LOL (Loving Out Loud)

Every time I hear Papa Murphy's slogan, "Love at 425 degrees," I think 425 degrees is nothing. Have you ever heard love at 129 decibels?

Convincing my folks that they needed hearing aids was not easy. (Primarily because people who can't hear are seldom moved by verbal persuasion.) When we began repeating everything to Dad at least three times, we finally sought professional help. His doctor told us to make sure we had his attention and to speak clearly to him. We needed to make sure other noises were not interfering with the conversation. This was interesting advice from a man who sees him every few months in a small, quiet room. It worked for him, right. It should have worked for us.

Well, muting the TV every time we wanted to say something became a bit of a challenge. We also found it hard to stop noisy traffic from passing by and silencing everyone in the restaurant was just about impossible. We decided the only quiet place where Dad could really hear and understand was the exam room at the doctor's office.

Finally, Dad agreed to get his hearing checked and, not surprisingly, he had a severe hearing loss. So he got hearing aids and we, optimists that we were, thought life would once again return to an auditory norm. 

But now that Dad could hear, it quickly became apparent that Mom couldn't. When we suggested that she should have her hearing checked as well, we entered phase two in the hearing aid saga and quickly realized that denial is not a river in Egypt.

For the next year or so we learned that we all mumbled and there were too many things on her mind to pay attention to every spoken word. By now Dad had mastered turning his hearing aids off when they watched TV because she needed the volume turned up so high. 

Just when we were thinking that would be the only adjustment ever to be made, a staff member in rehab told Mom to have her hearing checked. Suddenly it became important for her to get an appointment right away. Of course, we discovered Mom also had severe hearing loss and so she too was fitted with hearing aids.

So, just as with the Wonderful World of Walkers, we entered the Harrowing Halls of Hearing Aids. Whoever invented those little suckers, must have been guaranteed financial security for generations to come.

First of all, they are not cheap and insurance companies don't seem to think they need to help out with the purchase. Secondly, they run on batteries that last a little less time than a melting Popsicle. Add to that wax traps and tips that need to be changed frequently and small parts that stop working and need repair and it is apparent that hearing aids have created great financial and job security for a large segment of the population.

But now that we are all getting used to Mom and Dad having them, life gets very interesting when they take them out. Soon after they moved in with us, we heard them shouting after they had gone to bed. Thinking they needed help, we rushed down the stairs only to realize they were shouting at each other. Thinking perhaps they had gotten into an argument, we stood by their door to make sure they would be all right.

As we listened we realized they had taken out their hearing aids and were just saying good night to each other. It was a touching moment as each good night or I love you was followed by a shouted What? and then the corresponding What did you say? Finally, after several minutes, they managed to convey their sentiments to each other. The truly amazing part of it all is that this ritual is repeated each and every night.

In the end, I guess it's wonderful that love is still love after all these years and perhaps it is only magnified when it reaches 129 decibels.

route of magnification

Walkers and the People Who Push Them

I think the name walker is a misnomer. Right now in our house anyone who is using one doesn't do much walking. I feel like I'm in the middle of the Tortoise 500.

Actually, walkers are interesting contraptions. I hadn't given them much thought until Mom fell and broke her hip a few years ago. After surgery and weeks of therapy, she was sent home from the hospital with instructions to get a walker. It was then that we entered the amazing (and expensive) World of Walkers.

We thought she'd like to have a rollator, a four wheel walker with a seat and a basket. They come in a variety of shapes, colors, and sizes and, being the walker novices that we were, we picked a pretty one. No sooner had we bought it, than the folks from Physical Therapy, who showed up twice a week to rearrange our lives, said it wasn't safe. They said we needed an adjustable aluminum folding walker. That sounded simple enough, but since we were already suffering from walker purchasing incompetence, we let them order one for us.

Mom used that walker for only a short time before she and Dad moved into a senior living community. Suddenly she was surrounded by walkers of every make and model. She soon learned about cup holders, inside wheels and skis versus tennis balls. (Absolutely nothing to do with athletics!) We were buying and trying all kinds of new equipment.

