Review: One Woman, Four Decades, Eight Wishes: A Journalist’s Memoir of Challenge, Change and Growth” by Marilyn Murray Willison

Review: 

I wanted to finish reading the book, “One Woman, FourDecades, Eight Wishes: A Journalist’s Memoir of Challenge, Change and Growth” by Marilyn Murray Willison before I wrote a review of it (which is why it’s taken me so long!) because I wanted it to be thorough. But I could have written it after only having read the first chapter; the author’s positive outlook and easy way of writing was an inspiration from the start. Organized into eight sections--the words from a nerve-calming mantra that evolved into a wish list--the book looks at all the changes and challenges that she faced during her well-lived and often enviable life.

From her early memories as an adopted child to the crushing diagnosis of MS, Ms. Willison shares the ups and downs of her life as if she were confiding in a close friend. Her writing is so accessible, I could feel the despondency as she detailed the frustrations of being wheelchair bound and the delight in finding love again. Through it all, even though I put the book down (more times than I'd like to admit) I always picked it back up again. I never gave up because she didn’t-- this book is a testament to her strength and courage. And when I say it’s an inspiration, I don’t use the term lightly: her words about her own life have inspired me to understand some of my own challenges differently.

Ms. Willison has had a long and rewarding life and career including the times of sadness and loss. Would that everyone could regard their life in such an honest and open way. Ms. Willison deserves all the accolades she can get. More power to her.

Note: Ms. Willison reached out to me asking if I'd read her book and graciously offered to read and review mine as well. This she completed promptly, while it took me an additional year to finish reading hers. I am grateful to have been the recipient of her outreach, since it gave me the opportunity to not only read an enjoyable and motivating memoir, but to get to know this wonderfully strong woman in the process. The link is included in the review--get the book and see for yourself! 

Also: I recently became aware of an effort to help Ms. Willison stay in her home...this is the information page: Help For Marilyn 

A Wattle Field Guide

Like a baby that finally drops into your pelvis to signal impending motherhood, my wattle dropped the other day to herald impending death. Too dramatic? Maybe, but we all know there’s no coming back from a wattle drop. You can color your hair, peel your skin, lift your eyebrows or Botox your lips, but when the wattle drops, it’s committed. The wattle hangs there, under your chin, as if suspended from each of your ears like a hammock, but without the relaxing effect. It’s just skin that stopped trying. 

Unless you choose to go under the knife, there’s no escaping the wattle. Oh sure, you can buy all the turtlenecks you can afford, but what to do in June, July and August? Scarves you’re thinking, and you’d be right, but even scarves have their limitations. Besides being completely useless in a swimming pool, what happens when you wrap a couple of yards of chiffon around your neck on an 85-degree summer day? Hot flashes. At least a scarf can sop up the sweat dripping down your face. Otherwise, you’re on your own with a wattle. There are times you might get away with coyly resting your chin in your cupped hand. But you can’t walk around that way. How do you drive? How do you drink wine?

My wattle lurked menacingly above my neck for the last several years, just waiting for the day to ambush me. It’s tricky, the wattle; some days it retreated and let me believe I could be mistaken for Audrey Hepburn. But after a couple of margaritas and a little water retention, it would be back in all its threatening sagginess. Eventually I’d have to deal with it permanently, but until then it was forgotten as easily as my children’s names.

And then, one day, there it was. A flap of wrinkled skin, quivering ever so slightly just under my jaw line. Remember when quivering used to be sexy? Ingénues used to quiver. Now it’s an ever-present indicator of getting older: quivering chins, hands, gaits, memories. Wikipedia describes wattles as “such a striking morphological characteristic of animals that it features in their common name.” Wattles are for turkeys, goats and lizards. How in the world did it become a feature of an aging woman?

Resigned, I practiced tilting my head upwards in my bathroom mirror. That worked until I had to pick up my grandson from school. “Gramma. Why are you walking that way? You just stepped in dog-doo!”  Apparently no amount of camouflage or physical adaptation is going to prevent the fact that I am now a member of a new species.

Just call me The Silver-Haired Single-Wattled American Female.

One Man

I’ve never really been a political person, or at least I wasn’t until the November 2016 election. After Trump was elected president, I became involved in our local Democratic Town Committee. The following year I ran, and was elected to, our school board. It wasn’t a monumental win; it was going to either be me or the other Democrat running who made it to a seat on the board. It happened to be me by a few votes. It is my first foray into politics and so far, so good.

What isn’t so good so far is the state of our national politics. Pick your own reasons, but the level of petty and vindictive behavior, as opposed to actual governing, coming from the Oval Office on nearly a daily basis is astounding. I believe Trump has brought his own brand of arrogance and negligence to the highest office in the land and it is embarrassing, distressing and dangerous. I know there are others who agree with me...but when I see cars driving around town already emblazoned with “Trump 2020” stickers on them, I can’t even believe there are people watching the despicable reality show that is our current administration and think having Trump there for four more years, much less the remaining two, is a good idea.

The point was driven home for me when I heard a story on NPR about the My Lai massacre, which happened over 50 years ago. One man, helicopter pilot Hugh Thompson, on a mission near the My Lai village, saw what was happening and literally flew in the face of danger to set down his chopper, again and again, to save innocent Vietnamese women, children and babies. It was his report, first covered up by the Army, that eventually got out into the press and resulted in the court-martial conviction of Lt. William Calley and to the terrible awakening of the fact that our military was as capable of the horrors of war we used to believe were only at the hands of “others.”

