Tag: juggle

The Value of Wrinkles

~ Lisa Ancona-Roach ~ 8 Comments

My birthday is this week. It will mark my 46th year in this world. If I make it to 92, then I guess I can still entertain the notion of being middle-aged.

My smiling eye.
My smiling eye.

I don’t have a problem telling my age, though I’d be lying if I denied the clock’s ticking doesn’t make me sad sometimes. I don’t want to run out of time. When I feel this way, I reassure myself by remembering that there are no guarantees to the days ahead—I could get hit by a bus tomorrow. Hmmm. That doesn’t sound very reassuring, but my point is that there is no set time we have on this earth, and there is no limit for striving, seeking, finding, and not yielding.

Age for the average person doesn’t come without a few wrinkles, and while they’re nothing I aim for, I accept them—at least more than some people. I remember one bizarre conversation I had when I was the ripe old age of 19. I was in a college film production class downtown when these two very upscale girls came up to me after our first class. “How do you do it??” the one girl asked me as she smoothed her full-length fur coat after placing her oversized sunglasses on her face.

“Do what?” I replied.

“Stay so wrinkle-free?” I thought they were joking, but they were indeed very serious.

“Uh…I’m 19…there’s nothing to do…”

“Oh, yes, yes, there is. We are very careful. We stay out of the sun and smile as little as possible. We don’t want laugh lines! And we saw you just laughing away in class. Yet your skin looks so nice. So what do you do?” These two were maybe 21. I was dumbfounded. I think it was at that moment that they helped me see what value I would put on wrinkles in my years to come.

“Well, I guess I’ll be the wrinkled one who’s laughed a lot as the years go by.”

With that response, they simultaneously looked at me with disdain and turned and left. I sometimes wonder where those two might be today. I really hope they have a few laugh lines.

As a kid, I was very into collecting patches or stickers of places I had traveled to, and in a way, wrinkles are a variation of that kind of collection to me. While I don’t have wrinkles specific to certain experiences (that would be interesting!), they are still a reflection of the life I’ve lived so far.

It bums me out that wrinkles are such an issue for American women. There is more value to us than the elasticity in our faces. We should be proud of the journeys we are taking. And while I absolutely believe that we should take good care of ourselves, I don’t think the aging process should be a cause of shame, but more like a badge of honor.

Lately, my 87-year-old mother has taken to looking at me without her glasses and announcing, “You have no wrinkles!” I know she is trying to make me feel good, and I also know she has a pretty strong eyeglass prescription.

I do have wrinkles. For now, they’re mainly evident when I smile or laugh. As my 19-year-old self foresaw, it shows that I have indeed done some considerable laughing and smiling in my 46 years. Isn’t that something to feel good about? I think so.

Some Days a Trance, Some Days a Ballet

~ Lisa Ancona-Roach ~ 2 Comments

balletTime is one elusive commodity, isn’t it? Every day I aspire to make the best use of it because I hate the thought of days just disappearing…but they do…day after day after day. To help me with my time, I make lists. They help me to aim, focus, and shoot, as well as be able to look at my day and help me see what I actually did.

Historically, I am such a list-maker that my husband jokingly gave me the Native American name of Stands With A List (this will only make you smile if you are a Dances with Wolves fan). But lately even my lists seem problematic. They don’t even begin to reflect my real daily rundown.

In this stage of my life, I feel like all too often I am busy all day, but when the day is over I think, “What exactly did I accomplish?” The reality of one day blurring into the next is something I can’t seem to shake. Working primarily from home only exacerbates the problem—all of the roles I play converge into one.

I can categorize many of my days into “trances” or “ballets.” Both are days of fluid movement…waking to emails, work, taking care of the kid, laundry, caregiving to my mom, work, calls, errands, caregiving, work, groceries…you get the idea. The only real distinction between the two is whether or not I am fully “awake.”

Trance days have me doing something like folding laundry in the afternoon thinking, “It’s 3:00?!?! How did that happen? I haven’t stopped once today, but I can’t remember a thing I’ve done.” These days are almost like a zombiewalk—I am an automaton going through the mundane motions of daily life.

A ballet day, on the other hand, can have the exact same itinerary, but instead I am folding that same damn laundry thinking, “Okay, so I’ve done A, B, and C, and I’m ready to hit D, E, and F.” I glide through my ToDos feeling like I’m making progress. I jeté from one task to the next. (Yes, jeté…that’s right. Remember? I’m using a ballet metaphor. Stick with me.)

Lately, though, the trance days are slaughtering the ballet days, and I don’t know why. It does not thrill me to spend time in Zombieland. Unfortunately, it appears I’m unable to will myself into a daily performance of Swan Lake. I’ve tried when I feel the trance upon me, but it’s not a flippable switch. Perhaps a local meth dealer can help spur me on to greater heights. If it wasn’t for the ratty teeth aspect, I just might consider it.