Then during a routine doctor's visit, it was determined that Mom's walker was too low. It turns out P.T. had bought a child's walker for her. I'm sure it was an oversight. She is a rather short 99-year-old woman. Probably easily confused with a 10-year-old child.

So we needed a new walker. By now I was catching on to how this all works and so I bought one at a garage sale for $5.00. After making sure that the previous owner had only used it recovering from a broken leg and that no one had actually died in the process, I was able to convince Mom to try it out.

In the meantime, Dad also needed to use a walker and, remembering P.T's warnings, we purchased an aluminum one for him that could be extended higher than Mom's. He didn't like it and abandoned it for her original rollator. Then they learned a neighbor was selling her smaller rollator that had a compartment under the seat. (We were beginning to see that walkers are the older generation's version of sports cars. Someone always has a sleeker, newer model.) 

Mom fell in love with that walker, but after buying it decided it wasn't what she wanted. Dad decided he liked it and traded the one he was using for it. The other one (hope you're keeping up here) was added to their ever-growing walker collection.

When Mom broke her pelvis and was in rehab for five weeks, they decided her walker was too tall for her. Through an incredible deal they purchased her a shorter version of my garage sale walker for only $189.00. Amazing what bargains they can get in places like that!

Mom used the shorter one for about a year or so and then, just like clockwork, during a recent doctor's visit it was determined that her shoulder pain is due to a walker that isn't tall enough. By now we have walkers like most people have seasonal clothing. Just open the closet and choose the color, length, and style you want!

Amazingly all those choices came in handy this past week when Michael hurt his foot and, you guessed it, needed a walker. Thank goodness he's never been much of a sports car enthusiast. He just grabbed the first available one and took off like a champ.

It's been a couple days, though, and I just found him going through the closet looking for another model. I wonder if they make one with racing stripes.

the route of many choices

Route 66 (and then some)

I remember years ago when 40 was really old. I figured life would be about finished by then. Actually, I never really thought much past 40 because why even bother. There was nothing on the other side.

Now we have two children over 40. Amazingly there is still life for them and, even more astounding, for us too. Both Michael and I turn 68 this year. To my former way of thinking we should be drooling oatmeal by now, but amazingly, we feel the same as we did at 20. (Well, mentally. Our bodies don't quite act like 20 anymore.)

My grandma used to say, "Youth is wasted on the young." I was young so that didn't make any sense to me. As I watch our grandchildren endlessly expending energy, though, I am beginning to see what Grandma was talking about.

As we get older it's easy to settle back in our rocking chairs and decide how everyone else should act. Second guessing other people's decisions, especially family members', is easy when you don't have to make many of your own.

Maybe that is why God is keeping us in the thick of things. Every day we have to make decisions, many affecting the lives of others. We get to face challenges and road blocks and must seek Him for answers. There's no time for sitting, much less rocking.

I think God plans for each of us to have purpose every day of our lives. He waited 80 years to speak to Moses about his life's purpose. Seems to me that says God doesn't see age as an excuse for sitting back and doing nothing. (Or it took Moses a long time to get ready. Either way, it's good news as we get older.)

Last year our youngest grandson was trying to guess how old I was. After thinking about it for a while, he said, "Well, I'm not sure how old you are, but I don't think you are very old." 

How sweet! That's a pretty good compliment coming from a six-year-old. Then he continued, "Because people get really thin when they get old."

I guess that gives me something to look forward to. 

the route over the hill

Sock It To Me

Some routes in family seem to repeat from generation to generation. No matter how much we work to change them, they just keep cropping up. In my experience one of those mysterious generational patterns is what happens to wayward socks.

You'd think with all the taxpayer dollars spent on strange studies, someone by now would have invested time, energy, and money looking into where socks go when they disappear in the laundry. That seems to me a much more worthy cause than the mating habits of some obscure insect.

No doubt this dilemma has plagued families since the invention of the washing machine. In fact, who knows, maybe since socks began. I am totally convinced there is a little escape pod in the back of the washer that periodically loads up socks and jettisons into space. Sort of a mini Noah's ark that they enter one-by-one instead of two-by-two. 

