Author: Nancy Malcolm

Remember my little Auntie Sue?  She’s the one who taught me about ‘Sittin Ugly’ and she’s also my role model for aging gracefully with a sense of humor.  Well, Auntie Sue taught me something else…

Once when I was visiting her in her little apartment in Oklahoma City, she asked me to help her clean out a few things.  She sat in her favorite chair by the window and I would hold something up, “Throw?  Keep?  Give away?”  Usually she would start in on a story about whatever I was holding up and we would end up laughing, crying or hugging and not getting much else done.  On this  particular day, as I was quizzing her about things in the closet, she exclaimed, “Oh Honey, just put it over there in that cubby by the dresser…you know, my glory hole.”

“Glory Hole?”, I asked.  Did I hear it right?  “What pray tell, is a Glory Hole?”  She explained that if you had something and for whatever reason, you loved it, but you didn’t really need it or even know where to put it, you could store it in your Glory Hole.  If it has no category or value other than you like it….Glory Hole.   Even sometimes if you know you should give it away and you put it in the give-away pile and you take it out again…..it goes in the Glory Hole.  

I learned, as we went through her belongings, that you ‘just know’ if it is Glory Hole material.  It’s a feeling, an instinct that tells you, “I need this thing. I love it.  And I don’t know why.”  It’s a personal preference.

I’ve always had a “junk drawer” in my kitchen and I’ve always had a closet (or two) that hold “treasures” of a sort, but now I have my own Glory Hole.  Don’t get all judgmental or self-righteous on me….we all have a Glory Hole of one kind or another.  An old jewelery box or shoe box stored safely away in the attic or up high in the closet?  Glory Hole.  I think it just makes sense.

Some day, in the far away future (I hope), my girls will be going through my things and come across my Glory Hole!  What a day that will be!

Dear Arthritis,

You and I have been together quite awhile now.  We slowly got to know each other in my thirties and gradually we’ve connected in a way I never expected, or really desired.

You’ve held me back from some things I’ve  wanted to do.  Climbing stairs, bending, kneeling to tie my grandchild’s shoelace….simple things, I used to take for granted.  Grasping my coffee cup in the morning or twisting off a lid of something I needed at the moment…you’ve held me hostage.  You’ve tried your best to stop me, but you have NOT won the battle.

I’ve cursed you.  I’ve ignored you.  Shaken my fist in your face and still, you are here, giving it your all.  I admire your tenacity, I must admit.  You’re not a quitter…  but neither am I.

Be prepared, I’m trying out a new attitude, a special-ops tactic, that I think will be quite effective….Acceptance.  I’m through with the fighting and anger.  I’m going to kill you with kindness.  Be afraid…be very afraid!

I’ve decided to be gentle with my joints, talk a little sweeter to these creaky knees…give myself some extra time to warm up.  It’s all part of the grand plan to accept.   It is what it is, that, I cannot change, but, I can stop being embarrassed or sad for what I cannot do.  I’m on a campaign to enjoy my time left on this earth.

So, you see, I’ll no longer be negatively engaging with your nonsense.  You’ve given it a good run…now it’s my turn to be in charge.

Farewell Arthur…see you around!

Love,  (see? I’ve already started)

Nancy

When we take family vacations, our criteria consists of having fabulous food, spacious accommodations and fun for everyone.  Flash back 50 plus years ago and things looked mighty different.  My daddy believed in vacations, that’s for sure, but the logistics were sometimes painful and always frugal!

My daddy was an Electrical Engineer and former Navy Captain.  This combination does not allow for errors or give room for spontaneity (unless it is planned)  Daddy was trim, 6’2” tall and could do anything and fix anything and he was always right.  Another important fact is that Daddy’s idea of fun was planned, purposed, budgeted and sometimes mandatory fun!

When I was growing up, my Dad would meticulously plan our summer vacations.  Our travel group included my dad, my brother, Grandma and Great Aunt Lena and of course myself.  On this particular trip we drove from Amarillo, Texas to Colorado to camp out in the mountains.  Picture the five of us and all of our supplies/luggage loaded into and onto our 1958 Mercury sedan.  You know,  the type of car where 3 can sit comfortably in the front seat.  I will never forget that car because later I burned a hole into the front seat with a cigarette lighter.  I just wanted to see if it would burn…and it did, but that’s a whole other Oprah.

We had 2 tents packed.  One for the girls, big enough to set up cots so my Grandma and Aunt didn’t have to get up and down too much.  And a pup tent for my brother and dad to share.  We had a Coleman stove packed, all of our food for the week, fishing poles and various other important items.  Between the US Navy and the Boy Scouts of America, we were prepared for every possible scenario.

