The newlyweds had dated for approximately three years, developing their relationship before jumping the broom. They were planners, goal setters. So when I asked my friend how they were doing it was no surprise to hear,” wonderful”. She continued, “this May they are going to Europe for two weeks – one of the things on their “cradle list”. I doubt that anyone has not heard the term, “bucket list”, but really now, how familiar are you with the expression, “crade list”? I knew about the new trend to replace wedding gifts with a “honeymoon fund”. The bride and groom contract with a travel agency. They set up an online fund which allows well wishers to donate to the “honeymoon destination”-probably more appreciated than another set of pots and pans! I was unaware of this “cradle list” thing, and my puzzled expression revealed my lack of knowledge. Laughing, my friend explained this new expression. Her son and his wife wanted to travel before they began a family. Travel, world adventures were to be experienced before settling into family life- places to go, a type of wish list was compiling their “cradle list”. Very different from the “bucket list” of their parents, us baby boomers, who opted to begin families, hoping for travel, world adventures once the kids were gone, mortgages paid off,and the last kid through college. Then, if the market held, and our savings flourished, we could begin checking off dreams on our”bucket list”.

I see the advantage of traveling, seeking adventure, diving out of a plane, rafting down the Colorado River before the bones begin to deteriorate, muscles routinely beginning to ache. I can appreciate this young couple’s philosophy. I am sure many others would not, rather commenting, “but who has the money when you are young to travel, play? They should be planning on children, buying a home, retirement, building their 401K”.

We were fortunate during the boomer years. Most of us did have children (2.3), bought a home, saved for the future, looking forward to checking off “wanna dos” on our “bucket list”. We were able to accomplish the basics wants of life- some at a greater level of comfort, but overall, we had access to home ownership, sending our kids to college with the assurance of a comfortable retirement.

Each generation will find differences in life style, monetary accessibility, and employment. Other couples composing this new generation will, like my friend’s son and his wife, find “funding a family” increasingly more expensive. Economists, money managers see housing costs, everything related to having children will escalate: doctors,dentists, college tuition. So maybe this idea of a “cradle list” suits our new couples. I think I am going to rethink birthday gifts, Christmas gifts and contribute to my kids’ “cradle list”!

Marriage is a work in progress no matter if it is a first, second, third or like Elizabeth (as in Taylor, eight times to the altar). Couples who chose to remarry often find themselves with an increased set of issues beyond that of a first marriage: extended family members, additional financial burdens, combining his/her children, and, often, if the remarrying couple is older, they may have aging parents who need them. All, or any, of these situations create strain on a marriage-any marriage, testing the strength of the relationship.

As a school counselor for many years, my open door policy brought many unhappy parents and their children to my door. The situation most often discussed, most frustrating was the remarriage of a parent. The task of bringing two families together, his/hers, and sometimes, an “ours”, is a formidable one. A variety of personalities, new to each other, previously parented with another parent-all these differences now living under one roof-difficult for even the most dedicated twosome. Typically, children were not happy about the acquisition of a new stepparent. Their way of retaliation was to be as non-receptive as possible. Children who had never shown disrespectful, non-compliant behaviors suddenly became “problem kids”, acting out in school, throwing tantrums at home.

I remember one father who was so astounded at his children’s recent personality change. He had been gifted with a new love, his soul mate, he was in love! To his dismay his two children were making life miserable for him and his new love. This had been a very involved dad, delighted in his father role. He was hurt and dismayed by the behaviors of these “new” children of his. My response to him as he wrenched his hands, commiserating, “you may be in love but your children aren’t”. I went on to explain, “they still have a mother and their loyalty is to her. Give this time, don’t push their acceptance, be patient”. For a while, I think he took my words to task, but after a few years, I heard he and the love of his life had divorced. A very different ending from that of a couple in my book. The couple I interviewed for my book separated five times in four years because of their children. His and her children caused constant disruptions in the home creating strife for everyone. But they had made a commitment at their wedding: no divorce this time; it was to be a forever marriage. Their children, finally, grew up, moved away, married, and these days as empty nesters, they simply, enjoy being together, able to enjoy the love that sustained them.

