What just happened?

I try to watch the news everyday but where is it?  I feel like the news has succumbed to a social media event rather than detailing actual events.  They seem to create the news for us and why?  Isn’t there enough real out there to report on?

After watching the love fest between the media and our president yesterday during his first lame duck presentation, I began to wonder what the media was all about.  Where are the hard hitting reporters who feel the need to protect the public from ….everything?  Lois Lane is gone and she has been replaced by a sycophant.

I grew up listening to Walter Cronkite who held no allegiances with any organization or politico and reported the news with dignity and respect but it was truthful.   All of the news today is like Wikipedia; a conglomeration of opinion with no fact checking until it’s too late.  When did Facebook become the model for the Today Show?

We can probably agree that the news media is more of an entertainment industry now, vying for ratings as the chief issue, rather than respectful and insightful reporting; but why did this happen?  Are we merely interested in being voyeurs rather than intelligentsia?

I spend my retirement day searching for real unadulterated (pun intended) news and do you know where I find it?  I find it more on YouTube than on mainstream media environments.  Of course I have to skip over the many people trying to achieve stardom but there are undiluted videos of world events as taken by the participants on site in world news events.  But trying to find real news on YouTube is like trying to find books from the Library of Congress that have been dumped on the floor; its challenging at best.

I am tired of the starlet and coiffured news of today and long for the real news of yesterday.  Now I am not unaware of the filtered news of the past; controlled by politicians but when real news occurred; I could at least trust the reporter to try his best.  And let me say this is not just an age thing that I am older and want to see older reporters because each station has their version of the older reporter for suit my eyes; it has to do with reporting integrity which seems to have slipped into the nether region of today’s media (pun intended again, sorry.)

When is too old to live alone?

The older I get, the more I realize that my days of independence are dwindling.  Both of my parents are deceased but my significant other’s mother, one I refer to as mom, is finding life in her own home more complex than before but mostly for us.

We worry constantly and she laughs it off with her usual alacrity.  I think her goal is to die in her own home and why shouldn’t she feel this way?  Her friends and neighbors are there for her; her family members make regular visits; but is this enough and is this reasoning correct?

We all want to ensure that our wishes are followed as we age but are we making the correct decisions and are we thinking right?  The older I get, the more determined I get but I have noticed that I am not always correct about what I am thinking.  I have started to perceive that stubbornness creeps into my mind that defrays the former astute logic that once replaced these same thoughts.

Each week on TV, I hear about senior, senior citizens who drive long after their reflexes should allow them to which results in them  doing permanent damage to others all in the name of  independence. Which is right?  I always think you err on the side of logic; on what’s good for the general population as compared to what’s right for just me but when should I make that determination or is it something my son and/or friends will do?

We start our lives being dependent upon others totally….are we meant to end our lives the same way?  I am a part of the baby boomer generation; a large group of independent beings full of pride and quite capable of running our own lives until we are not able.  When does that happen and will I know it or does it just creep up on you like a bad chill in the night.

I have always believed that my brain was my best asset and that was all I needed to bring me happiness but what good is a fine brain trapped in a useless vessel that doesn't respond to everyday commands? 

I want to remain self aware.  I do not want to be a burden to my son or others.  I want to be fiercely independent.  Please grant me the reason to know when I need help…

Shattered glass…

When tempered glass is broken, it shatters but it clings together as a safety measure.  The people I know and have seen affected by hurricane Sandy look like splintered tempered glass.  They are all put together yet broken by the effects of the storm.

We can all say that they mostly lost “things,” personal effects by and large, but what has this experience cost them.  You see them on television saying they will rebuild or not; some crying; some not; some looking for that one insignificant piece of memorabilia that hung on the refrigerator; but they all look shattered; violently demolished like the homes they once shared.

Yesterday I attended a family party and several members of the family came even though they were victims of the storm.  They came to celebrate a positive event but their eyes were deadened by their own tragedies and their exhaustion was palpable.

As a child, we moved often, mostly because my mother couldn't afford to pay the rent.  There were times when I came home from elementary school only to find a sheriff’s notice on the door with chains forbidding entry: eviction. Sometimes, we stole back in the night to attempt to retrieve personal effects, sometimes not.  I remember the horror of someone, something forbidding my entry into my home.  I remember the loss of safety as my home was taken away.  I remember searching for that one insignificant item that would make me feel better.

I understand the loss these people feel.  I recognize the look in their eyes. I've seen it in the mirror.  I know what it’s like to be shattered glass. 

They need genuine care, human warmth and understanding, and comfort, some of which will only come when they reconnect with their new home environment; when they can feel safe and whole once again.

I wish them peace.  They will never forget how this feels.  They are forever changed. The mirror will never let them forget.

Hello Sandy….

