I'll never tell........

To tell or not….to tell.

I did for a while; I was proud of the fact that I was over 60 and was still a viable, vibrant woman, especially since I learned to dance, putting me in touch with movement and thus,  my body.

I piped up immediately, if someone asked how old I am. The reaction changed, however, as soon as I hit that 6-0 response. No longer did I hear, “What! You don’t look 60!” (I heard that at all ages, right up until this one. At 30, at 40, even at 50. But some key was turned as soon as the big 6-0 carried my birthday cake in, aflame with candles.)

And if a woman happens to be single at 6-0, for whatever reason (and there all kinds of reasons, believe me), heaven help her. Men’s eyes glaze over at the mere mention of a six before ANY number, even the zero. My unfortunate experience with dating sites has proven their point to me: they are for young women.

Not young men, though. Men of all ages, even those with the next digit in THEIR age, have no qualms about filling in that profile page with all kinds of fluff and a photo at least 20 years old (and 20 pounds lighter), knowing all the while that they are looking for a young woman to help them believe their own profile.  Any woman taking their bait who happens to be over 6-0 hears a lot of…… silence. A computer screen is an effective barrier when someone wants to use it that way.

A friend of mine, a woman in her 90s, chided me once for blurting out my age when someone asked. When anyone asked. I thought I could show the world that being a “woman of a certain age” did NOT mean a “shriveled, incontinent, unproductive,  drain on society.” I work out a couple of times a week, I lift more weight than women (and some men) much younger, I work, I dance, I write, I contribute. I am not done yet. Not even close.

But none of that seems to matter. So, I am following my friend’s advice and keeping quiet these days, at least about my age. (I don’t keep quiet about much else, but you already know that, right?)  I can’t unspeak it from all the times I blurted out those digits, but I can hope that people will forget.

Happy birthday to me! And, no, I’m not going to tell you which one it is, either.

Young at heart, but yes....older in other places!

It’s been over six years since I first started writing “Aged to Perfection.”

What I’ve learned is that I’m still aging and there’s no such thing as perfect.

Oh, there’s been much more than that—believe me—but when I decided to bring this blog back, I had to consider exactly how to reintroduce the concept of aging and all its ramifications. They’re not all pretty, but they do keep rolling on.

So that’s my thought for you today, both those of you who are “aging to perfection” like me as well as those younger readers who think it is simply an academic exercise (or a personal favor) to read my words. Those in the latter group truly believe they are Peter Pan and aging won’t happen to them.

Hysterical, right??

One side note before I proceed: Writers engage in this insanity to fight our own personal demons, there is no doubt about that. BUT, we also are addicted to attention…..at least for what we write. As I take you on this leg of the Aged to Perfection journey, please interact with me. Tell me what you like, what you hate, what you disagree with, what you share with others. SPEAK TO ME! I will be ever grateful. You can do that on this page, or you can post your comments on Facebook when you pick up the link there, as most of you do.

  “The afternoon knows what the morning never suspected.”
― Robert Frost

 

 

The Advice Column you will never read anywhere else......

"Dear [Advice Columnist]:

I am a senior lady who dates senior men. Here are some of the turnoffs; bad hygiene, dirty nails, sloppy clothes, bad table manners, and expecting sex right away. I've experienced all of these. Ladies get prettied up and smelling good, but end up with men who don't care how they look or smell and think it's OK. It's not"

Signed: [Senior Lady]



Advice columns make me a bit crazy. Well, usually it's the answers that fall so far short, so here's how "Dear Deborah" would respond to this woman's conundrum. (Notice that Senior Lady isn't asking for advice; I think she's got senior men all figured out by now and is probably enjoying an evening out with the girls.)

Dear Senior Lady:

We feel your pain. Telling men to "pay attention to their hygiene" is like telling a child to "be careful on the playground." Men and children share many characteristics, so let's be more specific, shall we? Here's an open letter to men that covers some of your concerns, dear Lady.

Men, go look in the mirror. If you wear glasses, take them off and get real close to your reflection. See those nose hairs, the ones long enough to braid? SNIP them! I hear they even make a handy little razor designed just for that purpose, so get it out of the drawer where you threw it months ago, and use it! EVERY time you go out, especially if you plan on taking a woman out......anywhere! But even your co-workers don't want to look at wayward nose hair. Trust me on this one.

