This Old Dog
A bitter pill to swallow -
the years are whizzing by -
a truth that won't stay hidden,
and one I can't deny.
Old dogs don't take to teaching,
at least that's what some say,
but somehow I'm still learning
with ev'ry passing day.
I'm not too old to listen
when I hear common sense;
This dog isn't too constrained -
I'm not chained up, or fenced.
This old dog still gets to roam,
exploring new terrain;
this old dog is not too old
to exercise her brain!
This old dog still has a chance
to grow, and to improve.
I've still got new tricks to learn;
old habits to remove.
Sharon Flood Kasenberg, January 24th, 2019
This past year I've spent a lot of time with seventeen year olds. Currently we're host parents to two international students who attend our local high school - one from Italy, and one from Brazil. My husband works two jobs and is involved in municipal politics - he's a pretty busy guy. Thus I spend a lot more time with our students than he does.
We call the boys we now host our "Dream Team". They're not perfect, but they come close. It amazes me that they became such close friends so quickly, and that each of them enrich our home in different ways. They're smart, kind and generous - you can tell they've been raised by good people. They make me laugh every day.
Some days playing Host Mom to these kids makes me feel incredibly old, and on those days they're usually kind enough to tell me that I don't really seem old at all. On the other hand, sometimes they make me feel young. They give me permission to let my inner goofball out - something all adults ought to feel free to do more often, in my opinion.
Sometimes I regale them with stories of my youth - and they're kind enough to listen. They tell me that a lot of things have changed in the past forty years, and the more I listen to them, the more apt I am to believe them. These kids are smart - probably a lot smarter than they give themselves credit for being. They get motherly pep talks, and they take it all in stride. At times they'll concede to the fact that I have years of experience that they don't - but they don't let me off the hook when they think I'm not seeing the full picture. I like the fact that they think for themselves, and won't blindly accept every gem of wisdom I offer without question.
I remember seventeen like it was yesterday. I didn't think I was particularly smart or pretty, and was amazed when my first boyfriend came on the scene and did his best to convince me that I was both. Those days of hanging out with my best friends, Donna and Jeannie, are indelibly imprinted in my memory. I had some of the best friends of my life when I was seventeen - and I'm fortunate to still have maintained ties with some of those people. I might have mixed feelings about social media, but staying connected - and reconnecting - with my old friends has made my life happier.
Our students have commented that I seemed pretty wise at seventeen. When I told them I'd never been overly impressed with looks or status in my youth, they told me that I was smarter than most. I told them that I was always mistrustful of the kids who were beautiful and popular - they understood what I meant. The "medium" kids were the ones that needed - and appreciated - my friendship. I've learned that's still true forty years on. I was becoming certain of who I was at seventeen - not willing to compromise what I thought was important for the sake of fitting in. I tried to be kind to others, and I could get along with most of my peers. My teachers liked me. When I look back at who I was then, I realize that I was usually too hard on myself. I really was pretty level-headed - and even wise - as a teenager. I'm grateful that through the conversations I've had with these boys, I've had the opportunity to look back on myself - at their age - and see the best in my younger self.
Experience has taught me that friendship comes in unexpected places and packages.You become a host parent, and you hope you'll have a good experience - and be able to provide a good experience in return. In my first serious conversation with these two, I applauded them for being brave enough to travel to another country and immerse themselves in a foreign language every day for months on end. They had no real idea who they'd end up living with - sometimes we see profiles far enough in advance to exchange a few emails, but other times we have no contact with each other until we pick them up at the high school, just off the plane at Pearson airport - tired, and undecided about whether they're more desperate for a shower or sleep. As their temporary "parents", we hope they'll be nice kids who will mesh with the family well, that they won't be too homesick for family, or too disengaged to want to spend time with you.
My expectations have been surpassed. These boys are my friends. They converse with me on every imaginable subject. They ask me how I slept. They don't complain about my cooking, and they compliment me on my desserts. And sometimes they return my maternal pep-talks and tell me not to be hard on myself, sharing the kind of wisdom that you might not ever credit seventeen year olds with having.
"Don't give me that 'I'm old and can't do it' garbage", said one of them recently. "You're too smart to say that! And no, 'I'll try' either. Do - or do not. Do I have your word?"
We shook hands in agreement.
I'm not too proud to refuse to accept wisdom from the mouths of babes.
Forty years on, I've learned to appreciate who I was at seventeen, to be grateful that I'm no longer that age, and to relish the experience of sharing friendship with kids who are experiencing life at seventeen. With their encouragement, this old dog just might master a few new tricks!
Friday, 25 January 2019
Friday, 11 January 2019
It's Easy to Forget - By Sharon Flood Kasenberg
Missing Pieces
The sky was dark, the stars were out,
the night was ripe for romance.