The stories I heard as a counselor and my own failed second marriage, prompted me to write a book, Successful Second Marriages- stories of couples who have experienced the additional baggage brought into a remarriage. How were they able to maintain their marriage while maneuvering through the obstacles? How did they keep their relationship the priority when they were stretched in so many directions?

Each couple graciously shared their story on what had worked for them. Their stories are inspiring, encouraging and hopeful, good lessons for first timers or beyond.

I refuse to believe that any couple has NO complaints-impossible, when we share space everyday with our other half. I know George Clooney(10 plus that he is) has to have one irritating behavior-maybe smiling too much!  Regardless of what I believe, I have been surprised at the lack of response to my questions. The questions were few, general, and the respondent did even need to use his/her real name. What I am discovering is an acceptance (mostly women) to complain in public places about a spouse, but when it comes to putting it on paper, they choose to not participate. Comments such as “I don’t feel comfortable sharing this information or I don’t speak negatively of my spouse or I chose not to criticize my spouse” are what I have received via email. Had these ladies responded with,  ”I really can’t think of anything or I prefer not to comment”, I would not have given their response another thought. I guess for some folks it is better to share in a group with others who will agree with you, give you moral support and share their “blisters” but who are really not looking for solutions, just an opportunity to vent. For me, the opportunity to share my blister (Jim, Jim can you ever close a closet door, a cabinet door or a kitchen drawer!) with someone who might help in resolving the blister is appealing, helpful.  I love my husband, working through what irritates him or me(and, yes, I provide a blister or two for him), is simply part of being married. As we all know a blister begins small, just a bit of an irritant, left unattended the blister becomes raw, bleeding and very painful. I am open to your suggestions for my blister, and if you are so inclined, send me your blisters. (You don’t even have to use your real name!)

debut

Even at this “long in the tooth” stage of life, I get excited at the beginning of a new year. I envision the new calendar with its clean, white pages waiting to be filled with all kinds of new activities: travel, theatre dates, birthdays for beloved grandchildren, summer barbecues, new projects (this year, knitting is on the list), family gatherings, and on and on. Exciting, thinking about all these “good” things that will be occurring, and then, all of a sudden the reality of the first month of this bright new shiny year and what it brings, the event which brings on dread and despondency (albeit, short-lived) for me: my birthday! Now, I do not need to hear, once again, the profound comment of my optimistic friends, “well, Pat, just think of what the alternative is!’ That really does not make me feel any less “aged” or better about the additional number I will be putting on applications and forms. And, the worst, hearing my doctor’s receptionist inquiring, loudly, for all the other waiting patients to hear, “Mrs. Bubash what is your age now?” How covert would it look if instead of giving her a verbal answer, I wrote the number on a piece of paper and slipped it to her?

As I sat in church this past week, the words of the minister echoed what I was feeling about beginning this New Year. As with every year, there will be wonderful times of family, fun, and frivolity filling the now clean, empty calendar pages, but, without a doubt, these pages will also contain funerals, hospital visits, events of sadness, loss and grief, it is, as it is, the onward flow of life.

I was never more aware of this ongoing current of life than this Christmas. This was one of those rare years when my west coast daughter with her family in tow came to us for the holiday. And, it was understood; my parents would also be staying with us. This was a favorite granddaughter, and great grandson coming to town: a grandson born on my dad’s birthday, a first male after three generations of females! The two Patricks would share the holiday under the same roof. No way would these grandparents/great grandparents be anywhere but here, in my house for the holidays!

Nine years had passed since we had all been together for Christmas. We were all looking forward to this shared time. I cherished having my parents with us, but I found myself overcome and saddened by the thought, this could easily be a last Christmas with us as a family of five generations. My parents, like me, were, also, adding years to their calendar.

Along with all these emotional wafflings of mine, I, also, found myself getting annoyed at my dad’s constant looking over my shoulder as I cooked, indicating what I wasn’t doing right. He is an excellent cook who tends to “know” how it should be done! And he is not hesitant to tell you even in your kitchen. Although I might wish for less of his kitchen influence, my dad is a positive personality. Not so, with my mother who is very much the epitome of “the cup is half empty” constantly complaining about the weather. It was too cold, it was too gray, too windy, without a doubt, the kids’ flights would be cancelled-due to weather. I mean what can we do about St.Louis weather!

