GROWING OLD IS AN EYE-OPENER

It barely misses a day and when it isn't there, I think I have been imagining it all along.  Maybe I'm entering the lost world of dementia or Alzheimer's but I find that hard to imagine with my brain filled with writing, teaching and keeping up with my active family. My friends say "you don't look your age but seldom do they say, "you don't act your age."  They could be telling an untruth.  I hope not.

This intrusive thing I'm talking about is the way younger persons treat me.  "Let me help you with that, honey.  Well here comes grandma," from the mouth of a smart mouth first class jerk. I felt like hitting him with one of my carry-ons but I didn't have the strength to lift it. "Would this table be better for you?"  As I have walked three steps. The waitress' voice can be heard out in the parking lot, "sugar, what would you like to drink?"  I don't answer right away and she turns to my husband, "what does she usually drink?"

And then there are the non-verbal activities--the young man stands there holding the door and I'm just half way across the parking lot. I hurry as much as my Parkinson's and arthritis will allow. Than I feel I must make a silly remark to hide my embarrassment.  There are other times when you wonder if you have become invisible  They pretend you aren't there talking about their gigs and data matter.  Once I spoke up and asked if they had downloaded their 2Gs of data into their new 09 IPhone and they looked at me as if I were from outer space and continued their conversation.

All this to say treat everyone as an individual.  Just because they have gray hair and wobble as they walk, it doesn't mean they are old in their minds. You may be surprised at how much we know that never crossed your mind.  Have a meaningful conversation with a senior citizen today.  You might enjoy it!  And keep calling us honey and sugar and holding doors for us.  We know you mean well, except for the jerk on the airplane!

Darlene Eichler
Writer, Memoirist
Teacher, Blogger

WALLS

WALLS

BY

DARLENE EICHLER

My mind won’t quit thinking about walls.  I have tried to put the word in the recesses of my mind but it seems that everyday I am reminded of walls, one kind or another.  The first time I started to think about the meaning of the word in relationship to the immigrant situation.  One of the many politicians running for president made the statement that if elected, he would build a wall like one has never seen to end the alien problem with Mexico.  My immediate thought was that we are not a nation of wall builders but one of tearing down walls.  If we had built walls to keep out immigrants many years ago, we no doubt would be living in our ancestors’ home country.  America is a country built by immigrants.  Then I began to think of the definition of walls.  There are walls built of almost any material--wood, stone, steel, hedges, and many other  barriers.  There are walls to keep people and things in and walls to keep out intruders--political walls, walls of social classes, walls of prejudices, we can go on forever.  Walls do not have to be built of tangible materials.  We build walls all around our space without lifting a tool. Our body language, our persona, and our words become impenetrable barriers.

The Pope spoke of the negative effects of walls in relation to the displaced throngs of immigrants flooding Europe.  I have stopped watching news programs where this massive problem is shown.  I cannot watch and get my mind around the inhumanity to man reflected in the faces of frightened and hungry children.  There was just a tiny glimmer of hope with the Pope stressing the need to help the downtrodden.  “Do unto to others as you would have them do to you.”

Perhaps more of our world leaders heard and will heed the Pope’s urging.

What can I as one person do?  I will start with those personal walls of  blindness to social injustice, to prejudice, to economic unfairness, and to religious intolerance.  I will be more conscious of my churches programs for those in need, whatever the cause.  I will personally continue my Christian service for the hungry, the sick, and the homeless.  I will work to help educate those who need to learn the basics of education that will give new meaning to their lives.  I want to give back and share the wonderful resources given to me by my parents, my church, and my teachers.  All cared about the younger generation.  Walls were not built.  We were given freedom to follow our dreams.

To paraphrase the former President Reagan, "Mr.  Gorbachev tear down this wall."
And the wall came tumbling down to the shock and amazement of the world.

Let us tear down our walls of hate and control, never to rebuild them.

HALLELUJAH! THE BOOK IS OUT!

No, not my book, (although I have two new ones out) John, my son's book.  The memoir that bares his soul in the telling of being in a controlling religious cult.
It was a difficult one to write.  I know.  We have talked and emailed for hours on end. I can say that every time we were together for the past two years, the book was the center of our conversation. Don't get me wrong.  I was proud to be a part of it and I would like to think I helped in some way.

The book, "Locked In," is powerful.  It will shock, surprise, bring you to tears and warm your heart in places.  It will answer so many questions.  Questions about how someone could end up in a cult, or how you know you are in a cult, and how to escape from the cult.  You will find yourself saying, "no way that could take place today.  You will be amazed at the hypocrisy and turning away from the truth.  You will wonder if you would ever be drawn into such a group.  Would the time ever be right that they could satisfy your needs take you in? You will find answers to such questions as to why they don't celebrate Christmas, all holidays, and birthdays. So many little things that one never thinks about being forbidden by God can be humorous.