To this day, I can remember the smell of the car.  My grandma packed our lunches.  There was always a thermos of coffee for the grownups and a Shasta soda for my brother and I to split.  There were always bananas, apples and grandma’s banana nut bread.. Ah…..preening down the highway in our loaded 58’ Mercury, singing songs and fighting over who got the window seat.  Everything was wonderful until someone had to stop for an unplanned bathroom break or something flew off the top of the car.  No luggage racks for us!  Our gear was tied down with my dad’s rope, sailor knots and strong will.  When we finally arrived, the grownups began the daunting task of setting up camp.  Daddy’s naval training and my brother’s boy scout knowledge gave them the inspiration to think their master plan would work.

My now wonderful big brother, was then a 12 year old know it all, girl hater, smart mouth big brother.  He was really only nice to me when someone was looking or it would serve his purposes in someway.  To this day, I do remember my part….as I would push him to his limits and then when he threatened to hit me or sit on my head and fart, I would scream,“ Daaaadddy, Jimmy’s bothering me.”  I’m not proud of it, but it was pretty effective for quite awhile.

Grandma did the cooking, of course.  I don’t remember what we ate, but I do know that my Grandma believed that sandwiches were not real food, so we had to have a “hot meal” everyday.  On the premise, of what goes in must come out, Grandma brought a large, white porcelain jar for our bathroom needs.  Honey pot, chamber pot…you get the visual, I’m sure.  It was mainly for us women folk, as the guys used the woods.

We spent the week fishing, hiking, and enjoying the fresh mountain air.  Moving on to one particular day.. It was the day we were to break camp and drive to Silverton.  We were going to ride the Narrow Gauge Railroad from Silverton to Durango.  There is probably a Murphy’s Law that says ‘what you packed cannot be repacked in quite the same way’.  I remember my Dad’s frustration in getting everything back into and onto the car.  I’m pretty sure I was not much help, but eventually we were loaded and started the drive.   That is, until we got stuck in the mud.  My brother, grandma and aunt all got out to push the car while my dad steered and I sat “quietly” in the back.  Finally, we were back on the road, although not as clean as when we started.  My dad drove like a bat out of hell as we raced to the station and ran to make the train on time.

I don’t know how to describe what happened next except to say Great Aunt Lena was afraid of heights.  She didn’t really want to sit by the window and with a tight grip on the seat, she began to pray aloud the whole way asking God to save us from plunging to our deaths!  Everyone was cranky and muddy (except me) from being prodded and rushed by my dad.  Suffice it to say that his words of,  “By golly, I paid for these tickets and we are going to enjoy this train ride if it kills us!” put us in check.  Chug a chug a choo choo….and off we went..

After the train ride, we settled back into our assigned seats and began the trek home.  Yes, my Daddy loved a trip, loved to plan it and most of all control it.  I remember the stress, the tension and calamities, but I also remember his face.  Occasionally, when things were going smoothly, the work was done and he was casting his line into the stream…he would smile.  Truly smile.  He had pulled it off, we were on vacation, enjoying our little family and creating memories, and that we did!

Photographs by Nancy Malcolm

I love dragonflies.  I love to photograph them and I find great pleasure and challenge in capturing their beauty while they flit through life, pausing only seconds before taking off again.  The dragonfly symbolizes change and change in the perspective of self realization.  In other words; the dragonfly symbolizes growing up, maturing and becoming oneself.  Doing everything you said you wouldn’t and not doing what you said you would…growing up!

The dragonfly can actually move in six directions:  hover like a helicopter, fly backwards like a hummingbird, fly straight up, down and on either side.   All of these moves are easily accomplished at an amazing 45 mph speed.  In my life, as in the dragonfly world, I am learning that life requires some pretty clever moves.  Two steps forward, one step back, dodge a financial blow, sidestep a bad relationship…above all else, keep moving!   Hover above the storm.   Although  occasionally, the backwards move is necessary to get out of a situation that just doesn’t feel right.  

As I “mature”, I’m realizing that no matter how my life started, no matter what I have been through, right now I know that I’ve had a charmed life.  Like the dragonfly, I’ve skimmed across water and glancing at my reflection, I see not only what’s on the surface, but the deeper life…what really counts.  The dragonfly’s agile flight exudes a sense of power and poise, something that comes only with age and maturity.  In my mind, the dragonfly knows that even if his wing tips low, or a gale force wind blows, it’s his heart and soul that propels him onward.  He simply must be what God created him to be.

