If I Had Known

Facebook does a wonderful job with its “On this day” memory joggers posted daily on my feed. Reminders of happy times and the beautiful life I had with my best friend by my side. But since That Day, they recall a time when I lived in blissful ignorance. When a day was just another rotation of the earth, and the expectation of more “On this day’s” was not questioned. Now the memories trigger a new response – what would I have said/done if I had known it would be the last time my Kahuna and I would share that experience?

I thought we had more time. The best the oncologist could offer, with aggressive treatment, was two years. We had Christmas, New Years, Valentine’s Day and both our birthdays to silently contemplate the unspoken question – would they be our last? I could see it in his eyes when those thoughts crossed his mind. And I tried so hard not to let my worst fear override my hope. We bought tickets to The Eagles concert next September. Planned fishing trips in the Sierras this summer. Then complications to chemo took him suddenly, and the unspoken thoughts from which we so carefully protected each other were answered. There would be no new memories to be made. I wasn’t ready to say goodbye.

Looking back now from my new widow’s perch, I ask myself what I would have done differently if I had known the innocent moments and annual milestones in our past year were going to be the last with my Kahuna…

If I had known:

• I wouldn’t have been cranky the day before he died. He was struggling with the newest chemo regimen, and I was concerned. I drove my weak Kahuna to doctor appointments to see if they could adjust medications or prescribe something new to help him. I was worried. Tired. I had become chauffer, caregiver, housekeeper, dietician and office assistant (he was still working, even in his weakened condition). By late afternoon, my fear and fatigue surfaced in a snippy retort to one of his innocent questions. When I snapped, he apologized to me for being so needy, and I felt horrible. If I had known he would be gone in a matter of hours, I would have dropped everything and been less selfish.

• I would have recorded him as he shared “stories.” They were his trademark, and he had a tale to spin on any number of topics and life experiences. If I had heard them once, I had heard them ten thousand times, yet he retold every story with the exuberance and expression as if it had just happened! I had even developed my own sign language when he was losing the attention of his audience – a gentle squeeze of his leg, if it was in range.  Or a simple sweep of my hand across my neck if the leg move wasn’t an option! He knew the gesture was his signal to begin wrapping up the story, which could take another fifteen minutes! If I had known I was hearing his tales for the last time, I would have begged him to continue. Now I find myself looking for old videos that capture some of his funny comments and George-isms.

• I would have paid him more compliments. I was the queen of corrections and learned over the years how my nitpicky attention to detail deflated him. “It’s Alz-heimers, not Alt-heimers.” Why did I let little things like that bother me? I don’t think I told him often enough what an amazing man he was. If I had known, I would have channeled my inner Mr. Rogers and told him every day how much I loved him, “just the way he was.” Because I really did!

• I would not have passed up an opportunity to share a kiss or a hug even in those moments that seemed irrelevant. I would have considered every expression of desire a huge compliment, instead of the occasional annoyance; “Honey, not here. Not now. I’m making dinner.” Oh how I miss his touch now.

• I would have been more patient with his Adult Attention Deficit Disorder idiosyncrasies. Lists are essential to adults with ADD, and my Kahuna made it clear that any honey-do task or shopping trip with more than two items required a written back-up. Shopping lists in particular were interesting. If my list included, “Large can of Hunts kidney beans,” I could expect two of the three to four descriptors to be met – and have the large can of Hunts garbanzo beans in the pantry to prove it! If I had known, I would have thanked him for doing the shopping - and made hummus!

• I would have done fewer eye rolls when he was watching his old “classic” TV shows, and sat down with him - and laughed at the decades old jokes. It was actually this incident that triggered my earlier, snappy moment on his last day home. “Come sit down and watch TV with me.” he said. “I can’t. I still have to finish the laundry, get dinner started and return calls.” It haunts me now. If I had known, I would have sat with him the rest of the night.

Last anniversary. Last trip to Hawaii. Last winery visit. Last lunch date. Last Thanksgiving. Last hug. Last kiss. Last dance. Last. Last. Last. As I look back on the ordinary and extraordinary days we shared, it’s still hard to wrap my head around the finality they all represented as Paula and George. Before That Day, every day was beautiful, even in its uneventfulness. If I had known, I would have soaked in every last detail. His face smiling with his love for the Lovely Paula Marie. His hand holding mine. His laugh. The playful banter with others. Instead, I rely on saved iPhone videos and Facebook memories to keep his voice wrapped around me. I want to hold on to it forever.

Last Father's Day

Last Anniversary

Last Dodgers Game

Last NYC Christmas

I am bracing for the upcoming “firsts” without George. Father’s Day. Our anniversary –it would have been our 44th on July 6. Holidays. Birthdays. The list goes on, and I’m sure each will bring with it the memories of my happy Kahuna and his LPM – along with the tears that dwell behind the façade masking my broken heart. If only I had known.

Kahuna Gone

I survived Day 2 of my Kahuna-less life. My loved ones are ferociously protective of me and have taken George’s place in making sure I am safe. He has to be so grateful to them for assuming that role. So am I. And yet my heart aches that his place had to be taken.

Family and friends filled the house as we shared tears and laughter (and by evening, wine) remembering George! In the morning we visited the mortuary to handle final arrangements, and made stops to visit and leave flowers for my sister Janet and George’s mom Bette. The night ended in true Cass de Hultman fashion, with a few of us sitting around the fire pit telling more stories about a man who had such an impact on so many people. In bed, I clutched his pillow again and held the one piece of clothing that still carries the scent of my beautiful man. This big bed feels so empty. My Kahuna was a key player in all but the first 17 years of my life. How I will carry-on without him is the question I can’t yet answer.