And, in the twenty years of our house being the gathering place for family reunions, family celebrations, events, no one had complained about “too much” salt or the dinner rolls not rising or the gravy being too thick! This year brought it “all” on. By the fifth day, I was desperate to reclaim my house, my routine-and my kitchen.

Once I had my parents returned to their home 200 miles way, and my daughter on her way back to the west coast, I mentally revisited the holiday. I realized we all have lived separately for a very long time; our own homes our zone of comfort. Being a guest for more than a night brings challenges for both guest, and host. This holds true even if the guests are relatives. My parents expressed to me that as they get older for them comfort is being in their own space.

Their preference is to be in their own house, creating their own menus, cooking to their taste, (thinner gravy with less salt!) watching their television shows, having less chaos, noise, and uneventful days of quiet calm. They acknowledged, although it was “not like being in their own home”; being with family was worth any inconvenience to create lasting memories.

I am grateful for the days spent together (albeit, testy at times!) this 2009 Christmas. Now that I am no longer trying to feed a crowd of people with my dad giving suggestions (unsolicited), I can laugh about the rolls that did not rise, the gravy that was too salty (I thought he liked more salt!) and overcooked veggies. In the aftermath, I doubt that any one has remembered these cooking failures, but rather, they will recall my feisty little dad showing his great grandsons his skill at blackjack, (he won every hand) his delight as he modeled his new black wool coat. Adding a new red plaid muffler around his neck, he was a real GQ man. Never to forgotten was the unplanned Kodak moment when the sweetness of my parents with their six decades of love was viewed in their goodnight kiss. All my annoyance with his interfering and her complaining was of no consequence, simply, part of sharing space in a full house of relatives.

It was an insightful and wonderful end to 2009. I am still excited as we begin this New Year, 2010. Anticipation for whatever the events, happenings, no matter what it may be,-even another number on my calendar!

Those new to St. Louis are always mystified the first time they are encountered with this question. Regardless of the length of their residency, be it origin of birth or a transplant to our fair, and, highly humid city, they will, without a doubt, eventually be asked the question, “and, where did you go to high school”? The question may evolve as they smooze at a cocktail party, engaged in a casual conversation while waiting in line at the grocery store, attending a parent meeting at their child’s school, posing in downward facing dog at yoga class or even by a wedding guest at their own wedding! Without a doubt at some point everyone who resides in St. Louis will be asked-this question, eventually, and inevitably. Knowing where someone went to high school is integral to a variety of relationships in this city.

An aunt visiting from Kansas City initiated a discussion regarding this St Louis phenomenon. Her interest in learning the “why” of the question was brought into conversation the morning after her arrival. We were camped out in my kitchen chugging our much-needed cups of coffee. We were anticipating the desired effect of the caffeine to bring us into some semblance of alertness. Finally, we felt a plateau of wakefulness, enough so, to have a coherent conversation. My aunt spoke beginning our musings on the topic of St. Louis and its quest for where one went to high school.

Days before her visit to my house, she had read an article in a local Kansas City newspaper. The subject of the article pondering “why” the location of one’s high school was so important to St. Louis citizenry? What information was gleaned from the responder’s answer? Why did anyone care about the geographical setting of someone’s high school years? Rather, wouldn’t more important information be gained by knowing which college or university a person had attended? Wouldn’t the college alma mater provide a better educational profile, suggest the capabilities of the person more so, than the high school alma mater? To the author of the newspaper article the difference in academic expectations of the two settings placed college way above in significance. In his opinion, the professional world of work was more interested in the college not the high school of its employees. This would seem logical, but, then, he had never lived in St. Louis!

My aunt surmised that knowing the location of where one’s higher learning i.e.: college education was acquired would give more insight as to the ability of the responder. For example, if a person responds with, “Harvard” or “Duke” or “Princeton”, the one receiving the answer is very impressed! Even, if the college identified is not immediately recognized, a college degree denotes achievement, accomplishment, but high school? Isn’t it almost a given that everyone has a high school diploma? What matters where it came from? Well, maybe not in Kansas City, but in St.Louis, it matters.

