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Shifting Gears

Shifting Gears

Category Archives: mid-life transition

Love at Last

14 Sunday Feb 2016

Posted by judithar321 in aging, inspiration, mid-life transition

≈ 4 Comments

Tags

love, Valentine's Day

MoroccanHeart2

Moroccan Heart

Ours was not a love at first sight. On a bright winter’s day, I trudged through knee-deep snow to greet you. It wasn’t until late spring, however, that I agreed to see you again.

To begin with, you were compact, rather plain, and, to my then young but critical eyes, a bit homely — nothing at all like the ideal I had carried around in my head for so long. But after our second meeting, I let caution go and decided to give you a try. “It doesn’t have to be forever,” I thought to myself.

During our first year together, we faced some serious challenges. More than once you suffered from a lack of energy that caused your lower extremities to fill with water. And I spent more time with doctors and in hospitals than I ever could have imagined. And yet, you were stalwart — always there, patiently waiting for me to come home.

I have since learned to appreciate your modest looks and embrace your efficient and can-do approach to life. As the years passed, I helped you buff up your rough edges, gave you one or two makeovers, and then watched your quiet beauty emerge.

MoroccanHeart

In return, you protected me through more physical and emotional storms than I can count. And you taught me everything I know about patience, persistence, and the value of building on what you have, rather than looking for something new.

You let me make mistakes and I learned important lessons from each one.

Moving in with you, however, was not a mistake. Like two dancers, we developed a feel for each other’s frame and learned how to move together with grace. After 23 years of cohabitation, we both wear the patina of age.

It is only now, as we prepare to part, dear house, that I realize how deeply I love you.

SnowySunset

This post is part of a Valentine’s Day series on Women’s Voices for Change.

 

 

 

 

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The Mindless Mindfulness of Travel

28 Tuesday Oct 2014

Posted by judithar321 in friendship, health, inspiration, marriage, mid-life transition, pets, travel

≈ 5 Comments

Tags

Ellen Langer, mindfulness, Portland Oregon

fishbowl

Ever since our January trip to California, we’ve been talking about returning to the west coast for a longer stay. We think we might like to live there. At first, we were talking about the Bay Area. As I’ve said, many times, I want to live in a place where there are cafes, museums, and shops all accessible by foot or on public transportation. How lovely it would be, for example, to walk home, filled with good food, after a meal at our favorite neighborhood restaurant.

But we also want nature to be within reach (I’m not giving up the car just yet) — and it has to be a place we can comfortably afford. For all of those reasons, we set our sites on a mini-sabbatical in Portland, Oregon, with possible side trips to Seattle, British Columbia, and San Francisco. And, we wanted to drive because if we were to gain any sense at all of what daily life would be like in a new place, then we couldn’t leave behind someone who is an integral part of that daily life.

traveler

Karina in travel mode: her bed was wedged on the floor behind the driver’s seat.

After months of talking and planning, things fell into place at the end of July. We had a place to stay in Portland, and after much looking and financial strategizing, we also had a van that would reliably transport us there—and back—and that could serve as Paul’s work vehicle upon our return.

And so, on August 21, we set out, stopping in Michigan that first weekend for a family wedding.

Witness

After we left Michigan, my mind, which had been focused on wedding-related logistics, suddenly sat up and took notice. The clouds overhead and endless sky when we hit Minnesota were an ongoing source of fascination.

Once we’d arrived at our first stop in Portland, just sitting on the front porch was entertaining. There were kids going by on bikes and skateboards, older people walking their dogs, and Karina found the parade of neighborhood cats, who would sun themselves under our car, especially riveting.

Keeping tabs

Our daily walk through the park at the end of the street, toward a dog park that bordered the Willamette River felt special.

Sellwood_Park

theWillamette

There were also dinners out at places right in the neighborhood, and several cups of coffee at cafes with outdoor seating where our four-footed companion was the subject of much admiration. Karina lost some of her shyness on this trip.

But what I love most about traveling—and what I miss now that we have returned—was that I took the time to notice my surroundings and activities. The small, daily routines, like making my morning tea in an unfamiliar kitchen, were more satisfying because of that.

I gave things my full attention in a way I do not when I’m at home. In fact, just the other morning, I found myself dashing from the kitchen to my computer, and then back, first when my tea water boiled, and then again when a timer went off. Now that I am ensconced in familiar surroundings, I seem to have switched over to autopilot as automatically as I switched to full awareness while traveling.

