The Mabel Of My Life

Trying to figure out which of the hundred topics running through my head, that I should blog about.  So I think I will talk about Mabel.  I had opportunity to visit the mother of a friend of mine's with her yesterday.  She is living in an assisted care facility, and is being faced, as is the family, with some of the many challenging behaviors that go hand in hand with aging.  

Being there for those few moments in time, moved me back to my early 20's, when I was trying to figure out what I wanted to do with my life.  I had switched over from being a Physical Education Major to going for a dual degree in Psychology and Behavioral Science.  As I did my course work the Spring of my freshman year, we were each "assigned" an individual at a local nursing home, who was not adjusting to life in the nursing home.  My assignment was Mabel.

We were to assess them, come up with a 12 week treatment plan, and then set that in motion.  At the end of the quarter, our professor would assess how well we had accomplished our goals, and provide a grade for the class based on that.  As a student, I was an overachiever (no surprise there) and so off I went gung-ho... Never did I realize that while I would become a major catalyst in Mabel's life, she also would become one in mine.

Mabel's story was easy.  Married once upon a time, long ago divorced, mother of one child... She was an independent cuss.  She lived her life the way she saw fit, and was an intelligent smart business woman.  Two years prior to my meeting her, she had a severe stroke.  She was 84 years old at the time.  Feeling certain she would die, her son sold most of her belongings while she lingered in the hospital.  But she did not die.  Not only did she not die, she lived another 8 years in the facility at which I met her, and she became my friend.

She was not adjusting well, because she wanted her stuff.  But her stuff no longer existed.  And her son did not want to tell her this.  In the end, he did, after much cajoling... And her adjustment to her new life was able to begin.  Mabel aged the way I hope to age... While her body was not especially her friend, and she was wheelchair bound, her mind was sharp as a tack.  Dimentia was not something that even remotely touched her.  Sometimes, memory was not her friend, recent ones anyway, but boy could she tell the stories from the past!  

Eventually the class ended, but I continued to see Mabel 3 to 4 times a week until she died.  The nursing home eventually would cringe good naturally when I showed up, because no activity was off limits.  The number of times we went "four-wheeling in her wheelchair, and I had to go hose it down in the mop bucket room of mud, became countless.  She loved to be outside and on the go.  So I took her as many places as was safe and practical.

I would find myself sitting for hours near her chair or bed, and learned that human touch was something that most of the elderly crave, and do not get enough of.  She was so fragile... I swear I could see through her skin, but she loved to just have me hold her hand... Rub her arm... Or massage her feet!  This most basic of human needs does not dissipate with age.  And Mabel and I discussed this frequently as she had spent a great deal of her younger life in Europe and thought Americans overall to be an uptight group!

At Christmas I would decorate her door with treats that could be taken after a visit... This encouraged fly-bys from the other guests.  A few years we broke every code imaginable and strung lights everywhere.  The nurses and techs just pretended they did not see them.  Over time, I would work to come up with new and creative things to do with her room, because she became so bored with it all.  Some ideas were more successful than others.

And Mabel, she would dream about getting out.  While she knew death was really her only exit, she still dreamed of days of old.  Of freedom to come and go, of old friends - these were what kept her sane.  Over time, my visits with her changed from me helping her, to her helping me... She was a great listener and would always have some advice on whatever I was telling her... Sometimes, I knew the story had gotten too long, and I looked over, and she was asleep.  I'd just sit and hold her hand until she opened her eyes again!  

I came very close to choosing a career after my experiences with Mabel.  In the end, I went to the other side of the Spectrum, and worked with children.  But those many days that I spent with her, taught me so much about life, and growing old.  I thank her so much for those lessons that she taught me.  We should all be so lucky as to have a Mabel in our lives.

Lights In The Night Sky

I saw a firefly tonight.  This amused me because a little thrill of excitement went through me when I saw it.  I felt like a little kid, collecting them in a jar at my grandfather's house.  This brought back some very fond childhood memories.  I was also reminded that it is much the same feeling that I get when I see a shooting star or a comet.

I was trying to figure out exactly what the draw is for me with these lights in the night sky.  I am drawn to other forms as well.  For instance, I love going up on a mountain side or high ridge, and looking down on a city at night.  I love the shimmer of a city at night, like Las Vegas, or New York City.  At the same time, I love the dawn, where pure darkness is broken by the solitary light of the rising sun.  

Is it the contrast?  Is it the sparkle?  Is it the stirring of my soul and imagination as I look at it, and wonder?  I am not sure exactly.  Maybe because it is all of these things.  

