A Life Story

Wednesday, December 18, 2024

One week before Christmas!

Yesterday, at the department store where I work, a woman was purchasing a gift for her mom and told me that her mom is 103 years old. Her mom also is fully cognizant. I stepped away from the cash register, asking if she had some extra moments to tell me more about her mom. The customer seemed pleased.

Her mom was born in 1920 in South Dakota, where she lived until she graduated from high school. In those days, her best bet for self-supporting was to become a secretary. As a young adult, she went to Los Angeles and attended a “secretarial school.” Instead of working long as a secretary, she joined the Military. She became a career WAC, earning both rank and technical skills. On retiring, she returned to SD, married a local farmer, and gave birth to five children. My customer, approximately in her forties, was the youngest of those siblings.

I asked my customer what it was like to grow up with a focused, high-achieving mom in years when women were less outwardly aspirational. She believes her childhood was terrific, and her mom was an expert guide. My customer added that she followed in her mom’s footsteps by marrying and having a child later in life.

She said that until last year, her mom continued to live independently in her South Dakota home, doing all the housework and outside chores. Finally, her failing hearing and eyesight forced her into assisted living. The mom remains amazingly independent and fully aware but benefits from having help. The customer added that, from her mom’s perspective, although she’s relatively healthy, she’s lived for too long.

My customer pointed me to the “feel” of a sleepwear item she was purchasing because her mom’s failing eyesight had turned her into “a toucher” and her way of deciding if she does or doesn’t like an item. The customer and I agreed that the PJ set had a pleasingly lightweight, silky feel and seemed perfect for her mom.

Dear Friends: Most special moments–sharing, learning, and connection. Diana

Culturally Resonant

Tuesday, November 26, 2024

I went to our local twenty-four-hour supermarket through late afternoon’s gloomy drizzle, not knowing exactly why but vaguely needing something. Many others, like me, were braving the chilly drizzle by hurrying into and out of the store. Once inside, I found myself maneuvering around other shoppers in crowded aisles. Suddenly, I woke up, “Hey, Stupid! This is Thanksgiving week!”

Aha! Thanksgiving had been the submerged but driving idea pointing me toward the market. I looked around with fresh attention, eying the offerings. Relatively inexpensive turkey at holiday time is a huge draw. I won’t be cooking for this holiday but I’d not mind eating turkey next week and probably beyond. I searched through a tank full of frozen big birds for the smallest one, finally bringing home anyway a large turkey, but feeling satisfied.

I’ll cook my turkey on another day off, either this weekend or early next week. Since experience reminds me that I’ll quickly tire of eating turkey, I’ll immediately portion and freeze the cooked bird. I’ll save plenty for my dogs; they won’t tire of eating turkey. My Cockatoo, Peaches, too; he weighs in grams and won’t dent the leftovers. Besides, Peaches favors bones–cracks them and devours marrows.

So many thoughts about Thanksgiving made me reconsider some psychological appeals of Turkey-Time. Essentially, the holiday taps into some of the most basic human needs: connection, belonging, gratitude, and meaning. Often, while busily focused on tasks, goals, and objectives, I disregard those basics. What refreshes me is remembering and thinking about the holiday.

The same will recur at Christmas time. I’ll likely drift again into the 24-hour supermarket and wander toward specialty foods. And, from deep in my mind, recalling pleasantness: feeling actively connected and belonging, thankful and meaningful.

Dear Friends: The coin’s other side: I need this giant turkey like a hole in my head. Diana

Worries To Rest

Friday, October 04, 2024

A considerable problem is solved: my puppy Chase won’t again escape a new “inescapable kennel” where he will stay when I must leave home. His driving instinct to follow me triggers escaping skills, which he specializes in.

Thanks to a bit of luck, and special thanks to my kind neighbors, Frank and Annette. They have sometimes rescued Chase, brought him home, and re-locked him into my big, sturdy kennel. (For many years, that structure was inescapable by dogs, but recently, Chase–super athletic and too-smart–managed to escape.)

The solution was a happenstance. Down by the barn near my chicken coop stood a wire structure where I occasionally isolated hens needing special attention. That structure has been unused for many months. It’s fully enclosed with wire, with a human-size walk-through wire door, and roofed completely by heavy wire. It looked perfect for safely and securely enclosing Chase but needed to be dismantled, relocated, and reset onto a concrete base.

That structure is large enough to accommodate a dog’s movement and would fit inside my larger standalone structure, which Chase escapes now.

My kind neighbors donated their time and turned the possibilities into a reality. Frank and Annette dismantled the structure, loaded its sections into their pickup, and moved everything uphill. They reassembled the new dog kennel inside the big standalone. We all viewed the result as inescapable.

The new kennel is set securely on a concrete base. Heavy stall mats laid over the concrete increase residents’ comfort. Finally, Chase will be secured; he’ll be in an inescapable smaller kennel within a safe and larger enclosure.