I remember reading a theory somewhere that they all go to the dark side of the moon. Who knows. They might as well end up on the moon.

We even took a washer apart one time convinced that somewhere in it there had to be dozens of single socks. Nothing! Absolutely nothing! Not one sock anywhere to be seen. We have a large basket in the laundry room filled with single socks awaiting the return of their mates. Each year the pile grows larger.

Since my folks moved in with us, there are now two more sets of socks in the mix. At first I was hoping they might cross-pollinate with our socks and perhaps even begin reproducing replacements. But no, they have also joined the single sock brigade. I then hoped that perhaps my Dad's single socks might match up with Micheal's single socks, but evidently the pod can only take socks that look absolutely different from any other socks.

Last night as our daughter and her sons were leaving, our youngest grandson exclaimed, "I can't find one of my socks!" Fear gripped my heart. Had they now started disappearing outside the washer? Surely that couldn't be the case. Yet, although we searched high and low, no one could locate that sock.

This morning I found it out on the patio. I can't be sure, but I suspect it was inching its way toward the laundry room and the escape hatch. It's securely stashed in a plastic bag now and I plan to keep it safe until I can return it. My only hope is that I can get it back to him before its mate finds the pod.

the escape route

Family Planning (no, not birth control ~ a Christmas photo)

Some routes just never get you where you are trying to go.

Every Christmas we get a card from Bob and Diane Reilly in Arizona. And every year they include a photo of their entire family gathered together. I've never really counted how many, but it looks easily like a hundred people to me. Well, maybe not quite that many, but that really isn't the point.

I have often marveled at how they manage to get their entire family together for a photo op. And not only are they all together, but they are all dressed nicely and are smiling! Those working to resolve the Middle East crisis should sit down with Bob and Diane and see how they accomplish this yearly miracle.

Now maybe they don't see it that way, but I have tried for years to get twelve people together in one place for a picture. After many attempts I am convinced that is always going to remain a dream of mine. I've even added it to my bucket list.

I am convinced that the same forces that control the ocean tides are somehow linked to family photos. Over the years there have been just too many strange occurrences to believe it all happens by chance.

If we plan ahead, something always happens that prevents someone from getting there. If we try to be spontaneous, there is always a disaster that requires a trip to the ER or at the very least results in lots of tears and swollen faces.

If we actually do manage to get everyone to stand together and smile, we get grandkids with crossed eyes or facial expressions that would seem to indicate acute intestinal distress. If we retake the photo, the same phenomenon shifts to another child that had looked great in the previous picture.

A couple years ago we resorted to Photoshopping the grandkids into a family photo after they got out of the hot tub. People must have wondered why they were the only ones with wet hair. At least no one looked like they were in pain or needed eye surgery.

Watching Will and Kate take such stately photos with baby George, I wonder if that sweet little boy will ever cross his eyes or contort his cute little face. Maybe being royalty helps. Then again, I have never seen a photo of lots of royal family members all gathered around a couch after dinner. But, if they ever did, I bet none of them would have wet hair.

route of frustration

Marriage, Where Two Cultures Collide

I remember the day years ago when one of our children asked me if I rode in stage coaches when I was young. I laughed then, but now I sometimes wonder if maybe I did. Youth seems a very long time ago.

They say you get wiser as you get older and I am sure that is true. I am also sure that is why most people marry when they are young. The unchecked optimism of youth and the blindness of love combine to get us to the altar. It is only after our vows are taken and we begin brushing our teeth side-by-side that we truly experience the challenges of married life.

Michael and I are both first-borns which makes for a very exciting relationship. Both of us know exactly how everything should be done and we like to have people listen to us and do it our way. Around the house we're like two generals marching off to war with no one following behind.

In addition, we have totally opposite personalities. Michael is big picture, I am microscopic detail. Michael is sanguine, I am melancholy. Michael is a procrastinator, I am a list checker-offer. So throughout our marriage we have approached every new endeavor from two totally opposite points of view.

