Trekking to Their Turf

My daughter celebrated her 27th birthday about a week ago. As part of that celebration, my husband and I joined her and her friends at a drinking establishment in the near north area of Chicago. It was a Friday night and the place was packed, filled with 20 and 30-somethings celebrating the end of the workweek and the beginning of the weekend. My husband and I do enjoy meeting and talking with the younger generation, especially our children's friends. They are referred to as the echo boomers or generation y. They were born between 1977 and 2002. Though the serene fifties and turbulent sixties were the backdrop for my youth, the advent and growth of communication technologies are the strongest influence on this generation. They feed on this technology the way a swarm of bees would feed on a field of daffodils. Iphones, Blackberries and Ipods seem at times to be extra appendeges. I think, it is just their way of staying in touch with each other, after all life today is certainly lived at a faster pace than before.

When I am around them I really like to listen to what they have to say. Jobs seem to occupy a lot of conversation, as they learn the practices and practicalities of their particular occupational environment, whether it be business, education, medicine or law. They are finding the realities of work much different than the textbook version they encountered in college. Additional challenges include relationships, marriage and parenting. Amidst the challenges they daily face, they are meeting those challenges head on. I applaud them because being around them encourages me when I think about the future. I am bombarded daily by mostly bad news from the media. However, these young people give me hope, because they themselves are filled with hope. You can see it shining in their eyes. I would advise my fellow boomers that when you need a lift just visit a local pub and strike up a conversation with these "y'ers," they'll engage you with their thoughts and ideas, and who knows they may also listen to yours.

A Thousand Cups of Tea...and All That

On Halloween it will be the fifth anniversary of my mother's death. As I reflect on my mom's life I remember most clearly her last years. Because of dementia she moved in with me and my family. My mom was fiercely independent and definitely did not like the fact that she was not living on her own. Day in and day out she would ask me and my husband when she could go home to her, "flat," rather than her house. The memories of living in an apartment flat were apparently more vivid than living in her house.

Since she spent her life being a housewife she relished any job that I would give her around the house, from folding laundry to washing windows. She loved housework! That was hard for me to understand when I was younger, but the older I get I am surprised by the fact that I actually like housework, too; perhaps, because of the simplicity of the task and the feeling of accomplishment that accompanies a shiny, clean house. My mom embraced every task around the house, large or small. And she did everything with a strong dedication to perfection.

Because of her dementia, she had to take medication that would combat the frustration she would feel due to the loss of cognitive ability. But many times, she would still become highly agitated with her situation. It was then that I always offered her a cup of tea and some sweets and they would become a balm that would be instantly soothing. As a result, our tea time because a daily occurrence when I would get home from work. We would talk and I would tell her about my day and she hers. Her daily descriptions would be usually the same, but she did enjoy relating them and listening to the escapades of my middle school students.

She often spoke of her sisters and how much she missed them. My mom was the last of her family to pass on and this fact seemed to her a type of punishment. Though she loved her husband, children, grandchildren and especially her son-in-law (Because of his gift of humor, he always made her laugh.), she missed having someone from her own generation to kibitz with about life.

When she passed away, our friends made a card that showed her waiting for the Archer Avenue bus with her babushka on her head and her purse in hand, ready for a day of shopping in Brighton Park with her sisters at the Archer Avenue Big Store.

She had many sayings that I remember fondly, like, "Life waits for no one," "Are you dieting?" and every one's favorite, "...and all that." She was very proud of her Polish heritage and would often sing and sometimes swear in Polish. News of anything Polish would automatically brighten her day and leave her smiling. She had a very bad sweet tooth and if left alone with a poppy seed coffee cake, she would eat it all, one small piece at a time, in a day. Our Labrador Retriever would be the happy recipient of parts of her repast, much to our dismay. No cakes for dogs!

But today, my fondest memory lies in the times we had tea, sipping and smiling and sharing our day's events, while putting aside the effects of old age and dementia. A thousand cups of tea for a thousand treasured memories.