She felt him lightly touch her hand
and claim her for the first dance.
One dance led to another one;
One evening led to more -
each began to sense emotions
that they'd never felt before.
One twilight with her hand in his
he got down upon one knee,
and with an earnest, pleading gaze
asked, "Will you please marry me?"
The memory is clear to him
while she recounts the story -
hopes kindled, she asks, "What came next?"
He can't remember - sorry.
Another piece of life has fled,
his peaceful mood upsetting.
She gently smooths his fretful brow
and mourns all he's forgetting.
He's losing pieces of himself -
so much is disappearing -
and someday he'll forget her too;
at least that's what she's fearing.
She grips him tightly by the hand
to keep his feet from straying,
and as she gently guides his steps
her heart continues praying.
She pleads for strength to carry on;
he needs her constant tending.
She knows he'll soon be lost to her -
their days together ending.
The pieces that are lost to him
she clutches desperately -
his charming ways, his witty quips
and his once infectious glee.
His history is filled with holes -
his thoughts scatter to the breeze -
she's grateful he still knows her touch
as he gives her hand a squeeze.
Now he's a puzzle to himself
with pieces time erases;
she tries to catch his straying thoughts
and fit them in their places.
Sharon Flood Kasenberg, April 2006 (For those with Alzheimer's, and those who love and care for them.)
Years ago there was a woman in my congregation at church who faithfully brought her husband to church with her each Sunday. Maybe she hoped that seeing familiar faces and engaging in the religious rituals of a lifetime would trigger fond memories or calm him down, or maybe she simply felt he should not be left at home with a caregiver. Maybe she could not afford a caregiver. I can't address her motivation for bringing him along, but I can tell you that watching the two of them together affected me deeply. The fact that he was completely lost was as evident as the love she felt for him. Sometimes he would get up and wander, and she would patiently bring him back to his seat. Sometimes his agitation would build, and she'd guide him out to the foyer. From afar I watched the emotions play over her face - love, devotion, and heartbreak over what they were both losing.
Once a friend whispered to me, "You should have met him years ago. He was such a charming, intelligent and vibrant man."
Her description of him almost made me weep - they had both lost so much to Alzheimer's.
January is Alzheimer's Awareness month in Canada, and so I thought I would post their story as an illustration of what Alzheimer's looks like and what it robs us of. What could be more painful to a smart and witty person than suddenly forgetting chunks of his or her life? What could be more painful to those they love than watching the destruction of that individual as their memories fade?
My mother-in-law lived in a nursing home for the last seven years of her life. Most of the "serious cases" of Alzheimer's were kept in a locked wing upstairs for their own safety and protection. Those in the early stages were usually admitted to her floor. One particular woman was quite young - only in her late sixties. When she came to the nursing home she was still quite engaged, even though her memory was challenged and her intelligence was only intermittently apparent. Within a year she was moved upstairs, her eyes vacant and her memories gone. I barely knew her, but she and my mother-in-law had struck up a friendship when she was first admitted to care, so she was someone I paid attention to. Alzheimer's was ruthless with her, and her decline was swift and terrible to witness.
I find it interesting that January was the month chosen to draw attention to a disease that makes us forget. The first month in a new year, a time when we're intent on looking ahead to meeting fresh goals and challenges, is the time our attention is drawn to a monster that robs people of the past. Perhaps that's exactly why this month was chosen.
For those of us lucky enough to have capacity to remember, forgetfulness can imbue its own pain in our lives if we aren't vigilant. It's easy to forget a lot of important things. We might forget why we fell in love with the person we're with. We might forget who our friends are. We might forget how much we have to be grateful for, how much we have to offer the world, or how wonderful the world around us really is. As we make resolutions for 2019, let's resolve to try harder to remember those things.
We all lose a little of our sharpness as we begin to age. We misplace our glasses and car keys, and we forget to buy toilet paper until only one bathroom in four has a few sheets on a roll. These are annoying little inconveniences compared to losing the relationships around us because we've grown careless in our efforts to remember; they're irksome trivialities compared to forgetting what used to bring joy into your life.
As we come into 2019 let's resolve to remember what's most important in our lives, and to build on those memories in the future. Let's resolve to find the pieces that are missing from our lives and put them back into their rightful places. We can't control the future, but we can better control what happens in our current lives if we hold firmly to the best pieces of the past. We won't cure Alzheimer's tomorrow, but we can offer comfort to those afflicted and offer assistance to their heartbroken and harried loved ones who bear the burden of all the lost pieces of shattered lives.
It's far too easy to forget - so let's try to remember those who can't, and remember for those who no longer can.
