Category Archives: Family

HERE’S TO THE ‘OLD’ NEW YEAR

 New Year’s Eve finds me sitting alone in an old house dress with rolled up socks and the dog curled at my left hip.  As I reflect on the ‘old’ year passing in my final blog for 2011, firecrackers pop in the distance.  My teenagers are off with friends and my husband is long in bed.  So, before 2012 dawns, a few “Thank You’s” for these last 365 days:

 First, to my husband of 31 years who appreciates the ‘little’ things I do, like filling the espresso machine with fresh coffee every morning and holding up my half of the heart whenever we say, “Good-Bye.”  Every now and then I let him edit these—but not tonight.

 To my oldest daughter who begged and begged for that puppy that I never wanted last Christmas.  Your little Skylar, who has now become my sole responsibility since you left for college, has brought me unimaginable joy, laughter & companionship.  A year ago I would not have believed it possible.

 To my youngest daughter who reminds me often that I am old, thank you for sharing what young is really like in all its’ ups and downs.  You make me glad that I am exactly the age that I am.  Thank you also for showing me a harder way to do my piano scales.  It should keep my fingers nimble for at least a few more years.

 To Lorenzo, our church janitor, who brought me flowers on Mother’s Day but was never able to give them to me because I was a ‘no show.’  My Sundays are never quite complete without his, big hug.

 To all of the strangers who motioned me across sidewalks, let me merge in front of you in difficult traffic, or waved and smiled at me from a distance; the ones I chatted with in lines from Starbucks to airline counters or dressing rooms in clothing stores:  Thank You for those brief, joyful seconds.  Without the warmth and camaraderie from strangers, my days would be as empty as a soundstage from an old movie set.  No lights.  No camera.  No action.

 Finally, to the 2,000 new readers of my blog from America & Canada to Australia & Brazil:  Thank You for taking a few minutes in your day to share a part of mine.  May EVERY day of your 2012 be a photograph you want to take and keep close to your heart.

Helen Hudson is the author of, “Kissing Tomatoes,” a non-fiction memoir of her grandmother’s descent into Alzheimer’s.  http://www.helen-hudson.com.

 

 

 

TIME CHANGES EVERYTHING

Everywhere you go nowadays you see ‘kids’ taking care of their elderly parents.  That wasn’t the case when I wrote, “Kissing Tomatoes,” 10 years ago.  At the time, publishers said, “Love the writing but no one will buy it.  Who cares about Alzheimer’s?”  Well, time changes everything. 

Just today, the woman in front of me at the pharmacy counter was waiting for her mother to write a check.  Dowager-humped and small, her shaky hand extended from a wrinkled, arthritic arm.  The wait for all of us was almost interminable.

Every few seconds, the daughter looked around nervously, then straightened her shoulders as if to keep herself from getting the hump her mother has.  She was so embarrassed holding up our line that I made small talk.

“Well, looks like you get to do all the shopping while Mom pays the bills.” 

She brightened slightly.  “Yes, we’ve always loved shopping together.  Just takes longer now.”

“No worries,” I replied.  “We’ll be there ourselves one day.” 

An hour later I dashed back to the same store for something I had forgotten.  The man ahead of me was turning his pockets inside out for change and holding a single bottle of water.

“I just need twelve more cents, right?” he asked in a nervous voice.  He was sweating and his face so flushed, that I feared he might be having a heart attack.

“Goodness,” I said to the clerk, “I’ll pay for his water.”     

“Oh no.  Can’t let you do that,” the man said.  “I have it here somewhere.”  He began searching his back pockets.  “I’m taking care of my mom,” he suddenly blurted.  “Never thought it would be this hard.  She’s driving me crazy.”

“How wonderful,” I replied.  “After all of those years she raised you, now you are caring for her.”

“Yeah, but the only problem is I can’t spank HER!” he laughed.