I haven’t known many Sandys in my life and I’m not referring to hurricanes but people named Sandy but I’ve always been fond of that name.  It’s probably the reference to Grease, the play, or Sandra Dee in general, that makes me think positively but now we have a hurricane named Sandy.

Why do they give hurricanes names and personify them at all?  They are natural occurrences of nature but they are usually devastating events no matter where they occur.  I realize they rotate the names based on the letters of the alphabet and, to be politically correct, they now name them after men as well as women but why name them after people?

I was always told my elders, as a child, that they named the hurricanes after women because they are so unpredictable, like women, and after all doesn’t the word hurricane include the phonogram “her”.  But what about the devastating effects caused by these storms; the loss of life, the loss of personal effects?  In fact, they don’t name tornadoes and they don’t name cyclones, the other version of hurricanes, do they?

When something is personified, it is done so to add human attributes to a non human entity like Peter Rabbit but storms just don’t fit that moniker, do they?  They are not friendly, they are not welcomed, they are not indicative of human nature, or are they?

As I understand and have experienced human nature, we can be beastly creatures, unpredictable, and generally uncontrollable at times, in fact, murderous entities unwilling to stop until we peter out from exhaustion.  Well maybe I am making a case for personifying tropical cyclones after all.  We all remember the significant weather events like Gloria, Irene, and others especially on Long Island.

I live in Florida now but I find myself up in New York for Sandy.  I have personally lived through a number of these storms and was more affected by their resulting damage then their interim storm event.  Like others, I found it fascinating to witness the aftereffect of the muscle of these storms: the floods, the downed trees; the loss of power; the sheer power of wind and rain.

 Sandy is already overstaying her welcome in the NY area and I am already tired of the reporters standing in the same areas where people have been forced to evacuate.  How many times can we watch their hats blowing off; their camera lenses filled with raindrops offering breaking news of overflowing banks, loss of electric power; and reporters standing in sea foam and water?

Now I understand why they name these storms; we are all voyeurs titillated by forceful and uncontrollable characters; all this and just in time for Halloween; trick or treat anyone?

Coffee please...

There is so much I want to say in these blogs.  My life is so much more enriched as a senior citizen than it was in my youth and I feel compelled to analyze and share so that others might share this moment along with me.

 I now have the time to be gracious.  I have the time to be thankful.  I can enjoy so many of the atomic particles of happiness that I missed before with my hurried and me centered life style.

I think that the older you get, the more you slow down but that’s not a bad concept.  I am starting to sense the lovely nuances of life that I missed in my speedy, hurry up and do lifestyle.

Yesterday I had a beautiful day; we had some of our relatives over; the older set, and it was wonderful. When was the last time you sat with a World War II veteran and his bride and had the chance to laugh over the silliest of jokes?  He’s an amazing man; full of life, tender, silly, sweet; and he has to be one of the most adorable men I have ever met. So caring, loving, and still in love with his sweetheart of over 65 years who shares the same love and tenderness with him and all others.  Their bond, their love is engaging and one that makes you feel warm all over.  What’s also remarkable is that I am not envious of them because I feel included in their love; their relationship emanates such warmth to all those around them.

Don’t you want to know where all of these sweet sensitive men are; the considerate ones, the ones who wake each morning asking themselves how they can make their spouses happy each and every day?  They are all around us and yet we have trouble noticing them. I think it’s because we, as women, forget to ask ourselves how to make our spouses happy first. Is this an old fashioned concept, a fairy tale that is unattainable?

So, you might be thinking, you have to be an octogenarian to experience this type of happiness but the answer is no.  You also might be wondering if these types of relationships are fictional at best or lost to the current generations but the answer is no again.  And finally, you might believe that these story bound relationships are too rare to believe in but the answer is again no.

I know another much younger couple, Mimi and John, who have this special bond and and have had this type of mystical marriage for so many years.  What’s the answer then?  I believe the secret is twofold:  each partner has to have the same drive and intentions to want to please the other.  

We've all heard that you get more happiness by pleasing others yet our society promotes the “happiness of one” style; encourages you to forget the others in your life if they are too hard to please and just please yourself…a walkman/ I Pod mentality.  But the true joy of life comes with pleasing others which includes your strong personal relationships as well as casual strangers and this formula works for all.

Bing Crosby will soon be encouraging  us to “count our blessings” as the holiday season descends upon us but I say create your blessings; show the people you love, real love; think of them first; do something small, gesture like, and make sure when they say they love you; tell them you love them more and mean it.

Happiness One Day at a time: Facebook is our new collective memory…

Happiness One Day at a time: Facebook is our new collective memory…: I know I am getting old because I spend a lot time reflecting; looking backwards if you will.  My memory of certain days in the past is sk...

