longing, along with remembering the joyful, happy, loving feelings I experienced, all as discrete elements combining to contribute to the richness of my life.

My Christmas holidays were quite a different matter. I would have some very special family members present for what would be my first Christmas alone since -- well, I can't remember since when, or maybe never. For our holiday dinner I allowed them to select the foods of their choice. The primary determination centered on the meat -- turkey, ham, prime rib, or some other preference.

We had previously made plans for a number of activities for various days, so a variety of ways for simple quick food preparation was desired. Along with Christmas preparations including decorating the tree, baking cookies, shopping, there was to be a trip to the taping of a TV show in L.A. that my granddaughter was anticipating; then an afternoon and evening at Griffith Observatory, and another day a matinee lunch featuring a special Christmas musical at a nearby dinner theatre. Then after Christmas the younger set wanted to participate in decorating a Rose Parade float, an activity which had become an instant tradition after their having done so the previous year for the first time.

Considering our activity plans, we decided we would like leftovers that could readily be made into sandwiches, eaten cold if we chose. Comparing notes we discovered we'd all had turkey at Thanksgiving, so choosing ham for a variation was logical and easy. Almost immediately, I began envisioning my dining future when I was once again alone, concluding my advanced planning would insure the ham bone would be left with lots of ham still attached.

Past years on those holidays when my husband and I had ham, toward the end of the ham's life we followed what became a tradition we took for granted. This unofficial tradition evolved before the children were born, and we discovered that we both liked very ordinary soup beans with ham and cornbread. We did, however, disagree as to whether or not the beans should be small or large size -- just one of those topics that can stimulate conversation, give new meaning to the word compromise, increase awareness for the need of "adjustments" in order to enhance the possiblity of relationship compatability, since neither of us could recall our wedding vows specifically covering that bean topic. I've also realized we couldn't have avoided those issues even if we had merely lived together instead of marrying.

I think the bean issue must be an example of the fact that partners in a relationship may handle major items reasonably well, but it's the little things that can be wearing over time. Despite all that, sometime, at least once yearly, during each of those five years with just the two of us, we managed the ham 'n beans with cornbread routine. The size of the bean usually depended upon who purchased them at the store. The meaty combination was always better when reheated, whatever the size bean, beginning especially with the second day, so we made a pretty big pot of beans.

Our bean soup tradition became even more special to us when two years after we wed, we bought our first house, set in the outskirts of a rapidly growing area of 300,000 which is now the fifteenth largest city in the U.S. Our house and acre an-a-third property has long since been devoured by a housing development of million dollar homes. We sold it when my husband's employment required we move, ultimately, to a distant location. Too bad! If we had lived there only a few more years, we would have made a significant amount of money on our property -- IF we had been willing to sell to the developers. If we hadn't been willing to sell they probably would have figured out a way to get it through eminent domain in the name of progress.

I can still envision in that house our first real working fireplace, an activity described in songwriter vocalist Mel Torme's The Christmas Song lyrics "Chestnuts roasting on an open fire..." In my memory as the chestnuts roast, I'm gazing out our front picture window at snow-covered leafless maple trees in regal stance at irregularly spaced intervals in arc shape around our house, as though we were in the midst of a forest clearing. Interspersed among them were varying numbers of birch, elm, oak, smaller red bud trees, tall evergreen trees with one mixed grouping appearing as though they were standing protective guard around a seemingly radiating little blue spruce tree which will always be the most beautiful blue spruce I have ever seen. When I think of that house, that idyllic picturesque location, I always feel nostalgic, a sense of sadness wondering what happened to our blue spruce tree? This, as with much in life, is a question for which there will never be an answer for me to know.

Back to the present, the holidays are over, family members are gone, I am once again alone. The first month of a brand new year has arrived, bringing with it what comes to feel like a "holiday letdown" of some sort. My thoughts turn to those soup beans with ham and cornbread. I forgot to mention, our children never liked that food combination, so we didn't really resume that long ago routine regularly, until after they had left home and, once again, there was just the two of us. Now, there would be just me to savor this very ordinary dining fare so I began the simple preparations.

The large size soup beans had successfully soaked through the night swelling to even much larger proportion, having absorbed so much of the water in which I had placed them. I poured off the small amount of excess water as my mother long ago taught me, that was a cautionary but highly recommended technique to prevent the confirmation of my father's oft-voiced conviction expressed in rhyme, "beans, beans, the musical fruit." The simple addition of fresh warm water to the now-swelled beans along with adding the ham bone with lots of ham and additional cut-up ham cubes as well as onions, which was all my husband every wanted in the bean pot, was all that was necessary before moving the pot and contents to the stove top. The mixture then simmered on the stove top burner for a couple of hours, or however long I wanted to leave it.

When the beans started cooking, I selected a time in my mind when I would want to pre-heat my oven, mix my cornbread -- again plain, no variations with creamed or whole corn kernels or jalapenos that I found tasty -- perhaps another year I'll bake cornbread variations. The batter is poured into the readied 9 inch square pan, but what is this -- the external light has not gone out, which signals the oven has reached the desired temperature for baking the golden corn bread which I am now highly anticipating eating. I wait...and I wait...and I wait some more. Finally, I hesitantly open the oven door, quickly thrusting my hand inside in order to feel the heat, prepared to just as quickly remove it lest my flesh be cooked. What heat? The oven is barely warm, and I can see only the filaments barely lit up inside the crystal clear light bulb in the back of the oven. Obviously, there is a problem, my oven has died!

I pride myself in adaptive compensatory skills for whatever life throws my way, including a loved ones earlier death and now this present terminal condition of my oven. I hastily pre-heat a toaster oven which has imprecise temperature setting markings, so I just guess. I grab muffin tins from the shelf beneath my stove top, paper liners from my pantry, spoon cornbread batter into each cup from the previously filled 9 inch square cornbread batter-filled pan, then place the muffin tin in the toaster oven for a duration of time at which I again guess. When the top of the muffins start browning, I conclude they are done. In fact, they turned out to be more than done, and the muffins golden yellow dry insides had hardly the moisture, texture and flavor I had come to highly anticipate. The ham 'n beans were tasty, the corn muffins edible at best.

I'll have the oven repaired or replaced in time, but am having difficulty finding service since this is an oven probably dating to when this house was built forty or fifty years ago. I use the microwave and toaster oven for myself most of the time anyway. I'll bake a fresh pan of cornbread to enjoy with some other desired food of my choice when my taste buds next prod me to do so, or perhaps I'll do that to check out the oven function when next I have one that works.

I couldn't help thinking, though, isn't this so like life? We have periods of high anticipation, instances of lowered expectations, events of desolation, but begin examining what we must do to rectify problems, and in so doing focus on a glimmer of hope. Then, in a more calm aftermath we relish the richness of what we have, settle for some of the mediocrity, consider our future, begin further thinking, dreaming, planning and anticipating what we want and hope to be able to realistically achieve in the years ahead. I believe this to be a true, viable manner in which to view and approach life experiences, whatever our age and circumstances. I also have become aware that over the years, as with my bean soup 'n cornbread, the very ordinary often does become extraordinary, upon reflection

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