Now move on up to your eyebrows and then over to your ears. Do you see the strands that stick straight out from your forehead or ears, like the needles on a compass pointing the way?  This is why no one looks you in the eye while you're talking; we're so distracted by the forest of hair sticking this way and that, we can't concentrate. You need to tweeze, cut, or otherwise shave until everything is neat and tidy, and where it belongs. We're begging you!

If you have gained or lost weight for any reason, go shopping. Cinching up the waist on your pants with your too-large belt or fastening your 36" belt underneath your now-40 inch waist isn't fooling us. You will find that women aren't as obsessed with body shape as are men, so we really don't care what size your waist is today; we WOULD like you to wear the proper sized clothes to fit that body, though.

Remember the table manners your mother taught you (or maybe it was an aunt or dad or a bossy sister, but somebody probably mentioned it once or twice)? Those rules are still in effect, even if you've never married at all or have been divorced for 20 years (which could prove my point here) or newly widowed and looking for companionship. We don't want to either hear you chew your food (just because you're hard of hearing doesn't mean WE are, but that's a topic for another day) or SEE that food in your mouth at any time. Ever. I'll wait to hear the rest of your opinion on global warming until after you're finished chewing that last morsel of the great casserole I brought you. I promise.....

Now, back to you, Senior Lady. You indicated another problem concerning sex, but there is even more difficulty than you have apparently had occasion to encounter, since you haven't gotten past all the bad hygiene yet.

They may WANT sex right away, but that desire is simply a remnant of long-lost days, the ones when they were sowing wild oats like a wheat field hit by an afternoon wind storm. Desire doesn't translate to much these days. Those little blue pills don't help most of these men, sweetie. Sorry to be the one to deliver this news, but they take so much other medication that, unless you want to have paramedics burst into the room at a very inopportune time, they simply can't participate in the fun anymore. (The men can't participate, not the paramedics although some of those guys are very healthy looking as they jump out of their ambulance, and I bet THEY can.....but, I digress.) And, yes, there are alternatives, but they also tire really easily, so it's back to dreaming about the paramedics, I'm afraid. It's all just a source of frustration for us.

I wish I could be more encouraging, Senior Lady, but it's been said that men and women are from different planets. I would add, in different galaxies.

And there is a reason some women are called "cougars." I'll leave it at that.

"Men will treat you the way you let them. There is no such thing as "deserving" respect; you get what you demand from people.. if you demand respect, he will either respect you or he won't associate with you. It really is that simple.” 

Tucker Max

Keep moving forward....

We keep moving forward, opening new doors, and doing new things, because we're curious and curiosity keeps leading us down new paths.
Walt Disney

I just don't see any other way to do it. The years will march by like soldiers in lock step, one way or the other, whether we choose to vegetate on the sofa or we continue to move forward, open those new doors, and do new things. I choose door #3 instead of the couch.

I'll open one of those new doors every month.That's my commitment for 2014, just like it was for 2011 and 2012. (Read about the idea behind this monthly quest here.) I sat out 2013, at least as far as the "something new every month" is concerned, and I could tell the difference. We really do need that sense of anticipation in our lives to keep the DNA as young as possible, to keep us as fresh and interesting as we can be. It's no wonder we get cranky and grumpy as we age.....we've given up being surprised and delighted by anything unique or challenging.

I spend a lot of time at my gym, mostly working out on my own or with my trainer. I'm not fond of group classes, primarily due to the scheduling, since my calendar is different each day. It makes it hard to pencil in a weekly class that meets at the same time and on the same day, when my pencil's eraser is a well-used tool, frequently finding it necessary to smudge out that class at the last minute.

But my brother teaches a TRX class at my gym every weekend. I've been saying I would attend "someday" for months, so in I went the other day to see what the buzz was all about. 

What does TRX stand for, you say? If you called out the word "torture" you would be close.(Actually it stands for Total body Resistant eXercize. Yeah, they had to stretch that a bit to make it work.) It is an acronym for a total body suspension training system. In other words, torture.You spend a lot of time hanging from the ceiling, performing familiar movements, like bicep curls, sit ups, etc in 3 dimensions.