“Hey, Paula! Your husband just died. What are you going to do next?” I’m going to Disneyland! Yes. It’s true. Alison and her family had made the plans several weeks ago before our world took this sad and unexpected turn. Thankfully, they made the decision not to cancel their trip. As we talked yesterday about the days ahead I thought to myself, “I should go too.” It was a place where George and I happily became kids again. Being with the grands would be a beautiful diversion from reality for a day. I could be the saddest person on earth at the happiest place on earth! So this afternoon after we visit a few places in mind for George’s memorial, I’m taking my seat between sweet Max and Kelly to lose myself in Disney imagined make believe - definitely a George-approved diversion.

The extraordinary outpouring of tributes and shared memories have been so appreciated. PLEASE KEEP THEM COMING! They bring back a flood of beautiful memories and provide tremendous comfort. I am saving each and every post, message and comment, and plan on creating a collection of George Moments in which to immerse myself whenever I need to feel his presence.

I am deeply grateful and profoundly overwhelmed by the love and kindness you have shown me along this journey. The flowers, cards, gifts, food, messages, visits and hugs - both virtual and physical - have helped me cope with the grief that consumes me. It’s impossible to express the depth of my appreciation. I am...speechless. ❤️

I Didn’t Cry Tomorrow

Warning:  You are about to enter Paula’s Pity Party, fueled by a couple of stiff drinks. Buckle up and proceed at your own risk!

I start every day with the best of intentions. I can do this. I am strong. I choose hope. I have so much to be grateful for. Then reality rears its ugly head. I’ll be strong...tomorrow.

Only You

Yesterday marked month three of the nightmare that is a cancer diagnosis. We were crushed to learn Hubby’s first chemo regimen did not slow the growth of the tumor in his bile ducts, as I shared in my last post. The new chemo drugs added a level of side effects making day to day life even more challenging. My OCD – Obsessive Cleaning Disorder – may be a factor in the discomfort I am feeling over the hair loss that Hubby is now experiencing! His muted taste buds, mouth sores, loss of appetite, weight loss and extreme fatigue are the larger issues, but Hubby’s shedding has surpassed our goofy Golden Retriever Charlie in fueling my compulsive vacuuming!

The physical effects and visual reminders of chemo have made it much more difficult for me to envelop myself in a cloak of positivity. Hubby doesn’t dwell on it as I do. He’s still working. His clients are aware of his health “issues” on a need-to-know basis. He helps people. Solves problems. Gets clients through their personal crises. He has power in his work life that is nonexistent in his cancer battle. I see his strength when he’s working and feel the sadness seeing the same man – smaller, weaker, vulnerable – asleep in his favorite chair for a mid-day respite. I love him. I admire him. I secretly cry seeing him change before my eyes. As much as I would love for him to close his practice, I completely understand why he hasn’t. And I admire him for his selflessness. My Big Kahuna has no time or interest in pity parties. But me? Not so much…

“Are you taking care of yourself?” My welfare became the secondary focus of several friends at Hubby’s birthday celebration last month. I assured them I was, and turned the focus back on Hubby. At this point in our journey I am preoccupied with his well-being, and that’s exactly where I want to be. But the toll is starting to show. A few extra pounds courtesy of stress eating. Fewer steps on my FitBit, as Charlie can begrudgingly confirm. I’ve put off appointments with a new yoga class, and have a growing stack of unread books. Taking care of me? How can I think of anything but Hubby – and an occasional date with this blog.

Life is now driven by an evil intruder. I sleep with one eye open. In bed I touch Hubby’s hand to gauge his temperature. Our intimacy is a beautiful memory – cancer and chemo have stolen my amorous lover. His breath next to mine is no longer an annoyance, but a precious affirmation of his presence.  Last night as I lay next to him, I focused on the man with whom I have shared a bed for almost 44 years. How many more nights will he be here? I cried quietly, wishing I could turn back time to when we spoke of growing old together.

This week our personal battle was overshadowed by the death of a beautiful young woman. She was Daughter’s lifelong friend. A loving wife, and dedicated mother to two young children. Her nine month battle with colon and liver cancer was – until her final week – one of courage, determination and hope. Yet cancer won. We are heartbroken, and I can’t shake the sense of foreboding it represents for Hubby’s journey. I shed more tears, and felt guilty at the same time. Hubby and I have been married more years than our sweet friend had lived. In typical Pitiful Paula fashion, I shamed myself for overlaying Hubby’s future on her heartbreaking loss. She never gave up hope. I shouldn’t either. Why is it so hard to stay positive?

We have lived in the “for better” bubble for longer than most couples could imagine, and now that “or worse” has been thrust upon us, I’m all in as Hubby's alpha-wife - until I’m not. Last week was one of those “not” moments. Without warning, I was struck with a rare, uncontrollable moment of tearful sadness in Hubby’s presence. It caught him - and me - by surprise. As much as I tried, I couldn’t spare him from my meltdown. As always he knew just what to say. Dropping everything at his desk, he asked, “Do you want to sit on my lap and cry together?” In that moment, I became five year old Paula. All I could do was nod as I headed for the safety and security of his outstretched arms, and sobbed uncontrollably for the first time since The News. I said everything I had been feeling the past three months. “I hate this. I am not ready to lose you. I don’t know what I am going to do without you. I’m scared.” The flood gates had opened and he did what he has done forever. He told me everything would be okay. And although I knew it wouldn’t, I felt better hearing him say the words.