Facebook is our new collective memory…

I know I am getting old because I spend a lot time reflecting; looking backwards if you will.  My memory of certain days in the past is sketchy at best and I rely heavily on others with their sketchy memories to fill in the blanks for me…that’s where Facebook comes in.  It’s the new collective truth about the past.

Joe says the best times of our lives are behind us and he has fond memories of his childhood even though his occurred in Carnarsie of all places.  He liked the 50’s; I didn't.  It was a great family time for him and a bad one for me.  I prefer to live in the 60’s and a little bit of the 80’s in my reveries. 

I like all of the “remember when” references on Facebook.  It gives me a jolt to my memory and allows me the option of dredging up childhood memories that I choose to think about.  I also enjoy the “pile on” effect where lots of people add to the memory chain and refer to their own personal experiences.  I can picture the smiles on their faces as they comment on the sweet thoughts that they just shared with others.

Some people have fabulous collections of their past.  One friend, Luke, has an amazing history in pictures of his past and shares them willingly with everyone.  I envy his collection and I spend hours staring at the small black and white photographs to see the many faces of people I know, knew, and encountered in my past.  You can see the essence of who someone is in these early pictures; their smiles seem to always stay the same (or their lack thereof); the part in their hair; the people they are clinging to in the photo; is there a dog in the frame? What street are they standing on? What’s in the background?

The other day someone put a video of a parade online and I actually saw myself as a careless 14 year old marching down the street.  I barely recognized this young teen version of me and it seemed to catch me totally unawares.  Who was that girl?  Where is she today?  Is that me or is that some girl I don’t know… Did that girl really grow up to be me?

It’s difficult to say how much I resemble that 14 year old because that seems like another lifetime away from me.  I could see how haunted I looked in those days even though I was smiling faintly.  How I wish that I could be that 14 year old girl looking at my 60 year old picture today and drawing conclusions.  What would I see?  What would I think about this older woman?  What conclusions would I draw?  Oh Facebook, did you mean for these thoughts to occur or is this an accident of happenstance. Either way, thanks for sharing everyone; keep putting those pictures up so we can all see and remember what once was.

In the wee small hours of the morning...

You know that time of the night when it’s morning to you but not to any one else?  That’s the time that I have a myriad of conversations with people in my head.  I argue, I love, I cry, I think….too much.

It seems to happen more now that I am older and I am positive that this effort is a totally useless activity.  I say all the things to the ghosts of people present, past and probably future that I want to say, need to say, feel obligated to say.  Now there is nothing wrong with this except for the fact that I assume what these people would say back to me and I am usually wrong in determining their responses.

Our perceptions of what people think is usually full of misunderstandings and so we torture ourselves with what we believe other people are thinking with very little evidence to support our beliefs.  Example:  I haven’t heard from my friend in a while so she must be angry with me for some forgotten promise?  Not true, she is just busy with her life as I am as  I learned yesterday.

Nighttime presents some unusual opportunity for these one-sided conversations. The nighttime darkness actually seems to lend itself to this suspension of belief and allows my mind to wander off; spiral off in multiple directions down alleyways of directionless and really mindless channels.

After I argue all of my pointless points with the ever unpresent, I feel no better, no more resolved than anyone would sporting a one-sided conversation should.  So why do this?  Well this self-inflicted game is no more controllable than assuming you can make the sun rise faster. 

What I have learned recently is how to break the syndrome when I realize that I am caught in this web of regret and pointless offline discussion thread.  I reach across the bed and put my arm around Joe.  Touching him, feeling his warmth and comfort seems to relax me; in fact, release me from this struggle and makes me realize that all I have to worry about is making his lunch for work…is that bad?

Cancer Strikes Such a Nerve in All of Us

After my recent blog describing my son and sister’s diagnoses of cancer and what it has meant to me, I received literally hundreds of responses.  I was overwhelmed with the messages of support but more importantly, I was stunned with the number of response stories of cancer in other people’s lives and what it has meant to them.

An oncologist told me recently that we all have cancer cells or irregular cells in our bodies and there are a myriad of factors in each of us: genetics, eating habits, and immunity factors, which drive the potential for these irregular cells to grow and be labeled as cancer.  So I ask, is there more cancer around today or are we just more aware?

It seems that we all know someone close to us with cancer and I began to wonder why.  Is it because we are living longer and our immune systems seem to wane as we age?  Is it because we eat so much junk?  Is it because we forget to exercise?  Is it because we inherited it?  The answer seems to be yes or all of the above and none of the above.

If you don’t have a loved one diagnosed with cancer then you are the exception these days and count yourself very lucky.  In my age group of the 60 something’s, I can’t find someone who doesn’t have cancer in their close circle.  What’s important to glean from this factor is not fear but strength.  The more cancer appears in our medical universe, the more research, surgical improvements, and general health improvements there are as a result.  Remember when AIDS was a death notice? 

