White Knight

For the first time since our first visit to New Hope's Centre Bridge Inn, back in November, last night we had to sit at the bar instead of at a table.  Now, you might think this wouldn’t make much of a difference since we were there to HEAR Barbara Trent’s remarkable jazz stylings & she was singing less than 10’ away from us.

But it did.

The only seats available at the bar - after Jerry, kind soul that he is, gave up his so the three of us could light & set - were at the end.  All three of us were seated with our backs to Barbara.

My grannie client, usually over-the-moon with happiness at being there, was increasingly bereft as the night wore on.  The people on her left looked to be staying for the duration, so my g.c. couldn’t move over to at least get a side view.  Barbara was completely out of her sight.

<Seems the person who usually helps Kitty move a small table into the area near Barbara hadn’t come in that day & she was super busy with all the people who were clustered around the bar (at least double the usual amount).>

I was at a loss what to do.  There was no workable answer that would restore my g.c.’s usual high spirits hearing Barbara.  Since there was simply nothing I could do to remedy the situation, at least I could do something to from feeling impotent & frustrated, which wouldn't do anyone any good.  

Letting go of any reaction to the situation, I opened myself up to simply experience what unfolded, washing over instead of consuming me with irked edginess.

It was heartbreaking, yet fascinating, noticing how not being able to see Barbara, not having the usual back & forth of smiles, the camaraderie, the mutual admiration society, affected my g.c.   My body could feel her deep unhappiness.  It wasn’t just that she couldn't see & interact with Barbara;  for the first time since we started going up each Wednesday night, she didn't have a sense of her dear husband near at hand.  She was genuinely bereft.  The heavy weight on her heart & spirit  was tangible.  There was no comforting her.

Well, at least I couldn’t.  Thank goodness for the young man who turned her grey gloom into sunshine & happiness.

We’d never seen the fellow before.  John & I agreed he looked like a relative of Chris Christie, from his burly good looks to his magnetic personality.  With nowhere to sit at the bar (unheard of on a Wednesday night), he sat on one of the regular chairs that lined the wall.  When he came over to have his drink refreshed, he stood right next to my g.c. & started talking with her.

FACT (although she doesn’t believe it):  my g.c. has a winning personality that draws people into her circle.  Like all of the other regulars, this guy was a goner.  He made some slight comment, the sort you make out of politeness when you’re standing right next to something.  I couldn’t hear her reply, but I could see his eyes dance in response.  Kitty brought over his fresh drink, but he made no move to leave my g.c. & go back to his seat.  Her mood, which had been mournful, suddenly zipped up, her voice was shot through with sparkle.  He said he’d have to dance with her later, his face & being totally engaged with this woman clearly old enough to be his grandmother+.  She made some retort that totally cracked him up.  Finally, he put his hand on her arm & gave his goodbyes.

But he wasn’t through being her white knight.  Because he’d driven over an hour just to hear Barbara & there was no place for two people to eat at the bar (he was expecting a guest), he sweet talked Kitty into setting up a table for him near Barbara - and to set up a 2^nd for his new friend.  

Which is how we went from the doleful state of being seated at the bar, backs to the singing, to being front & center, my g.c. less than 6’ from Barbara.

NOW she could glory in the wonder of Barbara’s voice & astonishing musicianship, NOW, she could sense her husband close to her. 

The young man’s guest arrived & they settled in for a private dinner.  My g.c. never did get her dance, but that wonderful fellow, a  true knight in shining armor, saved a grannie in distress.  He restored her joy, her zip, her shimmer. 

Toward the end of the evening, we turned to thank him again - and he was gone. Like any white knight, fairy godmother or wily wizard, he did his good deed, saw all was well, and vanished.  My thanks to him for our gloriously happy ending.

Sense of Wonder

What creates a sense of wonder in me?

More than anything, a sense of relationship. 

That sounds very broad.  Understandable – although I experience it in specific ways, it could come from any one of number of sources.  

It could be a Facebook picture of a friend holding a granddaughter, the two lost in wonder, looking at the other’s face.  

It could be watching Anne listen to Barbara singing the jazz vocals they both love so well, experiencing Barbara's delight at the rapport the two feel.

It could be being aware of the bliss of sitting on the couch with John late Sunday evening, sipping his excellent coffee & eating teeny bites of luscious dark chocolate, as we snug close to each other, listening in the semi-dark  to The Tobolowsky Files. 

