A Pentecost Birthday

The Holy Spirit descends on the disciples of Jesus Christ
after the Resurrection.
[Pentecost image from the Hammerfest Church, Norway.]

In The Netherlands there are 3 national holidays that are 2 days each:  Christmas, Easter, and Pentecost (Pinksteren in Dutch).  For each it's important that you distinguish which day you're talking about.  The 2nd Christmas day would be 26 December, for instance. Today is the 2nd Pentecost day, which is always Monday...not Sunday, and because it's a national holiday, Astrid is off work.

It's also my 66th birthday.  How many of us get to post here at V&V on our birthday AND on a holiday!  WooHoo.

Here's the thing:  I've never ever minded any of my birthday numbers.  The ones ending in zero and five were always the best milestones, especially last year's when I became an official senior citizen.  All those discounts, remember?

In fact, I especially anticipated my 50s and 60s.  I know, weird.  But so many women I esteemed were that age and I aspired to be like them.  It was like the numbers were magic.  They would bring sage and wise gifts, right?  Automatically, of course.

Now that they're almost gone and I'm staring down the barrel at 70...gulp...I told Astrid I'm now closer to 70 than to 60 and that feels, yup, weird.  I've never felt that way about a birthday number before.  Brother Nelson, the oldest of us 8 kids, will turn 70 in January.  Sister Susan two years later.  And then a year later, 2015, moi.  The whole tribe is following suit, with sister Ruth bringing up the rear in 2026.

Oh, and by the way, I've had 10 Friday the 13th birthdays thus far, all good, which is why I'm not superstitious.  My favorite was when I turned 24 in the foothills of the Peruvian Andes and walked by myself 1-1/2 hours through the jungle to the airstrip to pick up our weekly mail.  I had exactly 24 pieces of mail, 3 from my husband-to-be at that time.

And listen to this:  my next Friday the 13th is in 2014, the day I turn 69.  My last year in the 60s.  HA!  Remember, I'm not superstitious!

Don't get me wrong.  I still feel pretty darn-tootin' proud of 66.  Sixty-six.  I like the sound of it.  66.  What a sexy number, don't you think?  [No, not 666, in case someone has a warped sense of humor.  This is a PENTECOST birthday!]

I know what you're thinking:  we're as young as we feel.  Exactly.  That's my point.  As I see 70 around the corner, I suddenly feel 'the number' for the first time in my life.  Did I mention weird?

Remember Route 66 ?  She ain't what she used to be either (have you seen it lately?) but she sure covered a lot of mileage in her day, originally from Chicago to Los Angeles:  2,448 miles (3,940 km) to be exact.  At my rate, based on all our photo hunts and travels, Astrid and I will easily cover that this year alone.

So when I look at it that way, I suddenly feel hot-to-trot.  Sixty-six and a holiday to celebrate it.  I feel 'descended upon' and very blessed.

Youth in Asia

I mean euthanasia, of course, not to confuse you or to open a can of worms.

It was bound to come up here sooner or later, I suppose.  Not that I expected me to be the one, but it crossed the radar like a lead balloon:

Joekie
9 March 1957 - 15 May 2011

Joekie (YOU-key) was diagnosed with breast cancer 2 years ago, went through chemo, and came out with a clean bill of health.  But out of nowhere, it all came back this year with a vengeance, invading first her bone marrow and then her entire body.  It was hopeless.  Incurable.

She was the one who said she wanted to do it.  The pain and suffering were not just hers but everyone's.  Her husband and 2 grown children agreed.  It was time.

Astrid got the call from her son two weeks ago Saturday.  They would do it the next day, Sunday, witnessed by two physicians.  The legal paperwork had all been done.

We were in the car at the time, stopped for a photo I was taking of a weathervane (ironic symbolism?).  When I saw Astrid's tears, I knew something was wrong.  Joekie was her cousin-in-law by previous marriage, dearly loved by the family.  Only 54 years old.  This would be a huge loss.  But even in her tearful grief, Astrid was relieved.  It would soon be over.

By Tuesday, 3 days after the news, we received the death announcement and the date for the memorial service on the 20th, a week ago.  500 family and friends were in attendance.

Ze zag het leven als een vrolijk lied en bezong het vanuit haar hart.
She saw life as a lively song and sang it from her heart.

Ironically, as I write this post, Dr. Jack Kevorkian, a.k.a. Dr. Death, is hospitalized in America for pneumonia and kidney problems, age 83.  Last October when we were in Atlanta we watched the TV documentary of his life, starring Al Pacino:  You Don't Know Jack.  I sit here right now, dumbfounded that he spent 8 years in prision for doing what 2 doctors did mercifully here in The Netherlands 2 weeks ago...to someone in Astrid's extended family.

When it gets this close and personal, it changes everything.  Astrid has cried more than once these past 2 weeks and I have cried with her.  But never once has she regretted the decision Joekie made.  Never once has she second-guessed anything.  As she would say, it's just 'natural.'

This post isn't meant for controversy or debate.  It's just for the tears and for the simplicity and fragility of death-by-choice when it makes sense.  It doesn't feel like suicide.  It doesn't feel like playing God.  It just feels like plain and simple mercy.  Surely even God weeps.