His car was parked next to mine.  As he jumped behind the wheel, I waved at the old gal next to him.  “Mom!” he yelled, “This lady just paid for my water.”  “How nice,” she said.  “And how nice that your son is looking after you,” I added.  “Oh, not for long,” she confided.  “The doctor said this thing I have will be over very soon.”  I glanced at the man.  He shook his head.  Yeah, time changes everything—especially us.

GET A LIFE!!!

When my oldest first said these three words to me I really was speechless.  Then I laughed.  After I wiped the incredulous look off my face I just stared into her then 16 year-old eyes and said:  “I have one but unfortunately for you, you’re a BIG part of it.”  Now if you have teenagers and haven’t heard this yet—trust me—you will.  And, if you are a parent of ANY sort you know one thing for sure:  Your life hasn’t been YOURS since that first cry.

Some parents simply cannot handle the reality of that.  It’s just too all-consuming.  Casey Anthony comes to mind.  But most of us adapted piece by piece, year by year as our offspring grew.  Then one day we realized that even our simplest thoughts almost always include our children.

Teenagers aren’t cool with that.  They so desperately want to be free and on their own that sometimes just looking at them sends them into a frenzy.  This afternoon, while driving my youngest, I was warned, “Don’t talk to me!”  So, I didn’t point out the cool clouds that were stretching across the purple sky ahead of the oncoming storm or the funny, looking dog being walked by the funnier looking woman.  Just drove in silence.

 I remember being her age.  When my grandmother drove me places I even hunkered down in the seat if I saw anyone I knew.  Just couldn’t wait to be ON MY OWN.  It didn’t help that hers was always the slowest car on the road.  The worst thing, of course, was running into a friend when she was with me.  If it were a boy, I fairly died inside.

Somewhere along the line, though, I grew up and thanked her for all those rides.  Had lots of adventures.  Saw some of the world.   Graduated from college.  Had a career—then another career.  Fell in love.  Married.  You know the rest.

I have 40 years of memories BEFORE my kids were born.  Way I figure it, they have a LOT of catching up to do to REALLY get ‘A LIFE.’  Yup, (and it makes me smile just thinkin’ about it) I had a life.  Still do.  Only it isn’t just MINE anymore.

 http://www.helen-hudson.com 

SHHH!! DON’T TELL!!

 While rinsing the chlorine off this morning in the YMCA shower, a gaggle of giggling little girls squeezed altogether in the open stall next to me.  Although several others were open, they chose to rinse off together.  Like spies on a secret mission, they peeked out from behind their vinyl curtain as if to be sure the coast was clear.  Then the giggling stopped and the whispering began. 

“My aunt is visiting us,” confided the first.  “She’s the one with the gray hair.  She is very, very old.. . .but don’t tell anyone!”

“Why not?” asked the smallest in a whisper.

“It’s a secret.”

“Oh,” they all seemed to understand at once.

Then one broke the silence:  “How old is she?”

“Oh, pretty old, I think,” the first replied.  “Like my dad’s age.”

“That’s not old,” piped the third.  “My dad isn’t old but his mother is REALLY, REALLY old.  She’s my grandmother.”

“All grandmothers are old,” added the fourth. 

“How come?” asked another.

“They have to be cuz if they weren’t we wouldn’t be here.”

At that moment, I turned off the water and pulled back my shower curtain.  As I stepped out, four pairs of very wide eyes looked up at me.

“You’re so right,” I told them.  “Without grandmothers we wouldn’t be here—and don’t worry I won’t tell anyone how very, very old your aunt is.”

“Okay,” said the girl, “Cause she would really kill me.”

“No worries,” I said, “Considering there are about 400 people out there today, I will never even know who she is.”

“Phew,” said her friend as I left.  “That was close.”

 

 

 

 

WALK LIKE A MAN!

My husband ruptured a disc in his back several weeks ago.  Despite the many pain medications his doctor has proffered, he is still in agony and barely able to navigate from bedroom to kitchen.  So, on the eve of our 31st anniversary, I drove to purchase him a cane.   

