I am constantly looking in to determine my state - where I am at this moment in life - and whether or not I am all that I can be. I am a perfectionist even though I don't really believe in perfection. But I do desperately want to be the best that I can be. There are some things in life that I know make me better.
Eating healthy - my constant battle that I am trying to win on my own terms before the medical profession steps in
Running - it is like flying to me and I want to do it as long as I can
My granddaughters - they make me smile at absolutely nothing and everything
Feeding my spirit - reading, praying, meditating
Surrounding myself with positive forces and eliminating those that weigh me back into the quagmire of self-doubt and negativity. For me this is people. I love being surrounded with positive people and those who have a perspective on the world that it is half full.
The other side of this coin is eliminating things that don't make me better and that, is more and more becoming people, as well. I can't handle being around the nay sayers, the poor me's or the all about me's. I'm a happy person but not happy enough to lift up the sad ones. So that means I must leave them behind. I can't afford to waste my thoughts or energy on being frustrated by their actions, words or even their mere presence in my life. This is much easier said than done. Those thoughts have a way of creeping back in and I tend to welcome them like an old friend. And then suddenly I realize I'm not sleeping, I'm force feeding myself sugar and carbs to soothe the pain and I'm questioning my decisions, both past and present. No more. I have the power to change those thoughts by simply thinking new ones. No more rain clouds darkening my blue skies. No more worrying over things and people that I can't change. In the words of Buddha, "We are shaped by our thoughts; we become what we think. When the mind is pure, joy follows like a shadow that never leaves." That's what I'm talkin' about!
Sunday, March 17, 2013
Wednesday, March 06, 2013
My Grandfather Made the Front Page!
Don Allen: Strong, independent at 105
By Mike Brownlee mbrownlee@nonpareilonline.com
Posted:
03/02/2013 11:30 PM
Don Allen worked the crowd Saturday night in the “Bunkhouse” at
Pizza Ranch, shaking hands with old friends, mugging for pictures with
family members. His wit sharp, his mind keen.
After 105 years on this planet, in this city, Allen is as independent as ever, a man with a simple credo for living a long life.
“Take it a day at a time,” Allen said on his birthday, his words accompanied by a chuckle. “I just live.”
Allen’s family and friends packed the restaurant party room, young and old stopping for a moment to catch up with the “family inspiration” – as put by granddaughter Tere Allen. Allen doesn’t like to talk about himself much, so his son Don, Jr., and others filled in the gaps.
Don Allen, Sr., was born on March 2, 1908. At the age of 8 Allen and family loaded into a horse and buggy to attend the funeral of Gen. Grenville Dodge, following the procession from his home to Walnut Hill Cemetery.
What does he remember about the funeral?
“The 21-gun salute,” sticks out, he said. “And it was cold.”
He attended school through freshman year at Abraham Lincoln, when he had to quit attending to help his family get by after his parents, brothers and sisters were put in quarantine – though he forgets what malady they had.
He lived through the Great Depression, which he described matter-of-factly as just awful.
“Nobody had a job, nobody had food. All the banks were broke,” he said. “But we got through it.”
Allen slept in the shed, waking up each morning to tend to livestock and try to make a living in the city.
What was that experience like, away from family, essentially on your own?
“I knew what I had to do,” Allen said. “It happened, we worked through it.”
The quarantine lasted 21 days, but Allen decided to keep working rather than go back to school. He was a day laborer in his early adult life, catching on anywhere he could. He spent a summer thrashing wheat and flax, another working in the garden at the Iowa School for the Deaf. His first full-time, steady job was at a seed store, which he began in 1936.
Before that he married Adelaide, in the late 20s. The pair were married 72 years, until she died in April of 2000.
Health problems confined her to a wheelchair late in life, but that didn’t stop Don Sr. from taking her around West Graham, to the home of neighbor Shirley and Bruce Jones to gaze at Shirley’s flowers or to Fairmont Park to watch the sunset.
“He’d take her everywhere,” said Bruce of his neighbor of more than 40 years.
Bruce’s eyes grew large while discussing his favorite neighbor, discussing long conversations they had about the history of Council Bluffs, the elder teaching the youngin’.
Don still shovels his walk if his neighbors don’t beat him to it. Allen mows his own lawn, cleans around the house and cooks his own meals.
Come spring he’ll work in his garden, growing a variety of vegetables to share with his friends on West Graham.
He grows cabbage to make sauerkraut, which is popular among family and friends. His tomatoes have contributed to gallons of pasta sauce.
“I’m 76, he’s in better health than me,” Bruce Jones said. “And he has a better memory. He’s unbelievable, just outstanding. The best. We just love Don.”
About his dad’s health – and sense of humor – Don Jr. noted his senior “goes to the doctor once a year to see how he, the doctor, is getting along.”
Along with Don Jr., Don has another son, six grandchildren, 12 great grandchildren and 12 great great grandchildren. Five generations attended the birthday party.
“Pretty awesome,” said his granddaughter, Pat Oneil, who celebrated her 62nd birthday at the party as well. “My grandchildren know my grandfather. Amazing.”
Tere Allen said he’s the model for the entire family.
“Living your life honestly, authentically, taking it one day at a time,” Tere said of what she’s learned from Grandpa.
At Pizza Ranch another disciple, Stephanie Jones – daughter-in-law of Bruce and Shirley – stopped by for a hug and a laugh. Jones calls him a dear friend. Around the time Adelaide died, Stephanie’s husband Kurt died, bringing the neighbors close together.
