Celebrating Senior Women

People are often shy about admitting they need hearing aids. Wendy is the exception—she volunteered to share her story:    “I started noticing I couldn’t hear well, but I ignored it. Then, when people told me I was missing some of what was being said, I took notice. A free hearing test confirmed it: I became one of the lucky seniors who wear hearing aids. I say, ‘lucky,’ because modern hearing aids are almost invisible—yet so functional! True, it took some time to get used to hearing in a different way—and true, background noise can be a hindrance. Still, they’re amazing little gadgets. Batteries are no longer required. No more blasting the TV—it speaks into my ear. I can answer my phone in complete privacy. They’re even waterproof. From what I hear (so to speak,) part of our brain can go dormant if we avoid using hearing aids when we need them. Why would anyone risk that—and miss out on so much?” That’s a good question, Wendy!

Karen has a multitude of friends. Who wouldn’t admire someone so interesting, with a history of such unusual adventures … anyone else been bucked off a rodeo bull? It makes sense that even her medical emergencies have been examples of resilience. Each time Karen was transported by ambulance from Rock Creek Mobile Home Park, we all sadly wondered if this would be the last time, but she always bounced back, giving us many more hours to sit on her deck, laughing and sharing our lives. This time is different. As Karen struggles to regain her mobility after that last ambulance ride, she knows there will be no more deck-sitting at home. “I’m so glad I hired a fiduciary,” she said. “What would I have done with all my stuff?”  “But you loved your stuff,” I answered, with a catch in my throat. She smiled her “Karen” smile. “It’s called acceptance,” she said, simply. Acceptance—that is something Karen is an expert at.  She has proven it throughout her life. 

“When we were in our late 20’s, my friend Andrea and I were nurses in my hometown of Philadelphia. She accidentally became pregnant and the baby’s father convinced her to drive cross-country to San Francisco, where his wealthy mother would take her in and help her give the baby up for adoption. Since I had toured Europe in the past, Andrea thought I might have the nerve to leave my familiar roots in Philly and accompany her to the scary streets of “The City.” All I could say was: Boy, will I! California, here I come! Andrea’s story is a familiar one. She had the baby, couldn’t bear to give her up, and returned with a pink bundle to her family’s open arms in Philly. As for me, I fell in love–with a whole new, primitive, unsavory, free-thinking world. While I was still ‘straight and sober Ruth,’ I became much more ‘cool.’  Helping Andrea through her crisis became a lifelong turning point for me, and I am still living happily ever after in my forever home, California!”  

Recently, while cleaning out a cupboard, I found a world map. I unfolded it and realized: although I listen to and watch upsetting news every day, I didn’t know where Russia is in relation to the United States! I didn’t know how tiny Ukraine is, especially compared to Russia. Then, there’s Israel—so small, yet so loud on the world stage. As essayist Brian Lewis wrote: Our nervous system was never designed to carry the grief of an entire planet. Yet, here we are. How true! Lewis continues by saying: The soul speaks … when one human being feels the reality of another. And so, I vow: hatred will not make me hate. Violence will not make me violent. And scenes of hopelessness will not make me lose hope for humanity. I will maintain my capacity to feel and to care. Now, each day, I unfold my crumpled map and send out a heartfelt prayer to wherever in the world today’s travesty happened.  How do you cope as you carry “the grief of an entire planet?” 

“When I was young,” Margaret began, “I expected to graduate from college, get married, and have adorable babies. What I didn’t expect were the turning points that led to raising our children in a series of funeral homes! I was a P.E. teacher when a friend introduced me to a cute mortician—my future husband, Chuck. Chuck was not only cute, he was ambitious, so right away we bought our first funeral home. Then, as the children came along, we lived in one funeral home after another, in multiple states. I admit, it was sometimes a little tricky to keep our happy children quiet in one part of our house while the solemn sounds of a funeral were happening in the other part, but eventually our son and daughter learned it was “quiet time” when the organ was playing. Actually, living in funeral homes gave our family an atmosphere of serenity and calm. Our quiet “guests” never disturbed us … and, no, we never saw a ghost! 