Nearly every night I take some time to go outside and look up in the sky.  A friend of mine remarked on this habit tonight and I told them that it was much like coming out to say hi to my friends in the sky each night.  I would miss them if I did not visit with them... And it is a different group that gathers each night.  While it is the same stars each and every night, I see and hear something new each time I look up at them.

They tell me the time is drawing near, to put my mind at rest.  The time is very close, to draw my eyelids shut... And forget about my worries and woes.  They tell me all is well with my world.  That they will watch over me, my loved ones, my friends.  Standing guard in the sky until the new day dawns, and the sun comes and chases them away.  Only to return, faithful and true, without fail the next night.  I know on this I can depend.

Yes.  I love the lights, any lights, in the night sky.

"My Favorite Star"

Tucked away amongst my writings, was this special poem.  I believe I did not actually write the original... It was written for me.  But the scrap has no details, dates, or names.  Definitely in my twenties.  Over time I have reshaped and refined it a bit... As I love the flow and general content!  What is not to like about beaches and stars?  Here goes:

I walked along the beach tonight

     And looked out at the stars above

But one small thing was missing there

     Your comfort and your love.

And as the waves crashed on the sand

     And left without a trace

The pain came back from missing you

     And tears ran down my face.

I longed to have you by my side

     And gently hold my hand

And then we'd walk together

     Leaving problems in the sand.

But on this night I'm all alone

     With memories in my heart

I remember well the love we shared

     That distance cannot part.

And with that thought upon my mind

    You didn't seem so far

So I glanced up at the dark blue sky

     And chose my favorite star.

I asked that special star to stay

     And watch you close at night

To remind you of this love of mine

     When you are out of sight.

Please look out up the stars tonight

     And I'll be looking too

The star that shines the brightest there

     Is the star I gave to you.