Can you tell what kind of a day I’m having? That’s right—I’m stuck in a trance. If I wasn’t, I would know how to wrap this post up in a way that might offer a ray of hope or two. Instead I’ll just offer up the old mantra of “this, too, shall pass.” The only problem is, the “this” is another day, and I don’t know how many of them I have left to pass. Geez, Debbie Downer, hands off the keyboard. Let’s leave you for Scarlett O’Hara and remember that “tomorrow is another day.” (Debbie wants to add on “or is it??”)

So tell me…am I all on my own in this, or is this something to which you can relate?

Life Lesson Courtesy of a Face Plant

~ Lisa Ancona-Roach ~ 9 Comments

pontoon2With vacation over Saturday, I already have that “did that really happen?” feeling…The routine of life is back, and I need to remind myself that it was just last week that we stepped out of our reality. While we had a delightful time, there are some memories that I want to stick with me over others.

Every summer we go to a family place in the Northwoods of Wisconsin where we see familiar faces as well as new ones. This year we met a new family through an unusual experience. My husband, Mike, and I were out fishing on the dock one afternoon when one of the pontoon boats was returning. It had been just a few minutes prior that we wondered why there was a new wooden ramp added to the end of the dock, and in a minute, we were about to learn why.

The boat looked like it was headed straight for the end of the dock instead of pulling up alongside of it. I looked at Mike like, “Do these people know how to drive?” and as the boat ran into the dock, I suggested to them, “Are you sure you don’t want to come in on the side?” and the woman who was driving answered, “Well, they said I should come in on the end…” and it was at that moment that I really looked at them and saw that the man on the boat was in a motorized wheelchair. Then it all clicked. The ramp was so that he could get on the boat…and they needed to line up with it so that he could ride off. After I shook off my “dork moment,” I offered to help them dock the boat. Mike and I pulled them in and anchored them as tightly as we could, and then I bent down to pick up the ramp so that it could face the opposite way for the man to drive off the boat.

Problem. The ramp was fastened to the dock. As the man drove to the edge, the boat sunk down much lower than the ramp. What to do now?

Geniuses that we were, we realized that if we all moved to the back of the boat, the pontoon’s front would rise up and as the chair got closer to the edge, it met up nicely with the downward facing ramp. Problem solved, right?!

Yeah…no. We watched the man drive his chair to the edge, meet the ramp, and begin to drive down it. But with the majority of the weight of his chair no longer on the front of the boat, the boat began to rise…and the chair’s smaller back wheels that were still on the boat were lifted up…and the chair sprang forward. It was a slow-motion scene that I saw happening but couldn’t act on fast enough, and we all watched the chair throw the man onto the dock for a major face plant.

Thankfully, the chair—which we later learned weighed 400 pounds—did not land on him but returned to its normal position after jettisoning its occupant. A couple of other guys on the dock saw the fall and came running to help. Obviously, we were all very concerned about the man—now lying with the side of his face pressed against the dock. Kneeling next to him, I asked him if he was okay. He was a bit shook up, but he calmly said, “I’m okay. I’m fine.” Just very matter of fact.

And in that moment, I saw the vulnerability and strength of this guy. It was one of those times where so much seems apparent in just a second. He couldn’t do anything to help himself—he just looked kindly into my eyes and half smiled. Here was a vibrant person, face down on the dock, knowing that’s exactly where he’d remain if it was all up to him. He was completely dependent on others, and there was nothing else to do but accept that and keep doing things…like going on family vacations and taking a boat out with his wife and sons to catch some fish.

Wow. For someone like me, who is striving to be more vulnerable in this world, it was a real a-ha moment. Granted, I don’t really know how this man handles his challenges overall, but in that moment, he was graciously accepting complete surrender.

After we assessed that he was okay, his wife explained that he was 200 pounds of dead weight. We took a collective breath and formed a quick plan of getting the chair in a safe position and then lifting the man back onto it.

With some teamwork, we successfully got him seated and ready to roll. His knees and elbows were banged up, but other than that, he was fine. He took the face plant with amazing grace.

And that’s how we met Jay and Melissa and their two sons.

Melissa shared with us that they go through life laughing an awful lot—because what else is there to do? With the exceptional challenges their family faces, they keep laughing and living and trying in the best way that they can.

The “fish” I caught that afternoon turned out to be some really good soul food.

I’m so glad I got a chance to share in Jay and Melissa’s world even for just a teensy bit. Not only were they lovely people, but they helped me remember that no matter what “chair” you’re in, the best thing to do is just keep on rolling. And when the occasional face plant comes your way, accept help with grace and gratitude, and remember that we are all in this together.