So many persons have asked for months when is the book coming out.  Well this is your lucky day.  Go to Amazon and purchase one.  You will be glad you did.  It is an eye opener for some and for others it is a reaffirmation of what they went through as a member of this group.  My son has done a great job with his first book! 

Gun Shots-Intrusion In Paradise

I had turned off my regular morning show, planning to get on with my day without the stories of Hollywood gossip, the latest in fashions and a meal to cook in fifteen minutes.  I needed to concentrate on my Memoir class meeting this afternoon.  In a few minutes my husband came  rushing into the den and shouts " turn on Fox News.  Something bad has happened in Virginia." I  immediately thought of another school shooting. The picture came on and I began to read the caption.  Shooting in Moneta, Smith Mountain Lake, television reporters.  What was going on?  George and I had taken my aunt to lunch at one of the many restaurants at Smith Mountain Lake last Monday. The area has become a tourist mecca since I was a child and visited with my cousin on a tobacco farm which "gave up" some of its land to become a part of the man-made lake. (Not for free I might add.)  The inlets and coves are lined with million dollar homes, each with its own dock. There are more modest homes back from the lake waters.  Do you remember the movie "What About Bob?" with Bill Murray?  The lake scenes in the movie were on Smith Mountain Lake. Do you remember the scene in the cafe?  It had been a gas station when I was a three year old and lived up and across the main road.  I sat on the steps waiting for my Daddy to come home from work.  My Mother graduated from Moneta High School which has long ago been torn down.  Smith Mountain Lake put tiny Moneta on the map fifty years ago as a place to come and relax from the busyness of everyday life.  Smith Mountain Lake put Moneta in the world news as a place where three innocent people going about their duties in the early morning hours could be wounded and shot and killed by a mentally unstable former co-worker. The show was live and some of the victims' family members were watching.  No doubt this is the way the shooter planned it.
When this tragic scene began replaying in my head I thought of the many lives that would be touched by this
unbelievable deed. The young woman's fiance, the young man's fiance whose wedding dress arrived that day, the co-workers who appeared to be a close-knit group, the families, neighbors, college friends, and on and on.  Then, I won't forget that the shooter had a family.  I cannot imagine how they feel.

I look back sixty years or more and I see fields of tobacco.  I see persons of all ages involved in doing their jobs in those fields.  I see myself, a tow-headed skinny kid, pale skin turning pink from the hot Piedmont sun. wiping sweat with the back of my dirty hand.  I hear my aunt say, come on chaps, lets go to the house and find something cold to drink,  She doesn't have  to call but once.

Back to Monday, August 17th, 2015, Smith Mountain Lake.   I saw no tobacco fields, just stores and restaurants, blacktop and manicured green areas, and new homes.   Forward to Wednesday, August 26, 2015, 6:45 a.m. Bridgewater Plaza, West---eight shots rang out and Paradise was gone.

Your comments are encouraged.
Darlene Eichler
Writer, Teacher,
Blogger, Memorist
dargeeic@aol.com

SOMETIMES A WRITER'S SKIN CANNOT BE THICK ENOUGH

Often I have made this comment to my younger writer friends,"you need thick skin to be a published writer." Some look at me with skepticism while others nod as if it didn't take them long to find that out.  Just because someone spends hours alone writing what is in their heart, doesn't mean that they have lost all sensitivity to negative remarks and criticism.  If anything is true the majority of writers are more sensitive, intuitive persons.  They learn to read body language and understand, "I'll come back and buy your book," to mean no sale.They can tell when some acquaintances want you to give them your book.  It is as if they went into a bookstore and saw your publication and think because they know you they should get it at a discount.  A book is a piece of art just like a beautifully crafted quilt or a specialty piece of jewelry.  Do you know what I mean? Craftsman should receive awards for their creations.  I have a dear friend who always buys local authors' works. He does that to show he recognizes the hard work that goes into a book.  Now he is a published author and he understands what a good thing he has been doing.