My Place In This World

The wind is moving

But I am standing still

A life of pages

Waiting to be filled

A heart that's hopeful

A head that's full of dreams

But this becoming

Is harder than it seems

~~~
And the song goes on.  

Kirkpatrick, Smith, and Grant wrote those lyrics at the beginning of their Epic Song "Place In This World".  If you have never heard of it - take a listen on i-Tunes or elsewhere in Internet land.  Michael W. Smith sings it.  It is on several of his albums.

I found as a young adult a great sense of recognition in the phrasing of this song... and I loved the enchanting melody they wrote to go with it.  I had not heard the song in ages, and then I did a little writing challenge with my sister-in-law, Sue, called "31 Songs in 31 Days" last December.  You were supposed to write about 31 songs that have affected your life.  This was one of the (top 10) songs in my list. In December of 2013 I wrote the following:

From the Album Go West Young Man this song was one of Michael W. Smith’s biggest crossover hits in 1991. As an artist who had an intensely devout young life, and then had gotten off track into multiple addictions, but finally found his way out – I find Michael W Smith to be an intensely authentic musician and love his music.

This song became a hit just before I went into treatment in my 20’s.  It was a song that I related to in such an intense manner.  I cannot really accurately express how lost I was during that time; and how alone I felt in that vast “lost-ness”.  I know, not really a word, but it expresses what I want to say.  I was stuck in a void between the reality of my life, and the Christianity with which I had grown up.

It was remarkable to me, to realize I was not the only one who struggled.  Songs like this helped me realize that others (including the songs author) had looked at their life and felt the same darkness.  A plea to God was written in this anthem: “I need your light to help me find my place in this world.”  Michael W was able to express the thoughts I constantly had – if there were millions of others pleading, would God be able to hear me and help me? 

                                                                                           

At the beginning of this song, I love the visual he gives us - “A life of pages waiting to be filled”.  Isn’t that what it is all about?  This is why I love journaling and writing.  It is a way to document those pages as we fill them.  Sometimes they are wonderful and insightful pages, sometimes the pages are dark and dreary.  But they are our pages.  And only we can fill them completely.

“A heart that’s hopeful, a head that’s full of dreams. But this becoming is harder than it seems.”  Wow – true back then and still true for me today.  I am not sure as we age that it gets any easier.  It certainly gets more complicated!  I hope that as I continue dreaming and moving forward, I can always look back at the completed pages, and know I found my place in this world!

The song flew into my brain last night when I was writing the post on cynicism.  And then I thought of the 31/31 challenge and had to go dig this out to share!

We all are empty pages - waiting to be filled.  Our life is not scripted out for us.  We make this book what we want it to be.  We make the choice of what goes into those pages. One thing I know for sure... I am not done writing yet.  

A Call To Action

In the mid 1990’s, I was living in one of the larger metropolitan areas in Ohio.  I had graduated from college, was working on my master’s program, and was managing a counseling center which I co-owned with my partner.  We had put every dime we had into this start up, and we were both working second jobs to pay our bills as the business was not making enough money yet to pay ourselves regularly.  We had three little girls to feed and clothe, and a couple of pets too, so suffice it to say, money was tight.

One day I was manning the front office phones and a woman called.  The moment that I answered, I could hear the despair and panic in her voice.  She asked me if we had any programs that could fund her some money.  I inquired as to what she needed the money for.  She broke down, sobbing, and in between sobs, was able to tell me that she and her son were living in one of the drug districts of this town.  He husband was abusive, and she knew to save herself and her son, she needed to get away.  She felt if she could move back North to the town where her sister lived – that she could make a new home for herself and her son and start over.  But she had spent the day calling agency after agency, and no one could help.  No churches, no programs of any kind could she find that could or would help.

My heart was torn in two.  I told her that we did not have any programs either, but to give me one hour to check around, and I would see what I could do.  When I hung up, I called a meeting with my staff.  They all felt that there really was nothing we could do.  That it was likely the story was unreal, and that I was about to be scammed for money for drugs or alcohol.  But I felt DRIVEN TO DO SOMETHING.  So I gathered up what spare money I could come up with, and put together a plan.  I bought a back pack and filled it with food and drinks, and games for the long trip north.  And then I sat back to wait for the call.

When the woman called me back – I told her to pack her things and I would come pick them both up, and take them to the bus station.  She gave me her address, and I got ready to go.  Everyone thought I was crazy, venturing into the worst part of town, to whisk this woman and her son away – but by then, I was driven and could not be deterred.  I told everyone that I refused to be cynical.  I felt that one the biggest problem in the world is cynicism, and refusal to accept that we can and should be part of the solution.  As soon as I hit the edge of the neighborhood, I wondered myself if I had lost my mind.  As I headed for the address she had given me, people would walk out into the street to slow me down, and bang on the windows to ask for money.  I was seriously scared by the time I arrived.

The woman came right out – bag in hand and son in tow.  She jumped into the car just as a man came running out the door.  I drove away as quickly as was possible, feeling at that moment like I had fallen into a movie set.  I got to the grey hound station safely with my precious cargo, and bought the tickets to that Northern city.  I then gave her the last 10$ I had along with my business card and the backpack.  I wished her luck – gave them both a hug, and waved goodbye.

I cried many a tear that day.  Saddened that the world was such a cynical place that no one felt compelled to help anymore.  I knew deep down, that what I had done was the right thing.  A month later I got a card in the mail with a note and picture of them both.  Their sad eyes were replaced by smiling faces.  They had moved in as planned with her sister – and their new life had begun.  I cried once more, tears of joy, knowing that I had answered the call to action, and had helped to change someone’s world.

Many days when I feel cynicism creeping back into my soul, I think back on that day.  I remind myself that the drive I felt then, is just as important now.  I remind myself, even more today, than then, that we cannot all be cynical.  People can and will change if given the chance.  And listening to that call and acting, on my part (and yours), can change someone else's world - forever.

