Hit on the Wallet, Boost for Our Hearts

It was a strategic decision to limit our client load – the freed time let me attend the IAGG World Congress,  develop  Cyber Access for the Technically Timid  & start writing That Your Days May Be Long.  One impact of that belt-tightening decision is that John & I put any potential purchases under a microscope before moving ahead.

That said, we blew the wad last night.

Background:  On Tuesday, we had our weekly visit with an older friend, taking her out on a ramble (beloved pooch on her lap) followed by lunch at York Diner  (good food, great access for wheel chairs), capped with watching SUMMER STOCK  back in her senior residence room.   Alas, just about ten minutes before the end, the electricity went dark in her room!  We rolled her down to the dining/social room, where there was still lights & air conditioning.  Heading out, we promised to return to watch the ending.

And back we went!   Due to a full morning & early afternoon, we got there at 3:00 p.m., late for us.  What a grand time watching the end of SUMMER STOCK, then popping in ANCHORS AWEIGH – we assumed there was plenty of time to watch before dinner was served.

Live & learn.

The person who cares for the pooch from late afternoon to early morning stopped by at 5:00 p.m. to pick up her canine charge.  Which was when John & I learned that, every day, our dear older friend has the 1-2 punch of seeing her beloved dog taken away just when she needs him most (at night) AND, on the way out, the doggie’s caretaker rolls her down to dinner.  At 5:00 p.m.

Our horror isn’t just that our friend likes to eat at 7:00 or later – it’s that once dinner is over, she has nothing to do but watch television.  Even if she steeps herself in TCM’s classic movies, it’s by herself, no dog on her lap or curled up next to her.

John & I could not bear it.  Instead of rolling down the hall to a way-too-early dinner, the three of us enjoyed the end of ANCHORS AWEIGH, then we happily headed down & OUT for a beautiful early evening drive, ending up at – you guessed it – York Diner.

It’s hard to explain what it means to someone who has three or four choices to have for her senior residence’s dinner to open up a big, many-paged diner menu.  Having options, the ability to make your own choices of what to eat & how it’s prepared, goes to the heart of freedom, even if it’s just winnowing your final choice to between ordering a Monte Cristo sandwich or a cheeseburger (medium rare) with french fries.

An aside – whenever we take our friend out to a meal, she demolishes it.  We’re talking famously large diner servings.  Gives us pause, knowing the small portions she’s served at her senior residence.  

It turned out the evening didn’t end with a lovely late sundown drive back to her residence.  I wheeled her up to her room, while John waited downstairs.  Waited & waited & waited.  He was about to come up to find out if all was well, when he spotted me walking out to him – smiling.

Much to my delight, our friend asked if I could help her get ready for bed. I know how much having a caring pair of hands to help her prep for bedtime meant to my Mom.  Even John became expert at it!  Last night, I helped a dear older friend undress, got her fresh unders, helped her get on her nightgown & take a last visit to the bathroom, then helped her transfer from the wheelchair to bed – all of which she normally handles on her own, but which went so much more smoothly with extra hands & heart.

It’s true that we put our purchases under a microscope.  It’s true we did not include “dinner for three” on our weekly budget.  But the biggest truth is that the hit to our wallet was a mega boost to our hearts!

CARE – a fire bell in the night

Wow – – every week since returning from the IAGG WORLD CONGRESS  seems to deliver another rich offering deepening the discussion around the current calamity called aging upward in America.

Today’s Philadelphia Inquirer serves up a terrific review of CARE, an eye-opening, downright terrifying film about the nation’s – and especially our region’s -, burdgeoning home-health care worker crisis.

The Philly-produced film should awaken policy makers & fill them with enough terror to get creative & find innovative ways to head off a catastrophe on path to hit every level of our nation’s well-being.

Should, alas, does not necessarily translate to WILL.  Either to see or do.

Need, availability, cost, poverty wages, crippling government bells & whistles – put them together & we can expect our economy, social structure & health to crater over the next ten years.

May this film broaden a discussion happening among too few people & reach upward through all levels of our hide-bound & headed-for-a-cataclysmic reckoning hierarchies (too many types & levels to list).

The fire bells are ringing – 24/7/365.  Am praying  people who can make things right DO, starting with realizing that countless potential solutions are already available but are kept inaccessible because they’re not sufficiently institutionalized, bureaucratized, commoditized.

