for Lauren and Happy, Happy Birthday, Girl!

40 Things That are Great About Being 40!

(for Lauren on her 40th bday, July 26)

(photo by Scott Snyder)

1. No more dreading turning 40!

2. You still have more than 50 years to go.

3. No more school photos.

4. You can wear skirted bathing suits with no shame!

5. You won’t get carded for a glass of wine.

6. You can cry if you want to.

7. You know lots of things already.

8. You can braid your chin hairs into a warm, comforting winter scarf.

9. No more standardized testing!

10. You never have to worry about what brand of jeans you are wearing.

11. You can go grey or stay red - or try a whole new hair color!

12. Skeevy men will probably stop hitting on you.

13. New, older skeevy men will start hitting on you.

14. That whole “find your purpose when you’re 33” pressure is off.

15. Your best sex is still ahead of you (so they say).

16. You can gracefully call wrinkles “laugh lines.”

17. There’s no need to spend time tanning.

18. Shave. Don’t shave. Whatever.

19. You can start a new career and get scholarships for moms over 40!

20. You can have your cake and eat it too. (But you will probably have to make it yourself.)

21. You can blame tummy bulge on middle age.

22. You can blame your husband’s bad behavior on middle age (not that he would ever).

23. You can pretty much blame anything you want on middle age!

24. You can vote - whoop de do!

25. If you haven’t smoked by now, there’s no point in starting - good for you!

26. You can watch your children grow up while you still have the energy to enjoy them.

27. When your kids go to college, you’ll still be young enough to travel the world!

28. No one can tell you you’re being immature. It’s your right now.

29. Behold and embrace those laugh lines - you earned ‘em!

30. You can write a really long list of your accomplishments.

31. You can remember things from the 80’s which are now considered “from yesteryear.”

32. You can pull outfits out of your closet that your kids will wear to oldies costume parties.

33. You can say things like, “Back in the day.”

34. It is perfectly valid to start using that, “Uphill both ways” story with pride.

35. You am who you am and it’s high time to accept and love YOU.

36. You can feather your hair and wear high heels with skinny jeans because hey, you’re worth it! (And you waited so long that it’s now back in style.)

37. You have a family that loves you and gives your life meaning.

38. You’re not 50.

39. You can start your memoirs.

40. THE BEST IS YET TO COME!

Great things I did on my summer "vacation"...

...and it's not even half over yet!

1) Went on a 3,008-mile road trip with Scott to visit friends, family, grandkids, and an old college buddy.

2) Had dinner in Andover with Kel.

3) Talked on the phone regularly with Robin in Canada.

4) Helped Laurel and Conrado (and Bumbers) move into their first new home!

5) Went surfing with Scottie and Mattie in Hull at the wonderful (and missed) Nantasket Beach...followed up by dinner at our favorite Indian restaurant, Punjab Cafe in Quincy.

6) Went kayaking on a beautiful mountain lake with Barb and Ted.

7) Planted flowers on Dad's pretend grave for Father's Day and introduced Scott to the Concord Beef & Seafood store. (And later, the quirky, strange and delicious Gas Lighter Restaurant, which has a Ms. Pac Man machine!!!...I am in heaven.)

8) Hiked up to the Canterbury Water Tower with Izzy and Tammy.

9) Doggie-sat for Dufus, our favorite canine neighbor.

10) Went to Beech Hill Farm (to visit our favorite goats and their new goat-lings, donkey, and ice cream barn), and to Dimond Hill Farm for incredibly fresh and delicious produce.

11) Started going weekly to the Concord Farmers' Market, and sometimes the Art Market and other local farm stands.

12) Went to the wonderful hidden treasure, the Mill Brook Gallery and Sculpture Garden.

13) Took photographic adventures with Scott, including Merrill Pond and Bear Brook State Park, to name a few.

14) Saw the hysterical musical, "A Year with Frog and Toad," and yes, I said Frog and Toad.

15) Had a great Fourth of July with Mom, Laurel and family, and Scott, including swimming at the pool AND Lake Winnisquam, and fireworks in downtown Laconia.

16) Swam in the Merrimack River with Mom and Scott on a lazy hot afternoon.

17) Went to warm and inviting gatherings with White Mountain Sangha.

18) Enjoyed backyard-neighbor barbecues and fellowshipping.

19) SWAM IN OUR NEW POOL!!!!

20) Just enjoyed a wonderful and too-fast weekend at Grape Island in Maine with Laurel & Co. and Laurel's family, including old summertime friends and Conrado's sister Shanti (whom we just love).

What am I missing? I'm sure I'll remember some other fun soon.

I am blessed and grateful.