Dear Friends: I cannot begin to adequately describe my enormous relief. Diana

Birthday Girl

Sunday, May 26, 2024

I wasn’t expecting anything special on my birthday which was yesterday, so I didn’t mind having to work, although my scheduled hours were kind of crummy, from 5-9 p.m. Here’s what’s about my birthdays: I keep them quiet and don’t let them become big deals. This year, some sort of weirdness altered my attitude and perspective. I became involved in planning for my birthday. I wished for myself the gifts of thinking positively and playing creatively.

A couple of days ago, my friend Susie invited me to dinner on my birthday and also understood my reluctance to ditch work in these days of scarce workers. We agreed to wait for a time when I’m not working (and it’s this evening).

Susie is totally a “people person.” She texted me to have fun at work and be sure to tell everybody there that “It’s my birthday.” A sweet note, but I would ignore her suggestion and keep my birthday a private affair.

Somehow, this year is unlike other years. Before I was long in the store and to my surprise, I told nearby coworkers about my birthday. Before long, suddenly and surprisingly, over our radios came a message from Lisa, our store’s manager. She announced to everybody that it was my birthday and wished me a happy one. What a tickle! By golly, and yet again, Susie was on target (she’s usually right).

Now about me and working, I can be a pest. I do my job and enjoy it, but am an old-school employee who sometimes complains to the managers. Our store has a great management team (not something said lightly because I understand good management skills). Our store’s managers are experienced, know retail inside and out, openly encourage and care for everybody, and, most importantly, they are trustworthy.

I understand training and development and contribute to the store’s efforts by giving feedback to our managers. They usually nod and maybe also ignore my comments. I work hard at keeping potential comments to myself. Sometimes I do feel that I’ve been heard.

That’s a preamble to last evening’s biggest surprise. Lisa came to my station to share a piece she’d published days before on the company website:

See what I’m saying? Reading that blew me away. Finally, I am working in a dream environment. Here, it’s okay to speak up with opinions and ideas; here, the managers are viable members of their whole team; and here, long after finishing my professional career and for the first time, I am reporting to dream managers.

Change keeps happening and that’s so here and now. Lisa is moving on soon to start managing a larger Colorado store. We in the Bend store are unhappy that she’s leaving and also wishing her well. We will buckle down and adjust to whoever shows up to try filling Lisa’s big shoes.

Here’s what’s most important: Whether the store’s leadership change proves smooth or rocky, our managers who have reported to Lisa will still be present and make the “right things” happen. We in the ranks have confidence in their judgment and technical capabilities.

Dear Friends: Why is it that only now am I learning that birthdays can be great? Diana

“Magical Mom”

Tuesday, March 05, 2024

My mom’s birthday is today, on a date she selected. I never asked why she self-selected the date, and much later, after she was gone, wished to know. By then, I wanted to know more about her early life and realized that many other questions never got asked. I’m always a little sad about my knowledge gaps.

Especially these days when the war in Ukraine raises questions about my maternal family’s life in that part of the world. Back in the very late 1800s, fearing Russia’s recurring violence toward Ukrainian Jews, they sailed to America, winding up in O’Fallon, IL, where my mom and her siblings grew up.

They lived in the most dire poverty. To survive, my grandmother made ice cream and my grandfather traveled into neighborhoods to sell scoops from an ice cart. My mom described her sheer unhappiness while a little girl, for having to go regularly to the local welfare office and request family existence money. When she was very young, her father passed away from TB.

Afterward, her mother found a job as a kosher cook in Oklahoma City and had to move there. She put her small children into an orphanage. Before long, her eldest child, Ruby, got married and became qualified to remove the children from that orphanage. Later in their lives, every single one spoke of Ruby as “a saint.” While still very young, Ruby, too, succumbed to TB.

That family history captured my attention many years ago when a Ph.D. candidate from New York phoned to ask me about the family during its O’Fallon time. While researching its Jewish immigrant community, she discovered in O’Fallon’s newspaper a contemporary article quoting my grandfather’s description of Ukraine’s dire anti-Jewish situation. The researcher sent me a copy of the article. It recreated the reality of my mom’s family in those times touching and blowing me away.

By then, my mom and her siblings were gone, and sadly, no one to question remained. Fortunately, I’m close to my cousin, Mary (her dad was my mom’s brother), and we often speculate on our family’s history, trying to fill in gaps with our combined knowledge.

So, Happy Birthday, Mom. If you could return, you’d find that your known world has evolved into a nearly unrecognizable social and political environment. Plus, these days, you’d not button up and avoid recalling an unhappy past; instead. like most of us, you’d be spilling the beans.

Dear Friends: Our moms–mostly intelligent and capable beyond what their times allowed. Diana