Cooling the Core

~ Lisa Ancona-Roach ~ 2 Comments
And...inhale...
And…inhale…

I’m on vacation, but it’s Monday, and holy mother of pearl, I am keeping my 41-week streak (?!) of writing The Juggle Struggle going. Because that’s how I roll.

Yes…I am blessed to be on vacation. And that got me thinking about the value of being able to escape for a bit.

Much of the country has been dealing with heat waves this summer, and that means cities open cooling centers. These cooling centers are more than just a chance to give a brief respite from the heat—they can actually help a person without other decent ways to cool off lower their core temp and be better able to sustain heat later. Cooling your core can be the difference between life and death.

This vacation is my chance to “cool my core,” as well. Not because we escaped Chicago’s heat wave (though there was a 40-degree temperature swing from the day we left to our first evening away), but another “core”—my life core.

This year has been one crazy curve ball after another. Serious, life-changing curve balls. In February, I wrote about already wanting a 2013 do-over, but it only got harder from there. Without singing the story of my woes, let’s just say that 2013 can go suck it and suck it hard. The overall stress level has risen immensely when it wasn’t exactly low to begin with.

Let me take a moment to say that I know so many people who are also struggling with major life challenges. This is not a story unique to me, by no means, and I am well aware of that. My prayer list for those I love and care for is ridiculously long. So please know that this is not a whine fest (though if it was a wine fest, I would totally be participating.)

Okay, so back to my point before you were sighing and thinking I was simply going to moan and wail. Really. Don’t you know me at all?

Here I am on vacation. A vacation that is allowing me to take a break from life’s daily challenges and issues and recharge my batteries. And thinking about the whole “core cooling” idea, I realize that this time away not only serves me right here and now, but will also let me “sustain heat later.”

This chance to step out of my reality and do crazy things like just be instead of doing/solving/serving/going all the time will equip me to step back into reality and sustain life’s “heat” for a good while longer.

It is truly a blessing, for I know many people are unable to take a vacation for one reason or another, and it is often the very people who need it the most. I am indeed incredibly fortunate to be able to hang my gone fishin’ sign.

And so I will take the job of cooling my core here very seriously. A key element is to remind myself in the moment how awesome it is that I can take some time to hang with my family, read, relax, and just absorb the surrounding beauty. My biggest challenge of the day will be figuring out if I want to play tennis, go for a bike ride, or try to retain my crown of catching the most fish each year. Tough choices, no?

And when I get back home, I will strive to take some time each day to do some mini “core cooling,” and not let the day swarm over me like angry bees. (This, of course, just made me think about the movie Killer Bees from my childhood that totally creeped me out and fueled my bee phobia. Sorry about that. I should have used another simile. My bad.)

But hopefully my point is made decently enough to make sense: Taking a time-out—whether it is a huge one like a vacation or a tiny one like a cat nap—can serve us well beyond the moment. And now I intend to do some serious core cooling and curl up with a good book. Lucky me.

Garage Assail

~ Lisa Ancona-Roach ~ 2 Comments

GarageSale“This is the last time I’m having a garage sale!” has come out of my mouth at least a half dozen times, but…this time I mean it. For real. Seriously. The whole process is loathsome to me, and…I’m done.

You would be correct if you are assuming I had a garage sale this past weekend.

Yes, we made a few bucks at a time when it really comes in handy, but…it was indeed my swan song.

What about garage sales do I find dreadful? Well, it’s a bit of an anxiety trigger for me, I admit. One issue being that every sale before this last one, I have had the joy of dealing with a mom who argues with people about what excellent quality her things are and what she paid for the items when she bought them retail. She reminds me of Rocky Balboa in the corner of the boxing ring crying out, “Cut me, Mick!” so she can get back in the ring and remind the person who was looking at a toaster that “they don’t make them like that anymore,” and then proceed to explain that the toast that comes out of said toaster is delectable.

Let’s just say that my mom isn’t cut out for garage sales. And…neither am I, I realize.

Not for the same reasons, though. For me, it’s the overwhelm of culling through the stuff, hauling, setting up, closing up, setting up again, tearing down, boxing up, and giving away gsalethat is what I am pretty sure I can live without from here to eternity. With my mom laying low on this one, I thought I may have a better time, but the stress of getting “open” our first morning manifested itself in my being less than pleasant, and that’s when I realized that maybe it’s best that I live up to my vow to skirt future sales.

