Gratitude for Grandchildren and Old Friends

I have much to be grateful for. The poison ivy is finally gone after three weeks and a steroid shot. I felt some camaraderie with my grandson, who also had to take prednisone, although for a much more serious reason, lymphoma. He just spent a week in the hospital with a very high fever for no explainable reason. All the bad things were ruled out and it was determined to be a virus that took a while to get out of his body due to a compromised immune system. The great news (and my number one gratitude) is that he's home from the hospital and has completed the nastiest of the chemo medicines and will now be entering maintenance mode. He's not out of the woods yet, but everyone is very hopeful.

On Friday, John & I drove from our new home in Roseville (taking a welcome break from the newsletter we're working on) to watch his younger brother so their dad could go back to work. We spent the first half hour with this active and very bright three-year-old sitting on my lap, emptying out my purse and finding a great deal of change, which we put into an envelope, as well as my frog key ring, tiny Buddha statue, lip gloss (which he applied to both my lips and his), earrings (which he put in my ears after taking off the ones I came with), and several pens, with which we wrote his name and Grandma. Some time was spent with my cell phone, I got quite a nice manicure with my emery board and we finished off with the small measuring tape I bring along on organizing jobs.

After that we listened to Star Wars music and mimed several battles. Watched a Netflix movie about a little boy named Diego who rescues his friends. Worn out, he fell asleep in Grandpa's lap while I checked e-mail to take care of a few newsletter details. Once he woke up and had a cup of hot chocolate, he invited me into his tent (a blanket) and we sat huddled together whispering secrets until his dad came home. It was exhausting but one of my favorite ways to spend an afternoon.

On Wednesday we'll be flying to a resort in Florida for a Bowman family reunion. About 22 members of the family will be arriving from Texas, Illinois, Tennessee, Florida, Indiana and California. We'll be swimming, playing tennis, listening to favorite songs compiled by son, JJ, and just enjoying each other's company.

From there, I will fly to Chicago for a reunion of my sorority sisters from Eastern Illinois University. Some I haven't seen in 40 years but I know we'll pick up right where we left off.

Leaves of Three, Let It Be

If only I had remembered that ditty as I was helping my niece pull weeds in the backyard of her Asheville, NC rental property during our recent vacation. I was trying to be helpful. She warned me as I was working by the tree that I was getting into poison ivy, but I had gloves on and long pants with socks so I thought washing my hands well would take care of it. How wrong I was. Days later, after returning home, I noticed a strange red welt on my calf. I didn't figure it out until it spread, and blistered and started looking like some horrible skin condition. The itching drove me to the doctor who prescribed an antibiotic and steroid cream which I lathered on as often as I could. Still no relief. In fact, things were progressing.

I haven't mentioned that at the peak of my outbreak, we packed and moved from Oakland to Roseville, east of Sacramento. My husband's retirement led us to a place that is more affordable and quieter to live. And we have a community here already because we have kept friends from our time living here in the '80s. For some reason, we decided it was a good idea to rent a U-Haul and get a couple of friends to help us with the move. When we arrived, the temperature was 96 degrees but because we have simplified so much, it only took three men 30 minutes to move everything from the truck into our new space, a two-bedroom apartment.

The poison ivy wasn't getting any better, so I found a new doctor at the Roseville Kaiser and when I saw him, he told me I needed a steroid shot. Which I took gladly. It's now three days later, and I'm just beginning to notice some improvement. I have a renewed respect for nature and I'm remembering back to a day many years ago when I drove off to college -- with a case of poison ivy. My boyfriend at the time (who later became my first husband) and I had gone to the State Park for a going away picnic and chose a very inopportune spot to throw our blanket down. I wonder at the connection between the poison ivy I had when I left home for college and the poison ivy I have now as I move away from my children. A strange coincidence.

I do know I will be much more careful the next time I take a walk on a trail and I'm going to religiously study what poison oak looks like.

Four Things About Organizing

I received an e-mail from a friend today with the subject line "Four Things." It asked me to list four places I go regularly, four favorite places to eat, four places I'd rather be and four tv shows I never miss. Then send it back to her and forward it to other friends. I did it and picked a few people who regularly send me these kinds of things. It got me thinking about my four favorite things about organizing that I've learned from reading way more than four books on the subject.

