The Rock Rose

I am so inspired by the lowly rock rose (lewisia redivivia, aka Bitterroot). It grows in the most adverse of conditions, thriving in rocky, shallow soil where there is little rain fall. Their beauty stands out against the backdrop of sagebrush, rocks, and tumbleweeds. Here in the inland high plains desert, the weather is harsh. Summers often are hot and dry.  Winters can be frigid, sometimes with snow that comes from the sky sideways. And always, no matter the season, the wind blows. And yet in May, at the peak of spring, the rock rose pushes up from the ground wearing its petals, all dressed up in hues from white to pale pink to bright fuchsia.

So how does this small flower inspire me? Particularly now as we head into this presidential election year, I see a political climate that is adverse, very much like the conditions in which this little flower lives. This wonderful country’s political atmosphere is so polarized. The political climate promotes hatred and intolerance. And there is a lot of discussion that reminds me of the hot, drying wind and the cold, snowy blizzards. Very inhospitable. 

Unfortunately, I can’t change the political climate. Instead I choose to react with grace and calm and like the lowly rock rose, I choose not to let the political weather stop me from growing.

East Meets West or City Moves to Country

Quite often I am asked: "Where did you come from?" which then leads to: "How did you meet your husband?" When I first moved to Small Town, USA, these questions were a routine part of any trip to the hardware store, post office, or grocery store. I didn’t think much about how odd I must have seemed back then. It’s not every day that a girl from the city marries a farmer. And it’s not every day that a girl of mixed heritage moves to Small Town, USA.

My mother-in-law tells me that the postal carrier for our rural route asked her if I would "have any friends." That seemed like an odd question at the time. I had plenty of friends in Seattle. Why wouldn’t I have friends in Small Town, USA? Culture shock!!! It seems that some of Small Town, USA is not just isolated geographically. There is a monoculture of not just race but of origin/heritage. There are families in this county whose genealogy can be traced to before the turn of the century – 1900 that is.  They know practically everyone in town and maybe even in the entire county. Outsiders, we who are 'transplants' stick out like sore thumbs.

How you look can be a neon sign flashing "NOT FROM HERE!" If I were blond and blue-eyed or even a redhead I might not stand out so much. I most often am asked ‘what tribe are you from?’ They are so surprised when I tell them there is no tribe. I usually get a laugh when I tell them that I am made in America with foreign and domestic parts or that I am not native but I have played one on stage.

So yes, I do stand out in a crowd in this Small Town neighborhood. Growing up in Seattle I didn’t think about my mixed heritage or racial appearance much. There is such a diverse variety of people from all over the country and all over the world. My childhood community was blessed with this diversity. I thought the rest of the country was a melting pot of races and ethnicities since that was the case in my own family. Again, total culture shock when I moved here.

How does one adjust? It has been my experience that it is human nature to want to compartmentalize all matter of details – social status, ethnicity, religious views, and so forth. And most of us want to believe that we are not racist or prejudiced. Cerebrally and consciously most try not to exhibit insensitive behavior. But we aren’t perfect and all have our areas of deep denial. Compartmentalizing details leads to stereotyping which leads to prejudice or worse! Over the years I have developed an attitude of unconditional acceptance. We are who we are. I can’t change what you look like or how you behave or where you came from. I can only change how I react to you. We all have the right to believe what we believe, whether I agree with what you believe or not. What you believe makes you who you are. I can choose to include you in my inner circle of friends or I can choose to limit that association. But I do choose to be civil and polite with everyone I meet and treat everyone with dignity and respect. And I am ever so grateful that I have found many friends in Small Town, USA that share this same attitude about diversity. They are a wonderful, colorful group of people and bring joy and brightness to this small corner of the world.

Random ruminations or who really is the demented one?

Having had a bit of time to reflect on the weekend with the folks, I’ve concluded that I’m just going to have to embrace the idea that they will continue in their high functioning dysfunction until some disaster strikes. It is quite a helpless feeling knowing that I am 300 miles away with a life that does not revolve around their every need.
What bothers me, and my sister as well, is that all of this will come crashing down when one of them has some catastrophic accident or illness. What if dad has a stroke? What if mom falls? When (not if) that happens, chaos ensues and my sister and I will have to drop everything to come pick up the pieces. It would be so much easier if the folks would put some forethought into a "plan B." Am I being selfish? Maybe. I do have a life of my own located several hundred miles away from them.
I do want my parents to have quality life in their golden years. But quality is subjective. My idea of quality is definitely different than what my parents define as quality. And that is okay. I just have to keep telling myself that this is just okay. Maybe in time I will believe it. This is really a huge challenge to my hopeless optimism.
And there is some sort of sick sense of humor when you know that whatever I discuss with my mom will be forgotten by the end of the conversation. LOL! No need to worry when you can't remember!

Dementia

So I'm not an expert on dementia. I've just worked in health care for quite a number of years and have been first hand observer of the difficulties and challenges dementia poses both to the person with dementia and the family, especially the spouse. I am now a child of a person with dementia. A weekend with my mom who has mild/moderate dementia and my dad is trying at best. I really feel for my dad who has to deal with this 24/7. He is still in a denial phase and this is evidenced by his trying to blame my mom for her forgetfulness. She doesn't forget things to annoy him on purpose. But I'm sure having to deal with repeated questioning of small things would become an irritant quickly. At least she is still pleasantly confused!

Today we managed to convince mom to do the open house tour of a retirement village. She really loves her home with its postage stamp view of the Puget Sound and Olympic Mountains. She said today that this was her dream home. So it was a huge step for her to consent to even a tour! I wish she could stay in this house until she passes but I'm afraid that the two of them just can't take care of everything that needs to be done.

While on the tour she seemed impressed. The apartments are spacious, the amenities generous. The price tag per month quite rich. But at least it is a start. My sister and I would like the parents to think about moving before something traumatic happens. I have invited them to move in with us but back to the problem with mom's postage stamp view. Dad has been more than willing to consider other options since he is beginning to feel his age, especially with regard to home up keep. They picked up an information packet and we'll see where this goes. It's going to take months to declutter their home but I am willing to help, especially if it is planned in advance.

So if any of you knows someone with dementia, be extra kind to the family and caregivers. Their emotional fuses may be quite short.

my first attempt at blogging

Finding myself killing time in Seattle at 6:30am on a Saturday inspired me to try my hand at creating a blog. I should be waking up, feeding chickens, making a big farmer's breakfast for my big farmer, doing some sun salutations, and then address the many domestic chores I've ignored. However, a trip off the farm for my less than perfectly scheduled check-ups on my aging parents has once again interupted my routine.

So, what is routine anymore? I've managed to ignore two letters of the alphabet: N O, or at least get them in the wrong order - O N. It seems I've spent the majority of my life deferring participation in the community to put the Kingdom first, not understanding that being present in the community is more of a practical exercise. You can't thump people over the head with a Bible and expect them to accept the Kingdom. Long story short, a lot of lost time, which brings me to trying to do all these wonderful things - all at once.

The 'killing time' affords me the opportunity to ruminate on what it is I really want and/or need to do to really become Zen. I am hoping this blog will give me the forum to bring me some clarity.

Namaste
The Zen Farmer's Wife, aka Leny Frog