The first years of our marriage were a battle ground that eventually turned into a separation headed for divorce. Seeing how bad we were at marriage, the Lord intervened and got us back together. Since He did all the work, we figured He got to choose what he wanted us to do. When He decided we should be in marriage ministry, though, we thought He got our record mixed up with someone elses.

Initially we seemed ill-fitted for the job, but through the years we have discovered that seeing everything from two different angles and being totally unwilling to give in has served us very well in marriage ministry. Based on our history, there isn't much couples can share with us that we hadn't either done or thought about so nothing shocks us. And since we were such a mess and totally incapable of fixing anything ourselves, we know how to stand in faith and trust the Lord completely.

(Mr. Big Picture just came in and told me that while I was writing this he totally re-planned the family get-together we had scheduled tonight. Mrs. Detail asked a couple questions and it became apparent that there were any number of important things that he hadn't thought about. He is now back on the phone re-planning the re-plan. Ah, consistency is so comforting!)

Anyway, as I was about to say, through the years we managed to raise three great kids who turned out super in spite of us. They now are married and we have four beautiful grandkids. (Our youngest son and his wife haven't yet heard the Lord speaking to them about their contribution to generational reproduction, but we are confident they will soon.)

Last year we moved my folks into our home and began learning more about elder care than we had ever hoped for. So instead of retiring and moving to Fiji, here we are helping one generation to finish their journey, another generation to maximize theirs, and a third generation to begin theirs.

This is family. It's what life is all about. We are each born into one and, if we're blessed, we finish life surrounded by one. What happens in between is what routes are all about. 

marriage ~ a narrow route for two

Why Routes (to make sense, pronounce it roots)

Living in a family is like traveling on various types of roads. Some days it's smooth going, other days it's all bumps and gravel, and every now and then we reach a super highway. 

My husband, Michael, and I have reached that wonderful age that years ago we looked forward to as retirement. The time in life when you kick back, quit work, and travel the world. No one told us back then about sandwiches or, in particular, becoming one. Evidently being sandwiched between generations and their needs and issues doesn't merit a brochure.

We have come to realize that when you live in family you don't live in a vacuum. (Even though you may feel you have been sucked into something.) Right now we find ourselves surrounded by parents, children, and grandchildren. That retirement plan hasn't kicked in yet and there's not a travel brochure in sight. 

Yesterday while driving home from work, Michael suggested that I blog about marriage and family. Of course, I eagerly accepted the idea of adding one more thing to my plate. After all, I still have an hour or so every now and then that is not scheduled. Why not fill that up as well. I explained to him that I was already doing what he suggested in other forms; writing about marriage, family, and elder care. I thought that logic would be enough to change the subject, but Michael persisted with his argument that I had never combined them all into one. 

Now as much as I wanted to shut down the conversation, I had to admit that he had a point. You can't get the full picture of extended family life when you just focus on one aspect or another. Besides, he continued, it would be a great way to humorously talk about all the challenges. (His words, not mine.)

So traveling homeward, we began talking about roads we have traveled and how they compare to the roads of life. As we have driven across our nation and in other countries around the world, we have often been enjoying a beautiful highway only to enter a construction zone where pavement disappears and we weave through a dusty one-lane road for a while. Family is like that sometimes.

Then we thought about scenic routes versus the fastest way to get there. We experience that in family as well. We are often in a hurry to get through a current situation when the Lord seems to want us to linger on that road for a while. Sometimes the sweetest things happen in family when we slow down and let God work.

Then there are dead end roads that look so good in the beginning, but end up going no where. There are congested roads, and winding roads, and roads with no light at the end of the tunnel, and... Yes, I agreed, family is like each one of them at times. As we made the final turn onto our street, he almost had me convinced.

When we got home (after fixing dinner, getting my folks to bed, joining in a Bible study, and finishing up some laundry) I looked up "route." 

It means:

• a way to get from one place to another place
• a way that someone or something regularly travels along
• a way of achieving or doing something

Okay, I'm convinced. That sounds like family to me!

the scenic route