By Barbara McMillen, on June 30th, 2010
Amy Winehouse’s voice is singing “Rehab” inside my head:
They tried to make me go to rehab
I said no, no, no.
Yes I been black, but when I come back
You wont know, know, know.
I have rehab – I register at 1:00. This rehab is Cardiac Rehab – I had surgery on March 31 to replace my mitral valve. I now have a valve made of bovine tissue. It’s brand new and promises me a new kind of life
especially if I go to rehab. I’m thinking about possible questions I may be asked, the rehab kind of questions. What do I want to get out of this? Names some things I’d like to change in my life to make me a healthier person. At least the questions are formed.
I would like to not be afraid of my new heart. I would like to not be afraid of when my new valve will wear out. I would like to be a lower weight. I would like to be able to walk farther, climb higher, eat better.
Cardiac Rehab – I think – I’m enthusiastic now coming as I am down from the miracle of surgery. But will I feel the same one month from now? Three days a week? for 3 months?
I’m hoping to keep myself going and I am hoping you’ll follow along with me discovering a life changing, a life in process. And,
I’m hoping you’ll make me “go, go, go” 
By Barbara McMillen, on July 19th, 2009
Read: The Most Beautiful Gift Is ...
 Today is July 18th. I was born 63 years ago today the first child in a family of what would be 11 children. Eighteen years later my little sister was born as what was to be the last of 11 children. The numbers are inexplicable but clear. We were born 18 years apart, on July the 18th, I in 1946 my sister in 1964. The last two digits of the years reversed themselves and, as I said, the circle was closed.
It was 1964. I was a senior in high school. I remember the summer she was born and I a snotty teenager recent high school graduate. My mother went into early labor and my dad took her to the hospital. When my mother returned a few hours later, I was derisive. Why did she bother to go. We all knew when the baby would be born. She would be born on July 18. My Birthday. The only thing left in the house that was mine. And I sulked.
And surely enough, my sister was born on July the 18th. I named her and I loved her as dearly as if she were mine. I taught her to read by gluing noun words on matching objects. DOG, REFRIGERATOR, GLASS, BOOK. What the heck is this, my dad asked after work. Everything in the living room and kitchen had nouns glued to their objects. We placed duplicates of the words on the fridge and eventually added verbs (once my sister could identify the words no matter how I had them arranged). Eventually the dog ran, Mom sat in a chair, the father reads a news paper.
I took my sister along to college for a day when I was in my junior year at Temple University. She fell asleep and my prof laughed at me when I apologized. I took her to the ocean where a ball got caught up in the waves and danced out to sea. I waved good-bye to her as I drove off with friends to graduate school. When I became a prof at the university here, she was an undergraduate. She lived with us part time and her graduation party was at our home with Mom and Dad flying out for the events. She is my first son’s godmother.
If, as a child, I witnessed all the children in my family come into the world, she witnessed us all leave home. One at a time. And she witnessed my parents move into advanced age.
We celebrate our birthdays together whenever we can – France, Italy, Martha’s Vineyard, Las Vegas and this year, my home. She and my husband arranged a surprise birthday for me on my birthday. And when she left, she said in 5 years she will fifty. It will be her birthday and we must circle the day in advance. She gets to choose what to do.
She just posted her arrival home where she is busy starting her own business. When I was her age I still had Mom and Dad.
And if she did, if they were still here, they would have been very proud of her. As proud as I am. As we are.
Happy Birthday, Baby.
By Barbara McMillen, on June 20th, 2009
This post requires the use of the royal ‘I’
Reading list:
I am 62. The original baby boomer born in 1946. A post war baby. I grew up in the 50’s and 60’s, went away to study for my Ph.D. in the 70’s, taught college for ~20 years. Early on I was also an Appalachian Volunteer – part of the original VISTA workers. I participated in Civil Rights marches, stop the war in Viet Nam activities, have a brother who actually was in Viet Nam, and I experienced first hand the deaths of John Kennedy, Martin Luther King, and Robert Kennedy. I raised two sons who are now in their 30’s.
In 1984 I began working with computers and learned to work with them in the days before actual manuals and when there were command line interfaces. I loved to write batch files with purpose and beta tested and helped along with millions of others to move the computer along in technology so that it became a bit of a toaster or a fridge – not something one thought of as exotic but thought of as a tool to something else – the video or the blog or the scientific work people now do. I taught my children and my husband how to use computers and I’m still the person who does tech support for home and neighbors.
And I have been thrifty, have prioritized my kids’ education, purchased a house that would dutifully cost me 10% of my monthly income and am one of the few economic strengths in retail markets.
But I am 62. I am a baby boomer. I am the grandmother folks refer to as in here’s a program ‘so easy my grandmother can do it’ Or, as in ‘the up and coming wave of boomers who are going to wipe the economy out (if not drain medicare)’. I am the boomer who is the reason for all the new jobs defined as ‘aids for the elderly’, as in senior activity center, as in assisted living, as in Sun City. I don’t appear in movies or t.v. shows. If you see me I’m in the life insurance ads or the help me I’ve fallen ads. I am nothing and I have nothing to offer.
Worse than nothing, articles tell me I am part of the ‘me’ generation, an old druggie, the reason for Bush’s power for the last 8 years (the old generation versus the Obama young generation), and it is my selfish preoccupation that led to the economic downfall. AND we have talented friends who are intelligent and who have spent their lives in government, volunteer work, as teachers, Peace Corps volunteers, nurses, doctors – who now reside in a Sun City retirement area. Folks who have an enormous wealth of knowledge and experience who disappear inside those walls because retirement means from life as well as job.
Because a Not Welcome sign resides outside many public doors. That includes jobs. It includes folks who have no retirement left because of the corruption of politicians and or wall street. I am rapidly becoming a ghost in the community. No longer seen but still available for babysitting. It includes department stores that feel women of my age have no sense of style, theaters who give me discounts but show very few movies that include me.
I am a cultural dichotomy having worked hard to pay into the system I am being considered a burden to.
So keep in mind: Just because I can’t find my glasses doesn’t mean I can’t actually see. Just Sayin’
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Just Sayin’ "Just Sayin'" As an expression is most often used at the end of a rant or at the end of a suggestion ameliorating a hot pitch with a shrug and an I don't care. Of course the speaker cares but in the span of life she'd rather point out the issue than make a life's crusade out of it. Not that a life's crusade couldn't be merited and not that the thing itself isn't a real pita but, really, one has to move on. "Just sayin'"
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