Before The News, I was a naive onlooker to other people’s cancer journeys. Sympathetic? Absolutely. Empathetic? I realize now how much I didn’t understand about what others were going through. Now I think I do. It’s a life lesson that, frankly, I would have been more than happy to have skipped. But as every caregiver knows, I wasn’t given a choice. I am actively seeking a support group to help me deal with the range of emotions that fill my head and heart. I’ll keep wearing the cloak of positivity - and hope tomorrow will be a better day. 

Happy Hubby living the dream. Dodgers Spring Training 2018

My Big Kahuna. Senior year, 1968

50 years ago. Friends first. Lovers later. 

I'm Sorry

December 22. The date is burned into my memory. We had been bracing for answers to why Hubby’s health had taken such a sudden and catastrophic turn. The explanation for the sudden onset of acute renal failure didn’t fit neatly into any categories. Initial results indicated cancer, but more pathology was required before the specifics could be confirmed. We would have to await results. The wait was agonizing.

Two weeks later we held our collective breath as we sat, for the first time in either of our lives, in an oncologist’s waiting room. A muted big screen monitor screened footage of snow falling among the golden, shimmering aspen leaves in a serene idyllic mountain setting. A stunning arrangement of pine boughs and poinsettia acknowledged the jolly holiday season. A tabletop held neatly displayed brochures on a variety of relevant topics. Cancer support groups. Caregiver resources. A newsletter offered the BOLD Headline: California End of Life Option Act: Hoping for the Best, Planning for the Worst, and Knowing You Options. We weren’t in Kansas anymore.

Everyone was so positive!! The door to the inner sanctum opened frequently, as cancer patients and caregivers made their way to what, I was to discover later, was the multi-chair chemo center. Smiles abounded. Staff members welcomed patients back, engaging in congenial small talk. A jovial woman navigated her walker to a waiting room chair, smiling broadly under her crocheted cap to cover her hairlessness. “You still have your hair!” she commented to someone she apparently knew from previous chemo sessions. “So far!” he replied, smiling broadly. How could people here be so upbeat? This was an oncologist’s office. Cancer, the most evil, unfair and terrifying demon brought people here, yet they were exchanging smiles, pleasantries and holiday cheer. Christmas was just three days away, and the spirit of positivity abounded in a CANCER office.

Hubby and I were the exception to the light hearted mood. We were moments from the news we had been awaiting. My head was filled with hope - and fear. The “many voices of me” played an endless loop of happy endings, along with terrifying “life without Hubby” nightmares. We thought we were ready to find out….

No one can prepare for the news we received. Hubby’s doctor was gentle but direct. He told us how sorry he was that he didn’t have better news. Outlined detailed treatment options for the rare cancer threatening to steal my lifelong partner from me. Offered details about oncology specialists we should contact for second (and third, and fourth) opinions, and gave us his personal email for questions that may arise over the long holiday weekend. I had stopped trying to take notes, and secretly had my phone voice recorder capturing his words in order to play it back when my heart wasn’t pounding louder than his voice.

Through it all, Hubby listened intently, expressionless. No questions. No overt reaction. He may as well have been listening to a judge pronouncing a verdict after one of his court appearances. His only words to the doctor were, “Man, I’d hate to have your job.” That was it. A few closing comments followed, and the doctor gave Hubby an “I’m sorry” handshake and pat on the back as he exited the room.

We hadn’t uttered a word to each other. An examination table separated our two chairs, making even hand holding impossible as Hubby received the prognosis and time line. We had controlled our emotions in those agonizing minutes. Once the doctor left the room, we stood up, walked to each other and shared an embrace unlike any I could remember. I didn’t know what to say. But he did. Two words defined the man who has put others before himself his entire life. “I’m sorry.” As he received his “sentence”, my protector felt the rush of guilt for spoiling my happily ever after. We hugged as I melted into his still strong embrace. We wallowed in that tragic moment for a mere few seconds, then shook it off and put on our game face. There was no time to waste. Cancer wasn’t taking a break inside my Big Kahuna, and we couldn’t either.

We were unusually quiet as we headed home into the last light of what was a gorgeous SoCal winter sunset. As he drove, Hubby’s first comment was, “You’re going to be fine, I’ve got everything in place for you…” I stopped him mid-sentence. I was not ready. At the same time, I understood my man. Always putting others first. ALWAYS putting my needs first. He was about to begin the toughest battle of his life, yet his first thoughts centered on my future.

We made the decision to invite our son, daughter and their families to come to the house that evening, so we could tell them the news. Christmas was around the corner and our preschool and infant grandchildren were giddy with excitement. The juxtaposition of Hubby’s bombshell and Santa’s pending arrival had to be carefully played. Daughter held her 5 month old daughter, son attended to his 2 year old, happily eating blueberries, and son-in-law kept almost 4 year old son distracted…as their father found the words none of them wanted to hear. Like the doctor, he was brief and direct – and immediately assured them that he was ready to fight the good fight. Everyone guarded their emotions from the littles in the room, who were too young to feel the punch to the gut that followed the announcement. But their faces spoke volumes. Quiet tears mixed with bouncing baby girl and her sweet smile. Blank stares into the unknowns of their father’s future, against the playful banter of cousins happily engaged with treasures in Gigi and Grandpa’s toy closet. As unfortunate as the timing of the news, the joy of children at Christmas would prove to be a much needed diversion...

Christmas Eve was spent quietly, a seismic shift from the typical Hultman Christmas Eve Spectacular of the previous 38 years. Daughter hosted a Christmas Eve Pajama Party for our immediate family – the same party of 8 with whom we shared The News two nights earlier. Hubby continued his traditional reading of The Night Before Christmas to the less-than-attentive toddlers! Son, Daughter and I, on the other hand, didn’t want to miss a word. The significance of this Christmas Eve custom had a new poignancy. I recorded all of it – squirmy, chatty grandkids and all. I pray we will repeat the tradition next year and beyond.