As I parked at Walgreens, a very, tall man was getting into the car next to me.  Suntanned and well-groomed, I noticed that he still had some dark hair in his sideburns that refused to go white.  Figured he was an ex-athlete, likely basketball.  When I noticed he had a crutch under each arm, I assumed he injured himself playing sports.

“You look about 6’ 7”,” I said as we came face to face.

“I used to be,” he replied, “until I shrunk.”

It was only then I realized he was missing an entire leg.  At 17, while driving a tractor on his dad’s farm, he was thrown off into the oncoming scythe of the thresher.  Said he has a prosthesis but it’s “a lot more comfortable without it.”  No wonder.  Even without his leg, he moves like a WHOLE man.

As we part, I imagine what my own 17 would have been like with only one leg.  I was crazy for dancing and twirled and twisted across too many floors to remember.  While I can no longer do the limbo, I can still dance.  Made me walk taller just thinking about it.

Driving home with a new, blue cane for my husband, I am grateful he has both legs though he can’t use them well now.  I think of the woman I met with Alzheimer’s who cannot walk, not because she lacks legs, but has forgotten how.  I remember the boy I met in college who was born with no legs. 

At the corner, a young man with pants so low that I can see the heart tattoo on his right buttock, waits for the light to change.  When it does, he shuffles slowly across in the slouched-style of an old man.  I want to roll down the window and yell, “Walk Like A Man!”  So I do.  He straightens to attention as if shot by a rifle.  As his eyes meet mine, I smile and add, “While you still can.”  (Hudson is the author of, “Kissing Tomatoes,”a memoir of the years she and her husband cared for her grandmother with Alzheimer’s). 

http://www.helen-hudson.com  


 

 

 

 

STARLIGHT, STAR BRIGHT

      The noted astronomer began harmlessly enough.  Proudly, he held up a steaming, baked potato in front of us.  It symbolized a white, dwarf star, gazillions of miles away from our uncomfortable, folding chairs.  By calculating the rate at which the potato, and thus the star, cooled, science could assess the age of our galaxy.  When he excitedly announced that our good, old, planet earth has been around for at least 13 ½ billion years, ’Yippee’ did not come to mind.  Black holes did. 

     As the others lined up to gaze at M-13 through the telescope, I lost my zeal.  I kept imagining all the billions of people who weren’t here anymore.  They were now like those faraway stars:  infinitely, irrevocably untouchable.  With all the eons of TIME out there, we’re stuck in ridiculously short ‘time shares,’ one breath away from being obsolete.  ‘Is it possible to feel any smaller?’ I wondered.

     Yup.  “Stars don’t die all at once.  The larger, densely packed, intense ones die the fastest.”  (I’m thinking James Dean).  “The smaller, less dense, more demure ones last longest.” ( Betty White?)  Uh Oh.  According to my family, I’m as high-strung as a key on a kite in lightning.  My oldest said just last week, “Mom.  Why don’t you return to Disney and ask them to remove your animation chip?”  My time may be shorter than I thought.

     Now I’ve had stars in my eyes.  I’ve stepped on the stars in front of Grauman’s Chinese.  I’ve dated stars.  I‘ve stuck the glow-in-the-dark ones above my children’s cribs. But never have the stars seemed less appealing.  So, when the astronomer finished, I asked:  “Okay.  Now that we know how old the galaxy is, and that one day, billions of years from now, the universe will go dark and there will be no stars—what does this mean personally, for you, right now?’  “Um. . .Well. . .I guess. . . I. . . just don’t know the answer to that,” he said sadly. 

     But I do.  Tonight the Perseid meteor shower will be in full view and I will watch all those falling stars fall.  It will remind me that dying is pretty from a distance.  But mostly it will remind me of the nights Granny and I used to look up at those same stars and say:  “Starlight, star bright.  First star I see tonight.  Wish I may.  Wish I might have the wish I wish tonight.”  (Hudson’s memoir, “Kissing Tomatoes,” recounts the 13 years she lived with her grandmother who had Alzheimer’s).  http://www.helen-hudson.com.

