Jumpstarted By A Comment

When I first got into the doors of the blogosphere, I felt like I have crashed into someone else’s party. There were many people in attendance but no one seemed to give a damn that I was there. The shy person in me wanted to get out as fast as I could to the confines of an enclave I was more familiar with and where I felt comfortable. The other side of me who seldom leaves a challenge go untried wanted to stay and just make the most out of the situation. I did not need to toss a coin to see which side would win. I did what I believe was the more logical thing to do. I decided to stay and if it did not work I could always head towards the door.

I knew that the the first thing I had to do was seek out the acquaintance of everyone I could manage to rub my elbows with. I believed people would only be strangers if you would let them. It did not take long before I found myself into the thick of a blog hopping adventure. My agenda was not only to get to know as many as I could "shake hands" with but also to learn from them. There was always something to learn from each blog I visited and always when a blog post hooked my attention, I wouldn’t go back to my hopping without leaving a comment.

My idea of making comments was prompted by several reasons. It could be that I just wanted the blogger to know how much I appreciate his/her work. It may also be that I wanted to share what I thought on the subject he/she had written on based upon my own experience. Sometimes, I raised questions on issues the blogger discussed for clarification on some points I was not very clear about. Whatever the reason or reasons behind comments I made, I always made sure that I did it in a way that was polite, with respect and devoid of arrogance. It was the least I could do as I consider it a great privilege to be allowed to share in the blogger’s personal thoughts

Then it happened! I left a comment on a physical fitness blog, Inspiration Life. Terilynn, the blog’s author, writes her physical fitness post in a manner which made me really want to give the exercises she suggested a try if only I wasn’t too old to go for it. LOL. She must have liked the comment. She added my blog into her blogroll. Inspiration Life was soon to be chosen as a Blog of Note by Blogger. As a result of the honor, Terilynn’s blog was an instant hit. My blog rode on the fame of her blog. Her blog was getting several thousand hits a day as a result. Visitors to her blog clicked on my link. Imagine my surprise when I was getting several hundreds of hits a day from people visiting her blog. For a blog, that was only three weeks old, that was simply awesome.

The visitors soon dwindled when a new set of blogs were named Blog of Notes. My blog, however, continued to receive visitors from Terilynn’s blog and surely would continue to do so. Thanks to Terilynn, I had met lots of nice people and made friends who had made my blogging saga, a wonderful experience given the fact that I did not fit into the mold of what some people believe an ideal blogger should be.

Too Innocent To Wear The Poverty Badge

My life is a story of packing up and moving out. I was only ten the first time I left home. I could still recall the tears rolling down my mother’s cheeks as she packed my things in a nice little trunk. I and my sister Maria were to leave for the city the next morning. We should be thrilled. Every child in the village thought we were lucky. It was everybody’s dream to see the big city. That night before we left, we tried to talk our father out of his decision to let us study under the missionary nuns in the city. We told him we would rather study in the local school, having studied there for the past three years. We did not want to leave our friends. My father dismissed as silly our protestation. I saw my mom shake her head as father tried to convince us everything was for our own good. I knew she understood the torment we were going through. I guess because women invest much of their lives in caring and nurturing they understand the pain involved in uprooting yourself from what I call your world space. That evening, my sister and I cried ourselves to sleep.

My father was right about the big city. It was a beautiful place where lights danced at night and people never went to sleep. He was also right about big stores where we could find plenty of chocolates and toys. I smile as I remember that each time I pass those stores, I could not resist dipping my hands into my pockets trying to search for some pennies I know were not there. I wasn't alone longing for what I can not get. The picture of dirty-faced kids in tattered clothes just staring at the candies with their sunken eyes and protruding bellies being shoved out by the store's security guard is still etched in my mind. I remember writing to my parents about these children. I guess even as a child, I was already puzzled as to how a place can shimmer in such glitter and look so alive while its children roam the streets wearing empty looks in their unwashed faces.