My brother told me in a short intro before class that it would feel weird at first. Well, THAT was an understatement. It felt a LOT weird, especially when I couldn't figure out how to get my feet in the straps and then flip over without my legs twisting. No one else was having that problem. I still haven't figured it out.

It's humbling to feel so uncoordinated and generally inept. But it's empowering to keep at it and not give up. Do we have to be perfect? I gave that quest up years ago. I'll go back to that class next week, inept or not.

All we need to do is show up for life every day, no matter our age. 

What did YOU anticipate today?

We keep moving forward, opening new doors, and doing new things, because we're curious and curiosity keeps leading us down new paths.

Walt Disney

Read more at http://www.brainyquote.com/quotes/quotes/w/waltdisney132637.html#hzvO8k6iiCqCflTa.99

We keep moving forward, opening new doors, and doing new things, because we're curious and curiosity keeps leading us down new paths.
Read more at http://www.brainyquote.com/quotes/quotes/w/waltdisney132637.html#hzvO8k6iiCqCflTa.99

Room service, please!

The experience didn't quite match my expectations.

There is much in life like that, isn't there? I remember the first (and last) time I rode a ferris wheel. Never mind that I was in my 30s. Leaving the ground seems like such a foolish thing for people to do. I finally got up the nerve and climbed into that basket that insisted on rocking wildly no matter how still I sat, and then I was facing a lot of empty sky as the wheel turned and carried me upward. It was even worse when I was going backwards. At least I did it once.

Early this month I took a cruise to the Bahamas. I used to live in the Islands so that part wasn't new at all. Being on a cruise ship, though....all of that is relatively new to me. And this time I did "my thing I've never done before" by ordering room service for breakfast one morning.

I've never had enough money to do  things like that, so just the idea was extravagent to me. Have someone bring my meal to me in my room, and I can stay in my pink fluffy robe to eat breakfast? Unthinkable. But on a cruise, your food is included in the price of your ticket. As much of it as you want. Whenever or wherever you want it. Heaven.

So, we put the hanging order form on the door knob before going to bed the night before. We even specified what time we wanted it delivered in the morning. And, sure enough, a knock on the cabin door woke us, along with hot coffee and a plate of eggs and bacon. And pancakes. Plus orange juice and fresh fruit. There may even have been a bowl of cereal with milk. Don't you love it?

I took the food-laden tray from the perky young woman who delivered it, turned around, and stopped. There was no place to put it except on the bed. These cabins are tight. Doors open and one of us has to flatten against the wall. Forget getting any privacy while you're in the bathroom. There must be about 50 square feet in the entire space you get along with all the food you want. Of course, you don't spend a lot of time in your cabin on a cruise, but even still, I needed a place to lay that tray down before I dropped the whole thing on the floor.

The only flat surface available was the bed. Have you ever eaten a whole meal in bed before? Two people trying desperately not to tip the edges of the cups and bowls far enough to slosh all over the sheets, the ones we needed to sleep in later that night. Not the experience I had envisioned, that's for sure. 

There is a first time for everything, and I'm having fun seeking new adventures out each month. Aging to perfection means being willing to step outside my personal comfort zone, stretching that zone far beyond what I thought was even possible for me.

Some I have repeated. Some have become part of my life.

Room service won't be one of them.

Room service? Send up a larger room.

Groucho Marx

 

Looking for trouble......

You know that quirky finger move that expands your cell phone screen, the one that uses the thumb/forefinger action on the diagonal? I hear even some four-year olds have it down, no problem.

Me? Haven't mastered it yet for some reason.

Come to think of it, why would I want to make some of the images in my life bigger, anyway? Don't I have enough to grapple with, even on a good day?

Like last Friday. My accountant swore a couple of months ago that the IRS would repay me the $1500+ overpayment from the first quarter of this year. She even recounted a conversation she had with the nice person she spoke to about that money, the dollars and cents I desperately need right about now. It would only take about eight weeks, they promised.  (Stop laughing....I can hear you through my computer screen, and it isn't comical.)

I opened my mailbox and was ecstatic to get that envelope on Friday, and almost got in my car to take it to the bank right there on the spot. Wait, I thought.....I'd better open it first.

$1.35.   

Yep. Just a tad short, and it probably cost them more than that to mail the darn thing.