[Image from The Three Mermaids statue in Drøbak, Norway.]

ADDENDUM:  Dr. Jack Kevorkian died on 3 June 2011.

Take a Walk and Say Thank You

From a gift shop in Stokmarknes, Norway.

Every once in awhile, something can so blindside me I am totally thrown for a loop.  My usually chipper, upbeat, positive self just...flops!

What you need to understand is that I'm so darn cheery some people can't stand me.  Trust me, I know.  In my past life, working in accounts receivable (yes, you heard me), a co-worker was so bent out of shape by my cheeriness that she asked our boss if she could move to a cubicle far away from me.  She couldn't stand listening to me on the phone with customers.  Wisely, Boss did not consent, hoping, I'm sure, we'd balance each other out, both up and down.

That same cheeriness, however, got me chosen as the Employee of the Quarter--the "sparkplug of her department," the company owner said--and sent me on a lovely week to Paradise Island with a guest, joining our salesreps.  You win some and you lose some, as they say.  Speaking of which, said co-worker, 5 years my senior, is since deceased.

The point is, I really AM a cheerful person, for good or bad.  So when something throws me for a loop, even I have to sit up and take notice.  What/who can have that kind of power to throw me off my rocker!

Usually, truth be known, it's someone from my extended family.  We're a tribe, actually.  Lots of us.  And would you believe, I hold the accounts-receivable position (yes, you heard me) for our cottage association.  Can't say I mind it a bit, even if it's a thankless position, but it does have its moments, as happened a couple weeks ago.  I thought I was doing my job, cheerily reminding someone of their monthly pledge, but...yup, that's when I got thrown for a loop.  Maybe I just got lost in translation?

So.  Suddenly in the slough of despond, I had to lick my wounds and figure out how to proceed, short of immediately quitting on the spot.  Daughter said, "MOM!  Don't make sweeping generalizations!"  Which didn't help a bit.

When I went outside to take my daily walk that day, don't ask me why but I immediately started a mantra:  "I have everything I need; I want nothing.  Thank you." I kept repeating it:  "I have everything I need; I want nothing.  Thank you."

After 40 minutes, when I walked back into the house, I was back to my normal, cheery self.   I was shocked.  I decided it was the endorphins.  What else?

Then I wondered what others do to get out of their slumps?  What do YOU do? If I ever need to advise myself some future day, hopefully I'll remember to tell myself, "Go take a walk and say Thank you.  You have everything you need and you want nothing!"

My guess is a piece of dark chocolate might also help?! 

Rite of Passage

Welcome to that time of the year! High school and college graduations, weddings, and what have you.

Rite of passage: A rite of passage is a ritual event that marks a person's progress from one status to another. It is a universal phenomenon which can show anthropologists what social hierarchies, values and beliefs are important in specific cultures. Rites of passage are often ceremonies surrounding events.... (Wiki)

When Astrid and I crossed the Polar Arctic Circle on our Hurtigruten 6-day sea voyage in Norway, on 7 April, we were told ahead of time to be on deck for a ceremony. Little did I know I would be swallowing a spoonful of cod liver oil, just to say I did it! You don't understand my aversion to cod liver oil! It goes all the way back to a childhood memory of drinking a glass of the nasty stuff for God-knows-what ailment. For years afterwards I could conjure up the taste in my mouth just by the thought of it.

They say the most powerful organ in our body is the brain. I believe it. Things that didn't use to bother me are now psychologically unpalatable. Like cow's tongue sandwiches, for instance. I grew up on them in my preacher's home but you couldn't get me to eat one now for a million dollars. Well, I might consider it, mind you. But like those bugs and grubs they have to eat on Survivor, I'd gag first.

Gag reflex: The pharyngeal reflex or gag reflex is a reflex contraction of the back of the throat, evoked by touching the soft palate^. It prevents something from entering the throat except as part of normal swallowing and helps prevent choking. Different people have different sensitivities to the gag reflex.... Absence of the gag reflex and pharyngeal sensation can be a symptom of a number of severe medical conditions.... (Wiki)

My brain is probably my most severe medical condition, and I admit it. I'm very sure I will go to my deathbed having never eaten/swallowed a slimy oyster in my life. I fried them up frequently for Mom and Dad when I was in high school. All I needed was one look at the insides of them to know you wouldn't catch me dead eating one. Ever. And those people who can eat crayfish with the heads still on, sucking out the juice.... [she gags]

Actually, caviar used to fit into this gag category, but not because I had ever tasted it. It was all in my head, of course...fish eggs. But while with blogger friends Tor and Anna in Norway, we were served it on avocado halves as an appetizer. Naturally, I was a good guest and ate it like there was no tomorrow. Interesting how you can make your brain behave, isn't it!  I probably wouldn't choose to eat caviar again but at least I didn't gag.

Hopefully all the ceremonies surrounding this time of the year for us won't enter the gag-reflex part of our brain instead of the delightful rites of passage they're meant to be.  That includes Mother's Day, for those of us who will soon celebrate yet another one.

And so I wish this for us all:  happy rites of passage!

[All images except the monument are Astrid's; processing and collage work are mine, via Picnik.]