JUST DRIVE

     I just handed my oldest the keys to the car and sent her out to the market.  For a brief moment, she just stood there and looked at me as if uncertain what I meant.  “Here’s the key,” I repeated.  “Just drive.”  I figure she’s had enough of me sitting in the passenger seat making her nervous.  She now has her license and it’s time for me to let go.  Ha!  Do we parents ever really let go?

        Okay.  So she’s been gone over an hour.  I’ve replayed the entire drive to and from back and forth in my mind several times.  But no amount of my worry will amount to a hill of beans when it comes to, ‘the other guy.’  If I add up all of the worrying I’ve done about everything over the last 40 years, it is quite clear that I have wasted months, maybe years, of precious time.  They should have been spent laughing, creating and exploring instead. 

        The really good decisions I’ve made in my life were mostly done on the spot out of a sense of responsibility, joy or love; like the day we moved Granny in with us.*  We didn’t work out a budget or decide how much time we would have to devote to her.  We just moved her in, Alzheimer’s and all.  In hindsight, it’s better that we didn’t know we’d have to add Depends to the shopping list, or that just bathing her might take an entire hour.  Love far outweighs anything on a balance sheet or a shopping list.

        And it was love that propelled me to send my daughter off an hour ago.  She will never spread her wings if I keep her tethered and I want her to fly.  She needs to feel that sense of full accountability when she is behind the wheel, to know there is nothing between her and the other guy but her own good judgment.  As a driver, she will have to make many ‘on the spot’ decisions.  If they’re done with responsibility, love and joy she will be okay.

        Oops.  Gotta run.  I hear the garage door opening.  My bird is returning to the nest; the same one I used to buckle into her pink, fluffy, car seat with her stuffed elephant.  My heart leaps with both joy and gratitude.  (*From, “Kissing Tomatoes,” by Helen Hudson.  http://www.helen-hudson.com).

P. S.  An hour after I posted this blog, I discovered that Wisconsin has launched a, “Just Drive,” campaign for teens.  It comes with its own yellow road sign and points out that while teens only account for 7% of all drivers, they cause 14% of all accidents.  How comforting.

EVERYTHING OLD IS NEW AGAIN EXCEPT ME

     It was a week of deja vu.  Met two different college kids sporting blue hair; one at Starbucks and one at my front door.  Well, it sure beats the nose rings.  Of course, back in the 60’s, a “blue hair” was any older woman who put a blue rinse on her white hair.  Most of my grandmother’s friends had blue hair, so I was pretty convinced that mine would turn that color when I got old.*   

     Tie-dyed shirts are back.  We used to wrap our old t-shirts with rubber bands, pour in a ten-cent box of Ritz dye, and ruin the family washing machine to do the trick.  I just bought one for $9.99 at Target.  My teens straighten their locks with expensive gizmos from salons.  I used Granny’s iron.

     But the best part?  My husband takes me to a specialty “back” store filled with chairs to do this and that for your spinal alignment.  The sales gal has me sit in one, fusses with a bunch of weird pedals that look like mini stick shifts, almost breaks my neck, and says, “There.  Isn’t that wonderful?”  The top half of me feels like I’m in the dentist’s chair.  The bottom half of me feels like I’m at the gynecologist’s.  She’s GOT to be kidding. 

     “How much does this thing cost?” I ask with a voice as pinched as the rest of me feels.  “Just $3,000,” she says with a lovely lilt to her voice.  “Get me off,” I yowl.  But she isn’t done with me yet.  She wants me to try the ‘tip-you-upside down, anti-gravity device.’  I lay down on a skinny, black board.  She squeezes my ankles under a footpiece, pushes more levers and tips me upside down.  While I lie there with the blood rushing to my head, she sweetly informs my husband, “This is wonderful for reducing wrinkles in the face.”