Then there are the two cats in my house (out of the three that grace us with their presence) who need either drops in the eye or an antibiotic down the throat a few times a day. Each. The one with the eye problem has proven to be cooperative--for the most part--but the other one? Oh, my.

Picture a baby who doesn't want that yucky orangish-yellow squash that you airplaned into his mouth, no matter what funny noises you make as you stick that spoon in his mouth. He's not falling for it. So, what does he do? He takes that tongue and pushes it right out onto the floor (and you if you sit too close), none of it reaching its destination.

I have had cats let it ooze out of the side of their mouth, or jump down and throw it up as they walk away with great dignity. But never have I seen this. I swear he morphs into a human baby as that tongue starts pushing the food out of his mouth, along with the expensive antibiotic. Fun on a Friday, I can tell you.

Oh, there was more last week, but you get the picture. We all have these days, right? Nothing even remotely looks sane for a 24 hour period, and we wonder what we did to upset the universe. All we want is for it to stop. And, at my age, I know that it has happened before, and it will certainly happen again.

So, you all go ahead and make those images in your life BIGGER. I'd like some movement like that one that diminishes the trouble that seems to find me every once in a while, so if you have any cute devices that accomplish that, let me know.

The biggest cause of trouble in the world today is that the stupid people are so sure about things and the intelligent folks are so full of doubts.”

Bertrand Russell



Gracefully gliding....

I refuse to shuffle. I just do.

No matter that when I get up in the morning my feet want to stick to the floor. They don't cooperate as I make my way in the gloom of morning to my first cup of coffee, the luscious smell teasing me out of my stupor.

A friend of mine mentioned this last year. I don't even remember what we were talking about, when she suddenly inserted, "I shuffle in the morning!"  And she's ten years younger than me. Oh oh....

Is this something that happens to everyone? Watch older people in public sometime. Don't they kind of slide across the floor, looking like they might totter over if they dare to pick up their feet, even just a tad? Maybe they're so cautious about falling they figure if they don't actually lift their feet off the ground they can't fall. Not possible if they don't really walk.

We should come up with a new name for it. The senior shamble. Geriatric gait. The rusty ramble.

Once I get going in the morning, my feet work the way they're supposed to. My fear is that I won't even know it when the shuffle lasts well into the day.

Oh, I know! I'll glide........

I am not feeling any better because I cannot stay in bed, having constant cause for walking.

Camille Claudell



Have you hookahed?

The place filled quickly, smoke hanging in the air from the hookahs sitting on the floor next to nearly every table. Sweetness instead of stench, that's one thing I noticed about this smoke, the thing that made it tolerable to even be there. We ate stuffed grape leaves and meat pies while a belly dancer, no wait, an EXOTIC belly dancer according to the menu, shimmered and shimmied around us accompanied by strange, unusual, wonderful music. And something I had never done before.

That was the point, the first of my 12 adventures into the unknown in 2011. For new readers of this blog, I learned of this oral tradition out of the Pyrennes from a book I'm reading called The Second Half of Life by Angeles Arrien. The point is to reivigorate as we age instead of getting old, stagnating, dying to life before our lives even end.

Here's what I learned leading up to the evening at the hookah lounge: It IS hard to find new things to put on my calendar. But that requires mental effort, one of the very points of this exercise. And it demands that I get out of the house! I love my home, where I am enveloped in softness and music and flowers, so I tend to get stuck there, not wanting to leave it for much of anything. Getting OLD.

I also enjoyed anticipating something again, a feeling that has become foreign, remote, as I've aged. It's why time flies for us, whirling faster and faster as the years tick by for us. I remember what it was like waiting for Santa to come when I was a kid. Would the weeks NEVER pass, I thought as I stood in front of the calendar, tapping my foot impatiently, waiting and waiting for the days to disappear? This week I revisited a bit of that joyous anticipation. 

Next month....rock climbing?

The second half of life is the ultimate initiation.

Angeles Arrien

Jiggles and wobbles....

I exercise. A lot. This isn't something new to me, either. I think I started when I was in my 20s and lived in Denver, at least that's my recollection. (I do remember living in Denver...I'm not THAT far gone yet.) I do think that's when I started going to a gym nearly every day, though.