~ Ally

(photo by Scott Snyder)

EPL: To know this world and God

I am reading Elizabeth Gilbert's wonderful book, "Eat, Pray, Love." Every day, I feel inspired to write after reading some of her book. But the problem is, I am stuck in the middle of my workday and lunch is over and there ain't no way I can be blogging in this job! So I will spend a few posts giving you the highlights of her words which affect me. Today, I'd like to share this word image:

(excerpt from ch. 8, in which she asks a ninth-generation Balinese medicine man in Indonesia for the desires of her heart)

"...'what I want to learn is how to live in this world and enjoy its delights, but also devote myself to God.'

Ketut said he could answer my question with a picture. He showed me a sketch he'd drawn once during meditation. It was an androgynous human figure, standing up, hands clasped in prayer. But this figure had four legs, and no head. Where the head should have been, there was only a wild foliage of ferns and flowers. There was a small, smiling face drawn over the heart.

'To find the balance you want,' Ketut spoke through his translator, 'this is what you must become. You must keep your feet grounded so firmly on the earth that it's like you have four legs, instead of two. That way, you can stay in the world. But you must stop looking at the world through your head. You must look through your heart, instead. That way, you will know God.'"

Well, kitties, I wrote something. You can hear about our road trip to the deep south on Rock, Water, and Light, and for those of you following the baby saga on Yahoo, you can hear a bit about that too. Sign in, check in, and tell me all about you.

Writing has been an elusive little monkey of late - no time or energy - but it feels good to be back in the saddle again.

Am reading "Julie & Julia" for all you readers and resident foodees. I highly recommend it. Even better than the wonderfully fun and inspiring movie.

Au revoir for now!

~Ally

grief

It is so very complicated. Not unlike our other up-and-down relationships - years gone by, details forgotten, then remembered in an instant.

My friend Jean who works in hospice calls the sudden just-happened-yesterday moments "grief bursts." She is so right. Attending a funeral that feels a little too familiar. Insert my family members instead of these random strangers and we are at Dad's funeral all over again. The songs the choir sings - are they singing for you, Dad?

Dad seems to keep showing up in the form of great and majestic birds...not surprising, really. The other day, a Peregrine falcon flew alongside Scott's car, right at eye level on the drivers' side, looking at him while he drove. They beheld each other. It made Scott cry and opened up his heart in a big, momentary way. Earlier, there was the eagle that flew right over us and landed in a tree a mere twenty feet away, too low for an eagle to land, too close to not be some kind of sign of your presence. And the loon(s). And the hawks that circle above or the black crows, always flying in twos, that lead me on many days. I see you. I'm glad you are flying now. You waited a long time to fly.

About a week ago (or two now?), my friend died. Literally five minutes later, another friend's husband passed. The next day as my mother told me of both events, I felt them sit down in my heart and stay awhile. The heaviness of grief can be overwhelming. Our friend's husband's memorial was a few days later. Mom and I went and boy, if it didn't feel a little close for comfort. The wife, now widowed, gave a long message at her husband's service, attributing all his accomplishments and passions to his great strength of character, blessing his children by telling everyone how much she had loved him. It hurt, in a good way. The wife asked Mom to read a piece on grief. In it was the phrase, "grief is my friend." And Mom would not read that. She just couldn't. But I could have because I have become so entwined with that relationship, that "otherness" of Grief that it might as well be a member of the family.

It is not a friend in the sense of comforting - or maybe it is. But it is close to us, always present, showing its colors in different forms. Like the fact that at coming on two years past Dad's death, I am just about strong enough to finally read his fishing memoir. I loaned the book to a co-worker in hospice, a social worker, who wanted to read some stories to a patient who was basically unresponsive...except when a nurse showed him pictures of big fish he'd caught. So I passed on the stories. And maybe when I get the book back, I can actually read it without getting sick to my stomach and throwing it back on the shelf.

Dad, life is going on, but not without you. I am still pissed at you, don't get me wrong. But only because there is so much I'd like to be able to discuss with you. So many things we still have to do together. Like skydiving. And fishing up at Chazy. Going to the funeral of your best friend's daughter - I know you would never have chosen to miss it. And hiking up the correct side - the steep but MUCH SHORTER trail to the top of Locke's Hill. Mom showed it to us, and it wasn't so bad. We came down the back side, the longer trail you tried to ascend and I can see why you thought it was miserable!

We are making fajitas tonight and watching stupid TV. Want to join us? Wish you could.

I'll be looking for you in the sky, Dad. My Buddhist teacher (oh stop rolling your eyes!) says the sky is always there and all is well.

All is well, Dad.

Love, Al

Little girls singing

There is a little girl who lives in the house behind our condos. Often when I am sitting outside on our patio, I can see her through the trees. She is dancing or bouncing on the trampoline. And she is singing at the top of her lungs. Today she is singing and clapping while pacing back and forth.