Time Warp on Writing

I was digging in the"art room" the other day trying to find something.  In our new house, this room does not denote the place where art is made.  (Ha.)  It denotes the place where art of many forms is stored.  It is stored there while we try and figure out what type of "style" we are, so we can decorate this new house.  Pretty sure we are still thinking about that.  (We have reached out to friends for much needed help!)

At any rate, while I was digging around, I opened up my trunk.  This trunk contains all manner of items I have saved for eons.  I could post pictures on TBT for ten years and not repeat high school pics!  One of the more interesting items I found was a diary.  I actually sat down and read it for a bit.  It dated back to my birthday of my tenth year.  At this point in life, I think I officially started recording my thoughts, in one form or another.  The diary itself has entries spanning at least 4 years - at some point I will publish some of the funnier entries.  Oh the mind of an adolescent!

This particular diary had each dated page divided into 5 sections - and the idea was you wrote in the year and used it as a 5 year diary.  The diary writing space was always too short for me (I have forever and a day been talkative and wordy - I know -- Surprise, surprise!). So as I aged, I moved to journal writing.  I fell in love with blank books - custom made books, and pens.  I love the process of actually putting pen to paper even today.  Using the computer or one of many of the devices I can dictate or type into is just not the same.

So during my young adult life, I am sad to report that the only journal to survive over time was my poetry journal. All of the other journals - and there were many, got destroyed through the years.  In some cases - this was probably good.  Writing in a journal is often a cathartic activity for many of us, which causes us to fill the pages with the negative images that drive us crazy. For me, ofttimes those pages were dark, depressing, and confused - sometimes unkind - to myself as well as others.  Conversely, I am sure I must have captured something else besides the darkness, but in the end they were all destroyed - the good as well as the bad.

I decided this was probably OK.  I wrote them for myself.  I wrote them to heal myself.  I wrote them to keep myself sane, and together.  I wrote them because my private self was at war with my public self, and doing it's damnedest to tear me in two. I wrote them for many many reasons - and they served their purpose well.  So while I briefly lamented not having a written record of myself, I realized it is probably just as well. Thankfully, I am not the person I was in my 20's, or 30's and have changed even through my 40's.  Now I am approaching my 50's and I hope that I see the evolution of a whole new me again!  This time though - I may capture it in these pages!

"God" - Summer 1992, Argyle Texas

This is another piece written the summer of 1992.  It is the very first piece I had published - Echos Of Yesterday - The National Library of Poetry @1994.  I have shared it with a friend or two over the years - as well as penning it in calligraphy for my dad's office. Still one of my favorites.

God By Angela Wilcox, 1992

In the still dark night,
     Under soft moonlight,
          I wonder if You are there.

When I feel great pain,
     And no peace I can gain,
     I wonder, "Do You really care?"

Then I look in the sky,
     And the stars twinkle high,
          I know You are watching somewhere.

The creation of earth,
     The existence of birth,
          Show Your power and love everywhere.

Then when my struggles cease,
     And I allow Inner Peace,
          I feel Your strength and Your Care.

"Sunrise" - August 1992, Argyle, Texas

As that summer progressed my writings grew more hopeful - reflective of the joy that was seeping into my soul.  I have always loved the early morning... it's stillness and solitude often speak to me loudly.

Sunrise By Angela Wilcox, 1992

The morning is misty and quiet,
     Nature's music sings a song all it's own;
The birds are beginning to awaken,
     Singing and talking as the day begins to dawn.

I sit back, my feet up, just listening,
     For what things the earth might tell to me;
Awaiting as the dusk moves out darkness,
     To see with the sun what I'll see.

The clouds lying low block the sun's ascent,
     So sunlight comes slowly to my world;
The moon in it's splendor shines brightly,
     Saying "Goodnight" and leaving again.

The trees are so still, almost restless,
     As if waiting for the new day to begin;
When they'll dance with the wind on their branches,
     And open their leaves to their friends.

Again my eyes search out over the horizon,
     It's the sunrise I came out to see;
And I realize how much like my own life,
     Sunrises and sunsets can be.

Sometimes the sky is open and cloudless,
     Nothing interferes with the dawn of new light;
The day seems bright, beautiful, exciting,
     The sun has risen and all will be right.

Some mornings aren't filled with much sunshine,
     Clouds block the beauty and light.
The day seems more dull, dark and grey,
     And I must wait to catch the sun's first sight.

Each day carries within it's own beauty,
     For life does not wait for the sun;
It goes on whether sunny or cloudy,
     It does not delay, hide away, or run.

"Big Cats" - In-Sync May 3, 2014

Yesterday (May 3, 2014) we went out to the  In-Sync Exotics Wildlife Rescue and Educational Center in Wylie Texas (http://www.insyncexotics.com/).  Their stated mission from the opening page of the site:

As a non-profit organization we are dedicated to the rescue of neglected, abused and unwanted exotic felines. It is our dream that one day there will be no need for rescue facilities, but until that day happens, we will continue to educate the public on the unique attributes and characteristics of our residents; the realities of irresponsible and/or illegal exotic wild animal ownership and captive breeding; and the need for stronger and enforceable legislation against those who abuse exotic wild animals.

Jackie and I support one of the small breed cats and so we like to go out for a visit.  As a photographer, I would love to get close enough to take some pictures without double layers of safety fences to fight with.  Despite that fight, I captured a few good shots with my Cannon 3Ti - 75mm lens.  I had to use sport mode to allow me to focus through the sets of fence wires.  This was fairly effective in blurring out the fence wires (Once I figured it out!) if the subject was off away from the edge of the fence!

Here are a couple of more shots that I really love from this day!

This big boy was playing with this huge canister rolling it, hopping up on it, etc.  You realize how enormously strong he is!  Then a close up of his eyes! Such fierceness, and strength that they show!















This last one more than any at all - I wished for no fences!  I love his coloring...  Because you can get literally three feet away if they are next to the inner fence, you realize the majesty, and power and size of these cats... This is always an amazing experience to watch them, and read their stories.  I highly suggest regular visits if you live in the Dallas area or visit Dallas at some point.