They had a jacuzzi and a steam room, which are wonderful things to have access to when you live in a really cold climate, I can tell you that. So much so that I eventually bought my own hot tub, which now sits on my screened-in porch. My favorite time to get in that bubbly, steaming water is when it's as cold as it's going to get here in Florida, a throwback to my days in the Rockies. In any case, it's a great treat after a work out.

But to get back to the exercise thing. Someone gives me a workout routine and I go through the paces about 4 times a week amidst other really sweaty people, all trying not to get caught watching one another. I have attacked and mastered that torture machine that makes you climb steps until you know you MUST have reached heaven by the time it stops. I have worked up to over 150 sit-ups in various contortions, can lift more weight than any 62-year old woman has a right to lift, and my arms are toned and buff to prove it (even though the chicken skin thing spoils the buffness a bit). The whole thing has become an addiction for me, not that I'm complaining. There are far worse things I could be addicted to by this time. Believe me.

So, could someone please tell me why my thighs still jiggle and ripple with....well, whatever makes them jiggle and ripple?  I don't overeat, either, so don't even go there. (I changed doctors once over a remark about "pushing back from the table" without even asking about my diet. He just assumed I must be eating too much, the idiot with one less patient now.)

Ask anyone who knows me. I don't eat a lot! And I follow the program of a leading weight management company, one that helped me lose 30 pounds two years ago....and 4 years ago...and 6 years ago. That peskly 30 pounds that started tracking me down shortly after I turned 40 and is determined to hang out on my hips and thighs.

It's gone now, though, and I continue to work out. So, what it is about aging that insists on defying the torture we put our bodies through? Here I am with great arms, shoulders, and back...ripped, even....with this jello on my belly and thighs. Am I doomed to wobble on the bottom?

Well, I'll go to the gym and think about it as I climb those stairs....forever.

Where will you wake up today?

Getting "older" in our society isn't all bad. Really. There are some great insights that come with age, especially if we are paying attention to our lives.

Let's see....

A few years ago I looked around and decided that what I was doing for a living probably wasn't making much difference to the teenagers I was teaching. In fact, I wasn't sure I WAS teaching most days, considering the silliness that those in power have decided to insert into education. And for a teacher to face herself in the mirror and grapple with that demon is heart wrenching.

I had no one at home who could pat me on the back and say, "Honey, if you want to quit and take some time to find something else, it will be OK. I'll take care of everything for us." And since teaching was my second career, I didn't have enough years to walk away with those great retirement benefits many folks hold out for as they spend every waking minute counting the minutes until their company gives them a party and waves good-bye.

I own a small house, a car, I need to eat and stay warm/cool depending on the season. I'm a basic kind of person, but the basics sure do feel good, don't they?

When I was younger, I would not have had the courage to walk out the door of that school with no benefits, no salary, and no back-up person at home to carry the slack. When I was younger, my self-image was so weak that I couldn't handle anyone thinking I was a bit crazy for taking an action that had so many negatives.  But I did it at age 55, and the feeling of strength in myself was incredible. I walked out without any job and I went home to regroup. I did get advice from someone important to me on a way to provide some income until I found out what I wanted to do when I grew up. ( Houses provide more than a roof when some extra cash is needed, I learned.)

I think that comes with age for many of us. Especially women, perhaps. (I can't speak for men and won't even try. We'll go there another day, I promise.) We have enough experience at life to know our limits and those limits grow as we age. Today I am self-employed, doing what I love, and make a living for myself in the midst of the worse recession in years.

There are other things, of course. I now dare to leave the house without make-up and sometimes my socks don't match.  I've taught my daughter if someone judges us on those kinds of things, that person needs to get a life. I've also taught her to trust herself a bit more than I ever did at her age, and to take chances sometimes. Doing what everyone else thinks you should do should be of no concern to you. Listen to advice, yes. Then chart your course, call forth your reserves of strength, and follow the yearnings of your heart.

The only life you have is the one you woke up with today. Age has taught me to cherish the days I have left and I vow to follow my own advice.


.

Losing it.....

Hair and music.  I'll wait.


OK....do you give up? I admit the connection isn't apparent. In fact, maybe there isn't any relationship at all, it's just that both things have been on my mind this week.