Although there needs to be so many more improvements: obviously the best would be the clear prevention of the multiple layer generic description known as cancer; science and the medical community have made many advancements to prolong life for those afflicted.  What strikes me as funny is the fact that cancer is such a broad based description of multiple diseases which are extremely unique and definable in so many other terms.

Cancer makes us all recognize the fragility of life; the importance of the quality of life; and the current limitations of the medical establishment.  With more genetic testing identifying prominent factors that encourage cancer to grow in each of us; one has to wonder if these mutations of cells is escapable or an obvious result of aging.  Now that we can improve our life force chances with the early detection of cancer cells, one has to speculate as to why we all don’t get tested on a periodic basis to determine our hidden cell damage.  I guess it must be too expensive and I have heard from some people that they just don’t want to know if they possess the gene that may cause cancer.

I remember in college, a thousand years ago, when one evening when we were pulling an all nighter supposedly studying and someone waxed philosophic and asked each of us, “Would you want to know when you were going to die?”  I can clearly recall my answer as “No.”  I was concerned that such information would dominate my life and make me think of nothing else.  For me, this would be true; I would be obsessed with such information. What I would prefer to know is do I have a time bomb in me that could go off in the near future? Could I prevent the bomb from exploding if I just did something different in my life to prevent it?  Well maybe and that’s the rub.  We don’t know what really prevents cancer is some and not others.  We only know what to do in hindsight.

So for today, I will exercise, eat better, and wonder about my genes donated by my ancestors and be as vigilant as I can or just eat chocolate instead; that seems to work too.  I guess we all have to decide for ourselves; most of us just prefer not to think, I think.

My son has cancer….

No matter how many times I say this to myself; it seems unreal but it is true.  My son is 30 and he has cancer.  I have watched him go through the stages from afar.  I say afar because he lives on the opposite side of the country and having mom around is just not an option at this point.

What do you do while you wait patiently for updates?  My son is an adult and is managing his healthcare very appropriately with his wife and I am sitting on my hands trying to keep from calling him everyday.  I was always the chief healthcare support person as he grew up and now I am not but that’s as it should be.  We, mothers, have a tendency to say the wrong things to adult children because we still think of them as children and they’re not.  We want to cradle them again and that’s no more attractive to them than it is trying to cradle a porcupine.  It’s not that he’s prickly but the resulting image of returning to a child when you’re facing such a live changing illness makes things worse; it takes his power away.

This has been a difficult lesson for me but I am learning and doing better each and every day.  My son has been through multiple operations for a late stage colorectal cancer diagnosis including a permanent ostomy. He suffered through radiation but complained very little; he is learning to manage his new body part and loss of other body parts and now he is in the final stages of chemotherapy and realizing the cost of that procedure.

He is very brave by my standards but says very flatly, “It’s not like I have a choice.” My sister has breast cancer and I watched nervously as she proceeded through her therapy with a stiff smile because she was in control not the cancer and now I am watching my son do the same.  My sister gives me some sound advice because she understands cancer and I don’t.  To me it’s a thief in the night, dark and brooding, stealing life instead of silverware, and leaving an indelible mark.  To her, cancer is abnormal cells that grow and as they grow, she won’t allow them to take over her life or her body without a fight.

They say cancer changes people; I always thought it mean those people with cancer but it changes all those around them as well.  I am a little less frightened now (just a little less);  I am learning to be a support person for my family members instead of the controlling one;  I am learning that cancer is only a part of the equation…that growing and changing your positive mental cells should be the result.

I feel fat today….

I don’t understand how my body concept can change from day to day but it does and today I feel fat.  Does the scale agree? I try not to get on the scale everyday and, in fact, I try to only get on the scale on my skinny days (days I feel good about my body) but like a lot of other women, I am obsessed with my body.

I get a lot of pressure from the media of course like all women (wish I had an airbrushed version of myself) but most of my negative internal feedback is just that “negative INTERNAL feedback.”

Why do we think this way?  Men can walk around with protruding bellies and take off their shirts at ballgames and think “Man, do I look good” to themselves but women, we prefer to be hypercritical and torture ourselves on a daily basis with no end or satisfaction in sight.

Two strong factors add to our mental chaos:  age and beauty.  I feel the sorriest for the really beautiful women in youth because they have even more to lose in this shameful game of self recrimination. Although beauty can sometimes escape age issues, eventually all beauty seems to be dependent upon good bones, good skin, and a decent body.

I grew up with two women I think are actually beautiful by most standards even today as they enter their 60”s.  When I saw one recently, I remarked how beautiful she still was.  I saw the pain on her face because she didn't think so.  “ I've lost so much of my looks” was her sad response.

