Today’s My Birthday

Last month, I was at the gym as usual, trying to kick it up a notch by introducing some interval training. I was really working it, lost in the aura of my ipod (thank you, Rolling Stones), challenging myself for a real run and gun for sixty seconds here and there.

Soon thereafter, an acquaintance asked me if I was doing a new routine and wanted to know why I was pushing myself so hard. I explained that I was turning fifty next month, and I thought I should see how much I could handle, even if only for a very short time. She looked at me, exasperated.

“You’re turning fifty? Wow…you look great. But why are you telling me you’re almost fifty? I mean, no offense, but you really shouldn’t be telling anyone!”

Huh? I shouldn’t? Should I feel shame? (Nope. Don’t feel shame.) Embarrassment? (That’s kind of an odd word to use, isn’t it? Should I feel shocked? (Well okay…yes, the shock factor set in a few months back, but I’ve reached the point of total acceptance.) What should I feel?

One word does it for me: blessed. Each and every year presents new opportunities and new challenges, and as I get to know myself better, I really do feel more respect for who I am and who I’ve become to be. Sure, it feels odd to (physically) be fifty when I really do feel the same as I did when I was much younger. But it is what it is and I’m embracing it with huge, open arms.

The majority of my friends who’ve been turning fifty haven’t thrown a party for themselves. Everyone has celebrated in their own, independent way. Is this because we’re women, and turning fifty is clearly “over the hill”? Or is fifty something that one simply doesn’t celebrate? Is this the time that we really start lying about our age? If so, what are we afraid of?

Are our lives supposed to be so perfect by this time that if they’re not, we’re upset by that? I say bah! Seize it, grab it, celebrate it. I’ve chosen to use the excuse of a birthday to get together with close friends and hike, eat, and enjoy our health and the simplicity of being together. The fact that it’s my birthday is almost coincidental…I’m just marking time.

One thing many of us do, be it a birthday or a new year, is think about where we are and where we’d like to be. The fact that this year will be pivotal in my life (my youngest daughter will head off to college) may, in fact, be even more earth shattering than the birthday itself. Luckily for me, the two circumstances have forced me think long and hard about where I’m headed. And that’s not such a bad thing.

Time will tell if I start to futz about my age. For those of you that do, I’d love to hear from you. For those of you who don’t, I’d love to hear about that too. And hey…. anyone out there taking “advantage” of joining the (yes, I’m saying it) AARP?

Thanks for the birthday wishes.

Mission Number Two – Accomplished

The honeymoon is over

In the continuing saga of my volunteer efforts with one, special foster care child, there has been some change. To recap: She had been prescribed a large of drugs, but the court intervened and she was taken off many of them. When I saw J., on her birthday, she was much better. She was enthusiastic about the turkey sandwich I brought her (even though she probably would have preferred fast food). She liked the cupcake I brought her and the fluffy stuffed animal that was her presenn. She was engaging and charming. She has continued on the upswing. I brought her lots of presents for Christmas, as this organization gets donations. The standout: A Miley Cyrus CD.

According to the staff at J.’s group home, she has had a few breakthroughs lately. She remembered some of the abuse she suffered at home, and it seems like maybe she is on the verge of some kind of understanding of her situation. But for us, the honeymoon is over. The last time I saw her, she wanted to go back to school after about 20 minutes. “I will get homework if I am behind,” she said. I have a feeling it was because I asked her to talk about her feelings. Hey, I totally understand this kind of reaction after all I am the mother of a teen and a young adult. I had to respect her wishes, but told her I was disappointed. Next time, I will visit her at 4 p.m., after school, and hope to do something more active such as taking a walk around the grounds. We will see how that goes….

A few thoughts… I started this undertaking with caution. I wondered if I would be able to help in the dire situation of a child who is in an institutional situation and out of control. And, as I progress in this experience, I am filled with optimism that I can truly make the difference in the life of one child. I am still filled with sadness regarding the departure of my youngest daughter next year, but I feel hope and excitement about what I am doing for this child and hopefully those to come after her.

Mission Number One – Accomplished

( Part of an ongoing series from work to the world of volunteering)

A relationship develops

With the downturn in the economy, and especially in journalism, I came to a crossroads a while back, a stalled out career and my last child leaving for college. So I decided to take on another job, of sorts. I became an advocate for a child wending her way through the foster care system.

In my last entry, I had finished my training and had been assigned to an eight-year old girl. I was anticipating meeting the child, who is in a group care situation. Meet her, I did and it’s been quite a whirlwind since. I have met her several times and we have celebrated her birthday and Christmas. The first time I met J., was in a group meeting with her therapist, her group leader and her social worker. She was subdued and every once on a while she would put her head back and tune out. I had already heard from the staff and read in her file that she can be selectively mute if she chooses not to talk. But this seemed medication-induced. She seemed as if she was talking to me through a veil.


She didn’t appear like the girl I had read about, impulsive and aggressive, but like a sweet, eight-year-old girl who had been through years of who knows what kind of treatment in her home.. Before we all met, the staff talked about her “obsessions,” as one of the reasons why she was so drugged (five psychotropic medications). She showed “an obsession” our group meeting. We had been put in a room that stored the extra candy from Halloween and she kept asking for a piece, just one piece. Obsession, or healthy eight-year-old reaction to being in a room with candy?