There was something on those dirty faces that I found disturbing. Back in our village, as kids, we got dirty playing and having fun or helping our parents in the farm but always it was a nice excuse to go to the river for a long fun filled swim. Folks in our village encouraged children to play and enjoy themselves. We chose to be dirty and getting dirty was fun. It could not be true for those kids. Being dirty was no choice. Just like their protruding bellies thrusting out on their fragile frame, the thick dirt that lined their skin was a badge of poverty they were forced to wear on their innocent bodies.

My dad told me I was going to love watching the sunset in the city. I thought that was silly. Sunsets just come and go as sunsets did in my village. What was to love about it? No, it was not silly. Watching the sunset by the sea which fringed the city was an experience of a lifetime. The breathtaking show of the sun changing its hue as it was devoured by the sea still play on my mind. The sea by itself looked enchanting. It was hard to resist its calls for one to go naked and play with its waves. I remembered the children. They must have heard the call. Did they ever respond to the it? Did they ever savor the luxury of dipping into the sea's cool blue water? If they didn't, could it be that their empty bellies muffled the sweet calling sound so they could not respond to the sea's invitation? Or could it be that they tried but their bodies were just too emaciated to even try wrestling with the waves? Damn! Were those the questions I should be asking?

Note: This is a revised version of the original which first appeared on my main blog, Before The Sun Sets. I intended it to be a social commentary when I first wrote it but while it received lots of favorable comments, none of the readers saw it from that lens which I understand.

Thank You Is The Way To Live

The need to say “Please” when we ask people for favors, to say “I am sorry” when we do others wrong and to say “Thank You” when others render us kind actions out of goodwill are to me the most valuable lessons we have received in our early childhood. We may not be aware then but very young kids that we were, these lessons provided us an introduction to one of life’s most precious truths. As we learned to say “Please”, “I am sorry.” and “Thank you”, in our young minds, we were slowly being transported to the realizations that the world is not about “Me” nor “You” nor “Them” but about “Us”. We were beginning to learn that we could only live our lives with and not independent from others.

To say “Thank you” is to humbly acknowledge that we can not go on with life without having others see us through. But more than recognition of our need to have others fill in the holes in our lives, “Thank you” serves as a blue print on how our lives should be lived.

In the indigenous culture in which I was reared, we would not say “You are welcome.” as a way of retort when someone would offer his gratitude. Roughly translated in English, we would answer by saying, “Go live it in your life”.

“Thank you” is a way of life among my people. It would not have any meaning unless we let the good done for us and for which we were thankful, permeate our lives. We must not only act the “good” out so as to be better persons than we already are. We must also pass this “good” along. Viewed along this line, “Thank you” calls on us to be co-responsible in building a more humane world.

But it is so sad. An epitaph to “Thank you.” as a way of life may have long been written. Even the culture which had nurtured me and for which I had always been proud of is now dying if not already dead in the embrace of materialism. Everyone seems to be eager to don the cloak of the “Material Girl”. This world is fast becoming a “Me” world. The “You” and “Them” are now just simply chattels we could use or discard depending on whether we find them useful in propelling us to the heights of our material aspirations or what we believe to be successful life.

I know I would not be there to see it happen. I could only hope for everyone’s sake that a new age would dawn where once again “Thank you” is the way to live.

By Julehya

A Lesson From Bradley

I have high respect for people who come to terms with the fact that they are different and take their being different as a challenge to make the most of their life. Bradley is one such person.

He does not fall within the label of what society regards as “normal”. He is gay and very proud of it. It did not happen like magic. He went into a period of denial. He even got married and begot himself a child all in an effort to escape the truth. But the truth has always got a way of catching up to those that run away from it. It did with Bradley. He had to choose between the freedom that truth offers and the misery of living a lie. In his blog, he talks about his journey from the Bradley who tried to be what he was not until his final reconciliation with the Bradley that he is. You would even catch a glimpse of his romantic side when he talks of his love, Maurice, which I thought was lovely.