The adult dragonfly is characterized by large multifaceted eyes, two pairs of strong transparent wings and an elongated body.  These huge eyes give them incredible vision in almost every direction except directly behind them.  Isn’t that the truth in life?  Hindsight is always 20-20…  I would like to think that the eyes really are the window to the soul.  What am I looking at and for how long?  Am I looking to the good and loving qualities of others or am I spending too much time looking for the bad?  Am I looking to the past for my future?  These large powerful eyes remind me to look beyond my limitations, beyond the doubt into the realm of possibilities.

The dragonfly lives most of its life as a nymph and his adult life lasts only a few months.  Not a very long life span, but definitely a billboard for living one day at a time.  It seems true for me as well.  I spent a lot of my life in immaturity, wanting to be a grown up and yet not knowing how.  And then suddenly waking up at 63 and wondering when did I mature, or did I?

I think it’s a slow process, sometimes painful, sometimes exhilarating and always an adventure.  Dragonflies are comfortable on water, land and in the air, they are adaptable and make the most of their time on this earth.  That’s what I want to do.

Story and photograph by Nancy Malcolm

“I’m a dog person”, I told my husband.  “We don’t have time to take care of her”, I added.  But, in the quiet, early morning 11 years ago, when this tiny ball of black fir wandered into our garage, I saw the way he picked her up and kissed her little head, and I knew……

How can you not name a little black kitten, “Blackie”?  To soften it up a bit, I called her Blackie Marie.  She needed softening.  We combed the neighborhood looking for a mother cat or maybe more kittens, but, she appeared to be a loner.  Barely a few weeks old, if that, hungry, crying and a visibly bent tail, she became ours.  The vet would later tell us she had obviously had a hard life before we even met her and that a trauma had caused the broken tail.   Our Blackie was a fighter.

We nursed her back to health and began the challenge of integrating her into our work schedules and into the routine of our daughters’ large, sweet dog who was living with us at the time.

We quickly discovered that Blackie Marie is very opinionated, kind of selfish and always temperamental.  My husband constantly takes up for her, reminding me that she is rough around the edges because of her weeks on the street.  “She can’t be reformed until she feels safe”, he told me.  “Until SHE feels safe”?  “Really, Boo”? I started to challenge, “the dog already sleeps with one eye open”.

Now, what I am about to tell you is the truth and nothing but the truth.  We began to put Blackie’s food up on the dryer so the dog would not eat it.  Makes sense, right?  But then, my husband brought a small ladder into the laundry room so Blackie could learn to climb up instead of trying to jump.  After a few weeks of trying to do laundry with a ladder in the way, our feeding solution quickly morphed into us picking her up and putting her on the dryer….every time she ate.  Now, mind you, she does jump off by herself, but still to this day, we pick her up.

What really sealed the deal for me was when my husband told me I wasn’t doing it right.  “You need to pick her up and then she likes to be petted and scratched for awhile before she eats.”  I then heard him say, “isn’t that right precious whecious”?

It has taken me 11 years to become a cat person.  I didn’t know cats were so different from dogs.  I didn’t know she would want to go out the back door and come in the front door….all day long.  I didn’t know she would only want to be petted when she was in the mood.  I didn’t know a big dog could be trained by a cat in only one week.  And I didn’t know I would love her like I do and buy silly things like a magnet that says, “Have you hugged your cat today?”

Our Blackie Marie is not feeling very well lately.  In her 11 years with us, she has never been ill, like she is now.  But, we continue to love her and pick her up when she wants to eat.  We are now giving her daily medicines and watching her very carefully.  We want her to feel as loved and safe as she always has, and I think she does.

If love is the silent song the heart sings, then our hearts are in harmony with hers.   You just never know what tiny piece of love will enter your heart, or your garage, if you are willing.

I have many redeeming qualities.  I am honest, creative, kind and thoughtful.  I have been blessed with good genes….but can you keep a secret?  I have crooked toes.  When I was younger, I never even knew this could be a possibility, and truthfully not until I hit 50 did the possibility become a full fledged reality.

‘Don’t over analyze it’, you might be thinking.  But, I’m wondering…could crooked toes have a deeper meaning?  Is this a blessing in disguise or an omen?  So far it appears to be a life lesson.  While all my friends are sporting fabulous sandals and beautiful open-toe pumps…I’m searching for closed-toe, geriatric, orthopedic shoes.  Oh sure, I wear sandals, but they don’t really have the effect I’m wishing for.