We’ve got to cut through all the jibber jabber outrageously suppressing  community- & individual-based solutions.  Or else we’re toast.

Learning to not loathe Jerry Lewis

I was NOT a Jerry Lewis fan. John introduced me – kicking & screaming – to The Nutty Professor, which I expected to be the epitome of everything I loathed about the too too physical comedian.  What a shocker to LOVE it.

There are still a lot of Jerry Lewis movies I consider TOO over the top, but ones like Cinderfella found their way onto my “recommend” list.

 

 

Jerry Lewis – King of Clowns – died today.  He died living a legacy that goes way beyond being the quintessential goof ball.

Last year, at 90, he was still doing his comedy bits once a month for wowed audiences.  Over the past years, he’s turned in some unexpected performances, including last year’s Max Rose and a riveting 2011 role as Richard Belzer’s uncle in Law & Order – Special Victims Unit.

A tip of my hat & heartfelt thanks for modeling full-throttle living at any age.

 

Flits & Feathers – Mindwalker1910 posting

It didn’t dawn on me as I listened to Mom talking about something she’d seen earlier, some special moment she wanted to share with us around the dinner table, that her ability to appreciate even the smallest moment, to SEE the thing that was in front of her, would stand her in such good stead as she aged upward, into her nineties.

Her big chair with the broad wooden arms  – the one Brenda always described as “in the Stickley style” – with its full view out the living room bay window gave Mom a perfect perch for watching the world go by, whether it was a group of giggling girls with towels & flip flops off to a friend’s pool or a butterfly swooping by for a visit.

This 08/17/00 e-mail from Mom to her devoted dist list was reposted on The Velveteen Grammie 14 years after she wrote it – it feels as fresh as it did all those years ago!

 

08/17/00
As I sat in the big chair in the living room, looking out the picture window, I saw a big beautiful butterfly flitting about the bushes!  It was the first big one I have seen this summer.   It was yellow, with black edgings.  I have seen the small yellow ones flying around.  They are pretty, too.  

I had another unusual experience today.  Two birds, one after another, hurled themselves at the window.  They saw themselves reflected in the window and thought it was an enemy –  poor birds.   I was feeling sorry for them and hoped they were okay. 

Then I saw a big, handsome red cardinal taking his ease on the rhododendrons.  I felt Pete near and felt comforted.

That big, beautiful butterfly reminded me of a summer over 50 years ago.  We were at Lake Wallenpaupack when I saw the Great Luna Moth.  There it hung, on the door of Odhner’s Cabin, its exquisite wings slowly weaving back and forth.  It was a pale cream color.  It was so lovely, it seemed to belong to the other world.

Before I say good night and head up the wooden hill to bed, I want to welcome a new member of our merry little band – Rebecca Cooper.  When I think of Becky, it is with awe for all that she has accomplished, in addition to being a wife and mom.  I am no longer an active participant on a discussion group she belongs to. To compensate, I took the liberty of adding her to the Mindwalker crew.

Nite nite – am off to the land of Winkin, Blinkin and Nod!  Grammie Kay

 

Becoming REAL (rough draft)

The following is the first draft of our talk next month to the Jenkintown Kiwanis.  It is very much a work in progress!

Becoming REAL

Everything I know about the essential nature of aging upward I learned from Margery Williams’ classic, The Velveteen Rabbit.  And from my mother, Katharine Reynolds Lockhart, aka The Velveteen Grammie, who quoted from the children’s classic to describe her own experience with growing older:

 “Real isn’t how you are made,’ said the Skin Horse. ‘It’s a thing that happens to you. When a child loves you for a long, long time, not just to play with, but REALLY loves you, then you become Real.’
‘Does it hurt?’ asked the Rabbit.
‘Sometimes,’ said the Skin Horse, for he was always truthful. ‘When you are Real you don’t mind being hurt.’
‘Does it happen all at once, like being wound up,’ he asked, ‘or bit by bit?’
‘It doesn’t happen all at once,’ said the Skin Horse. ‘You become. It takes a long time. That’s why it doesn’t happen often to those who break easily, or have sharp edges, or who have to be carefully kept. Generally, by the time you are Real, most of your hair has been loved off, and your eyes drop out and you get loose in the joints and very shabby. But these things don’t matter at all, because once you are Real you can’t be ugly, except to people who don’t understand.” 