Another reason for all the medications , besides the fact that J. gets angry and kicks people, is that she has an imaginary friend who tells her to do bad things. And because of this, the psychiatrist has said that she may be on the way to psychosis. But is an imaginary friend in a child of eight, who everyone agrees is more like three to five emotionally, psychosis?

After the group meeting, J. and I met alone. She asked me to write some math problems for her to do, we read a Junie B. Jones book and one about children around the world. She was interested and engaging. And then she got up and walked out of the room. “Uh oh, “ I thought. Here as the impulsiveness. But J. is smart. When everyone else was gone, she knew that the one woman behind the desk would give her the piece of candy she sought, and so went out that and got what she wanted.

After our initial meeting, I found out that many people, including me, were concerned about J.’s medication. So many drugs in such a young, and small body. So I met with her psychiatrist. While, she agreed that the medication regimen was extreme, she thought all of these medications were justified. But not only was I looking over her shoulder, so was the court. When I met with J. the next time, for about an hour, she was extremely lethargic… really out of it. I asked her why she was so tired and she said, “It’s the meds, and I am drooling.” My heart sank. Here was an eight-year-old aware, and embarrassed that her medications were making her drool. I was determined, right then and there, to make sure that her medications were adjusted.

This turned out to be easier than I thought. A psychiatric social worker from the court , who looks at all the drugs ordered for foster care kids became involved. We talked, she went to see J. and convinced the psychiatrist to cut the medications dramatically.

The Art of Aging

Ojai, California

Let us introduce ourselves. We are Alice and Richard Matzkin, and are both artists in our late sixties. Richard sculpts, Alice paints. Like so many others, we grew afraid as we entered middle age and began experiencing wrinkles, grey hair, and expanding waistlines. Instead of a psychiatrist couch, we used paint and clay to work through our fear and negative attitudes about aging. For fifteen years, I painted and interviewed older women, some famous, some without clothes. During the same period of time, Richard sculpted older men and elderly couples, also without clothes.

Through our art work and the writing of our art and inspirational book “The Art of Aging: Celebrating the Authentic Aging Self“, we have come to see our aging in a positive light. Our years have given us a wider perspective, deeper understanding of the meaning of our lives, and a true appreciation of the preciousness of now. We can honestly say that our present age is among the very best in our lives. We invite you to watch our oomphtv profile to learn more about who we are and the work that we share.

A Child Awaits

Now I am all set to meet my first child. Here is what happened since my last blog. Everyone who does this volunteer work with foster kids has to spend time helping with kids who are waiting to go to court. I shadowed a long time volunteer and escorted kids to court for hearings about their status – some had been there before and for some it was the first time. There are so many stories and the way that kids approach this ordeal is so different.

For instance, there were two sisters, one about nine, the other around 13.  They had been in the system for a while, living with an aunt. Through their social worker they told the judge that they didn’t want to see their adoption social worker (they were happy where they were) and they didn’t want to come to court next time (they are both good students and didn’t want to miss school). They seem to have adjusted to having been taken out of their home. On the other side of the spectrum was a boy, about 16, whom the judge had seen quite a bit. He had major attitude, wouldn’t talk, or even look at me as I brought him to the courtroom. The judge was angry with him for not going to summer school and was fairly blunt with him. Obviously, he hadn’t adjusted well. But is it his fault? Who knows what his situation is like.

I saw one family get their two girls back amidst merriment and tears. I met a 17-year old boy who had been in the system for about 8 years, knows he wants to be a massage therapist and seemed to be taking it all in stride.

After working with the kids, I went to see my supervisor to read about my first case. She had already explained over the phone that this is sort of an unusual – and difficult – case and asked if I would mind taking such a case. “We used to have a special group of volunteers for this kind of child,” she had said. Gulp…. Reading the files, I understood what she meant. This child, an eight-year-old girl had been in the system for a short time. Her mother was found wondering the streets, taking her two daughters from one short-term motel to the next. They were both sick when the social workers intervened and they were taken away from the mother. The mother had a long history of mental illness and had at times been catatonic. The father had a rap sheet – drug arrests, DUIs – two pages long.  The girl, my girl, had been at turns violent and defiant in the group home where she was brought and then quiet and non-communicative.

The girl, who was put into a residential therapeutic facility because of her behavior is on slew of psychotropic drugs and is still acting out. It is hard to know, at this point, whether the drugs are helping or hurting. That is part of my job, to try to sort that out. The rest of it is to make sure that the system is working for this child and doing the best for her that it can.

After that meeting, I switched gears and took my daughter to the east coast to look at colleges. New England was a riot of reds, yellows and oranges, with the changing of the leaves; and I savored this time… it is sort of strange how, as a parent, you help your child find the best place for her self so that she can leave. It is nothing if not bittersweet.

The weekend I came back to town there was an article in the Los Angeles Times about two foster children who had died. One committed suicide and the other was murdered. I don’t think they had a volunteer like me on their case. I found myself wondering if their lives would have been different if they had. And my resolve to help my girl turned to steel. A few days later, I met with my supervisor again. Now I am officially on the case and I need to start calling people. I’ll be back once I have met my child….

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