Our quiet, mutually agreed upon giftless Christmas morning started with a kiss. We headed back to Daughter’s home, greeted by oldest Grandson’s announcement that Santa had indeed come, and the inquiry to both Grandpa and me, “Did Santa bring you coal or presents?” I assured him we were on the Nice List which brought him great relief! Daughter, our designated Santa delivered joyfully wrapped presents to their intended recipients.

One – then two – and three packages made their way to me, with the telltale handwriting and tags. “To the Lovely Paula Marie, from The Big Kahuna. To Mrs. H. from Mr. H. To Mom from Charlie (our goofy Golden)”. I could not hold back my tears. We vowed not to exchange presents, yet Hubby had broken the rules. “I’m sorry,” he said. I immediately understood the reason why he had ignored our no gifts pledge. We didn’t have to say it but it was never far from our minds – what will next Christmas hold in store?

In those first few days after the diagnosis, we rode an emotional roller coaster of fear and uncertainty, wistful hope and forced positivity. In the weeks since, we are finding our footing. Hubby feels well enough to continue working, with a few tweaks to his calendar. His kidneys are healing and dialysis may soon be discontinued permanently. His sense of humor is intact - his biggest compliment coming from the staff of his nephrologist's office, "Mr. Hultman, you are my favorite patient!" There have been some terrifying moments too, to be shared in a future post, along with immeasurable gratitude to family and friends for their seemingly limitless support. I don’t think Hubby comprehended how his lifetime of generosity and selflessness touched others. He has been moved to tears more than once – not by the fight he faces – but by the avalanche of kindness, compassion, prayers and support from so many. After one particular act of thoughtfulness, he commented, “People are being so nice,” as his eyes welled up and voice cracked. Wiping away the tears, embarrassed by his tearful moment, he said, “I’m sorry.” Honey, you have nothing to apologize for. You are still the strongest person I know. I promise to stay #kahunastrong

Kahuna Strong - An Unexpected Journey

My Big Kahuna and me. 50 years of memories.

We rang in 2018 together, celebrating west coast New Year’s Eve on east coast time! 3,2,1 HAPPY NEW YEAR!!!! We kissed, and hugged tighter. Longer.  Made a promise to repeat this hug a year from now - something we never felt the need to say before. We held hands, and in that moment we both knew what the other was thinking. Would this be our last New Year?  I have felt the warm touch of his strong hand wrapped around mine for 46 New Year’s Eves. A week earlier I stopped taking for granted the otherwise trivial act of intertwining fingers with my best friend, lover, confidant, problem solver, and father of my children…

In a matter of seconds, on the eve of the long Christmas weekend, I felt the blood rush from my heart to the pit of my stomach. My throat tightened and I felt the heat in my temples as millions of brain cells processed the incomprehensible. Hubby has cancer. Rare. Incurable. Advanced. The oncologist gave us the verdict, and pronounced the sentence. His words gave an urgency and new meaning to everything.

Chemo has begun – and not without drama (to be shared in an upcoming post). He has been receiving thrice weekly dialysis for the acute renal failure triggered by the cancer. Hubby is a fighter and is treating this as he would as one of his trials. In his words, “This cancer is no different than cross-examining a hostile witness. Be aggressive, stay in control and cut them no slack until they are brought to their knees.” Those enemy cancer cells picked the wrong guy to mess with!

50 years ago, the friendliest boy in our senior class noticed a shy, bookish, insecure classmate. A friendship began, and three years later blossomed into a love affair. 44 years ago we exchanged the “for better or worse, in sickness and in health” vows - and have been blessed with a lifetime of “better” and “health”. We weren’t prepared for opposite ends of those vows, but it’s the hand we’ve been dealt. 

Until now, news of Hubby's diagnosis has been limited to family and extended family. It has taken time for us to adjust to the new normal. He had chosen to control the narrative, and still hopes not to  be defined by the diagnosis. But knowing that my therapy is writing, Hubby gave his blessing to sharing his journey from my perspective. Thank you, honey. We’re in this new chapter together and the love of my life – my Big Kahuna - remains #kahunastrong.

The Route to 66

It’s official. I am a Medicare card carrying, Social Security receiving Super Adult. Today marks the 66^th anniversary of that eventful day when my 42 year old parents, and my 19 and 14 year old siblings welcomed little Paula Marie into the world. I have tearfully said goodbye to Mom, Dad and my sibs, but I feel their presence always, and know they are celebrating with me today as I mark another notch in my birthday belt.

The past year was marked with some challenges and milestones – a debilitating back injury and surgery, retirement, Hubby happily relocating to a home office, and all of the adjustments that ensued. While I may have moved to the last age demographic bubble on (almost) every survey, there’s still a lot of life left in this girl!

I also find myself being more reflective. What have I learned so far on my journey? Here are 17 Things I Learned On My Route to 66.

1. I have had a simple, full life. I have reconciled any regrets with self-forgiveness
2. I reinvented myself and my careers, choosing always to follow my heart
3. I have made lifelong friendships
4. I have not let the worst moments of my life affect the best moments
5. My children are my greatest accomplishment
6. Grandparenting is my reward for not inadvertently killing my kids as their clueless mother!
7. I am happiest when Hubby is by my side
8. Laughter is the secret sauce of a great marriage
9. Letting go of toxic relationships is liberating.
10. Perfectionism is an excuse - and a roadblock to growth
11. Giving selflessly is reward enough
12. Fighting against social injustice is ageless
13. Forget science and technology. Well engineered undergarments (aka Spanx)  are the best invention of the past 100 years
14. You’re never too old to dance
15. Every fashion trend will reappear in time – except, maybe, shoulder pads
16. Pie trumps cake
17. Love trumps hate

Aging is inevitable. Your relationship with age is a choice. I choose to embrace the physical reminders and cherish the gifts that my years have bestowed on me.  Hubby is taking me to the Happiest Place on Earth today, where I will proudly wear my “It’s My Birthday” button, enjoy the people watching, and count my blessings.  