Getting older does that to you, it seems. Kind of like, you think of something you need to retrieve from another room, but when you get there you can't remember why you're there, standing in the middle of the room muttering to yourself. I drive a lot for my work, and have suddenly found myself (and it often DOES feel like I've been found when this happens)  "waking up" on a major road wondering WHERE THE HECK AM I GOING?? Not, oh, I forgot how to get there....I don't even remember where I was headed to begin with.


That has to be dangerous. (Note to DMV....I drive very carefully wherever it is that I'm headed. Honest.)

And whatever you do, don't interrupt me in the middle of a sentence. Break that chain of thought and it might be GONE. To be honest, as I've gotten older I sometimes lose that tenuous tether to my ideation without any interruption when I'm talking...the next thought simply floats away, out of reach, playing tag with my sanity. At least that's how it feels. My brain just leaks things out before I can finish with them. I hate it when that happens. Especially in a business meeting and I'm the one talking. Not impressive.

Oh....hair and music. I got sidetracked again, didn't I? (No, I did NOT forget what I was saying!)  Hair grows where you don't want it and never HAD hair before, and stops growing where it's always been at home before.  And have all restaurants conspired to drive us insane with the volume of the music in their establishments? Shouldn't the goal be to keep customers in the place as long as possible, spending money so your employees can keep their jobs? Why are you driving us out the door to find a place where......

What was I saying?

What were we talking about?

The weather.

     Doctor's visits, complete with an itemized description of all medications.

The weather.

     Surgeries. Often accompanied by unveiling of the incision(s).

The weather.


Oh, my. The topics of conversation around me are dwindling, it seems. Maybe it has something to do with that shrinking experience thing we talked about before. As many people move along the time continuum, their activities shrink as their age grows. Just think about all the events you have attended in your own lifetime, events that you will never experience for the first time again. It takes dedicated thought and intention to keep finding new things to do (see http://agedtoperfectiondeborahhansen.blogspot.com/2010/12/time-passeswith-or-without-you.html), something that is just too much work for lots of people.

The result? Many people talk about the two things they DO see on a regular basis: The weather, which is always new no matter how many days we hang around, and all the strange goings-on in/on their bodies. And it doesn't seem to occur to them that maybe we don't want to hear the minutia of their body's gurgling, itching, or groaning.

Upon being asked how my day was recently, I talked about the topic I am currently researching for a writing project, going to the gym to work out, and then running errands before going home for the day. Without responding to anything I just said, the "listener" responded with, "They say it's supposed to be foggy in the morning."

Foggy? What part of my response referred to, or even HINTED, at the weather? Somebody please tell me. Am I missing something here? (And I'm still trying to find out who THEY are, because THEY are always wrong anyway.) And how was I to answer that without sounding snippy, anyway? "Uh, OK. Foggy. So what?"  What I actually said, nice person that I am, was, "Uh, OK. I haven't seen any fog here today." And just like that, I become part of the problem.

I've given my daughter license to slap me silly if I start wandering along this path, lost in the murkiness of boring everyone with a commentary about rain, sleet or snow and what medications make me gassy or incoherent. She assures me she stands ready to assist.

Now, what we were talking about?

Dealing the cards and moving on...

I've been avoiding this topic. It is a landmine, one that I have stepped in several times myself, and have recently decided to tiptoe around. Meaning avoid at all costs.

Relationships as an "older" woman.......I'm sitting here with my fingers on the keyboard and can't even finish that sentence. Someone told a group recently that he had been married for 25 years. If you add them all together. Me, too.

I won't go into the 40+ years of my relationship history, because that's not my point here. The landmine I'm tippy toeing around at 62 is dating. It even sounds silly, doesn't it? Yes, I tried the on-line dating thing, starting when I was around 50. And I have to say that I met some very nice men and went out on lots of dates. I observed the rules of safety inherent in this scene, and can only remember one time that my evening got a bit dicey, but it was because I broke one of those rules. The whole process led to an 8 year relationship that ended two years ago. Another 8 to add to the total number of years "joke."

All the advice about meeting people in ordinary, everyday places didn't work so much, either. I met a man in a video store once, and we went out for dinner. Where he proceeded to relate his history as a mercenary, and how he once bit off someone's toe. (I am NOT making this up! I called a cab.)

