Make a digital scrapbook

Happy Lefthanders Day

I'm not normally a big fan of  madeup holidays, but this is my day - a day to acknowledge the challenges of being lefthanded in a righthanded world and to note our creative contributions!
Supposedly righthanded people operate out of the left side of their brains, lefties out of the right side - thus the assertion that we are the ones in our right mind.
But seriously, we lefties make some adaptations that righthanders rarely consider. When dining, we instinctively go for the corner seat that leaves our left arm free, thus avoiding clashing elbows. We learn to operate appliances and power tools with dexterity - after ruining a cord or two. I grew up before manufacturers made ambidexterous appliances i.e. with the cord coming out from the top as opposed to one side. The iron was my greatest nemesis growing up. I melted more than one ironing cord before discovering irons designed for either left- or righthanded folks. That may explain my continuing aversion to ironing!
Righthanded desks may not be the problem for lefties today that they were in my student days, since I assume the majority of students are now taking notes on their laptops, not wrangling with a righthanded desk in their lefthanded world. But it may explain why some lefties have adopted the strange overhanded writing position. It's the only way to find some space, albeit limited, to rest your arm.
Cutting is another activity that most lefties find challenging. I've had a lefthanded fabric scissors since I was thirteen, and have made sure I've had lefthanded scissors onhand since then. Ironically, I learned recently that my own children didn't realize until well through their elementary grades that cutting did not have to be painful. Aha - a dose of my medicine - growing up righthanded with a lefthanded mother!

In honor of International Lefthanders Day, I decided to break out my lefthanded mug for my morning coffee. Alas, even my mug, produced by Lefty, Inc. failed me: the text, Everyone is born righthanded; only the greatest can overcome it, is positioned for righthanded pickup! It's OK - I've learned to adapt!

Breaking Up (Housekeeping) Is Hard To Do

   It's been a month since we spent a week helping my 90-year-old mother-in-law clean out her home of nearly 50 years - another step toward finalizing her move to an independent living facility. Time to gain a bit of perspective - and the perspective of time and distance are helpful in such an emotionally charged situation.
   Having downsized ourselves in recent years, I have some empathy for the painstaking process of deciding what to do with all the things that we tend to accumulate--children's school papers, wedding programs, outdated, but still usable household items, souveniers and mementos. Disposing of them is, well, so final. Finding a suitable home often futile, as others are not nearly so enamored of our treasures as we are. One man's treasure - another's trash. But in the senior years, the whole process is underscored by our own mortality. As the body and mind are failing, we must reluctantly acknowledge that our remaining days on this earth are fewer than those we've already enjoyed. That can be disconcerting.

   That's not to say the entire week was morbid and depressing. We actually enjoyed a number of surprising and light-hearted moments - like discovering two fox furs in the cedar chest. Turns out one of my mother-in-law's brothers spent time Alaska in his youth and sent the furs to his sisters back in the Midwest. My mother-in-law is hardly a fur-wearing type of woman, hence the surprise when we lifted the lid on the cedar chest and found two pair of beady fox eyes staring back at us.
   And, of course, Bob's childhood artwork, tucked away among school papers and Boy Scout badges, and his favorite stuff animals provided a few good laughs and not a little ribbing from his children. His sister's oh-so-honest 5th grade book review, "Of all the books I could have read, this is not the most exciting," also elicited a few chuckles.
   My greatest take-away from the experience, however, is a renewed resolve to be more sensitive to the loss such a move represents, and, if not encourage, at least allow her to grieve. Honestly, it's a loss we all grieve in some way. After all, there will be no more extended family gatherings at the family home, no more pool games and endless games of dominoes around the dining room table. And while my mother-in-law has moved to an independent living facility, she really has given up a great deal of independence. She now depends on others for transportation and meals. Convenient in some ways, but a tangible loss and reminder that things are no longer, nor will they be again, what they once were.
   But, while we grieve the losses that are an inevitable part of aging and the changes that go with it, I'm equally resolved to hold ever more loosely to my possessions. Despite her repeated reminder that there are no U-hauls following a hearse, my mother-in-law struggled to let go of things. Even assuring her that a Salvation Army client needed her aging household items more than she did, hardly assuaged her. Maybe I just resent her ability to remember the details surrounding nearly every item in her home - when, where, and why she got it. And I realize, thanks to a wise friend, that these things are the triggers that help her remember and assure her that she is not losing her mind along with her independence. But, in the end, you really can't move everything from a 2000-square foot house into a 665 square-foot apartment. And being able to let go, it seems to me, is an important part of aging gracefully and graciously. Oh, that I can remember these lessons when my time comes.