It could be the inner grin at getting a note from my sister, or being all smiles as a friend shares details of a special family weekend. 

Relationship in all its glorious forms is my Star of Wonder, my true north.  It's what creates a sense of wonder in me.  

Always has been, always will be.  

Wonderful!

Mom - thanks!

No one hung onto the familiar for dear life like my Mom, Katharine Reynolds Lockhart.  Understandably.  She’d lost her dearly beloved father when she was just 19.  She lost her dearly beloved youngest son when he was just 11.  She lost her beyond dearly beloved husband when he was just 62 - she was 63, two years older than I am now.

With so much unexpected loss in her life, it’s understandable that Mom’s driving principle was Keep Things As They Are.  Even if they didn’t work, if they were familiar constants in her life,  she protected them with all the devotion of a mother bear protecting cubs.  And you do NOT want to take on a mother bear protecting her cubs.

Some people find it practically beyond belief that Mom gained enough confidence in herself - at the tag end of her 80s!! - that she could lighten up her personal protection detail of the familiar in her life.  

Mom always said Lockhart Ladies are slow bloomers.  

In some small nook of her deepest self, Mom had remained open to getting a healthier view of a stronger, more resilient self than she was inclined to believe.  She just needed a little nudge from the right person.  (it wasn't me, though Lord knows I'd tried)

As Mom wrote to her e-mail circle (no blogging back in 2000), she discovered she could take risks, could do things that might have once-dreaded consequences, that the once dreaded could actually happen – and she didn’t die. 

“And I didn’t die.”  That’s a quote from when she took a risk with someone whose non-verbal but powerfully felt threat had been to withdraw totally from her life is she (Mom) asked for something the person didn’t want to consider.  

For decades, that looming unspoken had kept Mom in check, kept her from taking a step in her own best interest, kept her clinging to a life preserver emblazoned, "Don't think of going there."

It wasn’t a big step, it didn’t require sacrifice from anyone – but it required something, and the person found that contentious.

For Mom to take that small, seemingly insignificant step, one she KNEW would displease the other but which was important for her own happiness, required Mom to go totally utterly completely outside her personal comfort zone.  It required that she put HER best interests first.  Even now, almost 15 years later, I consider it the most courageous thing I ever experienced. 

• She put herself first, in spite of a lifetime of not even putting herself on a list. 
• She put herself first, even though it might mean unimaginable loss.
• She put herself first, because she realized it might not be the easiest thing to do, but it was the wisest.

That, for a woman born in 1910 & brought up in an age when women weren’t trained to put their best interests into the mix of what needed to be done, is downright jaw dropping. 

Yes, the person did, to all intents & purposes, withdraw from Mom’s life.  And it was sad.  But sadder for the person than it was for Mom.  

Mom had - of her own free will – let go of the life preserver of the familiar in favor of breast stroking into a wiser, more genuine unimaginable.  

The last two years of Mom's life were filled with the unimaginable - - unimaginable experiences, unimaginable vistas, unimaginable relationships. Even an unimagined, priceless connection with the very person whose withdraw hadn't killed her.

What was her greatest discovery, once she let go of that safety-assuring life preserver?  That she hadn’t lost anything, that she was still the person she was, only more able to appreciate all that she was, from her youngest years to her oldest, years filled with trials & years filled with triumphs.  And, as her daughter, that was the greatest, best blessing she could give a child. 

All from letting go of the precious What-Was for the unimaginable Is & To Be.

Mom – thanks!

Getting Into the Swim of Things

It’s human nature to hold onto the familiar, the tried & true.  My guess is this inkling, this instinct, may become more entrenched the older you get, especially when you’re really up there in years.  So many things have been taken away from folks in advanced years, anything that feels familiar, a constant from years past. becomes triply precious.

Which is a challenge, because the reason “ancients” (to use Mom’s phrase for her 90+-year old self) are here is to BE different from the person they were, not to cling to that long-familiar other.

To an “older” (my term for grannie clients), a sense of that familiar self might FEEL like a life preserver, but it keeps them in place that goes nowhere.  Whether they like it or not, they've moved past where they were.  They need to get into the swim of the here & now.