      Recently I gave my all to a preschool celebration for the end of school.  I prepared by attending a two hour meeting with the Director.  I had my illustrator make drawings from the book I was reading for the children to color. I took colorful posters, lots of books (I had been told I would sell many, I sold three to adults, not parents). I thought I was well prepared.  The children brought their favorite stuffed animals, as I did. The mothers and family members were present. There was excitement about a parade to follow the program.  The parade would be led by a man and his service dog. It was a special time for the children. The excitement had been building so when it came time to hear the author, dressed like a cat, read her book, the children were talkative and younger siblings were crying.  It was probably their nap times  It would have been ideal if they had sat there quiet as little mice, but that wouldn't have been natural.  I had the attention of some and received responses.  I chalked it up as a typical experience with young children.  Evidently the Director did not see it that way. Being an overly sensitive person, I felt the chill after the event was over.  There was not a thank you card or a simple gift to remind my illustrator and me of the event.  I have always felt it only good manners to do so.

     I thought that within the next few days I would be getting a call to be asked a few questions for info to go into the fabulous article with pictures to go into the local paper.  No email, no calls.  I even sent my friend a note to see if she or the Director were sick or there were problems. I have received no response and it has been over six months. I truly cannot understand the silence nor can my illustrator.

     I will put it in my memoir bank as one of the most hurtful, shocking, unbelievable experiences of my career.  It will remain a mystery.  I hope the answer is not what keeps popping into my head.  It is such an unchristian thought that I won't mention it.  I'm still looking for that fantastic article in the local paper.

     I'm not sure my skin is thick enough for this incident that happened  in a church sponsored activity. I could probably take it with a grain of salt if it happened in a secular setting.

     In standing back and looking at the situation, here is my theory:  they wanted a cute little kitten and they got an old mama cat!!!!!!

Thank you for reading this post.  Your comments and questions are welcomed.

Darlene Eichler

Writer, Memoirist, and Blogger

WHEN I WAS LITTLE

Sometimes it is hard to remember when I was little, if I stop and think about it.  At times those flashbacks come without any thought.  I am having more and more of those lately.  I think it is because I am what I would have called in my younger years, an old person.  There is no doubt about it.  Oh, I like to say that I don't feel old and my mind is still young.  All I have to do is try to get out of bed every morning and the old, creaky bones let me know.  "Lady, you are no longer young."  When I go into the bathroom and look in the mirror, I know I am an old lady.  Not just any old lady, but my own mother! Almost everyone says that.  All of us old ladies do not look like our mothers.  It is biologically impossible.  Our father's genes are in their somewhere. I think we see our mothers because we do have some similarities and we put those together with our imagination and there is our mother.  Of course some daughters could pass for twins of their mothers. Now back to my point.....when I was little I put everyone into three categories.....children, adults (which included parents, school teachers, and service people), and old people.  I thought it was many, many years until I would be an old person.  Maybe by the time I got there science would have a miracle drug to make us young again. I didn't give it too much thought because I couldn't picture myself old. It seemed as long as ten Christmases away.  I enjoyed my childhood but I wanted so badly to grow up fast.  At one point when I was very young,  I thought children grew up overnight.  I kept waiting.  Finally I realized it took a long process.  When I became a teen-ager the time started to pass faster.  Before I knew it I was graduating from high school.  I had the most important decision to make.....what would I do now?  After considering several careers I came up with nursing.  The time flew.  Although I didn't graduate I jumped right into marriage and motherhood.  Some days I didn't look at the calendar.  More children came along and the years flew by, except when you held a sick baby in your arms waiting for a diagnosis, except when you sat by a telephone waiting for that call to let you know your child had arrived safely to basic training. The years were on the fast track by then but most of the time you didn't notice.  Then the first great-grandchild was born. You begin to feel your body slowing down.  It seemed that you couldn't do all the things you had planned in your retirement years.  There were more doctors appointments with "ologist" after the malady you were seeking help for. There were the urologist, oncologist, ophthalmologist, psychologist, gerontologist,the rheumatologist, the audiologist, the neurologist, the gynecologist, oncologist, and on and on.  You get the picture.
     Going to doctors was not enough for me.  I felt that I should be giving back to my community.
At first it was slow going but before I knew it I was almost as busy as when I worked a full time job.  There was one major difference.  I chose my activities and hours.  There was little stress and in the process of volunteering I made many new friends. Life was good. Although health problems have come along, I'm still able to do most of the activities I desire.  Teaching and helping others is the best medicine for all those annoying illnesses of old age.  If I had to stay home and sit in my rocking chair all day doing nothing, soon I would be able to do nothing but sit in my rocking chair.

My advise to those senior citizens who have just moved here after retirement;  look at the list of volunteer opportunities listed in the Sun News once a week.  Find one that suits your talents and interests and get busy.  You will enjoy "old age."  I promise.

