Lessons for the Living

Here in Minnesota, people drive up north to their cabins in the rural wooded areas by the lakes.  We do the reverse.  We drive south to the condo in Des Moines by the river.

Last week, we took a trip to the condo in Iowa.  We did our best to visit the grandfathers while socially distanced.  We ate lunches outside when we could, though sometimes it was cool and windy.   We looked at leaves. We took hikes through parks most days as we have done throughout the pandemic.  

I visited additional family that was better at social distancing.  They always stayed at least six feet away.  They were excellent listeners.  They represented the lessons of life.  To be reminded of my values and of life's best practices, I went to them, my six-feet-under relatives.

I visited my mother in Indianola and father in West Des Moines, just as I did when they were living.  The tombstones suggest just how different these people were-- hearts versus the flag.  Did they teach me life lessons?  Of course, but how does a person even process the impact of their mother and their father without Sigmund Freud helping?

Rosemary Kersey, my mother

Donald Rasmussen, my father

 

My grandparents and some of their forbearers are in the Atlantic, Iowa cemetery.  David and Hanna Hope, born in the 1850's, are ancestors I never met.  They share an area with Clarence and their daughter, Ida Hope Smith, who both made it past ninety.  (Smith  and the Hope are engraved on opposite sides of the same monument stone.)  I remember my great-grandparents well.  We visited often as these were very important people to my mother.  Clarence would dance a jig and play the harmonica.  Ida kept up on the Guiding Light and family gossip and loved to talk about seeing Don Ho when she visited Hawaii.  How hard did this generation work?  While in her 80's, Ida was still shucking dozens of bushels of corn some days.  This past is so close to us.   David and Hanna, born in the 1850s, in the age of Lincoln, are two degrees of separation from me.  I may be closer to Abe Lincoln in terms of degrees of separation than I am the current president.

Clarence and Ida

David and Hanna

Ida and Clarence drove a yellow Nash rambler and lived at 4 East 10th in Atlantic.  Their daughter, Hope Smith Shackson Focht, lived at 8 West 11th, a couple blocks away.

Home of Ida and Clarence

Home of Hope and Robert Focht

 

My grandmother is the most important influence in my life.  She went to the University of Iowa then married Rolland Shackson, who was a speech professor at Hope College in Holland, Michigan.  Rolland died during gall bladder surgery in 1939.  Their three children Rosemary, Beverly and Eleanor were two years old, one year and not yet born at his death.  Hope moved back to Iowa, became Atlantic's librarian, planted World War II victory gardens and as a single mother modelled frugality.  When the girls were teenaged, she married Bob Focht and they operated a Western Auto in downtown Atlantic until about 1970.  (I remember them bringing home items from the store closure-- for me, they had out of date calendars for writing on.)   I would stay with Hope and Bob Focht as a very young boy when the parents were on vacation.  (My sister Donna would stay with the other grandparents.)  They talked to me about Ben Franklin and Abe Lincoln.  Hope went to book groups and church groups.  Hope and Bob saved and invested, ate the gristle and when we travelled, we stayed at Motel 6.  I can't understate their impact on mine and other's lives.  I followed their waste not, want not philosophy to early retirement.  Their tombstone by the highway looks like it might have been on sale.  Hope's priority was helping the daughters financially with their issues and she did not prioritize spending on herself. 

Bob and Hope Focht

Jens and Altje Rasmussen, my other grandparents, ran the hatchery in Anita, twelve miles away.  Jens' parents immigrated from Denmark when Jens was very young.  Altje was of French and Irish decent. They celebrated a 60th anniversary when I was 15.  (At this celebration, I played the French horn that she gave me.  Cousins played other instruments.)  Altje took up painting after age 60 and her work is dispersed among family members.  I have an easel with some of the paintings she never finished. She also wrote a little poetry book, Notes from an Old Lady, that I have.  She was involved in my life, a caring and positive influence who hugged too hard.  They would stay in an RV in Donna, Texas during winters after Jens retired.  Altje was concerned about the plight of poor Mexican people that lived nearby.  I remember a family visit to them in Texas around Christmas, 1979.  The grandparents on both sides were Methodist but Altje was definitely the most traditionally religious and the only family member who believed and would say that women are subservient to men. (I didn't get this impression from Hope and Bob Focht.  The Rasmussen's, while not as embarrassing as some political figures today, were behind the times on social issues compared to my mother's side.)

Home of Jens and Altje Rasmussen

People have influence beyond death.  If we find ourselves wresting over our values or priorities, there are models we can look to for inspiration to help us past tough times.  Bob Focht was preachy about washing hands frequently.  Of course, he would have been 11 or 12 during the 1918 flu pandemic.  That lesson may be as important now as then.  Those people in the cemeteries have a lot to say.

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Also at the cemetery, I found Aunt Ellen and Uncle Bert.  I wrote about them here.