The most shocked  reaction I’ve heard from a parent to the sight of a tattoo on her daughter’s body is:  Would you put a bumper sticker on a Porche?   Back in the day, without birth control or any wisdom whatsoever, I shocked my parents in a way just as permanent as a tattoo, by becoming a divorced single mother with two daughters, by age 19. It took years for me to discover the true woman living inside the person my kids just knew as “Mom.” Fortunately, I found her.  According to … you know … Google, in our day there were 89 births per 1000 teen girls and 85% of us were married. Today, that rate is only 13 births per 1000—but 90% of those are births to unmarried  mothers. (Not really bad news, since being married to another teenager didn’t work that well anyway.)   Admit it—all those young women nowadays with tattoos? They would probably shake their pretty heads in dismay if they heard some of our stories! 

On the 4th of July we often hear the question: Is the American Dream real? Here is one American girl’s story—you be the judge. In 1970, I lived in the “projects” with my daughters, ages 7 & 8. Their father had never been in our lives and I had tried to support us, but despite my best efforts, even when I was employed as a typist for the state, we were nearly homeless and often hungry. Depressed, ashamed, and defeated, I gave up and went on welfare. A social worker who believed in me referred me to the Family Services Agency for free counseling. It was there that I asked myself: What if I went to six years of college and became a psychotherapist?  What an impossible dream! But with government programs such as Aide to Families with Dependent Children, the college Work Study program, low-income housing and low-income childcare, in 1977 I graduated with a master’s degree. From Welfare to a 30-year career as a Licensed Clinical Social Worker? Only in America! 

At 3 AM, senior women all over town lie in bed with their eyes wide open; or sit up with a book under a bright lamplight; or, heaven forbid, munch on chocolate with a glass of wine. Not to worry. It’s normal. It’s aging. It’s hormones. It’s “nocturia” (frequent urination.) Or, perhaps, it’s a bit of pain, playfully cavorting around in our aging bodies. How can we make insomnia enjoyable? I take comfort in knowing I’m not awake alone. It’s part of our sisterhood. I jot down my bright ideas—or what I forgot to do yesterday. I comfort myself remembering there’s plenty of time to sleep after …you know! Eventually, I settle down and close my eyes. When my thoughts are very strange, I know sleep is near. I smile and try not to analyze it. Then…it’s morning!   Here’s a thought from a fellow insomniac: “Without enough sleep, the next day we all behave like tall two-year-olds!” (Jo Jo Jensen) Or, in our case, 102 year olds! 

To Karen Rudolph, a team victory beats an individual gold medal anytime. In her new book, Sidelined No Longer: The Untold Story of Women’s College Sports, Karen tells the story of female athletic administrators and players who faced the “masculine domain” of intercollegiate sports in the 1970’s and 1980’s. Sex sterotyping, unfair conditions, and insults followed the women’s teams (who drove busses to events while male athletes flew.) The “women libbers,” as they were sometimes called, met challenge after challenge, determined to compete in the sports they loved while maintaining high ideals and goals.  Those were the athletic leaders and players paving the way for the opportunities we see in women’s sports today. Karen is one of those women. As a 16-year-old, she convinced her local school board to fund girls’ sports for the first time. Later, she played on a four-time state championship women’s softball team—followed by a career as a P.E. teacher and coach. Read her book—I think you’ll be impressed. I sure am! 

Have you considered taking music lessons? At 81, I’m learning to play the recorder—a plastic, flute-like instrument. Music is good for my aging brain, but that’s not what makes me practice. When I’m making music, I’m focused and amazed at myself. As kids, we called it “fun.” My friend, Beverly Call is taking an online class to learn to play the piano and write a song that has been in her heart for a long time. “It’s now or never!” she says. She sang a few lines of her song for me, accompanying herself with chords she’s learned from her piano class: Let me be with you through the darkness, till the breaking of the dawn. I will stay with you forever, etched in time, we belong. Oh, how I wish you could hear our music! Shall we have a recital? (Only if you join us with your voice or instrument!) Does music play a part in your life? We’d love to hear your story. Comment here or email me.—I have easy books and an extra recorder if you want to learn to play.