This story now about one man who stood strong in the face of injustice struck me as a startling contrast to the actions of many Republican congressmen and Cabinet members who appear to be blind to the needs of the many rather than the needs of the few--needs which seem to be their own. Hugh Thompson stood up to his superiors, his own crew and confronted the soldiers of his own army in order to stop the murder of innocent people. He wasn’t elected by his constituents to do this, he wasn’t tasked by a superior to do this--he took it upon himself to act in the face of wrong and make it right. With guns pointing at him and dire consequences as a possibility, including being murdered on the spot by his own men.

The revolving door in this administration's staff should be a red flag to the vindictiveness of the president's dubious leadership skills. So many Republican representatives have turned their backs on the will of their constituents to pay some baffling loyalty to this president, who has yet to demonstrate that he is looking out for all of US. In fact, it seems that there are only a few people, mostly in his family, who he is looking out for--after himself--and everyone else risks being thrown under the bus at his whim. It is staggering and bizarre. It’s beyond snowflakes and Russian interference; this man demonstrates on a daily basis that he is only in it for himself and he has an endless supply of toadies to help him make it happen.

Hearing the story of Hugh Thompson first left me feeling hopeless and helpless. Where are the Hugh Thompsons when you need them? And then I remembered: they’re everywhere. They’re in the high school students marching for gun reform and school safety, they’re in the folks lending  support to immigrants and the women...so many women...getting involved in their towns and cities. Snowflakes my ass...you want strength? It’s strength that drives people in the face of injustice. It doesn’t take any strength at all to do what Sessions, Nunes, McConnell, Ryan or any number of so-called representatives do in their offices every day.

That’s what I think the truth of Hugh Thompson’s story is... to remind us--once again--that, in times of danger and uncertainty, it still matters to stand strong. Even if you’re only one person. Or as Margaret Mead said: “Never doubt that a small group of thoughtful, committed citizens can change the world; indeed, it's the only thing that ever has.”

The Proper Care and Feeding of your Caretaker

Positano, Italy Photo by Yoosun Won on Unsplash

When one is a caretaker for another human being, there is a tacit understanding that said caretaker will be available to the other human at any given time. This means lunches, appointments, errands, light housekeeping. There is much the caretaker does in service for another that is done in person, even just being present in the same room. However, the caretaker definitely needs a break from time to time. Well-intentioned family and friends will urge the caretaker to “take time for you!” or “don’t forget to self-care!” These are legitimate suggestions, but the problem, of course, is that unless someone else is around to sub in for the caretaker, the caretaker isn’t going anywhere. No matter how urgently he or she needs to flee.

For example, the following is a really generous offer: “I can come over and sit with your (father, mother, grandmother, sister, brother, cousin) for an hour if you need to get something done.”

But it’s a little vague. The need to get something done might come up at any time during the day or evening and the Offerer might be off having their own life. That is reasonable. Here’s how to make that offer a little more solid: “I can come over on Friday at 3 for an hour if you need to run out and get some errands done.” Now the caretaker can respond with something like: “We have Mah jongg at 3 on Friday, but I’d love to run out to the grocery at 1.” Definite days and times give the caretaker something to plan on.

One day I was complaining to my friend David about my urgent need for a haircut and a general all-round lack of time. He listened patiently while I vented and then he suggested I make a wish list. (Thank God he didn’t offer to cut my hair.)

“Why? To give myself more to do?” I shot back.

He ignored that.  “Why not write down everything that would make your life easier, no matter how unlikely it sounds.”

“That will just make me sound whiny,” I whined.

“No, it won’t. It might help you get a clear idea of what would be actually helpful to you as opposed to simply accepting offers of help that don’t really do anything. It doesn’t do you any good to accept an offer that isn’t what you need—then you’re just helping your friend feel better.  Plus, it might be fun to give your imagination a whirl and wish for a foot massage by Brad Pitt. It will never happen, but a girl can dream.”

As reasonable as he sounded, the idea fluttered away as I stopped at the pharmacy to pick up a prescription and grab some almond milk at the market on the way home. Later, though, when I thought about it, I realized stress does tend to dampen the imagination. It might be fun to take my mind off of the week’s To-Do list and see if I could come up with a “For-Me” list. Turns out, David was right. Not only was it fun to indulge in my wildest dreams, but creating a list actually helped clarify some real needs I have been overlooking. And knowing exactly what I need can help me take care of it, whether or not someone is offering to help. Unless it’s that foot massage thing. That I’ll let Brad Pitt take care of.

My Wish List

…Sometimes I wish I could open the fridge and have the evening meal all ready to pop in the oven.

… I wish I knew someone who could manage the mountain of paperwork that comes along with old age. Medicare, insurance, doctors, prescriptions…piles are accumulating in my office. This person could also make all the phone calls that accompany the paperwork.

…I wish I could spend a weekend alone in a hotel with a pillow top mattress, room service, wi-fi and an electrical outlet right next to the bed. Oh, a bottle of old vine Zin would be a nice touch.

…I wish that, when I found I had an afternoon free, I had a gift card for a pedicure, a haircut, the movies or a bookstore so I would know what to do with my unexpected free time.

…I wish someone could come over and tell me what to do with my garden. (This really doesn’t have to do with being a caretaker, but I really need help with my garden. It’s a wish list after all...)

…Every once in awhile, especially on high maintenance days, it’s nice to get a quick, supportive text, email or voicemail. Such a message is a nice little pick-me-up especially when I can’t get to the phone. An actual card in the mail is like winning the lottery.

…And speaking of winning the lottery, I wish I could put an in-law addition onto my house so my dad could have his own “quarters” rather than just live in my remodeled dining room.

…I wish my dad’s doctors could be the ones who decide his medical care and not the insurance companies.

…It might be kind of nice if that foot massage could be arranged. It doesn’t even have to be Brad Pitt. I’d be okay with my husband providing it. In Amalfi, Italy.