My sister, Diane Rose, was born dead.  I didn't realize that her middle name was Rose when I named my daughter.  I also don't believe I was told Diane had red hair until my father told me in the last year of his life while Rose was here.  The cemetery keeper had no record where she was buried.

At the edge of the cemetery next to Diane is Altje's brother, Ambrose, who was developmentally disabled but self reliant.  I knew him and remember the funeral.

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I didn't see Rolland this trip.  I got a birthday cake for him, then found on he was on vacation!

Beau and the Chaff in Our Heads

 My mother died in 2003.  My father died in 2016.  Do I still occasionally feel like giving them a call?  I think I do.

My dog, Beau, died last Thursday at the age of 13 years, 10 months.  How often do I think of him?  All of the time.  Do I need to let him out?  Do I need to let him in?  Should that door be open?  Should that door be closed?  I don't want him trapped somewhere.  Just where is he right now?

When we go through a transition-- we move, we leave a job, we complete a class-- our minds don't erase the corresponding tasks from our internal calendar.  Where did I put the cooler?  I know where I kept it where I used to live.  

It's 5 am on a Tuesday, I need to get up.  No, I don't.  I don't have that job, anymore.  

Have I done my homework?  Have I studied for the test?  Oh, that class is over and I got my grade.  

Even if we don't consciously have these thoughts all day long, our subconscious is thinking these thoughts.  All day and all night, too.  Who hasn't had these dreams? 

Beau was a good dog.  He was so happy to show off as a puppy when we first met him.  He was such a good student at puppy training and loved the Great Dane.  He was the size of the Great Dane's nose. He learned how to wipe his feet and the other instructors wanted to see him do it.  He was the first to notice our baby (in the womb) and became the proud dog of a little girl.  He would blitz around the room, when happy, and the most entertaining event ever was when our Persian cat, Gizmo, blitzed just to mock him.

Do we get another dog?  Maybe some day.  Our girl is not the perfect age for a dog.  Driving with him was problematic as he would yip and wake people whenever the car stopped.  Taking care of him in his last days was not sustainable.  He tried hard but could no longer control his functions.  I literally would carry him outside and then carry him back inside several times per day since he could barely walk.  There was extra laundry.  We found him on the kitchen floor next to the water bowl.  This won't be what is remembered.  His car trips to 25 or 30 states, his photobombing and his kindness to my sister's dog, Scooter, are the what we won't forget.  (Beau brought Scooter a toy when Scooter, my sister's dog, died one Thanksgiving.)

There is plenty to keep us occupied without Beau.  Did I mention a little girl?  Routines expand to fill the time we have.  Ideally, we are intentional in how we spend our time.

That chaff in our heads is called nostalgia.  I'll think about letting out the dog this week and maybe this month.  If I am worrying about letting out Beau a year from now, optimistically, it would mean I need a new dog.  

It's harder for us to move on from certain other things.  The deaths of our parents, our career change and our relationships with people can affect us as long as we live.  If we stay busy, it affects us less.

Prosperity in the time of covid-- the Karma of those Who have Suffered

My mother was an astrologer who would talk about your past lives based on what she saw in your star chart.  Some, but not all of us, had past lives.  What we don't learn in our present life, we learn in a future life.  Those of us who have had many past lives are "old souls."  Merriam Webster agrees with my mother and offers a mouthful of a definition.   Karma is "the force generated by a person's actions to perpetuate transmigration and its ethical consequences to determine the nature of the person's next existence".  Of course, we learn in our current life, as well.  What we learn impacts our resilience and who we become.  Those who experience hardship may learn how to feel prosperity.

How will people remember the covid threat in 2020, which caused us to be more isolated from other people?  

I suspect many people will look back fondly to not commuting and will pine for the less complicated, more peaceful times of 2020.  We got used to running to the store for the one item, waiting in line and rushing home to get the meal cooked.  Now, we figure out how to get by without the garlic clove (until next week) and we have more time with our families.  We have more time to think about what is important.  For some, there was more time to process current events and political activities may have filled the void.  Our pre-covid schedule may have been non-stop.  Now we have time to consider the meaning of phrases such as "black lives matter."

As I child, I wished I could stay occupied with fun activities.  Mainly, I wanted to play outside with kids my age.  I was jealous of the children who could do this  It seemed like many did this every night.  It would have been nice to play baseball games since I was obsessed with baseball.  But, what did the Little Leaguers miss out on?  Maybe, they never learned how to spend time peacefully alone.  Maybe, their feeling of normalcy requires others.

Dale Carnegie tells us that staying busy is the key to happiness.  If we are always running to the store, we don't have time to consider what we might be missing.  That is one way to stay happy.  If we are always busy, we have less time to worry.  This is the "normal" that many seem to be missing.

But, we have to stay busy, don't we?  If we stop moving, our lawns won't stay green and heaven forbid, we might live like the people on the poorer side of town. But, what can we learn about those who live across the railroad tracks?