So, what is the point if this question? What is learned from knowing where someone went to high school? Surprisingly, when I inquired of random persons, not the question of where they went to high school, but why they thought it was so frequently asked by St. Louisans. I discovered “the” question did have purpose, and, actually it was not such an insignificant inquiry.

Knowing what high school a person attended, often gives a clue as to socio-economic status. A young friend supplied the following account on this subject. Her college friends from Kansas City would ask people not about high school, but “Where were you born”? If it was in the K.C. area, they could make an educated guess as to the high school attended- no need to ask specifically,” where”. They knew from the answer whether the person lived in a lower, middle income or affluent area. It was all about location, location. As she was talking, my young friend’s mom chimed in with her spin on the “where you went to high school” phonemon. Her upbringing had been in a small Missouri town about 80 miles south of St.Louis. Having moved to St.Louis after attending college in Springfield, Mo., she was, of course, asked the question to which she would reply, “Butts High School”! This answer never failed to end the conversation, at least on the topic of high schools. The humorous side of this story is, she actually did go to Butts High School.

At the time of my conversation with my aunt, I was unable to give her an answer. I was just as perplexed by “the” question as she and her fellow Kansas folks. I couldn’t give an answer because it had never made sense to me, either. Who cared? . My school age years were not spent in St. Louis. When I moved here eons ago, I was a transfer student, a product of a Navy family. High school for me had begun in Alameda, California, and my senior year had been on an island. Lacking only two classes for graduation and a diploma, I spent a semester of half days at (here it comes, where I went to high school, now everyone will know), Cleveland High School. It was years later that I realized how frequently in all forms of gatherings this question would be asked.

I really do believe that my high school alma mater, not college, helped me acquire my best and final professional job. The principal who hired me had gone to, yep, you guessed it, Cleveland High School. Of course, it was some years later when he graduated, but all that mattered was we had both been students at the same place.

Knowing someone’s high school indicates the status of the school: is it a school with high expectation for its students promoting a stringent curriculum. Certain public schools are known for their programs, which demand higher achievement from their students than their counterparts. Specialized curriculums also holds true for private schools. The curriculum could be geared for only the college bound, or providing programming for students with learning problems or behavioral/emotional issues.

It would not be difficult to discern that a school with a saint’s name would be a parochial school. A recent national survey ranked St. Louis as having one of the highest percentages of parochial schools statewide. Typically, if a person attended one of the many parochial schools, they would be of that faith, not always true, but a good indication of a person’s religious beliefs. In certain areas of the city, there is a higher concentration of certain ethnic groups. Student body in these communities tend to be composed of that one culture over other ethnic groups… And, like the K.C. college students, we can easily determine socio-economic by the location of the school site.

This is what I have surmised with some assistance from my West Coast daughter. In her worldly wisdom (and she did go to high school in St. Louis) she maintains,
“St. Louis is really a small town in a big city setting, provincial in many aspects. Six degrees of separation does fittingly describe our community. I think even four degrees could fit. The chances of finding yourself in a room full of people who have some high school connection to each other, is likely”.

There it is, to summarize what the answer to the questions may provide: -socio-economic status, academic ability, one’s religion or ethnicity, and even political affiliation. The answer, depending on the person asking, can ultimately lead to business connections, continued socialization, greater business and social networking. The downside to an answer hinges on if these were rival schools in sports or academics. Former students tend to stay loyal to their “own”, sometimes even to death.

So, as a St. Louis resident, I have to ask, “and where did you go to high school”?

Many of my friends have expressed their distress upon receiving their first copy of AARP magazine. My female friends are crushed the first time they are referred to as “Ma’am” (this doesn’t apply to women living in the south! Ma’am is applicable to all females, all ages!). Most distressing of all, is the first time the cashier at the movie theatre asks. “ senior rate”? I am confessing that for the first year or two upon acquiring senior status”; I would not accept the senior discount! Those extra two dollars meant nothing to me if the 17year old behind the window knew I was an “oldster”. I was delighted—thrilled when I would, on occasion, find a place that gave discounts at 55. It was not as painful owning up to 55, but 60, that was “tough”. Paying the extra money was worth not admitting to my years.