In 2000, a year before she died, Mom wrote to an online circle of friends,  “I can relate to that passage. I turned 90 in May.  As the years tick by and my fixtures and fittings become unglued and the “fur” is loved off, a stronger sense of being Real has moved forward.”

17 years after Mom shared that, John & I find ourselves in the vanguard of eldercare evolutionaries, dedicated to helping oldsters elders ancients live as expansively as possible.  We think about my mom, about John’s, about his grandparents & the older friends who seemed to surround me as I grew up & the two of us want what they experienced for the many, not the few.

Back when Mom wrote that, we would have roared at the thought we’d be speaking about the promise of becoming REAL.  In those days, John was busy with his railroad art commissions, while I was on a career high having been named in 2000 a major financial services company’s Employee of the Year.

Then, in autumn 2001, without warning, life went off the rails; our plans were tossed as the Universe took control, shaking us but ultimately leading to a wondrous path we’d never imagined.

Turned out the artist & businessperson had been eldercare evolutionaries in training over all the years that came before, preparing us to be right where we are now, as we are right now – awake & aware of the opportunities as well as challenges of aging upward in America.

Mom caught how many youngers feel about getting up there in years:

Just as little children look at their parents as really old, not-so-young people can see their own parents as shutting down as we age, going into some sort of benign hibernation.

It is true that nature brings us, willingly or not, into more meditative states and slower tempos. Am I bored to tears sitting in the big chair in the living room or in my soothing rocker? No, it is surprisingly rewarding.

The problem is that young kids – looking through the eyes of a still preening self — feel sad and think, “How dull her life must be.”  And too many Ancient and near-Ancient Ones fall for that line.

Truth be told, growth keeps right on going, ideally right out of the ceilings of our cramped opinion.

This old biddy believes that the Lord intends us to live fully–whatever our physical or mental condition–right up to the moment we traipse across the threshold of our spiritual home. 

Thanks, Mom, for summing up our mission, right there in your last line –  to do what we can to help every person experience full lives right up to their last breath, to be the broadest deepest widest expression of themselves possible in any given moment.

That sounds wonderful upbeat ideal – yet with too many oldsters elders ancients, getting them there can be an wrenching ordeal.  Chalk it up to physics – a body at rest wants to stay at rest.

In June, an 85-year old fellow in a senior residence – a family friend, not a client – slipped in the shower.  He caught himself before falling, but bruised his back muscles when he slammed against the shower wall.  He didn’t break anything, but the muscles were bruised badly enough to require a week’s bed rest.  Which is all it took for atrophy to affect his legs & fear to enter his heart.  Week after week, he resisted the staff’s offers to help him do his rehab exercises & he balked at us taking him out for our weekly meander.

After two months of admittedly yum take-out lunches (thick seafood sandwiches from Feast & Fancy) teamed with double-feature in-room film fests (heavy on Fred Astaire & Audrey Hepburn), John & I said ENOUGH.  That Wednesday, we put our foot down & hauled his wheel chair out, taking him OUT.

It was a challenge getting him into & out of the car, but we had a delightful ramble through Ambler woodside, saying BAAAAA at the sheep grazing at Fitz Dixon’s Erdenheim, admiring our favorite steamboat gothic house in Wynmoor, topped with lunch at a favorite diner.  The next week, we went through the same drill, having to weedle & plead to get him out.  The third – still had to cajole.  Then came the fourth – as we walked into his room, he sat upright, broke out in a big smile & a cheery HELLO, swung his legs over the bed.  He was ready to roll!

I wish we could say we’ve never run into heartbreaking situations.  One of the worst was the mother who refused to do anything with us because IF she enjoyed herself, it would lighten the burden of guilt she laid on her physician daughter for not spending every spare moment with her widowed parent.  The wonderful gentleman we had to drop because the daughter insisted we do housework & walk the HUGE German Shepherd because “you work for me.”  Or the mother whose children wouldn’t listen to concerns that she seemed a bit more depressed each time we saw her –  they were so full of themselves, they brushed away the books we suggested, refused to talk to their parent’s senior residence’s counselor & boasted to everyone about the book they’d write on how eldercare should be done – you don’t want to know the end of that story.