Women are just too critical of themselves and the noises in our heads are deafening but what’s a person to do?  How do you retrain a lifetime of self criticism and angst living up to a model that doesn't exist?   I often hear shouts of let’s rebel from the Barbie doll media brand based model of womanhood but, in truth, we all succumb, no matter how we protest otherwise.

Many psychologists would say that knowing your demons is half the battle.  I say knowing your demons means you recognize their voices in your head and give them more credence so what’s a person to do?  I figure that I have two choices: accept my feelings and eat ice cream anyway or ignore my feelings and eat ice cream anyway.  What would you do?

You know all those emails old friends send you…well

At this point in my life, I have time to do some frivolous things and enjoy them.  I feel like the flower in the time lapse photography email opening with beauty and with some selective classical music playing in the background. Who had the time to take these videos; probably someone my age?

 I have time and yet very little time; if you know what I mean.

I have time to do things I have never done; what a luxury, but I am also very aware of the time sequence attached to my life expectancy.  No I am not dying anytime soon, unless you know something I don’t.  But my mortality or rather my timeless vitality is clearly in question.

Although some women have had other time reminders like that baby clock thing happening at a certain age: 30….42 (did I feel that way, I’m not sure?  I have the next sequence of time concern: the senior vitality question looming. 

As I walk the malls now, I see the early morning walkers with walkers, oxygen tanks and health aides supporting them.  What would we all do without the Jamaican health care aides who seem so sweet and caring? Will that be me in a few years?

I know I have lost some of my spark physically although I still think I am vital for 60 but it seems that I have become preoccupied with how I have shrunk (wasn’t I the tallest majorette in high school?) When I wash the floors in the house, why do I awake with aches and pains I have never noticed before; did that always happen?  My skin is…well; let’s not go there because it is too depressing especially when I brush the cheek of someone in their 20’s.

My life force is waning and I know it.  It seems when I get together with friends our age; it is the number one topic we all want to chat about.  Aren't we lucky to be so healthy (and we are)?  Aren’t we thrilled to be so able especially when compared to our parents who were really old at 45?  So what’s the problem?

I guess my generation wants it all:  youth, vitality, and stamina (that’s more of a guy’s thing I guess) and we’re not happy that age has its price.  When I was pregnant with my wonderful son, I used to say that he was tapping my life battery because I could feel the how much he took out of my system as a pregnant woman.  I guess it’s a little like that; the only difference is age is beginning to sift off parts of my life force in exchange for maturity, wisdom, and time to reflect.

Time is a funny concept measured in spoonfuls of life with mostly the luxury to reflect rather than be in the now:  I always wondered what present tense in French meant.).  So send me more of those viral emails and You Tube suggestions because I have the time…

Whom should I vote for? Did I miss the election?

I am beginning to worry about voting again; yes again.  I go through this issue every four years.  In my short life of 60 years, I have never had the pleasure of voting for someone in the presidential election who actually got in and whom I respected (hard combination).  Sound impossible? Does my vote even count?

According to the media; this election is all but decided and people in my age group, sex group, and state have already chosen according to the polls.  Should I even bother or have I already voted and forgotten to notice? (A senior moment?)

Being president is a big job and I tend to think maybe almost an impossible job for this country.  Isn’t it more about the friends, colleagues, and relationships that make a president?  Are they only valuable in hindsight?  Do we ever appreciate someone when they are in office?

We, as a society, have developed such a sense of mistrust and disrespect for those in power, no matter the job.  From the cop on the street to the unreachable man in office, we are full of criticism and misunderstandings to who they, those in power, are.  We say horrible things about them; accuse them of vicious intentions; and, in general, defile them in any way possible.

In truth, I am not sure why anyone in their right mind would run for office or hold a position of temporary power unless it’s an ego thing.  They know going into the fight that they are going to be massacred in the press, on the local corner, and spend billions of dollars for the potential of a short stint in the “chair of power.”

I am sure that Romney and Obama are good men with good intentions but do either of them know anything about what this government should be doing to keep America strong?   I want to vote for a good man (and hopefully some day a good woman). I want their hearts to be pure, not selfish, to be very bright; to be great readers; good listeners; to be someone who can make people believe in them, (I am speaking more of the Congress rather than the average citizen); to be an empowerer not a power seeker.  I want this superman to fight for what I believe in.

I believe that this country is great but like any gigantic microcosm flawed.  We are flawed because we care about causes and causes are not always decipherable; they’re mushy issues.  We are flawed because we believe different things as a collective group and all of our opinions seem to count and yet none of our opinions seem to count. We, as American people, are generous to a fault and yet are reluctant supporters at the same time. I love this country as it is, warts and all.  I believe in the American spirit and all of the same things that Superman believed in (isn’t that why Superman chose to live in America, because we’re the best; or because we had the most crime?)