Go ahead. Call me “Paula-ana” – I’m excited for what my next 66 years have to offer! Happy Birthday to Me. Here’s to my Sensational 66!

My loves. My heart.

Sorry, honey. It's not a Hallmark

July 6, 1974 - in all of its '70's splendor!

July 6 marks a very special date in our family history. On this date 37 years ago, Hubby and I vowed to love and to cherish each other in sickness and in health, as long as we both shall live. We left for our honeymoon that evening after a wonderful reception - the first night spent at a hotel airport - and headed to Hawaii the next day. My big, strong, and self-assured Hubby lived with his parents up until the day we wed, and had to call his mother from the hotel that first night to ask where his wallet was - my man’s mom had packed his suitcase for his first ever plane trip with his first ever wife! We returned two weeks later, discovered what it was like to live together, and have been cherishing each other ever since.

37 years equals 37 anniversaries - skillfully marketed with increasingly expensive symbolic gifts - paper, wood, crystal, silver - and eventually the Golden 50 and Diamond 60th. Hubby has typically ignored such “foolish” traditions, and often chose to mark many July 6th’s with diamonds, rubies and emeralds, oh my! We frequently relived our honeymoon with trips to Hawaii, and recounted our years together while strolling our favorite beaches and toasting life together at our favorite barefoot bar. Such wonderful memories, celebrating our good fortune of finding “the one” all those years ago.

How are we celebrating the Big 3-7? The best way we know how - by being together. After so many memorable anniversary gifts and excursions, we still find pure joy in simply spending time in each other’s company - no gifts required, no trip necessary. Every day is a celebration of our wedding day.

There has been one constant in our 37 years - the Anniversary Card. You know the ones on the top rows in the card stores, with embossed flowers or silouhettes of adoring couples strolling hand-in-hand along the beach at sunset. A college graduate who is probably grateful to have put his English major to practical use, fills the pages with words intended to express the card giver’s everlasting love - and amazement - that the couple has managed to survive all of marriage’s ups and downs, and each other!

Personally, I am not a fan of mushy card sentiments and often opt for the alternate humorous variety. Hubby, on the other hand, is the card master. His gift is not in finding the perfect card – it is what he puts inside.  He fills the entire inner leaf with his personal reflections - words that no Hallmark writer could touch! I love Hubby’s cards, and have a hope chest filled with 36 anniversary messages, carefully written, and representative of our extraordinary marriage. They mean as much to me as the diamonds, rubies and emeralds.

Honey, I am sorry to say that I didn’t get you a card this year. However, I have a good excuse - I was writing my blog! Instead of standing a piece of folded cardstock on the mantle this year, I am sharng my love for you with you and all of my “followers”. Paula is shouting from the rooftop, “I Love My Hubby!” And I did the math....here’s to our 37th. I have loved every 1.17 billion seconds of it! Now, on to 38!

July 6, 1974 - July 6, 2011

13,514 Days

324,336 Hours

19,460,160 Minutes

1,167,609,600 Seconds

Happy Anniversary to the man who still makes every day a gift.

I love you more than words can say.

Mother/Daughter Weekends

After my two month hiatus, I’m back to blogging. I confess that I have missed my daily writing date with my laptop. Not that I ever put the computer away. On the contrary, Hubby surprised me with my first Mac laptop for my birthday - we have evolved into that point in our marriage when I am as thrilled with the gift of a  MacBook as I used to be with a diamond tennis bracelet. Yet, since my 30 posts in 30 days personal challenge, I have struggled finding a theme for my future posts. My list of blog topics is long, yet random - and the organizer in me felt the need to tie it all up with some sort of all-encompassing theme. What I have come to accept is that my 60 year old brain is better equipped to deal with stream of consciousness missives and observations on small subjects rather than deep thoughts. Maybe at some point, the big picture take-aways will reveal themselves.  For now, thank you for joining me on this next exploration of life at 60....

Daughter, Son’s fiancé, and I are headed to the desert and the closest poolside lounge chair for a few days of....well....nothing! The beauty of this trip is that there is no itinerary, other than being together. Our biggest decision will be which SPF factor sunscreen to use (my years of unabashed sun-“baking” warrant the use of  SPF 1000+, a spot under an umbrella and a huge brimmed hat!).

Daughter and I began the tradition of our Palm Springs trips when she was in middle school. In those days, my role was relegated to that of chauffeur and financier - driving, and doling out dollars for entertainment that kept Daughter and her invited guest occupied for our spring break get-aways. Occasionally my teaching instincts would kick in, and I would drag the unwilling duo to a local museum or historic landmark. The only way they tolerated these death marches into forced learning was my promise that miniature golf, movies or a happy meal awaited them at the end of their suffering. Pool time meant  that I was on high alert, surveying the area for the presence of teenage boys, and making sure that the waterplay remained G-rated.  Those spring break trips were memorable - and I came home exhausted and eager for everyone to be back in school!

