I went to a funeral today. And yes, it was sad. Very sad. The younger brother of one of my dearest friends died suddenly of a heart attack. The shock to us all? He was only fifty-seven. So, so sad.
Yet, I have to say, his memorial service was awesome! I was so touched by the assemblage of people meeting to pay homage to Jim. What a motley crew! One big group was very old; he was a cook at the senior center where his parents presently reside. Another group was an interesting study, three rows sitting off to the side with a variety of men-different ages, different colors, different clothing, and different degrees of health. I wondered about them, until a speaker identified himself as Jim's sponsor, and then I knew who they were. What an honor that they openly gathered to remember him. The young girl sitting beside me kept a softly spoken running dialogue as she agreed with the tributes being offered by the speakers. There were many young people who had worked with him, and they came out in full force to say goodbye. His family spoke lovingly of their sibling, and there were many touching moments in their speeches. When the youngest brother faltered as he spoke, one by one his siblings joined him at the platform to physically and emotionally hold him up. His special needs sister touched us all when she started her talk by saying that she didn't have a piece of paper, but she had her memories. What a tribute to this man who by all appearances was a bit of a loner who loved to fish, cook, and ride his bicycle. But, holy cow, the many, many lives touched forever by this man! Awesome.
We should all be spoken of so highly and so lovingly after we pass.
I have some unconventional wishes for my funeral. My sister is aware of them, and if I go before her, I expect her to honor my requests. I want a cheap pine box casket, closed at the service. Beside it I want a huge basket of various colored magic markers. I want everybody there to write messages on my casket. I want children to draw on it. Believe me, if I can arrange it, I'll be watching what you write. I promise not to haunt you for any misspellings or poor punctuation. Then, I want the beautiful box cremated (with me and my dogs' urns in it, of course). I haven't figured out what should be done with my ashes. I'm not fussy. The ocean would be fine with me. But please be warned, this retired teacher is retired. Don't go dumping my ashes in the bushes at HdG Middle! I want no flowers, give them to me while I live. If you feel a need to do something, please contribute to a charity that benefits children.
And, if you can, please say something nice about me at the service. I'd really appreciate it.
Thursday, February 28, 2013
Friday, February 22, 2013
I Forgot
Today was the date for my monthly lunch with two dear friends, Dot and Pat. When I heard a knock on my door, I answered in my pj's; and in the words of the pop culture princess Britney Spears, I realized that "Ooops, I did it again." I had screwed up. There they were, dressed and ready to go. Here I was, unwashed and in my ratty nightgown. I had completely forgotten. We do this every month, usually the same time of the month, and I had completely forgotten.
I have to ask, do other people do this or is there something wrong with me?
I can barely begin to tell you the things I have forgotten. There have been the doctor appointments I've shown up for either the day before (if I'm lucky) or the day after (if I'm not). The latest was a follow-up in September that I didn't realize I'd missed until October. My dentist's secretary has called me more than once to ask where I am. (I can sort of understand "forgetting" the dentist. I hate to go.) I have been smacked with late fees because I forgot to pay the bills. I have been reminded of things I've said during a conversation that I can't even remember having. (That's why I don't lie; I can't remember the stuff I have said. Who could remember a lie?) I've bought the same shirt twice, the same necklace twice, etc. etc. etc. I found a dress in my closet a while ago. It still had the tags, was in a bag, and the receipt showed I'd bought it three years ago and had completely forgotten about it! I could probably ramble on, but I have forgotten a lot of things I forgot to do.
I used to have an excuse when I worked. As a teacher, I only survived by multi-tasking. Sometimes I became overwhelmed, so it was natural to forget a meeting or two. But, I don't work anymore. I'm supposedly enjoying a leisurely retirement. So, what's my excuse now?
I once read an article that said when people forget meetings, appointments, dates and such it is because they subconsciously think they are superior to others. Others aren't worthy of their attention. Oh man, I hope that isn't me. None of this makes me feel better than others. I feel stupid and embarrassed.