The sky was dark, the stars were out,
the night was ripe for romance.
She felt him lightly touch her hand
and claim her for the first dance.
One dance led to another one;
One evening led to more -
each began to sense emotions
that they'd never felt before.
One twilight with her hand in his
he got down upon one knee,
and with an earnest, pleading gaze
asked, "Will you please marry me?"
The memory is clear to him
while she recounts the story -
hopes kindled, she asks, "What came next?"
He can't remember - sorry.
Another piece of life has fled,
his peaceful mood upsetting.
She gently smooths his fretful brow
and mourns all he's forgetting.
He's losing pieces of himself -
so much is disappearing -
and someday he'll forget her too;
at least that's what she's fearing.
She grips him tightly by the hand
to keep his feet from straying,
and as she gently guides his steps
her heart continues praying.
She pleads for strength to carry on;
he needs her constant tending.
She knows he'll soon be lost to her -
their days together ending.
The pieces that are lost to him
she clutches desperately -
his charming ways, his witty quips
and his once infectious glee.
His history is filled with holes -
his thoughts scatter to the breeze -
she's grateful he still knows her touch
as he gives her hand a squeeze.
Now he's a puzzle to himself
with pieces time erases;
she tries to catch his straying thoughts
and fit them in their places.
Sharon Flood Kasenberg, April 2006 (For those with Alzheimer's, and those who love and care for them.)
Years ago there was a woman in my congregation at church who faithfully brought her husband to church with her each Sunday. Maybe she hoped that seeing familiar faces and engaging in the religious rituals of a lifetime would trigger fond memories or calm him down, or maybe she simply felt he should not be left at home with a caregiver. Maybe she could not afford a caregiver. I can't address her motivation for bringing him along, but I can tell you that watching the two of them together affected me deeply. The fact that he was completely lost was as evident as the love she felt for him. Sometimes he would get up and wander, and she would patiently bring him back to his seat. Sometimes his agitation would build, and she'd guide him out to the foyer. From afar I watched the emotions play over her face - love, devotion, and heartbreak over what they were both losing.
Once a friend whispered to me, "You should have met him years ago. He was such a charming, intelligent and vibrant man."
Her description of him almost made me weep - they had both lost so much to Alzheimer's.
January is Alzheimer's Awareness month in Canada, and so I thought I would post their story as an illustration of what Alzheimer's looks like and what it robs us of. What could be more painful to a smart and witty person than suddenly forgetting chunks of his or her life? What could be more painful to those they love than watching the destruction of that individual as their memories fade?
My mother-in-law lived in a nursing home for the last seven years of her life. Most of the "serious cases" of Alzheimer's were kept in a locked wing upstairs for their own safety and protection. Those in the early stages were usually admitted to her floor. One particular woman was quite young - only in her late sixties. When she came to the nursing home she was still quite engaged, even though her memory was challenged and her intelligence was only intermittently apparent. Within a year she was moved upstairs, her eyes vacant and her memories gone. I barely knew her, but she and my mother-in-law had struck up a friendship when she was first admitted to care, so she was someone I paid attention to. Alzheimer's was ruthless with her, and her decline was swift and terrible to witness.
I find it interesting that January was the month chosen to draw attention to a disease that makes us forget. The first month in a new year, a time when we're intent on looking ahead to meeting fresh goals and challenges, is the time our attention is drawn to a monster that robs people of the past. Perhaps that's exactly why this month was chosen.
For those of us lucky enough to have capacity to remember, forgetfulness can imbue its own pain in our lives if we aren't vigilant. It's easy to forget a lot of important things. We might forget why we fell in love with the person we're with. We might forget who our friends are. We might forget how much we have to be grateful for, how much we have to offer the world, or how wonderful the world around us really is. As we make resolutions for 2019, let's resolve to try harder to remember those things.
We all lose a little of our sharpness as we begin to age. We misplace our glasses and car keys, and we forget to buy toilet paper until only one bathroom in four has a few sheets on a roll. These are annoying little inconveniences compared to losing the relationships around us because we've grown careless in our efforts to remember; they're irksome trivialities compared to forgetting what used to bring joy into your life.
As we come into 2019 let's resolve to remember what's most important in our lives, and to build on those memories in the future. Let's resolve to find the pieces that are missing from our lives and put them back into their rightful places. We can't control the future, but we can better control what happens in our current lives if we hold firmly to the best pieces of the past. We won't cure Alzheimer's tomorrow, but we can offer comfort to those afflicted and offer assistance to their heartbroken and harried loved ones who bear the burden of all the lost pieces of shattered lives.
It's far too easy to forget - so let's try to remember those who can't, and remember for those who no longer can.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)