Alas, most olders seem to feel that the here & now is a place of uncertainty.  Understandable.  I rarely come across an older who confides in me, “Hot diggity dog!  I’m 80+ years old, with plenty to live & learn!”

I’m more likely to hear, “Why am I still here?”, “I hate being a drag on my children,” “I’m supposed to be taking care of them.”  

I especially hear that last.  

Makes sense.  Modern medicine has done wonders helping us extend our lives, but precious little at how to expand those upper reach of years.  And unless they are expanded, those extended years can feel hollow, or worse.  

Holding Them Close

A grannie client is in the hospital.  She took a tumble about a week ago, in her apartment.  While in rehab, she apparently had several strokes & is reported to be back in the hospital.

Don't want to hassle the family for details - they're probably pretty maxed out right now - but can't think of who or where to call.  Sigh....  All this social media & I'm clueless what's happening.

Sending love & hugs to her, to them.  

From Shore to Shore

Wow! Just dawned on me that I can honestly say, with a totally straight face, that my reputation as an empathic, worlds-expanding grannie listener has spread from shore to shore!  

Last night, the chocolatier/macaroon baker from Stockton Farm Market, the fellow who spotted me at B&N with John (see previous post), told his wife how he'd experienced my interaction with a grannie client that afternoon.  He'd been moved by how I helped ease her out of feeling leery (his word) about trying one of the small, beckoning bars of his remarkable handmade chocolates, how my words & attitude opened up an opportunity where she'd only seen uncertainty, concerned with outside the norm they were from her usual Hershey or Godiva.  From what he described, I opened up the choice. 

John stood there, practically busting his buttons with pride, knowing that's precisely what I hope to do for every grannie client.
  

John wasn't with us this past Wednesday, when I whisked my grannie client up to Centre Bridge In to hear Barbara Trent sing her amazing song book of jazz standards & lesser known pieces.  He's usually with us (only fair, since he introduced me to Barbara during our courting days), but stayed home to work on a commission.  He missed something special, since Barbara sang well past her usual 9:30ish close, all the way to 10:00 p.m.  

Several times during the evening, Barbara pointed out that while her Friday crowd is considerable larger, our cozy Wednesday group is something special, that it "feels like family."  

Feels like family - she's stressed that again & again since Christmas.  

Hadn't occurred to me that sense might be newly underscored by my client's presence:  she adds the "grannie" to the family, since at 92 she's old enough to be not only be mom to the several 60-somethings, but also to the 72-years old Barbara, and be grandma to the young people (the inn's chef & his gal pal) who round out the evenings.  

Mind you, it's only been a few months - since November 2012 - that our merrie trio has meandered  up the River Road to hear Barbara, while the regulars have been going for YEARS.  Every week, they've given us a warm welcome, but I never presumed to think of us on the same footing.  That changed on 01/23.

Right from the beginning, things were different this past Wednesday.  For one thing, we had dinner there, our first time.  I'd wanted the evening to be extra special, since we weren't getting together on Saturday, a night my client particularly dreads spending alone.  Instead of her eating with friends at her lovely senior living residence or the two of us enjoying Tim & Co.'s camaraderie at New Galaxy Diner, we sat at our favorite table near the teeny piano.  We dined on the best fish & chips I've ever sampled (and very affordable, from the Tavern Menu) while she supped on the more $$ but fabulous Grilled Shrimp with Risotto.  When we arrived, Barbara still wasn't there, a first for us! 

Seems the regulars didn't realize at first that we were the two eating there.  We were there a good 90 minutes before our usual arrival & were having dinner, not just our usual imbibing.  Maybe that made them want to come over & chat. After Barbara sang her last note, it seemed each of them made an opportunity to drop do just that.  The wanted to let us know how much they loved watching us interacting.  They'd picked up she wasn't my mother, but were thrown by my attitude toward her.  "We would NEVER have thought she's just a client!"  

They love how she listens raptly to Barbara's singing, to how well she holds up well enough to basically close the place down, to how she takes these moments to LIVE.  A summary of what they told her would be, "We want to be like you when we get older - and we want her (me) to be our sidekick!!"  

And with those comments, with Barbara coming over to join the conversation & lay out her own admiration of my client's verve, we became regulars.  

What lovely reinforcement from two totally different places & people that what I seek to do as a "life enthusiast, grannie listener" seems to work.  New worlds are presenting themselves, options - which olders have increasing fewer of - are opening up, verve in the spirity & a spring in the step seem restored.  That might not sound like much to you; to me, it is everything I set out to accomplish.