Experiencing a touch of living on the poor side of town was an experience I had as a child, too.  There were times my mother lived in apartments that were small and not the best.  Roaches found us on occasion. But, it turned out we had fun anyway.  As long as I was around people who loved me, I learned that where I was didn't matter.

My mother once wanted to live in a certain nice house.  Once she could afford it, she changed her mind.  It turns out she was happy in the smaller house where she spent the rest of her life.  (The cockroaches had disappeared after the opening from the outside to the kitchen was discovered, too.)

My greatest suffering was as a child when my parents divorced.  My sister and I just got to see my mother one weekend per month.  Where she lived and whether she had money turned out to not bother me.  My happiest memories are visiting her as a child.

I learned as a child that where you live or whether you spend money might not make you happy or sad.  Who you are around is far more important. To learn this required experiencing loneliness and a touch of hardship that I notice others fear.  My learnings, my karma, tell me to appreciate the people I love.  (Maybe, I could do that better.)  

My mother based on the astrology charts told me I was an "old soul."  If I am an old soul, it allowed me to learn one important thing.  Appreciate those who love you and those who you are with.  They are most important.  Yes, covid-19 causes me to miss out on certain things-- no shows at the Turf Club or Schooner, no baseball games to visit by train and no trips to Hawaii or Shanghai.  But, I have what is most important to me.  I am blessed.

My wife asks, "What is normal?"  What is it that people want back in their lives after a hospital stay or pandemic?

What I want is mostly what I have.  My childhood experiences and childhood learnings, or maybe it is karma, taught me how to be happy alone, and taught me to appreciate people around me whom I love. I don't miss spending time at the mall.  In times that are tough for most, I feel great prosperity.

Guest Post-- Defining Our "Normal"

What is important to you? As an occupational therapist, that is the question that I need to ask every patient before I can effectively provide any treatment.

It is a question that we all need to ask ourselves, even when we believe that we are healthy. I think people forget, though, as they go through the motions of what life is supposed to look like.

What is life supposed to look like? How do we know? When we're young, we watch what our parents do and try to emulate them. We go to school and try to keep up with the cool peers that we think are important. As young adults, we see movies and sometimes try to relate to the characters as they navigate relationships and careers. All of our lives, we are bombarded with media that tells us what to buy for happiness, health, and status.

Do we ever ask, what is important to me? What are my priorities?

We get married and so often have the wedding that someone else thinks we should have. We have kids and so often raise them the way someone else thinks they should be raised.

Do we ever ask, what is best for the child that I have?

These can be tough questions. When I am treating my patients or teaching new students, it is always easier to give them the answer rather than let them struggle to find the answer themselves. It is surprising how many patients (and people in general) want to be told what is important to them rather than reflect and explore on their own.

Is it important to have answers? Can we all just get by letting popular culture tell us what our life is like, living that life to the best of our abilities? We can if nothing ever changes.

Life is fluid. People lose jobs, loved ones die unexpectedly, a pandemic hits. We suddenly use words like "I just want to get back to normal." What is normal? It helps to know what are our priorities, what is important.

When we get married, we find out that people have vastly differing ideas about what couples do, how children are raised, where to live. Why do we individually think there is a singular normal to return to whenever anything happens?

I know people who say they are struggling during the current Covid-19 pandemic. They say they are losing their sense of self. They ignore self care because their world seems to be turned upside down.

Yet, a situation such as what we are living through is the perfect time to explore what is important to each of us, individually. No single person is experiencing the pandemic the same way. Yet, people talk about normalcy as if there is some similarity amongst all of us.

If we know what is important, what priorities we have, then adaptation is much easier.

A patient who generically identifies "going home" as the priority may not feel achievement if he or she is unable to identify specific skills necessary for success at home. A student who says that he or she just wants to pass misses the opportunity to objectively grasp the concepts that will be important later in one's career. When we can name what is important, we can then measure progress and utilize tools to help us accomplish these needs.

When my daughter's birthday was approaching, she had specific ideas of what a birthday party should be. She wanted to see her aunt for her birthday. She wanted a party and games. Because of the pandemic, her aunt was unable to travel to see my daughter. Was it important that my daughter's aunt travel for the birthday, or was the priority just that the two communicate for the birthday? How would games look if no one came to our house for her birthday? My daughter had experience with Zoom through school and my husband's meetings. She suggested inviting friends and relatives to a Zoom birthday party. She sent out party favors, which we used during the party. She adapted in order to accomplish the priority- celebrating the birthday with a party. She knew what was important and that helped her achieve what was important.

From what I hear, many of us are currently wading in the unknown right now, facing varying degrees of discomfort. Is there something that you've always wanted to learn, but never given yourself the chance? Are there activities that you used to do pre-pandemic that you aren't now? What do you actually miss and what will you cut out of your life permanently? Are there tools around you that can help you still do what you used to do, only in a different manner? There is always room for innovation, and there has never been a better time than now to take the leap out of the comfortable and into the unchartered to start thinking more about what you need for yourself.

-- Monica