Our mother/daughter dynamic changed the summer she graduated from high school. That year, our Palm Springs trip was not the well-planned, bring-a-friend, spring break adventure of years past. Daughter needed some time away from home to deal with one of life’s most painful experiences - a break-up - and our hastily planned getaway was designed to give me time to offer comfort, wisdom and reassurance. In the familiar surroundings of our favorite little hotel and quiet pool, we laughed, she cried, I shared stories of my break-ups - and our mother/daughter relationship evolved. I was still her mother - but for the first time in our relationship, my almost 18 year old daughter seemed to “get” that I had once been her age.

In those three days, we spent hours talking to each other instead of at each other, and rarely left the pool and the hotel grounds. Our last evening there, we took a stroll through the weekly street fair and looked for a place to have dinner.  As fate would have it, we chose a very popular Mexican Restaurant, Las Casuelas Terrazza, and were seated on the patio where live music filled the warm summer night air.  We were happy, and Daughter was in a better place than she had been when we left home. The band played one familiar song after another and I eventually felt compelled to grab Daughter and said, “Come on, let’s dance!”  For a moment, she resisted. “Dance with my mother? In public? Someone might see me!” But I insisted, and she reluctantly joined me - for one song. Then another. And another. We stayed on the dance floor for the rest of the evening. To this day, whenever we hear the song, What I Like About You, we find each other to share a dance together - reliving that moment in Palm Springs when we danced with wild abandon to the tune, knowing how much we meant to each other. It was magical!

It has been years since we have re-lived our Palm Springs girls trip, and this will be the first time that Son’s fiancé will be joining us. Daughter made the reservations at our little hotel this year, and requested our favorite room. The same band still plays at the same restaurant, and I guarantee that dancing will be involved. Our poolside conversation will include Fiancé’s wedding plans, and Daughter’s dreams with the wonderful man in her life. Happy Meals have been replaced with Happy Hours, and if I am lucky, I may get one of them to join me for a stroll to the nearby museum - or maybe we’ll just hang at the pool!

 

Mother and Daughter in Palm Springs - 2001. My surprise 50th birthday party. Dancing included!

3-Word Wisdom 30 - Enjoy each decade

I made it! I am 60 today– and guess what? It didn’t hurt a bit. I allowed myself to fret over this birthday – 60 happens, folks – and putting my feelings into words helped me to better understand myself. I am powerless over the number, yet I am in control of the contents of my life. I am determined to make my 60’s the best they can be.

How am I celebrating the actual date of my birth? I’m going to Disneyland!  Hubby and I had our second official date there back in 1971, and we still feel like kids in love at the happiest place on earth. For those who think it is utter foolishness for a pair of 60 year olds to traipse – sans children - around a theme park, let me offer my “Disneyland Metaphor for Life”. Strap on your mouse ears and let’s take a decade-by-decade tour of the magic kingdom…

Fantasyland is our magical childhood, where we “believe” with innocent, wide-eyed wonderment. We are dragon slayers and princesses (Hubby may argue that I still am!), and imagine flying like Peter Pan - protected from the scariest of villains by our corps of valiant heroes - and we find pure glee in the spin of a teacup!

Tomorrowland represents our turbulent teens when we look forward to our birthdays  - not for the year they represent - but for their marker toward what lies ahead...our adulthood and freedom! We are thrill seekers and dreamers – in a constant state of flux, like the dips and curves of Space Mountain. We drive the Autopia cars and imagine ourselves behind the wheel of our first set of wheels. During these years we question if tomorrow will ever come.

Welcome to Adventureland and our twenties. The world is our playground. We are choosing our own adventure – making our own decisions - beginning to take college and work seriously and realizing that the years of contemplating, “What will I be when I grow up?”, now requires a decision! Lifelong friendships and relationships are made, and we entertain thoughts of starting our own families. Our Jungle Cruise twenties offer lots of humor, a few waterfalls, and a wild night – or two! 

Our 30’s mark our visit to Frontierland – and for many, the new frontier of raising children. Parenthood is life's most important career. I am astonished that, as much as we prepare for every other aspect of adulthood, we enter our child-rearing days with very little knowledge on the subject. Kids don’t come with an instruction book – simply pre-charged batteries that never run out of energy. We are Davey Crockett charting a completely new territory, and our musket and ‘coon skin caps have been traded in for binkies and baby strollers.

We spend our 40’s in New Orleans Square. The kids have taken over our home, and the pantry has been pillaged -we are living with the Pirates of the Caribbean! We have morphed into our parents, and the kids are sure that we have no clue what it is like to be a teenager! We now worry about their curfews, and are careful not to let them know what we did in our youth because, God forbid, they may figure out that we are indeed human. We may need a drink now and then to survive their tests of independence – drink up me hearties, yo ho!

It’s time to enjoy our satisfied 50’s on good old Main Street – the kids are grown, our nest is empty and we find ourselves waxing nostalgic. We are once again in the favor of our children who actually ask for our advice! Life is filled with great memories of days gone by. Thankfully our minds mask all of the child-rearing drama beneath a lovely veil – even the trying moments are magically transformed into treasured memories.

Where will our 60's take us? I am looking forward to finding out! Hubby and I will ring in our next decade by reconnecting with our inner children – recalling visits with our nieces, nephews, and our children. Like Peter Pan, there is a part of us that never wants to grow up. We will immerse ourselves in unadulterated fun – and return tomorrow to reality and all that truly matters – with our unwavering commitment to making the world a better place. 

My final 3-word wisdom: Enjoy every decade. Life is a wonderful adventure - an "E-Ticket" ride filled with thrilling - and unexpected - twists and turns. Allow yourself to experience all that life has to offer.

Thank you all for taking this ride with me. Your comments, feedback and well-wishes have made my journey to 60 a treasured gift, and I am forever grateful for having you in my life. I survived "The 60's" of my youth - here's to living my 60's of super adulthood!