These aren't signs of advancing senility...I hope! I hope! I hope! I can remember doing things like this when I was younger. As a teenager, I was the neighborhood babysitter. I can't tell you how many times I scrambled to find someone to help me out because I'd double booked a Saturday night. I lost one of my best paying jobs when, in true desperation, I sent my brother to babysit a family's son. No, they weren't angry about the mix-up. The kid just happened to love my brother. Recently, I RSVPed affirmatively to a wedding and a birthday party on the same date but in different states. Luckily, I was able to cancel on the wedding (the second of the two invitations) before they had to pay for my place serving at the reception.
When people got frustrated with my behavior, I used to warn them that they'd be really sorry when my brain tumor was disagnosed. Ha ha then. Not so funny now.
Do other people have this much trouble organizing their lives? Do other people remember things without writing them down in two places? And if they do write them in two places, do other people remember to actually look at each place?
Sigh. I'm sad I missed lunch. I really enjoy spending time with those special ladies. I hope they had a Zinfandel for me. Or two.
I have to ask, do other people do this or is there something wrong with me?
I can barely begin to tell you the things I have forgotten. There have been the doctor appointments I've shown up for either the day before (if I'm lucky) or the day after (if I'm not). The latest was a follow-up in September that I didn't realize I'd missed until October. My dentist's secretary has called me more than once to ask where I am. (I can sort of understand "forgetting" the dentist. I hate to go.) I have been smacked with late fees because I forgot to pay the bills. I have been reminded of things I've said during a conversation that I can't even remember having. (That's why I don't lie; I can't remember the stuff I have said. Who could remember a lie?) I've bought the same shirt twice, the same necklace twice, etc. etc. etc. I found a dress in my closet a while ago. It still had the tags, was in a bag, and the receipt showed I'd bought it three years ago and had completely forgotten about it! I could probably ramble on, but I have forgotten a lot of things I forgot to do.
I used to have an excuse when I worked. As a teacher, I only survived by multi-tasking. Sometimes I became overwhelmed, so it was natural to forget a meeting or two. But, I don't work anymore. I'm supposedly enjoying a leisurely retirement. So, what's my excuse now?
I once read an article that said when people forget meetings, appointments, dates and such it is because they subconsciously think they are superior to others. Others aren't worthy of their attention. Oh man, I hope that isn't me. None of this makes me feel better than others. I feel stupid and embarrassed.
These aren't signs of advancing senility...I hope! I hope! I hope! I can remember doing things like this when I was younger. As a teenager, I was the neighborhood babysitter. I can't tell you how many times I scrambled to find someone to help me out because I'd double booked a Saturday night. I lost one of my best paying jobs when, in true desperation, I sent my brother to babysit a family's son. No, they weren't angry about the mix-up. The kid just happened to love my brother. Recently, I RSVPed affirmatively to a wedding and a birthday party on the same date but in different states. Luckily, I was able to cancel on the wedding (the second of the two invitations) before they had to pay for my place serving at the reception.
When people got frustrated with my behavior, I used to warn them that they'd be really sorry when my brain tumor was disagnosed. Ha ha then. Not so funny now.
Do other people have this much trouble organizing their lives? Do other people remember things without writing them down in two places? And if they do write them in two places, do other people remember to actually look at each place?
Sigh. I'm sad I missed lunch. I really enjoy spending time with those special ladies. I hope they had a Zinfandel for me. Or two.
Monday, February 18, 2013
703
I recently finished the autobiography of a woman close to my age, a woman with an incredible story to tell of how she once weighed 703 pounds. Yes, I said 703, no dyslexia involved in reporting that number. This was not a diet book as she never really told what she did to lose that weight. But I do know, no surgery was involved (until afterwards when reconstructive surgery was a must). What happened? How could a person get that fat and live?
She really didn't live. She survived in a self-imposed prison. Her childhood was awful, abusive, and loveless. As an adult, she felt unworthy and coped by eating. And eating. And eating. Until she could no longer move. What changed her life was simple; she got a computer, the internet, and made friends who didn't judge her appearance. She stopped punishing herself. It took years before she could leave her home comfortably, both in her movements and her appearance before a cruel public. As amazing as her story, what she left me with was her simple and deep appreciation of the natural beauty around her. It was all so new to her after years of isolation, of being on the inside of her tiny apartment and looking out. The simplest things, sitting on a park bench while listening and watching children play, getting a job cleaning houses, fitting into a car, filled her with joy. For many years she had dulled her senses with food, and when that stopped, her world blossomed.
