So THAT'S what 50 looks like!

Disclaimer:  I began this on my 50th birthday in May 2013 and just found it, unpublished.  I suppose it still rings true.

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For the last few weeks, I've been taking good long looks at myself in the mirror, trying to see what, exactly turning 50 would look like.  I've been perusing laugh lines with a 10x mirror, checking for age spots and just generally trying to figure out how I can be 50.  I don't look like what 50 did when I was a kid, and I've gone through old pictures just to check.  Good living, amazing genes and lots of luck have given me this gift. 

But what I have concluded 50 looks like on a much bigger scale is just this: life's lessons along the way make us all who we are, no matter what age we are.   Here are a few of mine:

1.  When I was a kid, maybe 5 or 6, my grown-up (2 years older) cousin, Theresa, gave me her bike when she got a brand new one.  It was a cool little gold-colored one and what I loved best was the flat metal "back seat" over the rear tire.  That bike is what I learned to ride on but how I learned was by sitting on the back seat where I was about 3 inches closer to the ground, leaned over the front seat and pedaled away.  I wish now my dad had a Smart Phone and could have photographed that because the visual I get now makes me laugh.  Anyway, one day, after riding the bike in this fashion for quite a while, my dad suggested I ought to try the real seat and even went so far as to say that if I couldn't ride it across the lawn regularly that maybe I wasn't big enough for this bike.  Challenge accepted: I didn't like it, but the lesson was that if you don't try, you'll never do it.

2.  When I was in grade school, I went to a 6-classroom school house, with each room being home to each of the 6 grades I attended in elementary school.  The lunchroom on the lower level was a place where older students, 5th and 6th graders if I remember right, could sign up to help and if you were on the list, you got out of class maybe 30 minutes before lunch to help get ready for lunchtime.  Two people would sign up together, and it was typically best friends who would do it together.  I remember vividly signing up with one of two other little girls when one or the other or both of us were the selected uncool kids in the group of little girls in our class.  And nearly without exception, one of us would be back "in" when the time came to do our lunch duty and we'd have to work with "her."   Kids are so cruel, and this taught me, though I probably didn't know it at the time, to try to be nice to everyone because maybe they had something going on in their life we didn't know about.

3.  In Jr. High, all I wanted was to be a popular girl.  I had many friends but never considered myself "popular", meaning to sit at That table, or be considered cute byThat boy.  So I picked a girl or two whom I considered popular and copied them, not realizing that everyone but me know that wasn't me.  I was constantly told to be myself, and I became pretty alienated from many who had previously considered me a friend.  The lesson, of course, was people love you for who you are, not who you might think you want to be.

4.  I worked hard and had the opportunity to graduate college a year early, though I had just a few credits to earn a second major so elected to return another term.  I was lucky enough to secure a position right out of college so in February of 1985, I began my career.  I returned to my alma mater to participate in the commencement in May but instead of a diploma inside the folder, there was a note saying I had an outstanding balance on my account and my diploma would be held pending final payment.  I reveled in the day and returned Monday morning to my job and put a check in the mail for the balance due.  Cut to nearly a year later and I was called into my boss's office - he'd been told I didn't have a degree and asked me to bring in my diploma.  I told him the above story and promptly called my alma mater who then told me I was a few credits short.  This was all news to me, especially since my records had shown I had more than enough credits.  My boss gave me 2 weeks to clear it up and I discovered that two field study classes I'd taken through a local community college had not been transferred so I got to work on that and 3 weeks later, I had a note from the registrar, showing all was well.  Yep, 3 weeks - I'd been given 2 so my first career out of school was over.  I'm leaving out lots of details, but suffice it to say, I learned one can rely only on oneself, no matter what the situation.  I should have not counted on my college advisor nor on others along the way.

5.

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That's as far as I got back then.  I had exponentially many more life's lessons but I'll let those come out in a few years.

Maybe when I turn 60.

We Don't Know What We Don't Know

I don't understand.  I've never been clinically depressed so I don't understand.  Relatives?  Yes.  Friends?  Definitely.  Celebrities?  Too many to count.  So when I hear that someone I and the world loves takes his own life,  no matter how much I want to, I don't understand.

By every account, he gave joy to everyone, everywhere he went.  So who could have known what was buried within?  Such is the way depression presents itself so often:  the afflicted does his or her best to bury it, so no one knows - and can you blame them?  "Ah, just do something that makes you happy."  "Take a happy pill."  "C'mon, snap out of it."  In talking to a friend who suffers from this very real condition, these are only some of the things she's heard so of course she is going to bury it.  I would too.