So what about "from shore to shore"??  Well, it's true - because the Centre Bridge Inn in tucked along the Pennsylvania shore of the Delaware, while Stockton nestles on the NJ side, linked by the span of Centre Bridge. 

Maybe my shore to shore isn't from the canyons of Manhattan to San Francisco Bay, but it's a really good start!!  

Sweet Serendipity

Tonight was THE night John takes me dancing every year.  A benefit for a local youth organization, it's always great fun.  Except this time, I was hit with a smothering case of claustrophobia!  Were there only 10 minutes when I said, "Okay with you if we leave?"  John was taken totally aback, as we'd both looked forward to it, but one glance at my ashen face was all he needed to high tail it to the cloak room for our coats.

It was a beautiful night, the stars glistening, the moon casting shadows across the rolling golf greens.  "How about heading to B&N," John asked as we walked to the car.  Some of the most romantic words in our personal lexicon!  And we were off to Willow Grove, hoping a stack of magazines, a small pile of books & a cinnamon scone would put some sparkle back in our evening.

Little did I guess!  As we made our way to the magazine section, I heard a voice call out, "Didn't I see you this afternoon at Stockton?"  Turned around, and there was the very fellow who owns & makes all The Painted Truffles delectables!  His shop is in New Jersey, but he lives in Horsham.  

Introduced him to Joh - the two guys shared graphic arts stories, while I was intrigued by the BIG Bouchon Bakery book he was lugging around.  A recipe from that very book resulted in the  beyond-belief delicious quiche Maddie made last week at Be Well!  We had a jolly few moments before heading back to our separate destinations (he was there with his wife). 

It was about an hour later that I spotted the two of them, deep in reading.  As I walked past, he looked up, beamed, and called me over to be introduced to his wife.  "This is the person I told you about," he explained to her.  He asked about my relationship to the older woman I was with & I explained she's a client.  A wonderful look came over his face as he turned to his wife to explain, "She was leery about trying the chocolate."  He looked back to me, "You were very patient & tender.  And you brought her around in the end, helped her gain the confidence to experiment. Did she like the bar she selected?"

Well, it was my honor & delight to relay to him the response to that little bitty chocolate bar with the GREAT BIG chocolate taste.  She tried first just a little taste of the bar, dark chocolate with finely ground coffee beans.  The look on her face was rapturous - she'd never had the quality of chocolate used for that small treasure.  She broke off a larger piece, carefully tucking the rest of it back into its clear plastic sleeve, closed her eyes & just let it rest for a moment on her tongue.  It was the perfect response.

He was happy to hear the chocolate was so appreciated.  I was happy to have the opportunity to tell him I plan to use a single shard of his Mayan Chocolate bar on the white on white mini cupcakes I'm making for the Gold Bar fundraising bake sale on 02/10.  He agreed the intense chocolate would be a great counterpoint to the softer flavors.  

What fun to run into him, to get a chance to find out more about his shop, how special to hear his response to my interaction with a client.  My hope is always to expand my client's world, to make it a bigger place to tread safely - that's what he described.

Sweet serendipity!

Ice Flows

Once a year, John takes me dancing - this is the night!  Which means I can't take a grannie client out for dinner & jazz, my usual Saturday night gig.  So, did something special with her this afternoon.

We went looking for ice flows.  

It's SERIOUSLY cold.  When we drove between the Churchville Nature Center reservoir, the water was almost 100% ice - hundreds & hundreds of Canada Geese & ducks were on & around the small patch of open water.

We were headed for the Delaware.

On Thursday, when John  & I went to Fred's for breakfast, the river was running briskly, carrying along great patches of ice.

When my grannie client & I crossed from New Hope to Lambertville, the ice flows weren't going anywhere, they were stationery on the water - on the frozen water.  It gave me pause to realize it's been so cold, the Delaware is frozen over.  Brrrrrrrr....

Well, it's frozen over at Lambertville.  Up the river just a few miles, at Stockton, the Delaware flows freely, only its edges trimmed in ice.

I'd taken my client to Stockton to check out the farm market, and upscale experience that features artisan food producers.  