The first that came to mind was Peter Walsh's line: It's not about the clutter. That's so true. When I work with someone who wants to clear the clutter to create space and conquer the overwhelm it's not about buying the perfect containers or over-the-door shoebag or shelf or rack. It's truly about having a vision for your space and focusing on that. Walsh says to look beyond the stuff and imagine the life you want to live.

How did all that stuff get there in the first place. Inherited? Gifts from special people that are never used or even liked? Might need it someday? Protection? Reminder of the past? It needs the perfect home? Once someone has really decided that a clear space is more important than any of these things, the job is much easier.

The second principle is David Allen's Getting Things Done which involves writing everything, and I mean everything, down that is currently running around in your head and keeping you awake at 4 am. All the errands, phone calls to make, faxes, e-mails to return, projects, appointments, someday/maybe ideas. Getting it all out of your head and onto paper provides a sense of ease. These things can be grouped by context and translated into actions. Deciding what needs to be done next is a big part of the system. Visiting the list often and taking those actions is also necessary. And it's amazing how much progress you can make.

The third great plan comes from the book Apartment Therapy: the eight-step home cure. Maxwell Gillingham-Ryan uses the outbox idea, an area that can be a corner of a room, to put things you are considering getting rid of. Ask yourself: Do I use it? Do I love it? Does my apartment need it? When you get the room the way you like it, you can decide if there's something in the outbox you want to put back in but chances are you'll be so delighted with the new space, things will go out the door to a new, good home.

Four. Karen Kingston's book on the feng shui of clutter taught me about the flow of energy that is released when clutter is cleared. It's worth a try to see if you feel the difference. For me, I slept better when there was nothing under the bed. She says that clutter is stuck energy that has far-reaching effects physically, mentally, emotionally and spiritually. Clutter clearing and limiting what you bring in allows you to create space for what you truly want in your life. And that is space for grace.

Monkey Love

My last birthday was a quiet celebration because it wasn't what they call a "bigi yari" in Suriname, where I celebrated my 58th birthday. It was dinner at an elegant College Avenue restaurant with my husband, son, daughter and her boyfriend. What I loved about it was that they wanted to be with me and the special gifts I received. I had mentioned to my son awhile ago that I had spotted Zippy, the stuffed monkey I was so attached to as a child, on EBay but he cost too much. So he surprised me with the stuffed animal and the perfect card. My daughter gave me watercolor supplies, a jigsaw puzzle and two of my favorite candy bars. The fact that they know exactly what pleases me makes me very happy. I love their creativity and observation of what brings me joy.

But more than the gifts, I am grateful for their presence in my life. I appreciate my son's steadiness, quick mind and sense of humor. I also appreciate that when Sydney, the orange cat that belonged first to my daughter, then to us, needed a home, he welcomed her in. She is devoted to him and he to her. My daughter rescues dogs. Lots of dogs. Two that live with her on a regular basis are Julio and Daisy. Julio came along after her last dog, L'il Guy, a feisty white chihuahua, died. He was the one that was a runner-up in the licking contest at a local pet store and he would have done well even without the peanut butter that owners put on their faces to help the dogs along. There are other dogs that somehow show up in her life that she finds homes for.

That's something I most love about my children. Their kindness and generosity. And the way they want to be with me.

Retirement or Refirement?

I celebrated my husband's retirement last week by presenting him with my grandfather's gold watch. I told him I was giving it to him in recognition and gratitude for his long career. He started working when he was 10 years old and he is about to celebrate his 71st birthday. That's a long career. His first job was as a newspaper carrier in Ft. Wayne, Indiana. He was a pinsetter at a bowling alley and a bagger at a grocery store. But his real work life started at the age of 19 when he talked his way into a job at a newspaper as a sports reporter. To get the job, he had to lie a little, saying he was 21 and he knew how to type. He got the job and over the week before he started, he got the son of his landlord (a lawyer who had recommended him for the job) to teach him how to type with his high school typing book. He is still a faster typist than I am.