Then last week I heard part of an interview with Ellen Langer, a professor of psychology at Harvard. The topic was mindfulness, which the announcer defined as “the simple act of noticing new things.” And, according to Langer,

 When you notice new things, you come to notice that you didn’t know what you thought you did, as well as you did. Everything is always changing. By noticing new things about the familiar, it becomes interesting again.

This mind-set, she went on to say, was good for fighting more than just boredom, it can also impact our health** and enable us to view in a new way someone whose behavior troubles us.

In fact, a few years ago, an advisor gave me similar advice, suggesting that I just sit back and “observe” someone who had become a source of distress. As Langer notes in this interview, when I adopted the observer’s mind-set, I realized what was really driving this person, and soon exchanged my upset for empathy.

Learning to “observe” so that you can respond, rather than react, to other people is another whole conversation. To learn more about that, you can listen to the entire interview here.

Right now, I want to tackle the bit about noticing. Before we left for the trip in late August, boredom with our local scenery had taken root. I felt as though I was seeing the same old things over and over again. When we returned in early October, many things did seem new. New England was in the middle of a gorgeous autumn, which no matter how jaded you are, is pretty hard to overlook.

For example, I noticed these coppery leaves while with a friend who was gathering leaves for her son’s after-school project. Adopting a child’s point of view definitely helps adults view their surroundings with fresh eyes.

copperIt’s also hard not to notice the fall colors reflected on a pond we pass on one of our regular morning walks.

water colors

Water-colors.

last swim

Now that it’s getting colder and darker, I will have to work especially hard to cloak myself in the observer’s mind-set I wore so mindlessly during our travels. So far, the extra effort seems to be working.

While the clouds here don’t hang suspended mid-sky as they do out west, they have their own beauty when hovering over a local farmer’s fields.

green fields

And this circle of farm machinery provides a whimsical contrast to the straight-edged fields beyond.

farm equipment

There were many things I sensed and felt during our six weeks away that can’t and won’t be contained in my snapshots. There’s that light-as-air feeling I got when the daily cares and worries of home faded from my consciousness as we racked up the miles; the friendly, welcoming attitude of the people we met in Portland; the rush of memories I felt when I dove into the frigid waters of a lake in British Columbia; and the satisfaction of an intense hunger quenched by a warming bowl of Pho eaten in a Vietnamese restaurant off the beaten track in Iowa on a dreary, windswept day.

These experiences are worth noticing. They are worth holding on to. And they are worth adding to. On a chilly afternoon a few days after we’d returned home, I sat in my kitchen and watched my two fellow travelers carefully take note of our back yard under a darkening sky. There was love in their looking and noticing, just as there was in mine.

backyard1backyard2backyard 2abackyard 3backyard 4

****

**Coincidentally, (or perhaps not) Langer was the focus of an article in this past Sunday’s New York Times Magazine about using a mindful mind-set to offset aging and possibly illness. To read an interesting analysis of that piece, read D.A. Wolf’s take on it in Daily Plate of Crazy.

 

 

 

 

 

Why I Didn’t Write

15 Wednesday Oct 2014

Posted by judithar321 in environment, mid-life transition, pets, travel, writing

≈ 4 Comments

I thought I was so clever back in July when I wrote “Postcards from Home.” I knew that at some point in the near future, my husband and I would embark on a cross-country road trip, and I thought that post would be the perfect segue for sharing photos from our journey.

I envisioned myself pulling out my computer after a day of driving and pouring my experiences into the blog. That didn’t happen — though I did post photos to my Instagram account.

I’m not sure exactly why not, other than fatigue, hunger, and bad Wifi connections made sitting down and writing unappealing. Plus, there was so much input, both when we were traveling and when we were staying put. I enjoyed living in the moment, and allowing myself to be swallowed by landscapes like this one.

Big Sky, Minnesota

Big sky in Minnesota.

But I’m sticking with my postcard analogy: This post and the ones that follow are postcards that don’t arrive until the traveler has already returned home. Sometimes the mail is slow or sometimes the cards aren’t mailed until the journey is over.

After driving from Concord to Detroit to attend a family wedding, we headed west, toward Portland, Oregon. In Minnesota we took a hike.

Great River Bluffs

The trail overlooked the Mississippi River.

Overlooking the Mississippi River

I should note that while the above scene was captured with an actual camera, I took most of the photos on the trip with my phone camera. As my friend in San Francisco likes to say, “The best camera is the one you have with you.”

From Minnesota, we pushed west through South Dakota toward Montana, hitting a corner of Wyoming along the way.

pushing westward

Not exactly sure where this is….