I chose not to mark prices on anything and just go with whatever came out of my mouth when people asked. The main goal of the sale was to purge a lot of “treasures” that had accumulated over time and were really just taking up space. I told myself that people were paying me to lighten my load to the Salvation Army drop-off. And I got rid of a mountain of stuff and made scores of people smile as they heard my pricing.

But that doesn’t mean I accepted everything. While I totally get that some people really like to bargain for their finds, I am not a fan of someone trying to quibble over something marked 25¢. Especially when it’s something for which I should legitimately have asked much more.

Perhaps that is why I decided to stand on principle with the little man that wanted this beautiful blanket for 50¢ when I had asked him for only a dollar. Even when he tried to explain to me that since he was a little man he only wanted to pay a little for the blanket, I smiled and told him, “No…I’m pretty set with the dollar.” He smiled back but didn’t seem to register what I was telling him. It may sound terrible, but in our haggle tango, I was not ready to succumb to his charm. Perhaps it was because he had shown me his wad of money when I had to break his twenty dollar bill so he could pay 25¢ for something else.

He came back later that day, and my husband saw him the next day, too. I admired his tenacity, and had he shown up at closing, I would have simply given him the darn thing (which no one else had asked about) to reward his persistence. But for whatever reason, I chose to stand my ground with him. Mom should be so proud.

Garage sales bring me to an obvious assessment: people are crazy. From the ones that don’t even turn their cars off because they are sweeping in and out looking for a specific something to those that spend loads of time debating whether to buy a decent dresser for a mere $3, it takes all kinds—and we are clearly a nation of overabundance. My dad used to say “one man’s junk is another man’s treasure,” and that is certainly true in the garage sale world. I can’t believe how much, well—junk—left our house this past weekend. I hope our buyers are enjoying their new treasures.

When the last of the leftovers was packed away, we were exhausted but lighter. There was a definite satisfaction in having survived yet another sale. Our last sale. I mean it. Quit smirking—I’m serious.

The Closing Circle

~ Lisa Ancona-Roach ~ 4 Comments

Sandwich GenerationA few months ago I was taking my mom to a doctor’s appointment at a nearby hospital. With her no longer being able to walk for long stretches, I used a courtesy wheelchair to traverse the halls and make our way. In my haste to get on an elevator, I pushed her in forward and the doors closed. When we went to exit, it was hard to maneuver, and a kind woman offered, “It’ll be easier if you back her in next time.” I thanked her and off we went.

Little did I know how that comment would replay in my mind numerous times over the coming months, as my mom was on the verge of a major health ordeal. There would be lots of wheelchairs in our future, and nearly every time I backed my mom into an elevator, I thought of that woman.

Life is funny that way. A little something here or there rings out time and again as it comes into play in a way that you did not expect.

I am both a mom and a caregiver to an aging parent—what I’ve written about before as living in the Sandwich Generation. I deal with my son’s and my mom’s needs on a daily basis. Both are similar—yet at the same time, they are very, very different.

When you deal with a child’s needs, you know that you are equipping them to grow up and move on. But an aging parent is the exact opposite. The journey is not to grow and go, but to support and provide care during the inevitable decline. As a parent, you can measure “success” by seeing your kid go off into the world and make his way in it. I’m not sure how you define “success” in the other realm.

The woman who, when I was sick, used to stand ready with an unwrapped stick of gum for me, after my having to chew a horrid tasting pill (you know, back in the day, before flavored oral meds for kids…) is now the woman who I administer medicine to—including a terrible tasting liquid dose for which I stand ready with an applesauce chaser. Two women exchanging roles.

Merriam Webster defines coming “full circle” as “a series of developments that lead back to the original source, position, or situation or to a complete reversal of the original position.” I am aware that the circle is closing. I don’t mean that about my mom’s life, but rather the role I play in it. The receiver of care is now the giver.

Yet through all of her health struggles, she is still her sassy self. Her physical therapist is captivated by her ability to move her legs as nimbly as she does. (Those lovely 3-diamond legs…Why I couldn’t have inherited those babies instead of her chubby thumbs, I’ll never understand, but such is life). This dynamic—the fact that she is an adult and my mother—adds yet another challenge to the role of caregiver: she isn’t always thrilled to receive from me the help she needs. One might use the word “stubborn” once or twice, among other words, in describing my mother.

But she does indeed need that help. And so a new life chapter is being written day by day.

And just as we make our way, learning what is needed and figuring a new daily routine, I am well aware that it can change in an instant—and will for certain change over time. Nothing will remain as it is. This I know. The one constant is change.

And so I muddle through. Daily falling short, and daily asking for forgiveness and grace. But the beauty, power, and spirit of the circle is not to be neglected…the fullness of life and how it calls us to nurture one another through all seasons is a gift all in itself. Much of it is not easy, but all of it matters.