From sports writer, he moved up the ranks and eventually was named publisher of a paper in California. I was lucky enough to work with him at two of the papers he led, where he taught me how to become a lifestyles editor. With his tutoring, I became a columnist and won a few prizes for articles he assigned me. I know what a good boss he was and how much affection those who worked for him felt towards him. It was something about how he treated everyone, from the janitor named H to the owner of the newspaper, with equal respect. And about how he encouraged the best in us and inspired enthusiasm and joy in the job we were doing.

The newspaper business has been changing over the years and in 1995 he segued into the university marketing field. While he was director of marketing at Holy Names University, he earned a master's degree in spirituality and was the oldest graduate last summer. Last Friday marked his last official day of working nine to five. I've worried that it would be difficult for him after so many years of identifying with his job, but the first week I've only seen him relax more and more. He'll be doing freelance work editing a newsletter for a Marin County senior center (he's already meeting with people to cook up interesting articles) and he'll find a place to volunteer, develop some short story ideas and spend more time with his grandchildren. I'm looking forward to this next phase of our lives to see what contributions he makes as he brings his joy and respect for others into new arenas.

Dancing the Polka

"For me, Ashkenaz is much more than a club; every show is a family reunion, with a family you actually get along with." This is how one person describes the community dance center in Berkeley that offers world music and dance most nights of the week. It's children-friendly and all kinds of people come together to connect with joy. I went last night to hear a new friend, Odile Lavault and her group, Baguette Quartette. Odile plays accordian and sings Parisian cafe songs from the '20s and '40s. One of the songs was La Mer, a song we know as Bobby Darin's Beyond the Sea.

It was a big dance party which started with a lesson. There were leaders and followers of all ages, sizes, shapes and costume. We changed partners every few minutes or so. I got a little intimidated by the partner that told me I was putting my feet in the wrong place, but most people were friendly, helpful and pretty joyful. I later danced a polka with a man named Richard who told me we would do a "low-impact" version. I was surprised that I remembered how to do it and that I could follow his lead as we flowed around the dance floor. It was great exercise and really got my heart pounding. In fact, I'm inspired to take some folk dance lessons, maybe Scottish. Learning the steps would be a great challenge for my brain and the community aspect is healthy too.

One of the friends I went to Ashkenaz with is Costanzia, who is from Tanzania and she had commented that in her country, they are always dancing. After seeing the joy on the faces of the dancers last night, I think we should all dance more, work less. Which reminds me of my favorite bumper sticker. Wag more, bark less.

Happy Mother's Day

As part of my Mother's Day weekend I signed up for a watercolor journaling class in Los Gatos and invited my daughter. I didn't really think she would go, but was pleasantly surprised when she told me she had signed up. We gathered in a park in the town center next to the fountain where children were playing in the water. After a little explanation we started to create. Felicity said a bird pooped on her shirt. "Is that good luck?" We thought it was.

We were invited to give a short introduction and my daughter said she came because it was easier than the year I asked them to do a Mother's Day sweat lodge. True. After the initial discomfort about not being able to draw, we started with a line drawing of a plastic animal that we did with one line without looking at the paper as we drew. We all were successful at getting something down that we were pleased with. We got tips and techniques for working with water colors and sketched several more subjects. I ended up buying the instructional DVD and a small watercolor pocket box -- fits in a purse. My daughter and I are going to have a session together and invite some friends. I feel as if I broke through some of my childhood reservations about not being an artist today. A fine gift indeed.

One year, the year my daughter was in Namibia in the Peace Corps, my son and husband asked what I'd like for Mother's Day. Anything, they said, as long as they could watch the game (football, basketball??) at 4:00. We lived in a small one bedroom apartment then and I said what I'd really like was for them to help me paint the living room. A soft butter yellow. And we did it, finishing up just in time for kick-off or tip-off.

As I drove my daughter home, she mentioned that she needed some help organizing and I suggested she get rid of five items every day for five days. She liked the idea. I'm not supposed to give her unsolicited advice, but I guess it being Mother's Day ...