She reminds me of me, around age 8 or 9. I used to spend hours in our backyard growing up in Chicago, swinging on the old rusty yellow swingset, pumping fast and flying as high as I could. I would sing through all the songs I knew, especially the ones I learned in music class at school.

When we learned the patriotic songs like "America the Beautiful" or "The Star Spangled Banner," I loved singing those at the top of my lungs. That was probably my most patriotic time and I felt proud of my country. I knew in my heart that the neighbors must enjoy my singing. :)

I also really loved to sing this little Simon & Garfunkel ditty:

Hello Lampost,

whatcha knowin'?

I've come to watch your flowers growin'.

Ain't you got no rhymes for me?

Do-it-n-do-do, feelin' groovy!

I got no deeds to do,

no promises to keep.

I'm dappled and drowsy and ready to sleep -

let your morning time drop

all its petals on me.

Do-it-n-do-do, feelin' groovy!

Da da da da--da--da--da, feelin' groovy.

~Ally

from www.photosearch.com

Aging

It's exceptionally hard getting older.
It's hard to realize your body isn't working the way it used to, healing as quickly from injuries, rising to the occasion like it once did.
It's infuriating to be told you cannot (should not) drive anymore. To have your keys taken away, and not for the intoxicated party night, but for good.
It hurts when your friends - the same age as you! - begin getting cancer, or dying of headache-turned-brain-tumors. It's horrifying when a loved one drops dead of a heart attack.
You can't believe it when the thought of going up that damn driveway hill with the garbage bin is exhausting, or your just don't feel like watering all the plants in the garden anymore.
When you realize your clothes look like the outdated relics of your mother's closet...

Aging sucks.

This is what I am learning as our parents start to enter the age of grief, shocking diagnoses from the doctor, and visits from friends who are now widows.

These are the things I think on as I work to tend the sick and dying every day, albeit in my administrative, secretarial way, at my Hospice job. People are sick and dying EVERY SINGLE DAY. I find myself saying in my head things like, "If only someone would die so it would free up the schedule a bit." These are the sick thoughts you have when you work in Hospice. These are the blow-off-steam moments that get you through the day. You find yourself so, so tired and worn out at the end of the week (like tonight). Until you realize, you have been surrounded by various stages of death all day, and lending every bit of compassion you have to suffering and grieving families who need it. And I'm not even the nurse.

Last night I found myself at the semi-annual memorial service Hospice holds for families members who have lost someone they loved. On my name tag, I wrote: "Allison Snyder" and under In Memory Of, I wrote "Larry Cox." Because the one you've lost doesn't go away after a year of prescribed grieving time. They are with you always, every day, in your thoughts and frustrations, memories and laughs.

In the service sat several dozen families - some with other family members, some alone (a spouse, a brother, a daughter). Tears were shed and laughs were shared. A beautiful choir sang three songs, each bringing you just a bit closer to your loved one and God (though they were very respectfully not religious). Several people looked me in the eye and did not look away during the service. I made myself keep returning their gaze. In grief, you long to connect, even with a stranger. You find yourself in this unlikely and miserable Club you didn't realize existed - the Club of Those Left Behind. There should be a bumper sticker, key chain, and a membership T-shirt. Instead, there is just a knowing look between stranger-friends that happens every few months (or years), the stories of love lost just on the tip of everyone's tongue, no matter what time has passed.

Afterwards, Hospice offered cookies, cheese and crackers, and juice...as if that could help. But in some way, it did. It is so normal to share a snack with others. And normal is what you crave like the dickens when you feel so lost, your world turned upside down and inside out, never to return to its previous glory.

I talked (listened) at length with a man who's brother-in-law had died in the last few months. He told me endless fishing stories (the tall tales I have heard all my life) of 4 ft Stripers and the night the boys caught 60 sharks off the shore, etc etc. I think he was channeling my Dad, who might have been coming through saying, "I'm still here in every ordinary way."

Aging brings the shadow of death with it, and we all feel that chill and try to run. There's no fight mechanism in place - it's all flight at the start. I am not changing, getting older, slowing down! I'll be damned if I ever give up my (insert your favorite passion)! I don't need anything but the cool, sweet earth and my fishing pole.

Oh, and you. And your support and kindness. And maybe a wipe of my chin where the kernel of corn has stuck and won't let itself free. Remind me, what year was it that we took that wonderful trip? Have you seen my glasses (that rest on my forehead)? There's nothing wrong with my head! Oh, you said "bread"?

Grace. Compassion. For others. For ourselves and this ever-changing body and spirit.

Grace from me, to you.

~Ally