Haircuts, Bearhugs, and Sore Ribs

Yesterday, an extended family member (my daughter's youngest sister) came over to the house so she could cut Dads' and my daughters' hair.

When Sarah walked in, she gave Dad a big hug, whereby he said, "Ooh! Be careful, my ribs are sore."

Sarah and Deb expressed concern about how he injured his ribs. Dad grinned and said, "Well, the women at the senior center hug me so hard it hurts my ribs."

Hmmmmm! Anyone in particular, Dad?

Senior Center Follow-up!

Yesterday's lunch was interesting and much more fun than I expected. We sat with a former next door neighbor who is now 91-years-old and as sharp as can be. He still drives and lives alone in a house that was originally owned by his great-grandfather. He is a history buff and vividly recalls local events from decades ago.

Another former neighbor, whose son is a year younger than me, also shared our table. During lunch, I received updates on where everyone was living, who is working where, and who is now retired.

Back in the days of my childhood, we attended a one room country school until consolidation sent us into town. I am glad for the experience as we had the opportunity to bond within our community that we don't have today. Our community was made up of dairy farms, with fields of corn, wheat and other grains sweeping the landscape. Several of the farms are still going strong.

It was good to hear of men and women I grew up with, how they are doing, knowing that at least one of their parents has lived to the upper eighties and beyond.

It was good, also, to be reminded of the good old days; of a time when life seemed slower and the days longer, the friendships tighter, and the future wide open.

Have you recently been reminded of days gone by? How did you feel about the memories? What, if anything, do you long for from your past?

Lunch Day at the Senior Center

Okay, I said I wasn't going to do this, but...

For some odd reason, I decided yesterday that I was supposed to go to the Senior Center lunch today with Dad. Not sure why as I have never been interested before.

This should be interesting. As I may have mentioned, Dad comes home and tells me what he had for lunch. Sometimes he describes lunch as, "Well, it was about this size (showing with his fingers a rectangle smaller than a deck of cards), and I think it was some kind of meat, but I couldn't tell what it was."

A couple of months ago I was talking to several ladies who attend the lunches. I repeated what Dad said and they replied, "Oh, we don't go for the food." as they smiled a "secret" smile at one another. Obviously they knew what Dad meant with his description of lunch.

Now, what would cause me to want to go to lunch, especially since Dad has been trying to get me there for two years? Well, I don't really know. I suppose I will find out when the time comes.

Sometimes God moves in mysterious ways. This is something that I feel in my heart I am supposed to do. I've learned the hard way that when I get one of those "feelings" I better follow through.

Has there been a time when you "knew" you were supposed to do something? Did you do it? If so, how did it turn out?

If not, what happened? Share in the comment section and let us know how the situation turned out.

Take care!

Communications 101: Back to the Basics

Most of us tend to be social creatures. Emotionally, we need interaction with other people.

The week after my mother's funeral, Dad began attending Tuesday and Thursday senior lunch programs just a couple blocks from his home. He already knew several people who attended and has met many more during the past four years.

For a while he enjoyed the day trips offered through the Senior Center, but due to his eyesight he decided he was no longer able to attend.

That same week, he also purchased a motorized vehicle which enabled him to get around town. Driving himself to the dentist, barbershop, drug store, and several local restaurants gave him a freedom he had not experienced in quite a while.

Dad and his brother were born with limited eyesight. He attended the School for the Blind during his high school years. Dad was also color blind most of his life due to a childhood illness. He has not had a drivers license since his thirties and has had to depend on others for transportation for many years.

His travels around town, connecting with other people, provided him a social life he would not otherwise have enjoyed.

Dad belongs to the local Masonic Temple and has actively participated in their meetings as well as attended meetings in several neighboring towns. His fellow Masons provide rides to most of the functions. I tease him about his "guys night out", but I believe it has helped him after the loss of his wife.

Between the Senior Center and the Masons, Dad has something to look forward to other than sitting in his chair and watching TV or listening to his talking books. When I first moved in with him, I noticed his struggle with depression. Being actively involved in outside activities has brought him new energy and the opportunity to look to the future.

On another communication note: This afternoon I am meeting a friend at our local cappuccino spot for coffee and conversation. In her early 70's, she provides care for her eighty-five-year- old husband who has Alzheimer's. We met through a local writers group in the fall of 2006 and meet on occasion to chat. With mid-eighties men and a love of writing in common, we enjoy our time together.

We need our social time, whether we are the senior needing care or the caregiver in need of respite. Having a specific place to go, meeting new people or touching base with old friends, enlarging our circle and opening our minds to new and varied topics provides us the opportunity to keep moving forward.

As we age we are sometimes tempted to spend too much time dwelling on the past. Our social network helps us plan and anticipate, look forward to the next meeting, laugh, enjoy, and experience life outside the home, at least for a couple of hours.

If possible, reach out today and connect with a friend. You'll be glad you did.