Monthly Archives: July 2012

Once upon a time…

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Once upon a time a woman decided to start writing a blog….called Ordinary Legacy.

It’s pretty cool.  It’s about the everyday, the ordinary little things and thoughts and feelings that make up a life.  It’s mostly about her life, because that’s what she knows best, but she includes bits and pieces from all her experiences which obviously include other people.  She believes that most lives are ordinary but the residual effects of those lives have the potential to leave an extraordinary legacy.   With me so far?  One of these days she is hoping to retire from the really cool job she has now and expand Ordinary Legacy into a book or seminars or who knows what possibilities there might be.  Still with me?  That would require that people know about it….and are open to it…..and are already talking about it.  That, in the world of what’s happening at this very moment, is called a platform.  She’s writing, because she loves it and has something to say, and to build a platform so people can hear it.  How the hell does one do that?

Well, first by getting people to read the blog.  Third base….

Her people can subscribe to the blog by giving their email address.  How fabulous is that?  You can get the post right there in your mailbox each time she hits publish.  If they like the post they can FORWARD it to their friends and ask them to subscribe. And so on and so on…she can then see on her site stats how many people are following her blog through email.

 

Then there is the ubiquitous Facebook which many of her fans don’t really get… Just sayin.  If you choose to go to www.ordinarylegacy.com to read the post you will find at the end of every post, I mean every post, never missed one yet:

This will put the link and the picture and the title of the post on YOUR WALL.  Translation; all your 597 friends will see that you are reading Ordinary Legacy.  If you put a comment like, I enjoy reading this really cool blog then maybe they will too…..just sayin.

So every time she posts to her blog, she also shares the post on the Ordinary Legacy Fan page on Facebook.  Have you been there?  When you’re on Facebook just go to search and type in Ordinary Legacy, its the first thing to come up, give it a click and it will take you right there, no problem.  Works every time and if you think the Fan page is cool, you should hit…wait for it…LIKE, which you see below, I’ve already done.

The more people who like the fan page, the bigger her platform begins to grow.  Whew it’s tough this platform building thing.

To make it even tougher, and this is where she loses a lot of her friends.  There is a difference, a big difference, HUGE difference between LIKE and SHARE  on an individual timeline entry.

Stay with me now it’s not really all that hard.  If you LIKE an individual entry (Thanks Liz, you’re the best), that’s really nice and it makes a person feel really good, but no one knows about it, just the person.  It doesn’t go anywhere, it stays right there on the timeline and well it’s nice, really.  No growth, no platform anything.  But it’s nice, really.

However, if you SHARE and put in that same comment; I enjoy reading this really cool blog, then guess what happens?  Your 597 friends will see this on your timeline and maybe, just maybe, take a click over to Ordinary Legacy and subscribe or SHARE with their 257 friends and so on and so on and so on.

From there a platform is born and the potential of Ordinary Legacy grows by leaps and bounds.  Pretty soon the woman can just keep writing and stop worrying about whether or not her retirement from her really cool job will transition into another really cool job blogging about ordinary people leaving extraordinary legacies…like hers.

Notice there is never a mention of what might happen if you think the blog sucks…

She could just live happily ever after, just sayin.

 

 

 

Did you eat?

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There is no better measure of my worth than people coming through my front door when they are hungry.  Last night was dinner on Stowe Lane, I was cooking.  As it turns out we were all a bit subdued, with the exception of Kathy.  She was chatty and amusing and full of vigor.  We were tired from the day.  It was a delicious farmer’s market meal.  Simply cooked and enjoyed by all.

Tonight was dinner on Stowe Lane because Muriel could not eat chicken and vegetables one more night.

My father used to say the same thing…chicken again?

I was making myself a personal pizza with a delicious pre- made crust, unheard of in Martina’s world, and there they were coming through my door. I love that no one rings my bell, they just walk right in.  My immediate question, “Did you eat?” their answer?

No.

An assembly line is born.  Bring out the sauce, the cheeses both mozzarella and parmigiano reggiano, ricotta, prosciutto, roasted tomatoes with garlic, oregano, mushrooms, and let us begin.

Pour the wine, wait for the oven to do its job and dinner on Stowe Lane is complete.  How do you know, you can smell the garlic and the prosciutto getting crispy on each individual pizza.

Sitting, laughing, a glass of red, cleaning up and they are gone.  But not without leaving behind a house that is happy and smells delicious.

Life on Stowe Lane is very good.