Little Big Horn

Little Big Horn.

Little Big Horn gave me chills, made me angry too.

in order to heal

Driving into Montana, there were purple mountains.

purple mountains

In Bozeman, there was a walk through town.

Oops! (ha ha)

Oops! (ha ha)

And a hike at Peets Hill.

View from the top

Peet's Hill, Bozeman, Montana

And have I mentioned who was traveling with us? She made herself right at home and cooled off in a little stream at the end of the hike.

Did I mention....From Montana, we skimmed the northern point of Idaho and drove through a corner of Washington State.

Idaho?

View from the car.

View from the car.

Philippi Canyon

As we got into Oregon, it started to rain.

zeroing in on PortlandWhy did we leave home in the first place and why did we drive? I’ll share more about that in a future post.

Spring into Summer

21 Saturday Jun 2014

Posted by judithar321 in adult children, aging, environment, inspiration, mid-life transition, pets, writing

≈ 5 Comments

Bowl o'Sunshine

Scented geranium, aka bowl o’ sunshine.

The summer visitors have arrived. They show up all of a sudden, in an array of styles and colors that practically scream, “summer is here!” One day the landscape comprises a crowd dressed in varying hues of green and the next — well, see for yourself.

1-columbine

Columbine

Peony

Peony

false indigo

False indigo

5-clematis

Clematis

My “Little Miss Kim” lilac shows up in a burst of grapey color and then immediately fades to white, leaving behind a trail of sweet perfume that fills the yard for days.

4-lilacs

Little Miss Kim

Here in eastern Massachusetts, the transformation from late spring to early summer is a visually joyous one. In the woods, the air feels both lighter and fresher — a soft caress has replaced the chilly slap of April. I may still need a light jacket for my morning walk, but the knitted cap and gloves remain in the closet.

Rhododendron in the woods

Rhododendron in the woods

New ferns

New ferns

Yet underneath all the outward cheer, early summer leaves me feeling a little empty. As the weather warms up an old sadness resurfaces as its mid-June anniversary approaches. And as a young, working mother, the close of the school year, with its many festivities and fond farewells, was always tinged with melancholy. One more year of their childhood torn from the calendar.

My days of year-end band concerts, sewing on name tags, and packing trunks for summer camp are long over, but for me, June will always outrank January as an important marker of passing time.

Summer breeze

Summer breeze

The great thing about getting ‘older,’ though, is that I no longer have to concern myself with summer’s superficial branding. While I do pay attention to advice about protecting my skin, I can turn the page when I see headlines like, “4 Weeks to a Bikini Body,” because, really, who cares?

Instead, I’ll look beyond the sunny façade and shake things up. That warmer air and lack of weather-related obstacles frees us all to tackle something different, something hard.

Never finished Middlemarch? Maybe this is the summer to do it. Climb a mountain, learn another language, or try a new form of writing. Test the limits of your brain and your body.

Or—as my husband and I plan to do after decades of full-time work—give yourself a sabbatical.  Taking a road trip, living someplace new, and launching a project are all on our agenda.

So yeah, the summer visitors are here, let the season begin.

***

This post also appears today on Women’s Voices for Change. 

Marriage, Dynamic

21 Monday Apr 2014

Posted by judithar321 in aging, friendship, marriage, mid-life transition

≈ 4 Comments

Until last week, Paul and I had never worked with a professional photographer. Our wedding was a low-key affair that resulted in a few snapshots contained in an album.  And there’s a rather stiff photo that was taken at a local department store when our boys were young.  I suggested, and he agreed, that we document where we are today — after more than 30 years of marriage.

The older I get, the less I like to be photographed.  Lately, when someone snaps my picture, the resulting image often seems to catch my worst angle – at least in my eyes. Yet I know that I am perfectly presentable, I just have to put myself in the hands of the right photographer.

close up

I knew that my friend Cheryl Sparks was that photographer. She is not only talented, she knows how to put people at ease. I knew she could get us both to relax. Cheryl put a lot of thought into our session. She said that she wanted to capture the dynamic between the two of us, and she shared a photo shoot of another couple as an example of what she had in mind.

So we had fun. We were silly.

It was quite windy, but I released all worries of crazy-looking hair into the breeze. We both loved the results—more of which can be viewed on Cheryl’s blog.

Oh, and speaking of photography, you can now follow me on Instagram.