     “What wrinkles?” I ask, as if entirely sincere.  She suddenly goes mute.  Turns out that thingamajig is ’only $900.’   As we leave, I am remembering a fold-up green board that Granny kept in our hall closet.  She bought it, (for about $5.99),  when she first took up yoga in the 60’s.  The two of us spent many an evening lying upside down.  Would say that I miss those days but apparently, they’re still with us—just at a higher price tag.  (*Excerpt from, “Kissing Tomatoes,” Hudson’s memoir of her Granny’s Alzheimer’s.   http://www.helen-hudson.com) 

 

IMAGINE

     When my grandmother was raising me, it was a simpler time.  Our phone had a circular dial and was not really ‘our’ phone at all, but a ‘party line.’  This meant that we shared the same number with several other people.  So, if the phone rang you had to listen to be sure it was ‘your’ ring before you picked it up.  If you needed to make a call and picked up the receiver you would often hear other people talking.  So, you had to wait.

     Waiting is not something my children’s generation is used to.  Everything in their world is instant.  Recently, I witnessed two teenagers texting each other at a party, and they were sitting side by side!  My own daughter has actually called me from her cell phone rather than walk 20 feet to get my attention.  What is lost is not just human interaction, which involves actual conversation, listening and eye contact.  What is lost is the space between thought and action; the realm of imagination.

     Granny didn’t own a TV until the late sixties.  It was black and white and only had 3 channels.  Watching it was a privilege, not a right.  If I wanted to see an episode of “Leave It To Beaver,” my homework and chores were always done first.  More often than not, I was encouraged to ‘go outside and observe nature.’  I spent hours watching ants carry miniature grains of sugar into their colony.  To make it more interesting, I often provided that sugar!

     That ‘simpler’ time developed my imagination & fueled my drive to become somebody who created not just existed.  I often worry about this generation.  What will they do when the power goes out?  Who will they be?  How much charge is built up on their inner batteries?  

     Today we took our girls to the beach but forgot to bring the frisbee.  Imagine my thrill when my oldest spontaneously began to play ‘imaginary’ frisbee with me.  For several minutes we threw and caught a disc seen only by the two of us.   We jumped and twirled in the sand as onlookers gawked.  Later, one man asked me if we were throwing ‘a very small’ frisbee because he had been unable to see it. 

     Indeed.  If we can cultivate in our children the ability to create what isn’t there and enjoy it, they will be rich no matter what they have.  They will find joy in their greatest sorrows.  And that legacy will last longer than anything we put in the Will.   (Helen Hudson is the author of, “Kissing Tomatoes.”   http://www.helen-hudson.com.)

HERE’S TO INDEPENDENCE!!

     Today may be a celebration of our country’s independence, but fireworks on this night have always reminded me it’s Granny’s birthday.  She would have been 110 today.  I said “Good-bye” to her at 95 but the truth is she left me in body only.  Every hug, tear and piece of advice she ever gave me is still intact in my memory. 

      On this date in 1845, Thoreau moved to Walden and wrote the book which would define him.  He would remind us that man and nature are inextricably connected, so we must preserve it.  The same holds true of the invisible threads which bind us to each other.

      As I waved my youngest off to New York yesterday and reminded her to “drink plenty of water,” it was really Granny talking.  When I hugged my oldest at the gate en route to look at colleges in California and my tears began to fall, I remembered Granny doing the same when I left her.  My children are already navigating that long road that we all have walked— to independence.

      We repeat ourselves generation to generation.  We do it in different languages, under different skies and in different times but the pattern doesn’t change.  We’re born, make the same mistakes our parents did (or invent our own), have children, watch them grow as we age and then we die.  Some of us die fighting like those who won our independence.  Some of us have no fight at all.  Most of us lie somewhere in between.

      What all of us have is a teeny, tiny window of time to look out on the garden of Life.  “It will only be as beautiful as you make it,” Granny once said, “and it takes work.”   Someday, if my children remember me on my 110th birthday, I hope their gardens are as full of color and rich with possibilities as mine is.  I learned how to tend it from a woman born in 1900; the same one who also said, “Plant lots of seeds.  They won’t all take.”  (Helen Hudson is the author of, “Kissing Tomatoes,” a memoir of the years before and after her grandmother’s descent into Alzheimer’s.   http://www.helen-hudson.com).