WordSisters

Category: Reflection

  • A Simple Thank You

    A Simple Thank You

    “I’m not a kid, anymore”, my son said. Why was I then having to cajole him into writing thank you cards? Isn’t that an adult thing? Jody and I had a gathering of up to fifty people to celebrate – and more importantly – to recognize his graduation from Dunwoody College of Technology. 

    Our son didn’t want a basket to be set out for cards. “It looks like I expect something, then,” he said.  

    He wore a hooded sweatshirt, graciously accepted the cards given to him, and slid the cards into his hoodie pocket. Later he transferred the cards to his cubby.

    My son graduated from Dunwoody with honors. Earlier, I had pointed to his Cum Laude and Outstanding Attendance designation on the commencement program. “You did that,” I said. “Me and Mama Jody never once got you up for school. We never once asked you if you had class work to do. You did that.”

    He looked pleased. “I know.”

    But, to write a thank you card?

    Ever since our son and daughter could hold a crayon, the expectation was to send thank you cards for birthday and holiday gifts. In some ways, it was easy for them. A thank you card is made of two halves. Our son would have one half and our daughter the other. They each would draw a picture displaying their own unique personality. Jody and I would address and mail the cards.

    Juan balked at drawing a picture. “I’m not a kid, anymore.”

    In retrospect, I probably should have expected his pushback sooner.

    My son and daughter are members of the first social generation to have grown up with access to the Internet. They are labeled digital natives. Both consume digital information quickly and comfortably through electronic devices and platforms.

    Where does that leave the digital immigrants? The grandparents, aunts and uncles, and family friends who grew up dominated by print before the advent of the Internet.

    We would like a thank you card, and we would like our children to send thank you cards.

    Is it enough for our children to say thank you in person when handed a card? I’m sure that my son did that. He is sociable, polite and courteous. I’m old-fashioned. I haven’t let go of the idea that the written word is important. Our son did end up sending thank you cards. He did the absolute bare minimum.

    Will thank you cards, thank you texts, emails, etc. become antiquated? Will it be all thought, all energy driven? Appreciation transmitted without electronics. Mind to mind. A glow of light. If asked, the children will say that we are already there. It’s us digital immigrants that must catch up.

  • Seeing Forward and Back

    I’ve cared for enough older women in my family to see the frailties I may have in the coming years. I’ve learned to be patient with their slower pace. I accept the extra steps they take to stay in charge of their lives—switching glasses and putting them away carefully and doublechecking locks. I already do that. I’m accustomed to the effort invested in maintaining dignity—looking where I’m walking, dressing comfortably, but well. So far, I’ve managed to avoid the flat bedhead spot so many older women seem unaware of!

    Some days I feel exactly how old I am. My hip twinges a little. Or I can’t think of a word and it comes back five minutes later. I have a wealth of experiences and insights but the wisdom to know I should refrain from giving too much unasked-for advice. At this stage of life, my outlook is measured. Realistic.

    Other days I feel like I’m fifty. Nothing aches. I’m energetic, ready to tackle big projects, and confident they’ll turn out well. The future is off in the distance and looks bright. I’m optimistic.

    My thirties are also vivid—relived through the lives of my daughters-in-law. Revived by their pregnancies and new motherhood. I remember how fascinating my changing body was and how much it mattered to have a few maternity clothes I really liked. 

    1989

    I haven’t forgotten the fog and overwhelm of life with a newborn. How every little thing worries you. I also know you can grow bored by the long repetitive days, no matter how much you love your child. How ready you can be to use your brain for something besides calculating the hours since the last feeding. But the sweetness of cuddling a sleeping baby tempers that restlessness.

    When my son hands me his baby, our past, present, and future converge.

  • Making It Up as I Go Along

    Making It Up as I Go Along

    In my everyday life, I’m a planner. I schedule visits with friends, household chores, exercise, and so forth. I mark my calendar and make detailed lists. But when it comes to big decisions, I’ve often acted on a gut feeling and made consequential choices without really knowing what I was doing or how they would turn out. I’ve winged it.

    For example, I moved cross-country for college teaching jobs when I was in my 20s. I knew very little about the English departments I’d be part of or the small towns I was moving to. In the first college town I discovered the lack of privacy. Students hounded me about grades at the bar when I was blurry after half a pitcher of happy hour beer. Or they’d chat me up in the drugstore as I reached for a box of tampons. The next college had three different presidents by December, and we worried our paychecks would bounce. Nonetheless, I grew into a competent teacher and made lifelong friends.

    When the second college’s financial troubles led to layoffs, I moved back to my hometown to be closer to family. I didn’t have a job but hoped I’d figure it out despite the recession. For nine months, I burnt through my teacher’s pension before I got a job writing training materials—which launched my next career as a marketing communications writer. Once I was employed, my fiancé joined me and we were married in the loving circle of family.

    A few years later, I moved away again after my husband got a job in Minnesota because our prospects were limited in Ohio. We started over in an unfamiliar city—with new jobs and a new house but no roadmap for how to be settled and happy there. 35 years later our roots are deep. Our expanding family and circle of friends are here. We happily consider ourselves Minnesotans. Wind chill and all. 

    Although I liked the fulltime job I first took in Minnesota, I wanted to have more time with our young sons. I launched a freelance communications business with only one client and nothing but promises of work from others. I knew little about the ups and downs of managing clients and erratic cash flow. 

    Fortunately, my husband is excellent with finances. I discovered I had a knack for keeping clients happy and writing about their products and services. I kept my business going for 18 years, but after our youngest son left for college, I wanted to have coworkers again. My collie/office mate was sweet but didn’t have much to say. I took a hospital communications job and enjoyed being part of a large team.

    Several years later, there was a reorganization and the joy went out of the job for me. At 61, I didn’t see other part-time career opportunities, so I decided to retire. Although I knew retirement would be major transition, my vision for it was vague. Since then, I’ve built a satisfying life which includes writing, reading, tutoring, gardening, traveling, and plenty of time with family and friends. Occasionally, a headhunter approaches me about work, but I’m not tempted. Retirement life is great!

    At each of those turning points, I wasn’t sure how the change would play out. I didn’t have a blueprint to ensure my new life would be OK. I trusted myself to make up my new life as I went along. I’ve made my share of mistakes and endured some tough times, but so far, things have worked out.

    These days, I occasionally worry that I haven’t prepared enough for the coming years. We have organized our retirement finances, and we’re actively enjoying life while our health is good. Otherwise, I approach aging in a short-sighted way—with no real plan, just wishes. As if I’m not aging. As if I won’t have to deal with assisted living. As if my own health won’t deteriorate and friends and family won’t get ill or die. I’ve been living life as if I’m not growing older, except obviously I am. 

    Sometimes I wish I could prepare for the emotional and physical hardships in my future. Like if I had a plan, I could avoid them. But I know worrying about what hasn’t happened only robs today of joy. I remind myself I’ll figure it out as I go along—just like I always have.