I joined a church, hoping to meet someone there. Couples, kids, picnics for couples and kids doing kids' things. Loud, noisy, reflective of my own years as the mother of a child involved in every sport imaginable. But not where I am today.

Then there was the Saturday a clown sat next to me on a bench and hit on me. No....a REAL clown. Honest.

So, here I am again. However, at this point, I have come to some hard-won conclusions. I'll explain it this way: My parents were married for 67 years, together since they were 15 or so. Just think of all the problems they faced together, most dealing with outside forces, but some within their relationship, too. It's just inevitable that two people will disagree over the span of all those years. They raised a family and built memories and shared experiences to clasp tightly to their joined hearts.....especially during the bad times.

They had a bond that secured them, in every meaning of that word. They were secure in their love and in their history together. And it probably didn't happen overnight or even always easily. But it eventually bound them together for life.

I will never have that. It just isn't possible that two people who meet when they are over 60 years old CAN have that foundation. They might be companions, people who can sit next to one another in a theater or at the dinner table to chase away the shadows of loneliness, the shadows that sometimes grow teeth and creep in close to those who are alone. But the tethers stretched over decades like my parents? Just not possible.

And for my purposes now as a single woman over 60, it is even more difficult to find someone who is willing to look at a "dating" site and see past the years etched on my face. Our youth-drenched culture makes it nearly impossible. My experience has been that most men over 60 themselves are simply not willing to match themselves with a woman their own age. We can't blame this on my unwillingness to look at THEIR photos and agree to meet for a drink, either. I think I have a bit more depth than to judge someone unworthy due to their appearance, especially when I'm squinting at a computer screen while trying to gauge someone's character.

Many women are terrifed of being alone as they grow older, and are thus willing to adapt (maybe I should say settle?) for any relationship, even a bad one. I had to make that decision a couple of years ago, and what I realized is that the statistics dictate that many women WILL be alone no matter what they do or don't do within the realm of being a couple. Men just die sooner than we do. My decision, then, was to reinforce the relationship I have with myself.

Do I wish I had strung all those years of broken relationships together? Taken more time and insight and effort to making it work, like my parents did? Of course. There are some lessons here for younger women, if they care to learn from my story.

But here I am and my belief is that I will run the rest of this race alone. I have worked my way around the landmines (and clowns) and left them behind.

And I've found that I'm pretty good company!

 Sometimes the cards we are dealt are not always fair.

However you must keep smiling & moving on ~

Tom Jackson

Time passes....with or without you

Well, here we are at the end of another one. They do tend to slip by faster and faster as we each get....well, older and older, don't they? I read somewhere that this unnerving fact is because we encounter fewer events that we have never experienced before as we get older. So, the minutes and hours of our lives begin to slip by unnoticed, spinning through the calendar from January to December, our heads spinning with the rapidity of it all. If we even notice at all.

One of the books I'm reading for a second time right now, when I build my fire outside and sit curled in my blanket before dawn each day, is called The Second Half of Life by Angeles Arrien. It's actually the third time, if you count the first one when I didn't understand what this woman was trying to say at all. I slid it back into my bookcase, thinking, "Now, that's a strange book!" A few years later, I tried again. Arrien envisions aging as a journey through eight gates of wisdom, including folklore and customs from around the world in her metaphorical trip through those gates.

One of the verbal customs she mentioned, and one I immediately identified with, was that of intentionally experiencing something new each month for one year on one's birthday. Last year, I had my daughter take me out on a surfboard, which she found entertaining beyond words. I never did stand up on that surfboard, but I had a blast, totally unexpected since I don't swim very well and can't see a  thing once my glasses are taken away from me.

After that, though, it was taxing to find things that I had never done (taking into consideration that there are things I would NEVER do, even under penalty of death, like jump out of an airplane, or things I can't afford, like go to Paris). So, my year of that experiment lasted a month, when I walked out of the ocean with the surfboard in tow.

But I'm reading the book again now. And I think I'm going to attempt that year-long journey of new experiences again. Arrien mentioned that part of the value IS that we have to be creative to find new roads to follow, and that's the whole point.

Then maybe time will slow down enough to savor the moments again, recapturing some of the newness of life that we take so much for granted when we're younger, growing and learning every day.