I think it matters who becomes President of the United States but I am not sure which path Romney or Obama will choose once selected.  This voting season is much like my game of pool; poke and hope will be my motto.

To sleep, perchance to dream….

What a difference a day can make.  After spending three days in a row where I just couldn’t sleep; I finally found relief, although medicinally induced, in one wonderful night’s sleep.  Now before you get too critical of my medicinal assistance, I agree with you that medicine is a last resort but that’s where I was…in my last resort mode.

What causes us to stay awake or to keep getting woken up by minor irritations?  Is it a noise or a noise in our brains?  I have had a lot of time to analyze my broken or non-existent sleep so let me share a few insights.

It takes very little for me to stay awake reviewing my life’s errors and there are apparently many according to my midnight reminiscences. What is the statute of limitations on minor public and private indiscretions that my brain should not release me from them?  I am not sure why reviewing my personal gaffs should warrant any thinking time.  I have never committed any statutory practice that would allow legal intervention yet I treat my personal indiscretions as if they were.

My second most popular awake intervention involves loved ones.  Are they really all right?  I have two family members with cancer:  my eldest sister and my son and how are they really?  Do I know?  Who’s next on the disease hit parade? Who else will I lose soon?  Sounds dramatic but it’s truthful…

My third and final drama of the evening is my future.  I need to do something else with my life right now; something of value instead of just being retired but what?  I keep saying I need to volunteer maybe at the local school.  I miss working in education and I miss the kids but I also like the freedom I feel each day.  I enjoy being a housewife personality, no really I do.  I have a luxury now that I have never known:  food shopping during the work day (very Stepford of me I know).  I enjoy reading recipes, planning meals, thinking about meals (is that bad).  So now I feel like I am wasting my retirement; sad, isn’t it.

The funny thing is when I see the daylight after a night of angst; none of these issues bother me.  The monsters disappear when the light of the sun appears so how bad are these monsters if they are not brave enough to face the day?

Intimate conversations just aren’t the same after age 60 or are they?

I suppose it’s a good thing that we can talk about our private and personal feelings as we do.  I mean isn’t that the way it’s supposed to be in an intimate relationship?

But what once was the focus of love and tender reminiscences has respectfully been replaced more with personal bodily functions than intimate dreams for the future.  Sharing after age 60 is different but still respectable and important.

All of my bodily functions seem to be evolving at this age but since this is the first time I’ve been 60; it’s really nice to have a partner in life who is 61 and who can pave the way for me in understanding my life changes.

I am an avid exerciser and former runner as you may recall.  I am just amazed though that my body is no longer reacting as it used to.  Yes, I can get very stimulated  by the endorphins supplied through exercise but instead of being so upbeat for hours afterward,  I find I am tired, yes tired, even though I have severely cut down both my mileage and the intensity of the workout.

I look forward to the possibility of regular bowel movements as a part of my daily routine (who would have thought that this would be true) and we consider it a victory when we are both regular.  We even have pet names for the descriptions of our daily movements including a PPP or a “picture perfect poop” which is an excellent the way to start the day for sure.

This is not to say that we don’t celebrate the “other” aspects that a man and woman should share and we do but the spectrum of intrapersonal sharing has just changed so we can navigate this new phase of life together. 

It’s nice to know that I can ask him anything and he will give me an honest answer (even if I would like a sugar coated one instead.)  I do have the sense to stay away from the dangerous questions like, “do I look fat in this?”  do I look fat at all?” “is this the right thing to spend money on?”   These questions are not about intimacy but insecurity and we tend to be too honest with each other to wonder what the other thinks about foolish questions like that.  We reserve our questions for more important life changing ones like: “do I look as old as her?” “are my arms too flabby to wear this sleeveless top” or my favorite, “do you know where my phone is?”

One of the most important intimacies at our age that is not sexual or sensual is the one where we are not afraid to share our inner fears.  We know each other well and it is more than comforting to share your inner fears about how much we have forgotten as compared with what we used to know; how much weaker we feel than we used to, and how comforting it is to know that we’re not alone in this process.  Having someone to really share with and who looks forward to seeing you each morning is the key and I look forward to each sunrise because of him and our ability to share truthfully and tenderly.

Words with friends or foes?

I have succumbed to the popular game Words with Friends. It’s an interesting pastime.  It represents an opportunity to exercise our brains and to connect with friends and some non-friends (if you play random games). What’s most interesting is the cheating factor that comes into play...

We all know that some people cheat in all aspects of life but in such an insipid game as this, why? What are the signs of a cheater?  Cheaters come up consistently with non-words that the game seems to accept but the dictionary doesn’t.  They strategize and wait for that triple word space to become vacant so they can pounce on it with one of their boutique words that no one ever heard of in any conversation. They suddenly become brilliant with words such as “sixmos” which has an obscure reference in our current world.