 

 

Our California Dream

24 Friday Jan 2014

Posted by judithar321 in aging, environment, inspiration, mid-life transition, travel

≈ 11 Comments

Tags

California, elephant seals, Tomales Bay, Tule elk

Tomales Bay

Tomales Bay © Judith A. Ross

Yesterday, we returned from a week in Northern California. While real life continued all around us, we were wrapped in a drought-spun cocoon of warm, sunny weather as we traveled through a green, blue and often sere landscape populated by amazing creatures.

Birches ©Judith A. Ross

Birches ©Judith A. Ross

Camel Rock

Don’t know if this has a name, I call it “Camel Rock.” ©Judith A. Ross

coastline

California coastline ©Judith A. Ross

cyprus

Cyprus trees ©Judith A. Ross

Knots ©Judith A. Ross

Knots ©Judith A. Ross

We observed these elephant seals from a distance. They moaned and squealed and flipped sand on their backs to stay cool. You could tell who had been sunning the longest by the pile of sand on their back.

Elephant seals

We got a bit closer to the Tule elk.. . 

Menfolk ©Judith A. Ross

Menfolk ©Judith A. Ross

Mama's got her eye on you

Mama’s got her eye on you! ©Judith A. Ross

… and I was lucky to catch a shot of two youngsters at play.

Sibling rivalry ©Judith A. Ross

Sibling rivalry ©Judith A. Ross

There were wildflowers and mysteries.

Wildflowers ©Judith A. Ross

Wildflowers ©Judith A. Ross

Remains ©Judith A. Ross

Remains ©Judith A. Ross

***

Now that we have returned to the reality of the Massachusetts winter, our trip already feels like a long ago dream. But it is also our future dream. Will we live there some day? Only time will tell.

Footprints ©Judith A. Ross

Footprints ©Judith A. Ross

An Enduring Relationship

12 Thursday Dec 2013

Posted by judithar321 in adult children, aging, marriage, mid-life transition

≈ 19 Comments

Tags

Daily Plate of Crazy, mother-daughter relationships

YoungMom

The last time I saw my mother was the day I finished my junior year of high school.  It’s been more than 40 years since I basked in the warmth of her smile, or heard her musical laugh. And even longer since we argued, but I still remember the last time she annoyed me.

She had neglected to compliment me on my newly acquired driving skills. “Aren’t you going to say anything?” I asked before tossing the car keys towards her. They hit her thin shoulder and fell to the garage floor. She looked at me, startled, her blue eyes filled with hurt.

She was dying and that made me mad. For the rest of that spring, I put my new driver’s license to good use, shuttling back and forth between home and the hospital every day after school.

She’s missed a lot. She wasn’t there for my high school and college graduations… or my wedding. She never met my husband or her two grandsons. And yet, after all this time, our relationship lives on.

Since her death, my mother has been with me many times — especially when I do things that she couldn’t. The first time I traveled to Europe with a friend, she was there too. She had always wanted to go, but because of my travel-phobic father, she never had the chance. On that first trip, I lit candles in churches all over England for my Jewish mother.

She made it clear that I was going to college. Trapped in a difficult marriage, a college degree, more than anything else, symbolized freedom to her. She badly wanted the ability to support herself, and she didn’t want me to be stuck, dependent —like her.

Each time that I checked a new accomplishment off her list —earning that diploma, landing my first “real” job, and renting my own apartment — I could almost hear her cheering in the distance.

Because she made sure that I got the extras, like music lessons and summer camps, my sons got them too, even when the cost seemed onerous. She’d be thrilled to know that one grandson recently performed at the Kennedy Center, and that the other is living and working abroad. She may be gone, but her influence still has legs.

Shortly before my 16th birthday, on a sunny, brisk spring day, she took me to a nearby shopping center to pick out a bracelet. We left the store with a one-inch sterling silver cuff that came in a maroon flannel bag. In my mind’s eye I see us talking and laughing companionably as we stroll from store to store.

I think of us together every time I wear that bracelet. The memory of that ordinary day—so long ago that it now seems extraordinary—reminds me to treasure every small moment I can snatch with my husband and sons.

She and I didn’t have a lot of tough conversations. I was rarely in trouble, but because she was my safe place, my comfort zone, I knew it was important to provide that space for my own children. I think, I hope, they know that they can tell me anything.

Often, I imagine her in the kitchen, cooking a meal with my younger son, who shares more than a passing resemblance to her father in both looks and spirit. Or joking with my older son, who always has a good story to tell, and whose big, blue eyes match hers. When I do those things, she’s there too

If she were still alive, my mother would be 92 this month. Even though she has been absent for most of my life, memories of what she said and did guided me through early adulthood, marriage, and motherhood. I am now seven years older than she was when she died. As I move through middle age and progress toward old age, she can no longer show me the way.