I get it. I understand her appreciation of life. I marvel at her forgiveness. I like her stop-to-smell-the-roses attitude. So, I'm making her experience my challenge...I want to notice the simple, the good and the beauty in life, and I want to relish in it.
Last night when I took out my trash, I looked up at the sky. And stopped dead in my tracks. It was beautiful. The moon was my favorite shape, a sharp crisp crescent. The stars were brightly shining despite the clouds that drifted in the indigo sky. What was so absolutely cool and amazing was how the moving clouds seemed to stay in place and it looked like the stars were turning kaleidoscope fashion around me. I never saw that phenomenon in the sky before, and I was mesmerized.
This morning I experienced another natural delight. I saw a female cardinal in my dogwood tree. What is so delightful about that you ask? How many of you have ever noticed the females? The male cardinals have bright red feathers that create a slash of crimson one can't miss. But the lady cardinal had subtle red flashes under her tail and her wings that were really pretty when they peeked at you.
Recently, I shared dinner for the Chinese New Year with a group of Chinese exchange students. When I asked one young lady what she liked most about America, she didn't talk about TV, clothes, cars, etc. She loves the fresh air. The air! Me too, although I take it for granted. Today I smelled spring in the air, it was earthy and clean. I have smelled snow in the air and rain. I left the house this morning and took the time to inhale and exhale some deep, deep breaths. I felt energized.
Life is tough. Life is precious. I've got the tough part down pat; here's to appreciating the precious!
She really didn't live. She survived in a self-imposed prison. Her childhood was awful, abusive, and loveless. As an adult, she felt unworthy and coped by eating. And eating. And eating. Until she could no longer move. What changed her life was simple; she got a computer, the internet, and made friends who didn't judge her appearance. She stopped punishing herself. It took years before she could leave her home comfortably, both in her movements and her appearance before a cruel public. As amazing as her story, what she left me with was her simple and deep appreciation of the natural beauty around her. It was all so new to her after years of isolation, of being on the inside of her tiny apartment and looking out. The simplest things, sitting on a park bench while listening and watching children play, getting a job cleaning houses, fitting into a car, filled her with joy. For many years she had dulled her senses with food, and when that stopped, her world blossomed.
I get it. I understand her appreciation of life. I marvel at her forgiveness. I like her stop-to-smell-the-roses attitude. So, I'm making her experience my challenge...I want to notice the simple, the good and the beauty in life, and I want to relish in it.
Last night when I took out my trash, I looked up at the sky. And stopped dead in my tracks. It was beautiful. The moon was my favorite shape, a sharp crisp crescent. The stars were brightly shining despite the clouds that drifted in the indigo sky. What was so absolutely cool and amazing was how the moving clouds seemed to stay in place and it looked like the stars were turning kaleidoscope fashion around me. I never saw that phenomenon in the sky before, and I was mesmerized.
This morning I experienced another natural delight. I saw a female cardinal in my dogwood tree. What is so delightful about that you ask? How many of you have ever noticed the females? The male cardinals have bright red feathers that create a slash of crimson one can't miss. But the lady cardinal had subtle red flashes under her tail and her wings that were really pretty when they peeked at you.
Recently, I shared dinner for the Chinese New Year with a group of Chinese exchange students. When I asked one young lady what she liked most about America, she didn't talk about TV, clothes, cars, etc. She loves the fresh air. The air! Me too, although I take it for granted. Today I smelled spring in the air, it was earthy and clean. I have smelled snow in the air and rain. I left the house this morning and took the time to inhale and exhale some deep, deep breaths. I felt energized.
Life is tough. Life is precious. I've got the tough part down pat; here's to appreciating the precious!
Saturday, February 9, 2013
Year of the Snake
If you follow the Chinese New Year calendar as we at the Snyder household are wont to do, you will realize that tomorrow marks the start of the Year of the Snake. Normally, I note the year and go on my way. But, if you are turning sixty in 2013 (as many of my classmates are) this is our year.