We talked to the graphic designer who changed his career path after 9/11, developing a highly acclaimed, much-sought range of French macaroons, as well as beyond the beyond hand-made dark chocolates.  Although the Dark Bark & the oversized, gluten-free deep chocolate cookie beckoned, I settled on two very small chocolate bars - Mayan Chocolate and Orange Peel.  Will sample them tomorrow evening with John, as we settle on the living room couch with some of his delectable coffee, listening to Prairie Home Companion, then The Tobolowsky Files - the joys of radio & NPR!  My client was tempted, but kept waving herself off with mumblings about calories & be careful not to gain weight.  

She was still trying to ignore the siren call of the chocolate bars when we struck up a conversation with two charming young women, selling gorgeous baguettes of French bread, quiche, fruit pies & granola.  Both gals underscored my point that dark chocolate is health food, to no avail.  More mumblings about calories & taking care not to pack on the pounds.

The olive oil merchant was next up.  The olives for his extra virgin olive oil are grown on his family's farm in Tunisia.  I sampled a cube of bread dipped in what tasted like peppery elixir;  my client mumbled.  The fellow picked up on her self-admonishments about calories & unwanted pounds.   "Oh," he said, all smiles & informatin, "Olive oil are the calories you SHOULD be eating.  They are clean calories."  My client was intrigued, giving a keen ear to his mini-lesson on olive oil & your health.  "Olive oil is good for you, like dark chocolate."  "Oh," she asked, "Chocolate really is good for you?"  "Yes," he replied, "They provide the type of calories that help your body be its healthiest."  She immediately started looking back toward the chocolates.

After assuring the olive oil vendor that I'd be back for a bottle on my birthday visit, it was back to the chocolates.  She looked & wondered which would be best, but could not bring herself to plunking down so much for what looked like so little.  So I took the buying decision out of her hands - I bought one for her.  Yes, it was a very small bar for a very big price, but the yield I received on my $2.75 (including tax - this is NJ) was worth every penny.  She was delighted, finally settling on the chocolate bar that includes ground up coffee beans.  She held the piece of chocolate, slipped into a plastic sleeve, like it was a $100 box of Godivas.  Opening it, she broke of a shard of chocolate to taste.  The look on her face could have sold out the entire case!

Although Stockton made a perfect destination for our afternoon ramble, giving us plenty of country roads to admire the fresh snow, she'd thought it odd, going to a food market.  To her, food is food.  In my family, food is on par with artwork.  We went to Balducci's & Zabar's, Fante's & the Chestnut Hill Cheese Shop much like other friends go to MOMA or the Philadephia Art Museum.  A good farm market is always a lot of fun;  a great one, like the Stockton Farm Market, is a delight for the senses.

It was, I must admit, special fun for me.  I remember when Half-Pint Ice Cream set up its wares on a folding table & packed its incredible ice creams in ice chests; now, they have a permanent spot, right by the back door to the parking lot, perfect for a spur-of-the-moment purchase as you head home.  When the place looked like it could be a good idea if someone put some inspired energy & hard work into it.  Someone did & Stockton Farm Market is a splendid experience to share with anyone.  My client would agree.  

On the drive home, across the frigid waters of the Delaware, back to Pennsylvania, my client admitted she thought I'd lost my mind, taking her to a food store.  She'd spent the first 15 minutes of our visit looking for a  way to get us OUT, but by the time we stopped at Half-Pint so she could sample a spoonful of locally made, full-fat ice cream, she was ready to linger.  

She learned several important lessons today ~ olive oil & chocolate are health foods; sometimes you get a better buy when you spend a little more; and farm markets are as much about the sights, the sounds, the smells, the little kids sticking close to Mom & Dad, as it is about the glorious mushrooms or pulled pork or locally raised chickens.  There are good calories & unrepentant calories & sometimes either could be the right way to go.  

We went looking for ice flows today.  We found them, and so much more.  

When "Legacy Coach" Is Not Enough

Edie, my Katie Joy, thinks it's not enough to have a business card saying, "Deev Murphy - life enthusiast, grannie listener, legacy coach."  Maybe yes, maybe no.  In any case, found myself a business name that suits me fine ~ Rapt in Stories.

But I still like my business card just the way it is.  It hits all the marketing "must haves" and it's me.  

Nice to have business blog.  With all my blogs, never had one like it.  It's time.

Rapt in Stories.  I like it.  It's me.