My grandmother, Ethel Patterson Bays
Age at death-19 years

Senior Moments Can Be Funny or Not

You have probably said it or thought it several times a day, that is, if you are over the age of fifty.  As soon as the words exit your mouth you regret saying them.  Those words are, "I forgot or I don't remember"  or something that means the same. Intuitively you know those are words of a senior citizen or an old codger or someone "over the hill." You are "marked" no matter the words which come after that. So, do you accept it or not?

I have made a New Year's resolution to help me with this memory problem.  We have in our blended family twelve grandchildren and twelve great grand children. That is a group any way you look at it. Just keeping up with their birthdays is no small feat I will admit I do forget or get them mixed up at times.  Their parents are too young to understand.  Give them a few more years and they will think, "Oh, I shouldn't have been so critical of the seniors. My reasoning is that we have crammed too much in our brains over the years.  All we can retrieve is that stuff in the very back that happened many years ago!

Oh, I forget to tell you my solution to the birthday cards! I bought one for everyone, wrote their name where the stamp goes and put them in the appropriate pocket of the correct month on the calendar.

Don't let it get to you.  Sometimes it is good to forget some things.

It will help your brain to free up some memory by writing your memoir.  That will clean out some of that stuff way in the back!

Comments are encouraged.  Darlene Eichler/Nan Turner

                          dargeeic@aol.com 




                                           

More on WHEN A VACTION NOT A VACATION

JUST IN CASE SOME OF MY FRIENDS TOOK ME SERIOUSly in the PRIOR post, let me explain.  The post was a criticism of me and my addiction to writing.  The use of our electronic media has ruined some of the pleasures of life...like vacations, for example.It is unusual to see someone just sitting and relaxing without a smart phone or Ipad in their hand.

I truly did have a wonderful vacation with my friends. They are not attached to electronic things We had wonderful conversations which brought back great memories.  Yes, I will proaably write about some of them.

So, if you read "When is a Vacation Not A Vacation," remember it was supposed to be funny and directed toward my writing addiction!

Remember social media" in not so social at times.

Darlene Eichler/Nan Turner

WHEN IS A VACATION NOT A VACATION?i

Even if one lives in a tourist area a vacation is needed for rest to body and mind. We missed our annual trip to Florida last year because of the weather.  We had to postpone it a month this year because of my health  and the myriad of medical tests I was prescribed.  The day finally arrived.  We drove to Wilmington to save money on our tickets.  Our one large piece of luggage, bulging like a bloated hog, held more than it should. I held my breath when it was lifted onto the scales. Whew!  Twenty-five dollars, please. Security was next.  would our small handbag of medications make it through? I must remember to show my electronic card for my Loop recorder.  I was assured I would not have to go through the metal detector.  Hold your arms above your head and step on the yellow footprints. After the "pat down,"  I was home free.

This was to be a vacation of relaxation.  We would take short trips and attend special happenings but mainly we would sit at home and enjoy each other's company.  I left my computer and Ipad at home.  I had my Iphone but I am not too good using it as anything but a phone and a camera. Oh, yes, email, too.  But it didn't give me a writing instrument .  After about two days I began to have a feeling that something was missing. Had I forgotten one of my medications?  No, they were all there?  What could it be?  Had I forgotten something really important to do at home.  Did I close the cat  in the guest room?  Or forget to turn the thermostat back?  No, I was pretty sure those things had been done.  Then it hit me like a brick.  I had not written anything in days! How can I remedy that?  I brought a small notebook and I would write the old fashioned way. That evening after everyone had gone to bed I decided to sit on my side of the bed and write.  There was no place to rest the notebook.   Soon my neck began to hurt and I closed the notebook. Perhaps I could go in the bathroom and find comfort.  That lasted for a few minutes.  Besides I seemed to have writers'  block or was it cramp?  I decided to go to bed and try to sleep.  Sleep at 11:30!  /A t home I would just be getting my second wind.  But I did fall asleep. I had some amazing dreams but little came to mind he following morning.  I gave myself a stern lecture..Darlene, forget the writing until you go home, after all no one seems interested.  So sit back enjoy the conversations of times gone by.  Some day my friends might be surprised to recognize one of their stories in print.
        I  can't wait to open my computer

A LETTER TO MY MEMOIR CLASS

Well, here we are into the year 2015.  Some of us have been together for going on five years.  In that time we have created some memories and remembered some we had shoved into the back of our mind. We listen to our classmates read their homework and we remember more than we have time to write.

It has been a joy to watch every student grow in their writing.  I am so grateful some of you have been in class as long as you have.  Maybe you dont recgonize the progress you have made but others do.

You have made me a better teacher.  You forced me to have fresh, interesting lesson  plans each week.   I cannot put into words how your support and caring spirits have helped me with my chronic illnesses.

Thank you from the bottom of my heart,
Darlene