The Snake in Chinese culture does not share the evil connotation of Christian culture (you know, the bad guy who enticed Eve to eat the apple). Instead, the Chinese see the Snake as intelligent, graceful, and materialistic. Snakes are sexy, wise, and deep thinkers. We are charming, romantic, strong, and like to be in control. We are intuitive and discreet, and very analytical in our decision making. Snakes love books, photography, music, fine clothes, good food, and luxurious surroundings. On the not so flattering side, we are judgmental, conniving, lazy, capable of telling big lies, and not open to constructive criticism. Snakes make good teachers, lawyers, scientists, magicians, jewelers, investigators, and writers. If you're a Snake, you don't want to marry a Tiger, but you're ok with a Rooster. We'll only settle down once we've met our soulmate; otherwise Snakes are flirty and easily distracted.
My sister is currently housesitting the Chinese exchange students at the private school where she works. The girls were so excited to learn that I am the Year of the Snake. In order to have a lucky year, they told me that I had to wear all new clothes today. And my underwear had to be red. So last night, in the snow and sleet, Billie and I went to the store to get me some new threads. Billie has yet to stop laughing about my red coconut holder. Today I will be decked out from head to toe in my new finery because I am taking no chances with having a bad year. (Been there, done that, it is NO fun.) I am ready.
And that fellow/sister Snakes is why I am writing this blog. I want you also to appreciate the gloriousness of being a Snake. And, I also want to send you out into the world to get that brand new red underwear which will insure your future happiness.
Gong Hey Fat Choy!!
The Snake in Chinese culture does not share the evil connotation of Christian culture (you know, the bad guy who enticed Eve to eat the apple). Instead, the Chinese see the Snake as intelligent, graceful, and materialistic. Snakes are sexy, wise, and deep thinkers. We are charming, romantic, strong, and like to be in control. We are intuitive and discreet, and very analytical in our decision making. Snakes love books, photography, music, fine clothes, good food, and luxurious surroundings. On the not so flattering side, we are judgmental, conniving, lazy, capable of telling big lies, and not open to constructive criticism. Snakes make good teachers, lawyers, scientists, magicians, jewelers, investigators, and writers. If you're a Snake, you don't want to marry a Tiger, but you're ok with a Rooster. We'll only settle down once we've met our soulmate; otherwise Snakes are flirty and easily distracted.
My sister is currently housesitting the Chinese exchange students at the private school where she works. The girls were so excited to learn that I am the Year of the Snake. In order to have a lucky year, they told me that I had to wear all new clothes today. And my underwear had to be red. So last night, in the snow and sleet, Billie and I went to the store to get me some new threads. Billie has yet to stop laughing about my red coconut holder. Today I will be decked out from head to toe in my new finery because I am taking no chances with having a bad year. (Been there, done that, it is NO fun.) I am ready.
And that fellow/sister Snakes is why I am writing this blog. I want you also to appreciate the gloriousness of being a Snake. And, I also want to send you out into the world to get that brand new red underwear which will insure your future happiness.
Gong Hey Fat Choy!!
Tuesday, February 5, 2013
Thoughts inspired by a Nora Ephron book
I will turn sixty in April. Sometimes, I can't believe I'm that old. But all it takes is one look in the mirror and it's confirmed. I'm looking every bit of my 59+ years. And I'm looking more and more like my mother every day.
Years ago when I was appearing in Steel Magnolias, Al Herlinger was doing my makeup and working with shadowing in order to age my face for the stage. We were discussing all things appearance related, including weight. He said, "You know what you're going to have to do so you don't look like this in twenty years...." I replied that I certainly did know what I'd have to do, get a much better make-up artist!
Sigh. It's going to take much more than a make-up artist I'm afraid.
I have tried all the creams. Most of those manufacturers should be jailed for the promises their wrinkle creams claim to deliver. Nothing under my chin is capable of being tightened. Whenever I take a picture for my Facebook profile, I have to take twenty shots in order to get one I'm willing to post. Sometimes I get the face right, but then I look at my cleavage and have to reject the picture for I now have decolletage wrinkles. Yes, my cleavage looks like two loaves of unbaked bread squashed together in a single bread pan. I have to angle my camera so that my arm isn't squeezing my chest into wrinkly bread dough that pushes up to meet my jowls which are hanging down past my chin. Do you recall the Ally McBeal episode about the face bra? It doesn't seem so far-fetched to me any more. And oh, my wrinkles. On one side of my face, they are deep enough to look like crevices on an old mountain side. I am trying to lose weight, and that's a scary prospect for my face. Everybody knows that a woman wants to lose the weight in her stomach/hip area, but it is always the face that deflates first.