What alarms me is my own feeling of having to teach the cheaters a lesson.  Why do I care?  Do they really appear smarter than me or is it just my competitive ego that takes over?  And what happens when the cheater realizes that you know she/he is cheating?  Don’t you just hate it when they resign or decide they are no longer interested in playing because they are bored with the game especially when secretly you find they still play with others...

Words’ cheaters are an interesting breed.  Why bother to play at all if you have to use a crutch constantly.  I was faced with an interesting dilemma: a close friend clearly cheated with a complex cheating program. How did I know?  Well when you know people, you have an idea of their vocabulary usage (former English teacher here). When I started seeing words of the “sixmos” variety, I was unsure how to proceed.  My friend told me that she was probably using an extensive cheat machine so I trolled the net looking for one.  To my surprise there were dozens of cheat programs.  Doesn’t it defeat the purpose of the whole reason for playing at all? Is this how we expand our vocabulary?

I picked one of the programs (which requires you to put in all of the letters used on a sample board and then to establish what kind of cheater you want to be from HS graduate to genius.  Of course I picked genius to see the best option. When we began to play with this cheat program together, he/she abruptly resigned. I have to be careful, she/he might read this.

I lose a lot of games but I win probably an equal amount.  There are people I play with whom I have never been able to beat and there are people I beat regularly. It doesn’t really matter to me if I win or lose; I just like trying to make inane words from bad letters (my chief complaint is I don’t get the good letters Ha). On occasion, I use the chat feature in the game to make an astute remark to my challenger like,” you get all of the best letters and I’m stuck with 7 vowels.)  I guess it is as with all games; to some it’s more about winning than playing.

Would you pick up a penny on the street?

Is the entire world of buy and sell today negotiable? Or is there just an ignorant conspiracy that just doesn’t care and if you don’t challenge it, you lose.

I find that I can no longer stop myself from reading purchase receipts.  I have watched others, mostly seniors on fixed incomes, do this for years.  Some mistakes seem to be penny bag types while others are egregious errors. 

Don’t know what a penny bag is?  When I was much younger and a new principal, I was told about the penny bag concept by a retired finance person.  She explained that the monies collected in a school on a daily basis never seemed to come out right so she kept a penny bag to add or subtract from the daily totals to make sure things (the bottom line) were correct.  This was shocking to me and I was happy that she was retired because isn’t the bottom line, the bottom line?  Doesn’t my checkbook always have to be exact?

We have raised a group of money collectors, credit card chargers, who cannot add, are too lazy to care, or rely too heavily on the machines in front of them to even “think” in any way.  The first shock came many years ago when McDonalds changed all of their registers to pictograms of the food without word identifiers.  It was their expectation that someone who applied and worked at McDonalds could not read or make change.  The problem is they were right to remove this thinking requirement from their staff.

What have we done to the current generation?  Considering the fact that this type of slippage in the education system was orchestrated by our generation, who is to blame?

I prefer to scan my own food at the checkout because I can watch the prices more carefully but who sets up the scanner and am I fooling myself that this is better?  Who calibrates the scale upon which I place my fruit? Who sets the codes for the bar reader?

We are in trouble and unless we challenge purchases on a regular basis, we lose money everyday.  I often resented the people in the line ahead of me who challenged something and then we all waited while the blinking light had to be reset to correct some small error, or so I thought.

It’s not just about the money but, to me, today, it’s more about the deterioration of our society; the educational deficiencies noticed on a daily basis.  And responsibility for this deficiency, what of that? I would have been mortified as a teenager if I gave the wrong change and I had to calculate it in my head. This generation just looks back at you with a blank stare not even understanding the value of the money you’re discussing.

I have moved recently and so I am stimulating the economy. I have purchased a number of items that needed to be returned.  The return was no problem in any of the stores I frequented, no questions asked.  But when I tried to explain that there was a qualitative problem with the item and I was returning it for a very specific reason; I received a blank “I don’t really care” stare and an unfeeling, sign this receipt look.

So I say to you all, challenge each receipt, hold the stores and their employees to task, or you may be told that your bill is more than it should be.  Maybe if we hold them accountable, things will change???

Happiness One Day at a time: I think I am becoming a state park geek…

Happiness One Day at a time: I think I am becoming a state park geek…: For the past few days, I have been visiting various state parks on Long Island and examining the wealth of opportunity offered by these st...

I think I am becoming a state park geek…

For the past few days, I have been visiting various state parks on Long Island and examining the wealth of opportunity offered by these striking outdoor spaces. The rationale that I offer for this new found love of state environments relates to the fact that I once was a runner. My knees are not what they used to be and instead of running, I now have to walk.  The audacity of it all!