Bradley is not just like any other gay guy. He is bi-polar. Bipolar, or manic-depressive disorder, is a mood disorder that causes radical emotional changes and mood swings, from manic highs to depressive lows. The majority of bipolar individuals experience alternating episodes of mania and depression. It is not an easy affliction. But it is an affliction, Bradley is determined to wage war on and win. Anyone, on such situation could easily be consumed by self pity and being too self centered but not Bradley. He finds time to help others. He chronicles his experiences as a bi-polar in his blog not only as way of self-healing but also with the intention of helping people similarly situated deal with their own bi-polar condition. He also talks of his struggle to get his weight down to a healthy level which anyone with weight problems could learn from

Lately, a new feature, “Uncle Bradley’s Words of Wisdom”, has been added to his blog where he dispenses just that, "words of wisdom", to people who write to him for advice. If you are down and out and your life is in a mess, it is people of the kind of Bradley whom you would wish are there to help you sort things out.

A walk through Bradley's blog is an empowering experience. It is one blog, I would not hesitate to recommend.

By Julehya

Believe Me ...

It's Never Too Late

In January I wrote about the Follow Me Home Initiative that involved teaching senior citizens how to use computers. That's a topic I know something about. For several years I was president of the computer club at our local senior center, and I helped launch the club’s popular class offerings and taught several classes. Most of my computer mentoring time lately has been spent with lifestory writers, and it’s thrilling to see how successful some are at turning to computers for telling their stories at ages many would not think possible. Several deserve special mention.

One is Paul Ohrman. Two and a half years ago, Paul signed up for a lifestory writing workshop I led at the Monroeville Public Library. He made a commitment to have the story of his first 85 years written by his 85th birthday, twenty-two months later. Paul had never used a computer, but after his wife showed him how to turn it on, within two weeks he had mastered margin changing, centering, changing the font, and all sorts of wonderful things many people never venture to try. Nobody taught him. He just clicked around and tried things to see how they worked.

Paul met his deadline, though it took another couple of months to finish the layout so he could order copies of his book for family Christmas presents. You can see the finished product, and even download it as a free eBook at Lulu.com. It's definitely worth a look. By the way, Paul got hooked on life story writing. His second book, about his World War II experiences as an Army photographer in the war zone, is well under way.

Grandma Julia is another amazing example. She lives in the Philippines and left a comment on the blog about Spelling, which has attracted attention from around the globe. She is ninety years old, and just took up blogging. She writes eloquently, with great passion, in English, her second language. I urge you to pay her blog a visit. Her tales are timeless, and heart-warming.

Aunt Ruth is another success tale. She had been using her local library for e-mail for several years before she decided, at age 89, to buy her own computer. Uncle Walter’s health was failing and it was becoming increasingly difficult to find time to spend at the library. We found a good buy on a laptop, perfect for her tiny apartment, and placed the order. A friend helped her set it up. She quickly discovered that she can have a virtual afternoon in Paris on a whim, listen to opera, and have all sorts of adventures that had become difficult in person.

Last, but certainly not least, is my father. A couple of weeks ago I wrote that he has more cool tech toys than I do. He spends a good part of his time taking digital photos, some of them digital stereo. He’s not at the top of this list, because he's been using computers longer than the others. He became an Atari addict when he found one at a garage sale soon after he retired twenty some years ago. Today he is taking increased personal responsibility for keeping his own system tuned up, because My Brother, the Computer Guru is very busy. So, even though my father has been using computers for a couple of decades, his interest in staying on the cutting edge, and continuing to learn new things, is a great example.

It’s never too late to learn something new — unless you think it is — and learning new things keeps your brain healthy and growing. Writing is one of the best brain exercises, and learning new things about your computer while you create a written legacy of your life is icing on the cake.


Note:

Sharon Lippincot is the author of the books, The Heart and Craft of Lifestory Writing and The Albuquerque Years. Her passion is writing lifestories and memoir and helping others discover how to find and express their unique stories. This article first appeared on her blog, "The Heart and Craft of Lifestory Writing" which offers "tips, guidelines and observations to help ordinary people write extraordinary stories about their own life and experiences". I am republishing it here as my way of saying thanks to Sharon for taking notice of my work and for being there constantly to prod me on. It is also one way of affirming one of my life's guiding post - it is never too late to give new things a try.