No Decisions Required

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I had two interesting conversations today; one out loud and one by email.  Both made me think that I needed to be more explicit about how Ordinary Legacy should be viewed.  This blog is about the everyday, the ordinary little things and thoughts and feelings that make up a life.  Some, ok most of it, will be my life and some of it will be other lives and how they are being lived.  In the end, and there will be an end, all those every day, ordinary little matters will make up an extraordinary legacy.  Do not get in the way of someone building an extraordinary legacy, you could get hurt, you could be stuck living with regret, you could lose the lesson on how ordinary translates to extraordinary, just saying.

My out loud conversation was with a few colleagues that were discussing an elder family member who was on the fringes of Alzheimer’s and wanted ice cream for dinner.  Her caretaker thought it best to argue for her to have dinner and then her ice cream.  Hear me when I say this; in my later years if I want ice cream for dinner, give it to me.  Where is the decision in this, why does it matter if I don’t have a typical dinner?  If I am living in a world of my own and it requires/desires/needs ice cream, really? Do I need to be deprived of it, would I even know if I was being deprived?  Don’t let a simple decision made by a simple mind escalate into a “you should have your vegetables” kind of moment.  Eat the ice cream, life is short, have dessert first…isn’t that how it goes?

The other decisions that need to be made are not nearly that simple.  Near end of life treatments for ailments that will ultimately bring you to the end of your journey; what should they be?  How far should one go?  Who should make those decisions?  Why are those decisions so hard to come to?  Because no one is talking about them until they are looming large.

These are terribly hard conversations but ultimately the most essential for everyone’s comfort and dignity.  We are unusual beings in that we have the ability to see the end of our lives unlike other species.  The good news is we can plan and express our desires to those who love us and will ultimately be responsible for us.  The bad news is that by knowing the end result we tend to lose the moment…big time.   The trick is to have the conversations early and then make the most of all those wonderful moments without the angst.

Here’s what I know like I know; do not argue with me when I say no to all those heroic end of life procedures and treatments.  I will be like every dog I’ve ever had and know that it will be fruitless to subject myself to something that will make everyone else feel better that they “tried everything”.  I will give you the same look that they have all given me…I’m done, I’m tired, I want to enjoy your company and go in peace.  Understand?  No decisions required.

 

50

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My kid sister turns 50 today.  Muriel tells me not to say that because it makes me sound old (not Terri mind you but me. Love that girl.)  I’m not going to call her my kid sister any more, not because it makes me sound old, because somehow her arriving at 50 makes us even.

It’s a strange thing about age.  At some ages it matters a tremendous amount and then at some ages it doesn’t matter at all.  When you’ve been through as much as we have, and seen as much as we’ve seen, the years just fall away.  When you’ve learned as much as we have it narrows the gap, especially for me.  I’ve learned more about my shortcomings by watching her strength, more about kindness by her grace, more about patience by watching her move around in the world.

I’m relinquishing my self-imposed role of fixer.  I’ve stuck my nose in things my entire life with the best of intentions and sometimes a very good outcome.  But she (and himself) have taught me that falling down isn’t always the worst thing that can happen to a person.  When asked (that being the key here) I will be at her side in a heartbeat.  When necessary (and without being asked) I will walk her through the big things that overwhelm even the strongest of souls.  Other than that she is perfectly capable of handling her own life on the way to leaving an extraordinary legacy.

That said we are sisters with all that signifies.  I was reminded just recently about the significance of close sisters.  When Marcy and I were catching up recently the memories of her favorite Aunt came up.  She was a fixture in our childhood, everyone called her Auntie.   She died just recently and we were both surprised by the impact her death had on us.  I wrote Marcy’s mother a note letting her know what fond memories I had of her sister and that I would never forget her.   Marcy let me know that her mother had to get to her sister’s side the night she died, no matter the distance, the discomfort of travel, the amount of time it might take.  She had to be there.  Marcy seemed to understand but I know like I know that come hell or high water she would not let her sister be alone.

I hear stories of estranged sisters, I hear of arguments that last years and years.  I can’t in my wildest imagination picture not having my sister fully ensconced in my life.  I just don’t get it. Don’t think for a moment that we haven’t had some very lively conversation, bordering on the knock down drag out variety, but we take a breath and remember our history, our worth, and the fact that we just can’t get through a day without talking. Or laughing.  Or using the secret sister codes.

So Happy Birthday Terri, stop worrying if I’ll use the key to your house to surprise you without your permission, we’re even.