With sincere gratitude,

Paula

3-Word Wisdom 29: Seek your wisdom

With just two posts left to complete my “30 posts in 30 days toward 60” challenge, I am sad to be saying goodbye to my daily writing engagements with my laptop. When I began my “blog therapy” in January, I had no idea where it would take me - I was behind the wheel with no GPS directing me. I allowed myself to think (a lot!) about my life. In reading my posts I have confirmed what, in my heart, I already knew:

• I cherish my family and friends
• I need to love myself for who I am
• Each experience of my life – even the difficult ones - has contributed to the person I am
• I am happiest when giving back 

Writing has always helped me deal with my innermost feelings, and sharing my thoughts and experience with others helped me wrap my head around my birthday milestone and all of the anxiety that I had allowed myself to feel. My 3-Word Wisdom project was my way of pushing myself to look inwardly on a daily basis, and as it wraps up I feel a wonderful sense of accomplishment. I have tackled some very personal subject matter and shared a few never-before-told stories, and it has been liberating to “write out loud”.  My wisdom is just that – mine. Sharing it with you has been my personal journey of discovery. This has been Paula – unplugged!

Today’s 3-word wisdom. Seek your wisdom. Each of us has a lifetime of experiences – good, bad, and sometimes painful. Take time to reflect on your life and ask yourself how your journey has been shaped by the choices you have made and the people you have encountered. Let your self-discovery provide enlightenment into the person you are, and be honest with yourself – are you the person you want to be? By getting in touch with your personal wisdom, you will have an inner compass to help you through life’s best – and worst - moments. Here’s to your best life. I already have mine!

Here's to 60, and what life has in store!

3-Word Wisdom: Savor life's surprises

I am still in shock. Daughter, Son, Family and Friends were gathering at our house yesterday while we spent a carefully plotted diversionary trip to the wine country. As we made our way home and turned the corner onto our street, the sight was surreal - it took my breath away. There, lining each side of our very long driveway were over one hundred people to welcome us. SURPRISE!! Hubby and I arrived home from our fabulous wine tasting day to a surprise 60^th birthday party. A band played the Beatles Birthday Song – our family’s traditional birthday anthem. Caterers were cooking and a bartender was pouring drinks. Banquet tables, chairs, balloons, banners, and canopy shelters– a last minute necessity due to some uncooperative weather - filled the back yard. The home we had left in the morning had been transformed into a magnificent party venue, thanks to our wonderful children and the family and friends they enlisted to help.

Everyone asked, “Were you surprised?” Completely. Utterly. Totally. I did not want a party when Daughter asked about having some people over next weekend. We had plans for a future night out with the kids and that sounded perfect. Besides, I felt that people were really over my Big Day after so much self-indulgent blogging. Little did I know what had been in the works for months!

I was stunned, as was Hubby, who was also kept completely in the dark. This was OUR 60^th birthday party. We laughed and cried, hugged and danced - and apparently our neighbors called to police - at 8:00 pm - because we were making too much noise! It took 60 years to have someone call the cops on me – I am officially rowdy! 

I am still trying to wrap my head around the entire night, letting it all sink in. Photos were being taken and I am looking forward to reliving the night - it was all quite a blur! I want to say something profound to describe the sheer joy and gratitude I feel for the people who have filled my heart with love, but it will take some time to find the words. Thank you is not enough, but for now, it’s all I've got! This is Paula – Speechless.

Today’s 3-word Wisdom - Savor life’s surprises. We spend the majority of our life carefully planning and executing our days. If you are the recipient of an unexpected kindness – no matter how large or small – enjoy the surprise. And remember to say thank you – even when you are left speechless.




Friend & family gauntlet awaits our arrival

If only you could see our faces from inside the car!

Daughter looks relieved to have pulled of such a surprise!

3-Word Wisdom 23: Ditch the doubters

The Big Day is now one week away. My “blog therapy” has been a wonderful diversion, and the feedback from family and friends is beyond gratifying. 60 is now just seven days – and seven more blog posts – away. People are asking me how I am doing as the day approaches - I am fine. I really am. After all, it’s just a number. A really BIG number! I have clearly made a lot of noise about this birthday, and am looking forward to what the family has in store to mark my "birthday week” – yep, I get an entire week of fun, thanks to Hubby, Daughter and the Penguins. This is how Paula does 60!

Yesterday on my morning walk, I let myself meet up with someone who I really don’t like. It was Doubting Paula, and she was in my head - doing all she could to get my attention. She is not my friend. She is glass-half-empty Paula, and she is looking at 60 as an end rather than a beginning. I have approached every other decade with optimism for what’s in store - the start of a wonderful new chapter in life. But suddenly Doubting Paula reared her ugly head, and did her best to sell me a different script – one in which I must say goodbye to my pre-60 self. Doubting Paula tried to undo all of the positivity I have been focusing on these past weeks. And what’s worse, she made me cry. How dare she rain on my birthday parade. I picked up my walk pace and left that b*tch in the dust. Doubting Paula  is a total downer - she fills my head with thoughts of what I have not accomplished – she sees almost senior citizen Paula, not Super Adult Paula who is going to rock her 60’s with all she’s got. I may even throw myself a party – and guess who’s NOT getting an invitation!

Today’s 3-word wisdom: Ditch the doubters. Those (including the ones residing within your head) who cast a  gloomy shadow and project negativity along your path don’t belong in your life. Surround yourself with those who fill you with hope, optimism and love. Life is too special a gift - surround yourself with those worthy of sharing it with you.