We’ve known some sad situations, but they’ve been rare.  People bring us on board BECAUSE we’ve been around the eldering block before, want our perspective.  They want us to be open & honest with them about what we see, offer opinions & suggestions if asked, but that the final decision is either theirs or their parent’s.

One older woman particularly stands out.  Her family brought us on because of her growing depression after their father’s stroke, just after they’d sold their house & just before they’d moved into Rydal Park.

Outside of our Moms, Anne Davis Hyatt & her family remain the high water mark of our eldering experience.  Her situation should have been particularly bleak.  She moved into a single-person unit instead of into the spacious apartment they’d picked out TOGETHER

Anne was alone, without her husband, without any friends, with six children who’d never been involved in her care, who loved her but were more like their engineer Dad than their super social Mom – oh, and she’d recently been diagnosed with early stage dementia.

But her six kids swung into action, laser focused on how could they serve as their father’s earthly hands, on what they could do to help their mother feel as fully herself as possible.  They researched care options, ran financial diagnostics & kept in close touch through phone conferences. Their findings suggested that pouring money into enrichment could lengthen her time in Independent Care, be less expensive than Personal Care – –  AND she’d be happy.

John & I were brought on right off the bat, within months of Kent’s passing, one of three different care partners, each with a different approach & particular strength. We got Anne OUT, Tamar accompanied her to art classes & Bible study, played the piano for her & read aloud, got her over to Bryn Athyn on Sundays for church & throughout the week to visit classmates friends family.  The third person, arranged by Rydal Park, escorted her to concerts & movies in the auditorium.  Her daughter, Lisa, visited her every Saturday morning & had her to lunch every week after church;  her sons alternated taking Mom out to Sunday supper.

The Hyatts used Rydal Park as one of several tools in their kit.  By including the personal family community in their mother’s weekly mix, they made the most of each & did their Dad proud – they were, indeed, his hands in this life, making sure his beloved wife was in a setting that allowed her to be her best self.

In her last year, even when Anne could not remember the day or date from moment to moment, she was ALWAYS ready for the next moment of joy.  She didn’t remember our names, but her face always beamed when we came around the corner because she knew she was about to have FUN.

The Hyatt children gambled that if they invested in enrichment activities – services not covered under Medicare or LTC – it would extend her stay in Independent Care, delay the onset of further dementia and reduce the amount of expensive, not necessarily all that personal personalized care.  This past January, John & I had a rollicking Saturday supper with Anne & several of Rydal Park buddies, six of us crowded & crowing around a table for four.  She had Sunday lunch with Lisa, supper with Hugh or Justin.  She chummed around with Tamar on Monday, had her quiet Tuesday (what we dubbed her “sabbath”) & should have had Wednesday dinner with us except she took a fall that morning moving the few feet between her bed & bathroom.  She was admitted to Abington Hospital, was in good spirits but declining on Thursday & on Friday, after the family was gathered, she was gone.  What a way to go!

We’ve been blessed to work with some remarkable families.  Anne’s children, who suddenly found themselves responsible for their mother’s well-being & saw their care as an extension of their Dad.  The niece who made sure her maiden auntie was getting at least somewhat balanced meals (left on her own, she would have stuck to chicken croquettes & mashed potatoes, no veggies, no water).  The clan matriarch who, from Memorial Day to Labor Day, is blissfully ensconced at the family summer home on a New England pond, each week bringing a fresh influx of this child or that, with his or her family in tow, with the last weekend the crowning glory, with as many children as possible descending to pack up the house for the season – Mary would tell & retell those stories straight through the coldest, bleakest winter day & we’d all feel the summer sun on our faces, the lapping of the water on our feet.

There isn’t a category for what the two of us do.  We call ourselves playfulness coaches working with all ages, all stages.  Eldercare evolutionaries working to radically change our nation’s current woeful culture around the elderly.

We reach to a future we can’t put into words.

This past July, I went to the 6-day International Association of Gerontology & Geriatrics 21st quadrennial World Congress in San Francisco.  I went not really knowing my why or what I expected to bring away.  It never occurred to me that I might add value to the momentous gathering of 6000+ specialists from around the world.

What I discovered is that what John & I bring, right where we are, who we are, was deeply valued by the men & women I met.  I met authors & thought leaders I’ve admired for years & was blown away when they told me how moved they were by my insights & perceptions.  It seems they’re so caught up in their specialities, they appreciate getting the view from the trenches.