So, here’s a question to ponder… Am I going to let a few crooked toes stop me from living life?  Crooked toes can be a metaphor for whatever ails you:   heavy thighs, stretch marks, thinning hair.  If I give up my quest for the perfect sandal, am I letting crooked toes win?  Am I really going to let a few little deformed digits determine my disposition?  ‘Oh hell no!’  I would like to say, but the truth lies somewhere between hell no and hope not.

My happiness and contentment is not contingent upon whether my toes are straight or crooked.  However, in order to live by that creed, I must embrace my quirkiness wholeheartedly.  Here goes…

I am grateful that I can walk, and that I have all 10 toes.

I am grateful that I can afford to buy shoes.

I am sort of grateful to learn the lesson that my ten toes are not the sum of who I am.

I’m learning to be grateful for this aging body and its own standard of beauty.

I guess, to answer my question of “Could crooked toes have a deeper meaning?”  Yes.  I’m thinking that no one’s life is a straight line or an even path.  We all have little detours, bends and curves in the road and that is what makes our lives an adventure.

So, here’s to my dear crooked toes, my fellow travelers, my unique phalanges.  Let’s be friends.  I want to make your life as comfy as possible;  we’ve still got miles to go and a lot of life yet to live.

photograph by Nancy Malcolm

Words are so powerful. String them together and you have phrases, sentences and old fashioned ‘sayings’. Some people are more prone to descriptive verbage than others…

My little Auntie Sue lived in Oklahoma City all of her life. If you’ve ever been there, you know it can be blistering hot or freezing cold and always windy. Auntie Sue weighed 100 pounds soaking wet, so she was a good judge of the elements, if you will. One day, I called her and asked, “Are you having any weather up there?”, which in Oklahoma,  is a perfectly acceptable way to ask about the temperature. She replied, “Honey, its so windy, it would blow the hair off a dog!”. Now, that’s what I call a perfect description.

Auntie Sue was married to Uncle Benny for 50 plus years. Once, when visiting them, we were eating breakfast, and all at once Uncle Benny excused himself from the table. He was gone for quite awhile, so I finally asked, “Is Uncle Benny ok?”. She replied, “Oh, Honey, he got the call of the wild and when you get the call…you better answer quick! You know…his coffee kicked in.” We finished our breakfast in silence. Now, that’s what I call a perfect description.

One last thing to know about Auntie Sue…she was very hard of hearing. She had always suffered with ear problems and hearing loss, but continued to try new hearing aids and was an expert at reading lips. One day, she was reporting what the audiologist had told her at the last visit. “Honey,” she said, “he told me my ears are not going to get better…infact one day I’ll wake up and not be able to hear myself fart!” Now, that’s what I call a perfect description.

Oh, how I miss my Auntie Sue!

photograph by Nancy Malcolm

It’s raining. I can hear it on the windows and hear the gentle tap, tap, tap on the deck out back. Its soothing, rhythmic, almost hypnotic and ‘gentle on my mind’.

I grew up in Amarillo, Texas. It seldom rains there, maybe because it’s so dern windy, the drops blow away before they can hit the ground. But on occasion, God will send a rainstorm that is so spectacular, it will take your breath away. The lightening puts on such a show, you would think it was the Fourth of July. Long, silver streaks light up the Panhandle sky and they seem to last for minutes, illuminating the whole city. It’s quite a production, quite a symphony of lightening, thunder, light, dark, loud and eerily quiet. Its frightening yet you cannot take your eyes away, it’s nature at its finest. In all my 62 years, I’ve never experienced a rainstorm that can rival my Amarillo sky.

These days rainy weather makes me think of my Grandson, Sam. A few years ago, when he was almost four, he was visiting us for the day. It started to rain and my husband, AKA PaPa, asked Sam if he had ever built a dam. “What’s a dam PaPa?”…and so it began. We three donned our goulashes, umbrellas and smiles and headed outside. As luck would have it, rain water was rushing down the crevice by the curb, streaming down the street…going nowhere fast. PaPa began his explanation of dams and we began gathering rocks, sticks and shoveling dirt onto our dam site by the driveway.

Sam took a businesslike approach to this work and we three labored happily side by side. Of course, being the girl, I did have to take orders. “Nannie, hold my umbrella!”, “Nannie, please help me find more rocks?” It was one of the sweetest hours of my life. Two miracles from my Creator: the rain and my Sam.

PaPa has since made a trip to Home Depot (like he needed an excuse), to purchase more bags of sand that we can use for future dams. As Sam gets older, our bridges are becoming a little more sophisticated. Hopefully we can have a few more glorious rainy days with that precious boy, giving orders, moving rocks and smiling ear to ear. No rainstorm in this Nannie’s heart, only sunshine and a love as big as the Amarillo sky.