An Unusual Rock Group

Life goes on until it doesn't: Young@Heart

Read "Retired, Yes, but Never Too Old to Rock" (NY Times) to learn about this singing group of people, average age of 80, and the just-released movie Young@Heart that tells the story of this unusual rock group.

. . .More than one member admits that his or her favorite music is classical, opera or show tunes. These rock songs are unfamiliar. Instead of comfortable walks around the block, rehearsals (there are three a week) are demanding hikes over hilly terrain. The challenge only makes it more exciting.

Late during the making of “Young@Heart” two members of the chorus, Bob Salvini and Joe Benoit, died within a week. Although neither death was a complete surprise, occurring so close together, they come as shock to a group dedicated to living in the present as fully and exuberantly as possible. The upbeat realism of everyone connected with “Young@Heart” might be summarized in six words: Life goes on until it doesn’t.

From "'YOUNG@HEART': RETIREES REVIVIFY ROCK 'N' ROLL" (Christian Science Monitor):

When we hear the group, which is backed by a professional band, belt out James Brown's "I Feel Good," The Talking Heads' "Road to Nowhere," Coldplay's "Fix You," The Ramones' "I Want to Be Sedated," and The Clash's "Should I Stay or Should I Go," the words carry a special significance. Each becomes, in its own way, an anthem of survival. This is not a group that indulges in the blues.

The Web site of the Young@Heart Chorus gives you more information and there you can find some great photos. YouTube carries several videos of them, including "Fix You" (you may need a tissue for this one), "I Wanna Be Sedated," "Staying Alive," "Walk on the Wild Side," and "I Will Survive."

Remember The Zimmers (click for their Web site)? The aging crowd is rocking. I have a feeling this is just the beginning!

Note: I have been enjoying a blog written by someone who is 90. Drop by Grandma Julia's My Life at Ninety: Looking Back and Moving On.

Note:

This is an article by Stephanie West Allen, an accomplished lawyer, author and journalist. She writes for various journals and magazines which includes The Complete Lawyer and the Denver Business Journal. It first appeared on her blog, Idealawg . It was Stephanie in this article who gave my blog, My Life At Ninety, barely a few weeks old at that time, its very first publicity. I am republishing it here as my way of saying thanks to Stephanie. But more than that, I have always longed to write about The Zimmers. I have been an avid fan of the group since I first heard of them. An article on my personal thoughts about the group is still on top of my writing agenda. This one by Stephanie should serve as a lovely introduction.

No Place For Old Folks

I was born into a society that gave credit to wisdom learned from the university of life. A culture that acknowledged the tutoring you got out of living. Grey hair was a badge of honor. It marked you as one who learned from every experience you went through and emerged as a better man. Every elderly was revered and assumed the role of a statesman or community man to be more apt. The elders form a council with the responsibility of ensuring that life in the community was put in order.

The elders assumed multiple roles. They were the community psychiatrist and psychologists. People ran to them for guidance and counseling. They looked into the problems for which their advice was sought always in the context of what was best for all concerned, the community included. The advice was not dispensed off handedly. It would go through a process of consultation and discussions among the elders. Only when convinced that the advice they were going to offer was the most sound and sensible would they dish it out.

They were the community healers and peacemakers. They took it their task to make sure that conflicts and rifts among members of the community were patched. They negotiated peace pacts with other communities to make sure that the right of the community to live their lives without threat from harm and danger was ensured.

Given their status in the community which they rightly deserved, it was almost unthinkable for anyone to treat an elderly with disrespect. To mistreat them would be almost like asking for yourself a curse.

That was then. I do not know what happened. I must have been Rip Van Winkle who slept while things changed around him. I do not know how old people ceased to be icons that the young people should look up to. I do not know how the so called generation gap came to be. This world is fast becoming a no place for old folks like me.