“He saved me,” Stephanie said. “Such an inspiration.”
As the party progressed, Don’s young friend Bob Sorenson, 102, arrived. The pair quickly entered their own world, catching up like old chums who haven’t seen each other as often as they’d like. After a while Don needed to get up and moving, sharing jokes with other partygoers.
Pulled aside, outside Don’s earshot, each guest – to a person – raved about the patriarch, their eyes wide, their smiles broad.
“He’s a go-getter. He’s a 30-year-old 105-year-old. A crazy man,” Stephanie said, a grin on her face. “I remember a few years back, he was in his 100s. West Graham has these deep ditches from the road to our yards, and mine had a 2X4 piece of wood spanning the ditch. I look out my window and see Don walking, tight-roping, across the board.
“I ran out there and said, “What are you doing? Are you crazy?”
His reply?
“‘I’m seeing if I still have it.’”
One-hundred and five years into his life, Don Allen still has it.
After 105 years on this planet, in this city, Allen is as independent as ever, a man with a simple credo for living a long life.
“Take it a day at a time,” Allen said on his birthday, his words accompanied by a chuckle. “I just live.”
Allen’s family and friends packed the restaurant party room, young and old stopping for a moment to catch up with the “family inspiration” – as put by granddaughter Tere Allen. Allen doesn’t like to talk about himself much, so his son Don, Jr., and others filled in the gaps.
Don Allen, Sr., was born on March 2, 1908. At the age of 8 Allen and family loaded into a horse and buggy to attend the funeral of Gen. Grenville Dodge, following the procession from his home to Walnut Hill Cemetery.
What does he remember about the funeral?
“The 21-gun salute,” sticks out, he said. “And it was cold.”
He attended school through freshman year at Abraham Lincoln, when he had to quit attending to help his family get by after his parents, brothers and sisters were put in quarantine – though he forgets what malady they had.
He lived through the Great Depression, which he described matter-of-factly as just awful.
“Nobody had a job, nobody had food. All the banks were broke,” he said. “But we got through it.”
Allen slept in the shed, waking up each morning to tend to livestock and try to make a living in the city.
What was that experience like, away from family, essentially on your own?
“I knew what I had to do,” Allen said. “It happened, we worked through it.”
The quarantine lasted 21 days, but Allen decided to keep working rather than go back to school. He was a day laborer in his early adult life, catching on anywhere he could. He spent a summer thrashing wheat and flax, another working in the garden at the Iowa School for the Deaf. His first full-time, steady job was at a seed store, which he began in 1936.
Before that he married Adelaide, in the late 20s. The pair were married 72 years, until she died in April of 2000.
Health problems confined her to a wheelchair late in life, but that didn’t stop Don Sr. from taking her around West Graham, to the home of neighbor Shirley and Bruce Jones to gaze at Shirley’s flowers or to Fairmont Park to watch the sunset.
“He’d take her everywhere,” said Bruce of his neighbor of more than 40 years.
Bruce’s eyes grew large while discussing his favorite neighbor, discussing long conversations they had about the history of Council Bluffs, the elder teaching the youngin’.
Don still shovels his walk if his neighbors don’t beat him to it. Allen mows his own lawn, cleans around the house and cooks his own meals.
Come spring he’ll work in his garden, growing a variety of vegetables to share with his friends on West Graham.
He grows cabbage to make sauerkraut, which is popular among family and friends. His tomatoes have contributed to gallons of pasta sauce.
“I’m 76, he’s in better health than me,” Bruce Jones said. “And he has a better memory. He’s unbelievable, just outstanding. The best. We just love Don.”
About his dad’s health – and sense of humor – Don Jr. noted his senior “goes to the doctor once a year to see how he, the doctor, is getting along.”
Along with Don Jr., Don has another son, six grandchildren, 12 great grandchildren and 12 great great grandchildren. Five generations attended the birthday party.
“Pretty awesome,” said his granddaughter, Pat Oneil, who celebrated her 62nd birthday at the party as well. “My grandchildren know my grandfather. Amazing.”
Tere Allen said he’s the model for the entire family.
“Living your life honestly, authentically, taking it one day at a time,” Tere said of what she’s learned from Grandpa.
At Pizza Ranch another disciple, Stephanie Jones – daughter-in-law of Bruce and Shirley – stopped by for a hug and a laugh. Jones calls him a dear friend. Around the time Adelaide died, Stephanie’s husband Kurt died, bringing the neighbors close together.
“He saved me,” Stephanie said. “Such an inspiration.”
As the party progressed, Don’s young friend Bob Sorenson, 102, arrived. The pair quickly entered their own world, catching up like old chums who haven’t seen each other as often as they’d like. After a while Don needed to get up and moving, sharing jokes with other partygoers.
Pulled aside, outside Don’s earshot, each guest – to a person – raved about the patriarch, their eyes wide, their smiles broad.
“He’s a go-getter. He’s a 30-year-old 105-year-old. A crazy man,” Stephanie said, a grin on her face. “I remember a few years back, he was in his 100s. West Graham has these deep ditches from the road to our yards, and mine had a 2X4 piece of wood spanning the ditch. I look out my window and see Don walking, tight-roping, across the board.
“I ran out there and said, “What are you doing? Are you crazy?”
His reply?
“‘I’m seeing if I still have it.’”
One-hundred and five years into his life, Don Allen still has it.
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