And, why is this an emotionally difficult time for many of us senior citizens? As baby boomers we have worked most of our lives in productive professions; have accrued many years of life experiences, earned college degrees, and many even achieving postgraduate degrees or doctorates. Shouldn’t our endeavors be honored, valued and admired? Should be, but living in a society that worships youth, aging is not considered a “cool’ thing to do.

Is there any of us who have not experienced the “youngster’ at work who refers to us as “mom” or “dad”? Younger colleagues often look upon their “older” colleagues as not being quite as savvy, up to date on technology, and oh yes, not appreciative of today’s music! Aren’t we the ones accused of being forgetful? (our minds slipping because we are “older”!) That youngster would never forget his or her turn to bring donuts!

What really offended me was when my youngest daughter’s friends decided to affectionately call me “mom” – My issue with their choice of greeting for me was that unless I had given birth at the age of eight, there was no way that I could be this person’s mom! They were right behind me on the calendar. Calling me by my first name made a lot more sense.

Certainly, it was more logical. I think addressing me as a mom made them feel younger!
The real clincher for me with the age factor happened when I seriously began to write my book. I had subscribed to a writer’s magazine. As I was reading on ways to find editors, how to get their interest in my book, etc., a sentence loomed out at me: “don’t tell the editor that you are retired, and now have time to write. This creates the idea that you are older, and are just dabbling when others have been serious writers for years!” My immediate thought was, so what? I paid my dues, or rather taxes for more than thirty years, now I want to share my experiences in written form. The words from the magazine article re-emphasized for me, the negatives of being older. From the author’s point of view, it wasn’t a bonus even in the writing community.

A younger friend of mine was sharing with me her distress in seeing a magazine cover illustrating the “buff” bikinied body of Helen Mirren. My friend who was more than ten years younger than the 65-year-old actress. This youngster of 53 was bemoaning her less than buff figure as compared to the much older actress. Well, good for Helen, she is showing the world that as we age like fine wine, we are getting better. (Another profound cliché to make us feel better – giving us hope). Of course, we know Helen has personal trainers, a personal chef, and probably, an in- house gym.with all the newest equipment to aid in keeping that aging body taunt.

Where did aging become a determent? In Asian countries, people in their seventies and eighties are viewed as wise, sages, worthy to be their country’s leaders. Frequently, I have noted that many of the Chinese dignitaries are in their late seventies or early eighties. (I pay more attention to “how” old these days – hoping I am younger than those in the headlines). It seems to me that age is honored and revered in the Far East.

We have our own testaments to the wisdom and creativity of age; Grandma Moses who did not begin to paint great masterpieces until in her seventies, Laura Ingalls Wilder who wrote the beloved series, Little House on the Prairie in her sixties. Another sixty “ish” author, Robert James Waller. Can anyone forget the adulterous characters in his best selling book which became the blockbuster movie, The Bridges of Madison County? And, how about Colonel Sanders with his “finger lickin good” chicken? The Colonel introduced his unique fried chicken recipe to the public as he entered his sixties. Then there is our former President, George Bush, who on his 80th birthday skydived out of an airplane – a first for him… The controversial photographer and painter, Georgia O”Keefe was continuing to paint just weeks before her death at 98.

As another good friend and peer, advised me, embrace these years we have accumulated. . They are what make us who we are. Finally, after all those years of working, parenting, educating ourselves, we do have time for introspection and self-awareness. We can determine what we want to do with the last fourth of our lives; what we can still contribute – or not, rather, choosing tranquility and happiness for our lifestyle.

.The offerings for exploration are great and diverse. So many colleges, organizations, churches, and the infinite Internet provide ways for us to continue learning. and experiencing. Late in life can be a time for extraordinary achievement because we have the knowledge acquired through our life experiences, and now, best of all, we have time to explore or to experience anew. Or it can be, simply, a time of great contentment – Your choice in direction, unlike our young friends and colleagues who have to do the 8 to 5 everyday! Our comment to them, “been there, done that”.

Now, I must conclude my thoughts on aging. I am preparing for a weekend zip lining adventure near Van Buren, Missouri. The person sharing the information, and leading the group is Georgia, my yoga friend Georgia who is on the dark side of 70 continuing to be excited about new experiences – She is my inspirational guru!!

“It seems right now that all I have ever done in my life is making my way here to you.