For 29 years I've lived in the "east," 10 years in Pennsylvania and 19 in central New York. This week I moved back to the Midwest. Driving on the Ohio turnpike, especially the stretch from Cleveland to Indiana has been a trip I've taken at least a few times a year for 29 years. I've done it alone, I've done it pregnant, I've done it with a spouse and with kids, and in all combinations. I've usually driven it straight through, sometimes taking two days. While I'll make the trip again, it will be with Chicago as "home." I'll gain an hour coming home, instead of losing it. Gas prices will go up instead of down as I get further from home. Speed limits will go down instead of up. Everything will be backwards.
Coming to central time the 11 o'clock news will be at 10, the apple will drop in Times Square at 11 pm on December 31st, and staying up to watch the end of Monday night football means I can still get a good night's sleep.
I can call soda, "pop" again, eat Chicago style pizza, and find good pork.
Saturday, June 28, 2014
Wednesday, June 11, 2014
Steps in moving
I've moved several times in the last three years, changing offices and residences. I've packed, unpacked, tossed, and salvaged. Here is how it goes:
Tape up box. Take stack of books off shelf. Dump them in the box. Decide you don't need your college calculus text anymore. Look inside the cover and see your 18 year old self's handwriting. Cry.
Tape up box. Take stack of file folders from drawer. Dump them in the box. Decide you aren't yet ready to part with your graduate school mentor's handwritten notes and comments on your papers. Cry.
Tape up box. Take clothes from drawer. Wonder why you ever bought that green shirt. Toss it in the donate pile. Debate about tossing an old t-shirt from graduate school. Cry.
Tape up box. Take contents of drawer. Dump them in the box. Find old datebooks from 20 years ago. Flip through the pages and try to remember who these people were that you were meeting and why you met them. Laugh. Then cry.
Tape up box. Take student papers out of file drawer. Fondly remember some great students. Walk to the recycle bin. Dump them in.
Tape up box. Take pictures of your family from dresser top. Remember some of the events. Smile.
Tape up box. Take contents from kitchen cupboard. Find spices purchased 20 years ago for a recipe you made once. Toss them. Toss them all.
Tape up box. Take pictures from walls and desk. Carefully put them in the box. Remember your sons drawings. Cry. The gifts from departed friends. Cry. The thank-yous from students. Cry.
Tape up box. Open drawer filled with pens, staples, paper clips and other miscellany. Close drawer.
Take a walk.
Friday, June 6, 2014
Who is this for?
As I prepare to make my big move back to the Midwest, I'm saying a lot of farewells. Today I went to my final Hospice meeting. These monthly sessions are part of the ongoing program of caregiver training and education. Today's feature was a video describing the process of dying and how the body and mind might act and react in the final days of life.
One of the key themes was that many of the things we, as caregivers, want to provide a dying person are for our benefit, not theirs. For instance, as the body slows many people stop eating. This can be very distressing, especially for us women who see feeding as a primary expression of our caring and nurturing. But, our encouragement to the dying person to eat can cause them physical and emotional stress. Stepping back from what makes US feel better to understanding what makes THEM feel better can be difficult. The nurse suggested a caregiver find other "loving actions" to replace feeding--like hair brushing, touching, singing, and so on.
All good advice. It started me thinking about how many things we do for others that are really for our own comfort. I certainly believe we need to care for ourselves, but sometimes that care needs to be balanced against the needs of others. An awareness of who is benefiting might change our behaviors. Ideally, our actions serve good purposes both for us and those we care for, providing us both with comfort. Sometimes, though, our first instincts may not be correct. A person may long for quiet, while our need is to talk. Thinking of substituting a different "loving action" that can satisfy us both would be desirable. Our need to talk may need to wait for a different audience, while we can still show our love and concern through our quiet presence. Stopping to think, "Who is this for?" might often serve us well.
One of the key themes was that many of the things we, as caregivers, want to provide a dying person are for our benefit, not theirs. For instance, as the body slows many people stop eating. This can be very distressing, especially for us women who see feeding as a primary expression of our caring and nurturing. But, our encouragement to the dying person to eat can cause them physical and emotional stress. Stepping back from what makes US feel better to understanding what makes THEM feel better can be difficult. The nurse suggested a caregiver find other "loving actions" to replace feeding--like hair brushing, touching, singing, and so on.
All good advice. It started me thinking about how many things we do for others that are really for our own comfort. I certainly believe we need to care for ourselves, but sometimes that care needs to be balanced against the needs of others. An awareness of who is benefiting might change our behaviors. Ideally, our actions serve good purposes both for us and those we care for, providing us both with comfort. Sometimes, though, our first instincts may not be correct. A person may long for quiet, while our need is to talk. Thinking of substituting a different "loving action" that can satisfy us both would be desirable. Our need to talk may need to wait for a different audience, while we can still show our love and concern through our quiet presence. Stopping to think, "Who is this for?" might often serve us well.
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