If I have to walk then I want to have the nicest surroundings I can find and I am not averse to spending a little (a lot) of money on gas to get to a picturesque place to do my cardio.

What I did not realize is that there are so many offerings near my New York home and they are beautiful, free with my NY Passport pass, and have so many different venues; enough to satisfy my every whim I think for visual stimuli to support the indignant aspects of the walking issue.

The first thing I did was to download the app for my iPhone.  It’s called “Oh Ranger!  NY State Parks”.  Surprisingly it’s an excellent app and serves the purpose of any park visitor.  I can quantify and qualify my park visits by numerous factors including but not limited to hiking, biking, water views, shaded trails, etc.

I clearly prefer parks that have water views like the Great Bay, the Long Island Sound and more.  I also like parks that allow pets so I have options, many options.

I have decided that since I am a walker that I needed to beef up my “walk” to make it more enjoyable.  Even though the surroundings are fabulous, I need more incentive to get out there each day.  I have loaded a specific music selection on my iPhone that encourages walking rather than running and I wear shoes that also encourage walking rather than running but what I really have found most agreeable about these newly orchestrated exercise units is how I walk.  I sing (very loudly and probably very badly) and I dance rather than just walk.  Sometimes I strut like I did when I was a high school majorette.  I can tell that the people that pass me are amused at my unusual cardio experience but they are all smiling and waving at me (even from their cars).

Now you might think this is bothersome to me to be so recognized during the privacy of my exercise routine but, in fact, it has the opposite effect and makes me even more enthusiastic.  My dancing has gotten better since I usually listen to Santana and my signing, well, that won’t get better but I sing along to Frank Sinatra favorites. The combination of music, dance, and beautiful surroundings really brighten my day and keep me healthy. 

One final note on this issue of cardio activity; when I do my search for the park I wish to visit, I also look for the nearest outlet or strip mall that has some of my favorite stores.  If I am not too sweaty or poor, I go right to the mall for some retail therapy to complete my well rounded day.  The interesting thing is I actually buy less and browse more all the while still humming some of my favorite Sinatra tunes.  So I guess you’d say that while tightening my abs, I also seem to be tightening my wallet simultaneously.  Who could ask for more?

I am locked in the matrix...

The older I get, the more I realize that life is full of ambiguity and mystery; a carnival ride with short thrills filled with fleeting opportunities to reflect and where spiraling out of control is natural and periodic but still unexpected.

As I age, I find that I have become someone I don’t recognize but I’m not sure that is bad at all.  I thought I was a teacher all my life but I am learning that being a student is more relevant to me now as an identity factor.

I am an observer and I am a passenger not the driver and now I realize I never was.  I watch people a lot more as I realize that my life is on a collision course with mortality and reality, each one fighting for dominance.

My first real identity passion in life was in being a mother to my son whom I love dearly and always will but now, with the changing reality, I have to redefine what it means to be a mother to him. 

I have a great role model for an older mother and her name is Rose.  She is 87 and has aged gracefully.  I think her best attribute, and there are many, is her ability to be a shock absorber for her family.  She has learned long ago that there are no controls on her vehicle of life and accepts whatever comes her way in such a dignified manner.

Yesterday she told me how happy she is to clean, cook, and arise to greet each day.  I was a bit moody and immediately felt ashamed of my attitude. She was trying to teach me that time is so wasted on negativity and bad thoughts in general and that everything would simply turn out all right in the end.

My son was recently diagnosed with cancer and then got married and then told me I needed to redefine my relationship with him. I was hurt and confused; wouldn’t I always be his mother, the one who would run defense for him; teach him about life; be the one…

But now I have entered the next phase of motherhood which involves a lot of waiting and understanding. Now I am just another person in his very busy life and although he clearly loves me, I am not the one…

In the movie, The Matrix, everything that appeared to be was not what it seemed and when faced with this reality challenge, Neo had a near mental collapse and heart attack getting used to the substantial change in his reality.  That’s how I feel.  My reality is no longer in touch with my brain.  Suddenly a newly constructed one has replaced what I formerly thought was real and I am spiraling while I try to adjust.

As I look into the mirror, I am starting to get used to the face that glances back at me; this older woman who sometimes is gentle and sympathetic to the younger memory locked in our brain.  She smiles knowingly that I will have to join her in our newer reality and is waiting patiently for me to learn how to navigate in this new world of ours.

I am learning but it is difficult and emotional.  I am lucky that I have a partner in my journey, Joe, who also has his feet in the same changing and challenging river. Each step we take, though, erases our previous ones and thus our challenges are more so in the process.

I hope to be like Rose someday: the dignified supporting role of the wise and loving mother; here’s hoping I can.