But I, luckily and maybe against all odds, have never had to do that.  I, luckily and maybe against all odds, don't suffer from depression so I don't understand.  I want to, I desperately want to understand so that in at least some tiny way, I can help.  

I'll never forget that day at Linfield.  I was standing on my porch when my best friend arrived home next door after a weekend at home with his family.  He was visibly upset and when I approached him, he broke into tears and told me they had found his grandfather who had taken his own life.  All I could do was hold my friend and wonder why the old man didn't tell anyone, and why, after so many years, did he chose to do it then and mostly, why, why did he chose to do it in such a violent way and in full visibility so that when his son and family drove up his driveway, he was the first thing they saw?  I remember being so mad at him for creating such pain in my friend.  It made me think of my own grandfather who I never knew.  When he died by self-inflicted gunshot, there was a years-long investigation as to whether it was a gun-cleaning accident or if, in fact, he chose to take his own life.  No one will ever know.

Since then, though, I've known the people who have suffered.  I've cried with them, I've held them, I've done everything in my power to help.  But it's not something someone like me, programmed to fix things, can take away.  It is so frustrating to not be able to help, and I feel actual anger when my friends hold back because they "don't want to bother me."   Well goddammit, I may not understand but I want them to bother me. I'll come over and crawl into bed with them and hold them.  I'll cook for them.  I'll make sure their bodies are nourished and their pets are fed and their house is cleaned and their physical life is taken care of.  

Because I don't know what I would do if one died at his or her own hand if there were even an inkling of a possibility that I could have helped.  

We, everyone, are LOVED and needed, I promise.  And not just by me, I guarantee it.  I know sometimes it is hard to fathom that one amazing bit of information but it is true.  And I don't make promises I can't keep.

I know this is disjointed.  It is just like the disease of depression, of that I am sure: thoughts in and around, not knowing where to go - but with help, maybe, just maybe, it will all begin to make sense.

Rest in Peace, Mr. Williams.

Social Media and All It's Cracked Up To Be

Many years ago, at an early 90s Thanksgiving dinner, my cousin Jeff told me he had recently talked to his sister, Susy, who lived in Barrow, Alaska, for over an hour.  I responded that I would be interested in knowing what the price tag on that call would be and he told me they had chatted via AOL.  "AOL?" I asked.  And the next day, I installed it on my computer and a new world began. 

AOL introduced me to many people all over the United States and as I hung out in the Thirtysomething and Portland chat rooms, I met people who eventually became real, true friends from all over the US, many of whom remain in my life today.  In fact, and few people really know this, the first time I met my husband was when this guy named Dave41236 (or something - we just called him DaveAndABunchOfNumbers) popped into the Portland chat room because he was moving to Portland and wanted our opinion on where he should live and what was going on.  Several months later, LeAnn (Waverunner) introduced Dave and me at a party and within a couple of months, we were dating - the rest is history.  Dave and I stopped hanging out in Chat Rooms after we got married and shortly thereafter, we changed our email from AOL and barely gave it another thought.

Until Facebook entered our lives.  Here was a wonderful avenue for reconnecting with friends and staying in touch with family.  "Finding" childhood buddies and college classmates is the main part but just recently I've learned the true value of this social media outlet.

Our friends have recently adopted a little family of four siblings (aged 13 boy, 3-year old twin boys and 8 month-old girl) and because their youngest-of-three bio kids is 10, they no longer had essentials for little kids.  On a lark, I posted to my Facebook page a request that if anyone had outgrown clothes or items they were no longer using and which might be in Goodwill bags, might they consider rerouting them to this little family whose hearts were overflowing but who needed some essentials for the additions to their family.  I could not have anticipated what happened next:

Within two days, my friend who lives in Qatar had sent to my friend's email box gift certificates to two retail locations.  I had sent to my mail box for them a $100 gift card from a childhood friend.  I had delivered to my house a crib with all linens and necessities, safety gates, closthes and toys; I had promises of donations and help from far and wide, and none of these amazing people knew my friends.  Then a friend posted my request to HER Facebook page and earlier this week, I met the daughter of her friend who had put out the word in her office and the back of my Escape was filled with what she and her co-workers had gathered, including another gift card.  So the daughter of a friend of a friend of a friend has touched this little family and all because of this social media outlet.

Oh, there are so many more examples I could cite.  Sure, there are the not-so-positive political and religious arguments that one can chose to ignore - but for the most part, young Mark did the world a favor when he hacked into that mainframe and I'm thankful for the reconnections and the hearts I've come to know.  Real, true friendships.

We've come a long way from "you've got mail."