John & I will always make time for a client or two, will always be there for our friends, whether an oldster elder ancient or their family, but we’ve cut back in order to reach forward.  I recently got Cyber Access for the Technically Timid off the ground;  CATT spins socializing into social networking, offering a friendly human interface to provide the tech timid with hands-free Internet access – just as I did for Mom many years ago.  Have laptop, will travel. And we’re working on a book – That Your Days May Be Long, nurturing a 5th Commandment meme & mindset for our modern world.

John & I look forward to developing new tools for families friends care partners to include in their own kits, to helping them become playfulness coaches.  John & I took unexpected paths to this work & we love it.  We get to touch people’s lives, to nurture a new norm where oldsters elders ancients look around as they trip the “old-o-meter” into their 70s 80s 90s beyond, finding their hair has been loved off, their eyes dropping out, loose in the joints & shabbier to look at – and it doesn’t matter because they’re still truly madly deeply themselves within each moment, each situation, on track to becoming REAL.

Doesn’t get any better than that.

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Power of Impracticality – my college years

A month ago today, I set off on a singularly impractical journey, across the country to San Francisco for the International Association of Gerontology & Geriatrics 21st (quadrennial) World Congress.

I am a playfulness coach, not a gerontologist, geriatrician, clinician or statistician.  Yet there I was, this time a month ago, at Somerton station getting on a train down to 30th Street Station & then a 2nd train down to Philadelphia International Airport.  Heading west for reasons that I could not express to myself let alone other, a trip underwritten in total by friends & family because John & I are temporarily without clients, therefore income.  Practical people would be saving every penny for September’s BIG school tax bill, not waving goodbye to each other as I headed out to the City by the Bay for scholarly presentations on all manner of elder care.

But I have never been practical.  Chronically successful – yes.  And all of those successes were fully rooted in the decidedly impractical.

Take my college education.  My career goal since my tweens was to teach 7th Grade at our local elementary school.  Which was why, when I was a college sophomore,  I was hauled into the Dean of the Education Department’s office – if I wanted to teach, WHY was I getting my degree in Religion & Philosophy (with a minor un History) instead of, like other wanna-be educators, an Ed degree?  See, back in the mid-’70s, as it had for decade upon decade, our local college only offered the two degrees – Ed for teachers, Religion & Philosophy for guys going onto take ministerial training at the Theological School.

Girls don’t take that degree,” I was told.  Except – I did.  

As diplomatically as possible, I explained to the Dean, also Head of the Ed Dept, that I believed teachers needed to have as broadly-based an education as possible, that the Ed degree was too restricted to “The Teaching of...” courses rather than mind-massaging history, english, psych, science courses that couldn’t be squeezed into the Ed program’s possibilities.  I explained that our small college offered a large number of exceptional professors, so why should I go to West Chester or the University of Delaware, when one of the best colleges was right in my own back yard.  I talked about coming back for a 5th year of Ed courses, which he thought was totally nuts – why not get my degree in Ed & come back for a year of enrichment classes?  “Because, Mr. Gladish, if I got my Ed degree & a job was available, I’d take it & skip the extra courses.”

He thought it was totally impractical, a waste of my time.  But I went ahead & did something beyond his ken, without his blessing.

Was hauled back into his office before graduation.

Are you still planning on coming back for a year of  Ed courses?” he grilled.

“I am.”

“You understand that taking that extra year, getting those classes, is no guarantee you will get a job teaching?” he continued.

I took a deep breath before stating what was, to me, the obvious.

You do understand that if I do NOT take the extra year & classes & a job does open up, I definitely WON’T get it.

He did not like my response.  Again, he thought it was utterly impractical, a waste of my time.  And once again, I went right ahead & did it.

Fast forward a year & I was getting ready to teach 6th Grade. Four years later – was teaching 7th.  All on a Bachelor’s degree in Religion & Philosophy (with a minor in History) plus an extra year of “Teaching of…” classes.

Something I didn’t know at the time I was taking my impractical stab at my future that there was a lot of talk about expanding the course offerings, something that some of the more longtime professors & administrators resisted – “WHO would want to come to this college for anything but an Ed or pre-theological school degree?”  was their argument.  Well, there I was & at least one other woman (and high school classmate – the Class of ’70 clearly had its fair share of rebels), telling them in word & deed – “WE  DO!