And yet, as long as I am alive, and still straining to remember her voice, and hear her laugh, the relationship goes on.

***

This post is part of a series about mother-daughter relationships published on “Daily Plate of Crazy.” Click here to read other posts in the series. 

Cozy

26 Tuesday Nov 2013

Posted by judithar321 in adult children, books, health, inspiration, mid-life transition, travel

≈ 4 Comments

Tags

Thanksgiving

Anniversary Tulips

Sunday’s wind was ferocious, especially with temperatures well below freezing. It was a good day to stay home, drink tea, read books, and just be quiet.

With daylight so fleeting, it can be a melancholy time of year. In fact, that sad, wistful feeling seems to be making the rounds. All we can do is force ourselves out into the air and remember to take time to savor the small joys of life.

Go ahead, live dangerously, put a little whole milk or even cream in that tea! The extra calories will keep you warm during this dark time.

I wish all of my readers and friends a cozy Thanksgiving. Give your beloveds extra hugs if they are with you.

And to those of you in far-flung places, know that you are missed, and that your place at the table is open and set for your return.

 

A Most Important Relationship

30 Wednesday Oct 2013

Posted by judithar321 in aging, friendship, health, marriage, mid-life transition

≈ 9 Comments

Stone sun dial

It has been nearly 32 years since my husband and I met at a neighborhood party. When we first started seeing each other, I had no idea where the relationship would go, but I suspected it would be an important one. I was lucky —we were lucky — to be in the same place at the same time, and in a situation that allowed us to connect.

Two years later, on a cold, rainy, November afternoon, we exchanged wedding vows.

I took the above photo while visiting some old friends whose relationship probably dates back to about the time I was born. I first met them when I was five years old, and they were a young, married couple with two careers, and one small child. Now in their eighties, they are, to all appearances, still good together.

It is impossible to know what goes on inside someone else’s marriage, but I’m guessing that they nurtured a healthy relationship while developing careers and raising five children by bending —sometimes towards each other, sometimes in opposite directions. Whichever way they curled, however, each knew that the other would be there to catch them.

When I was a kid I spent a lot of time at their house. Even with the chaos that comes with a big family, even if there was yelling, there were times when it felt safer than my own home across the street.

Ever since Paul and I have been together, home has been where he is, and there is no place I’d rather be. He is my best friend, my cheerleader, my teacher, my student, and I am all of those things to him. Even though we fill each of those roles differently, and life together isn’t always perfect or pretty, I am sure of our partnership because we discuss it often. 

He can fix almost anything, including a sore heart. He holds my heart in his big, capable hands every day, gently, and with great care. 

We are closer than those two pillars and just as strong. Our bodies may be less supple than they were 30 years ago, but in our life together we’ve become more flexible. Unlike those pillars, we are not made of stone: We can bend.

***

Friendship is also the topic of my guest post this week on Daily Plate of Crazy. Click here to read it.

These Skies Are Meant for Dreaming

09 Friday Aug 2013

Posted by judithar321 in friendship, inspiration, marriage, mid-life transition, travel

≈ 6 Comments

Tags

betterafter50.com, clouds, midlife migration, moving house, photography, summer skies

Now that the weather has settled down a bit, we’ve been spending a lot of time out on our deck. During the last heat wave, I read out there in the evenings. The sky was amazing.

PinkClouds 1 PinkClouds2 PinkClouds3

A few days later, the humidity blew out and we were treated to a series of cartoon clouds.

Cartoon1 cartoon2 Cartoon4We are also cooking and eating some terrific meals on this deck. Paul has become expert at baking food on the grill that would normally go in the oven — the eggs on top of this shakshuka, for example.

Shakshuka

Last June, I posted a piece that was sparked by a meal on this deck. In it, I shared our dreams of moving on to a different kind of life in a new place. I had forgotten about that post until a couple of weeks ago when I was contacted by an editor at betterafter50.com. They have reprinted the post under the title, “Should We Sell the House?” 

I think we should sell the house. And though it feels like our progress toward that end has been glacial, it has been steady, and we both enjoy the conversations about ‘what-if’ and ‘where.’

We’ll get there, I’m sure. It’s going to take a lot of work and careful planning. In the meantime, though, our head-in-the-clouds dreaming is, as one of my dinner guests from the June post would say, “luscious.”

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