How many of you are old enough to remember the song You Light Up my Life? Back in the day, it was a very sappy song that I would drunkenly slow dance to during my wild nights at the bars. Now, it's my wake up call! It's Debbie Boone's theme song and the background music for the miracle Lifestyle facelift commercial. Have you seen the commercials? Women my age and older can have this one hour procedure and bingo! They're twenty years younger. One hour....that doesn't seem so bad. Especially to see those necks lifted, the wrinkles smoothed, the eyelids opened. Oh man. I want a lift. This coming from the woman who, when her young face was smooth and dewy, vowed she'd grow old graciously and never have work done. Well, she wants that Lifestyle lift. And she wants it now.
All around me things are happening to make my contemporaries happy to be sixty. One has children with special plans to honor her and celebrate her age, beauty, and wisdom. Another one has children planning a fabulous birthday bash. Turning sixty inspired a high school friend to plan a cruise that a group of us will take in August. Celebrations abound.
Ok. I'll celebrate. After all, being wrinkly and alive sure beats the alternative. But if one day I seem to look ten years younger, don't look too closely behind my ears. I hear they're making transparent duct tape these days. I'm thinking of calling it the MacGyver lift. Could be the next big thing.
Years ago when I was appearing in Steel Magnolias, Al Herlinger was doing my makeup and working with shadowing in order to age my face for the stage. We were discussing all things appearance related, including weight. He said, "You know what you're going to have to do so you don't look like this in twenty years...." I replied that I certainly did know what I'd have to do, get a much better make-up artist!
Sigh. It's going to take much more than a make-up artist I'm afraid.
I have tried all the creams. Most of those manufacturers should be jailed for the promises their wrinkle creams claim to deliver. Nothing under my chin is capable of being tightened. Whenever I take a picture for my Facebook profile, I have to take twenty shots in order to get one I'm willing to post. Sometimes I get the face right, but then I look at my cleavage and have to reject the picture for I now have decolletage wrinkles. Yes, my cleavage looks like two loaves of unbaked bread squashed together in a single bread pan. I have to angle my camera so that my arm isn't squeezing my chest into wrinkly bread dough that pushes up to meet my jowls which are hanging down past my chin. Do you recall the Ally McBeal episode about the face bra? It doesn't seem so far-fetched to me any more. And oh, my wrinkles. On one side of my face, they are deep enough to look like crevices on an old mountain side. I am trying to lose weight, and that's a scary prospect for my face. Everybody knows that a woman wants to lose the weight in her stomach/hip area, but it is always the face that deflates first.
How many of you are old enough to remember the song You Light Up my Life? Back in the day, it was a very sappy song that I would drunkenly slow dance to during my wild nights at the bars. Now, it's my wake up call! It's Debbie Boone's theme song and the background music for the miracle Lifestyle facelift commercial. Have you seen the commercials? Women my age and older can have this one hour procedure and bingo! They're twenty years younger. One hour....that doesn't seem so bad. Especially to see those necks lifted, the wrinkles smoothed, the eyelids opened. Oh man. I want a lift. This coming from the woman who, when her young face was smooth and dewy, vowed she'd grow old graciously and never have work done. Well, she wants that Lifestyle lift. And she wants it now.
All around me things are happening to make my contemporaries happy to be sixty. One has children with special plans to honor her and celebrate her age, beauty, and wisdom. Another one has children planning a fabulous birthday bash. Turning sixty inspired a high school friend to plan a cruise that a group of us will take in August. Celebrations abound.
Ok. I'll celebrate. After all, being wrinkly and alive sure beats the alternative. But if one day I seem to look ten years younger, don't look too closely behind my ears. I hear they're making transparent duct tape these days. I'm thinking of calling it the MacGyver lift. Could be the next big thing.
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