When I graduated in 1975, what is currently Bryn Athyn College offered just the two degrees.  In 2017, you can still take your degree in Ed or the equivalent of Religion & Philosophy – or you could choose one of two fields of study..

 

  • The Human Society Major (HSoc) uses a multidisciplinary approach with anthropology, history, political science, and sociology studies included.
  • The Interdisciplinary (ID) Majors allow students to complement their study with another chosen field.

Offering majors in…

  • Anthropology
  • Biology
  • Business
  • Dance
  • Engish
  • Fine Arts
  • History
  • Human Society
  • Nursing
  • Philosophy
  • Political Science
  • Pre-Med
  • Psychology
  • Religion
  • Sociology
  • Advanced Interdisciplinary

Who could have guessed when I was so outrageously impractical in pursuing my heart’s desire LIFE that things would fall as they did?  But one of the things I’ve learned for sure over my 65 years it’s that we should never rule out the power of the impractical.

Film & Family – The 100-foot Journey

Film & I have fit together like a hand & glove since I discovered the joys of Leslie Howard, Ronald Colman & Warren William as a young child.  I woke up in the wee small hours of this morning, thinking about movies that I love that celebrate the heart, bones & community of FAMILY.  

The Hundred-Foot Journey  immediately came to mind, disturbing my rest as the joys of that film robbed me of sleep & filled me with fresh appreciation of its message of families – ones of flesh & blood, ones of kindred spirits, even ones of the work place, all of which are celebrated in this cinematic delight.

The film is a hymn from my heart.  It starts with an unimaginable family tragedy, sets surviving members on a journey into uncharted waters, has characters making leaps of faith that seem wildly irrational & are because they are heart-rooted,  intertwines talent & opportunity with bold action, elevates the improbable to the pursued to the fully realized.

It is, as my own experience has played out, LIFE as it unreels out when rooted (love that word) nurtured celebrated within by through the community of family & our family of communities.

It was an extraordinary night for me, with little sleep but a cavalcade of thoughts & images about first community & then family, then the two mixing matching interwining.

We can’t fake family, can’t manufacture it.  Family is what it is, whatever that is – of shared genetics, of shared interests, of shared work, of shared kinship of spirit.

Often, family shows up, unannounced yet as strongly linked as generations-long relatives.  Smiling, remembering how “Mom” Zeigler, mother of one of my dearest friends, a GUY, found me very suspect because her son was thiscloseto a gal who was not an in-law, who had no claim on his friendship through marriage.  Hearing about the relationship from far-off Iowa, she was leery of my intentions.  When she & “Dad” Zeigler finally came East to see just where their son & his wife had settled down, finally met me, she took one look, burst into a huge smile, wrapped me in one of the best hugs I’ve ever received, and proclaimed, “My goodness, you look more like my daughter than my daughter does.”  We’ve been close in heart, if not in distance. ever since – family that existed & only newly discovered.

Just as we are called to honor our parents – to see them as fully human, ergo fully flawed – we are called to see our birth family in the same way.  Some families, like the only apparently fish-out-of-water Kadams, are headed by strong parents, living & dead, tried by fire, thrown into situations requiring every smidgen of resiliency, tenacity & (literally) the seasonings of love.  Some are semi-dysfunctional, like the widowed Madame Mallory, who pours her love into gastronomy instead of people BUT ends up as tenderized as the meat in the boeuf bourguignon Hassan serves his father.  Others are open for what comes, providing support & encouragement as needed – like Marguerite.

It’s my experience that we start with the family we get;  learn to identify & appreciate its basic ingredients,  how to make them work together, what to add reduce eliminate; then bring in new features, new elements to achieve a more fully-rounded & realized recipe for personal family community happiness.

There is a wonderful, small moment in the film when Madame Mallory questions Hassan adding new seasonings to a classic sauce – she clearly loves the new flavor, yet questions going against tradition.

That is what all of us are called to do with our birth families – in order to let them become their best version, each member has to tweak it according to our tastes, hopefully producing an end result that all can at least appreciate & savor.

Whatever our “family of origin” situation, if we can respect its core ingredients, hold in our hearts that no one is setting out to sabotage us or it, accept that we’re each doing the best we can in any given moment given that moment’s realities for us, we can end up with something that might not be completely to our tastes yet fully satisfies.