Happy Birthday to me - 1956

3-Word Wisdom 22: Conquer a fear

In 2004, Hubby and I were selected to be contestants on “The Amazing Race - 7” – it was our fifteen milliseconds of fame. We had not auditioned. In fact, Hubby had never heard of the show. The casting director met us while we were participants in the Breast Cancer 3-Day, a 60 mile walk. It was a chance encounter – we were fellow walkers, and had enjoyed a couple of conversations together during our 60 mile journey. Apparently she was desperate to cast one last couple for their upcoming season, and we must have fit the “cute older couple” profile. We were offered the chance to head out in about two weeks, on a whirlwind world adventure, and would be gone for about forty days. Sadly, we had to decline the offer – Hubby had commitments that demanded his attention.

In watching the season’s episodes of “our” race, I imagined myself meeting the challenges of each week’s adventures. Would I have been able to rope a llama? Feed a lion? Could I muster the courage to zip-line across a gorge in the mountains of Peru?

Those of you who know me are already laughing. I am not a thrill-seeker. I avoid scary movies. During my skiing days, I was happiest on the beginner runs. When I travel, I am the one who actually checks the location the nearest emergency exit row. Some would call me a “fraidy cat” – I like to think of myself as sensible. Yet, as each stage of the Amazing Race challenged the contestants to some sort of physical or mental test, I found myself wanting to prove to myself that I could overcome a fear and face a challenge.

My personal Amazing Race moment occurred a couple of years later. I had always been uncomfortable with heights and had a dreadful fear of falling (ask Hubby about our honeymoon, and my panic attack when I thought our elevator was plummeting from the 28^th floor – it wasn’t, by the way!). The AR episode that had contestants zip-lining across the Huambutio Gorge in Peru looked incredible. I wanted to do that, and my opportunity came while we were in Maui. Zip line adventures were offered on the upcountry slopes of the Haleakala Crater. This was going to be my moment. Hubby and I signed the release, strapped on the harness and helmet and hiked into the jungle – and then I leapt off a platform and let myself fly across the canyon to the other side – five different times! It was indescribable, and there was such sublime satisfaction in facing a formerly unthinkable challenge – the empowerment was one of my life’s most liberating moments. I am still no thrill-seeker, but my zip line experience taught me that I can do something outside my personal comfort zone and be a stronger person as a result.

Today’s 3-Word Wisdom: Conquer a fear. Staying within your perceived safety zone all the time limits your potential, and cheats you out of opportunities that will enrich your life. Face your fear head on and imagine the satisfaction of taking control. You can do it!

Facing my fear of heights - from the edge of a rock!

She flies through the air....zip lining in Maui

3-Word Wisdom 21: Fill your dash

Today’s wisdom comes from an inspirational poem, The Dash, by Linda Ellis. I was not familiar with the poem when I first saw the phrase on the shirts worn by a team of fellow walkers at one of the 3-Day for the Cure breast cancer walks in which Hubby and I participate every year. Their shirts had the image of a beautiful young woman who had lost her battle with breast cancer. Her name, along with her birth and death years indicated that she was clearly gone too soon. The team’s name was “Filling our Dash”. Their message?  The dates representing the years you begin and end your earthly life are less significant than how you live the years within them – represented by the dash separating the two dates. It is how you fill your dash that defines the person you are.

Last April a special friend lost her four-year long battle with ovarian cancer. She had filled her dash raising two children who would become extraordinary adults. She welcomed her first grandchild the same year her cancer was diagnosed, and filled her dash with precious granddaughter time. She and her husband filled the dash between her chemo rounds with cruises and trips to reunite with long-lost family. Witnessing her strength in the face of death was both heartbreaking and inspirational. She was powerless over the outcome of her journey, but she took control of what she could. She planned her funeral service to the last detail – including the musical selections, the bible readings, and the guardian angel pins with a turquoise stone – symbolic of ovarian cancer awareness – that everyone would receive. In her final weeks she set in motion a complete kitchen remodel of her home, and while she did not live to see its completion, she attended to every last detail and finishing touch. To her, it needed to be done – she wanted her husband to have what he would need to be self-sufficient in her absence. She even instructed her daughter to make sure hubby knew the importance of correctly outfitting her beautiful stainless steel and granite designer kitchen with the proper accessories. Norma, your kitchen is a masterpiece and you are dearly missed – and you are my inspiration for filling one’s dash.

Today’s wisdom: Fill your dash. Life can be fleeting – don’t take it for granted. Live life to its fullest, make a difference, and consider the legacy of your life’s “dash”.

The Dash

I read of a man who stood to speak at the funeral of a friend.

He referred to the dates on her tombstone from the beginning... to the end.

He noted that first came her date of birth and spoke the following date with tears,

but he said what mattered most of all was the dash between those years. (1934-1998)

For that dash represents all the time that she spent alive on earth...

and now only those who loved her know what that little line is worth.

For it matters not, how much we won; the cars...the house...the cash,

what matters is how we live and love and how we spend our dash.

So think about this long and hard.. are there things you'd like to change?

For you never know how much time is left, that can still be rearranged.

If we could just slow down enough to consider what's true and real,

and always try to understand the way other people feel.

And be less quick to anger, and show appreciation more

and love the people in our lives like we've never done before.

If we treat each other with respect, and more often wear a smile.

Remembering that this special dash might only last a while.

So, when your eulogy's being read with your life's actions to rehash...

would you be proud of the things they said about how you spent your dash?

by Linda Ellis

In loving memory of Norma 1953 - 2010

Norma and friends, walking to support ovarian cancer research, May 2009

Norma, her daughter and granddaughter
January, 2010