I'll start a list tomorrow as we usher in a new year, a list of potential new experiences that can reopen my eyes to the world as a source of joy and challenge. I'll keep you posted. Maybe I'll even take pictures. Stay tuned!

The second half of life is the ultimate initiation.....we are a sacred mystery made manifest. If we truly understand what is required of us at this stage, we are blessed with an enormous opportunity to develop and embody wisdom and character.

Angeles Arrien 

On your mark, get set......

Wow....how did this happen?  I was 62 years old yesterday, and even in my mind that sounds ancient! But inside this "ancient" body, I also know that my mind is active and still thirsty for knowledge. It's not quite as supple about things like remembering where I left my keys, but I've come to believe that has more to do with TOO much to remember than any age-related memory loss.

Yet, I am still amazed that so many years have slipped by, so many months torn off so many calendars, as I was raising a daughter and working hard, long hours to do it, and then building my own business, while trying desperately to publish (if anyone wants a great coffee table book on the bridges of Florida, I happen to have the concept for such a thing).

I'm always looking for the lessons in life and I've learned a ton of those, too. Without becoming maudlin, let's just say that the primary lesson is that I was wrong to consider myself OLD based on a number. That won't eliminate the occasional shock as I come upon a mirror unexpectedly and wonder, "Who IS that person" before grasping that it's really me...the 16 year old me merely covered in a different exterior. I do admit that my body, the physical shell, isn't quite as peppy these days, but my  mind is certainly not a sucker for the number of years I've inhabited that shell.

So, to all of you younger people reading this: Get ready. Know that it will happen to you, too. (Yes, it will...stop shaking your heads.) But also know that it isn't what you think it will be. You simply can't imagine it now. That's part of the human learning curve that I have come to know and respect. We each think WE will somehow avoid [getting old, being pulled over after just a few drinks, contracting a life-threatening illness, etc], but the things that happen to people in general generally do happen to US.

And maybe, by understanding this before it happens, we all can manuever the front lines of maturity with a bit more common sense and dignity.

Mistakes are part of the dues one pays for a full life.  ~Sophia Loren

The senior dilemma....

My 62nd birthday is next week. Some of you will stop reading now, because there is an widely believed stereotype in our culture that anyone over about 55 or 60 is a dried up prune of a person with nothing left to offer. I came across another example just today in something I was reading. The author of whatever it was listed groups of people who were discounted as unimportant, and sure enough, there it was: Seniors.

I'm not even sure what a "senior" is. I look at other women my age, and many are busy professional people, totally put together and well-groomed, fingers and toes shiny with polish, and nary a totter in their steps. Other 62 year old women have white tightly curled hair, slouchy cardigans, plastic shoes, and they hang onto arms when they go up 6 inch curbs for fear of falling.

This happened to me just recently. Not the falling part. The inability to identify someone as a "senior citizen." A woman I had been working with mentioned she was 65, and I nearly fainted. Is THAT what awaits me in 3 short years, I screamed inside my blonde streaked head? She looked closer to 75, I swear she did. The curler marks were still visible in her hair and she wore those baggy "pedal pushers" with blue keds with white laces, not the cool high tops but the low slip on kind. The ones that no one has worn in 20 years. Her attitude could be described as being done, finished with life.

So, I'm totally confused. Is a "senior" someone over a certain age? It seems to differ depending on what restaurant you're in, and who sets the rules in each company, anyway? Or is it a retired person (in which case, I have nothing to worry about, since I'll never be able to stop working)? A grandparent, maybe? I can't claim that one yet, either. Or is it a state of mind, a viewpoint, a way of accepting the erroneous fact that one has learned all there is to learn?

What is it??

And I have to say that I am no more sure of things than I was at 30, 40, or 50. (Of course, at 20 I thought I knew everything.)  As I have moved into "senior" status, all I know for sure is how little I know.

It's all very confusing to me. My life experiences have been legion and the lessons enormous. Often painful, but always imparting a list of things to do more carefully from that point forward. Or things to avoid by any means. Like don't get a puppy if you don't have a fenced in yard; ask questions before accusing your child based on anyone else's input; when a recipe calls for "shortening" make sure you know which kind BEFORE beginning; friendships are worth nurturing, but it is just as important to know when to let go; the sour-looking person in line in front of you has burdens just as heavy as yours. Maybe heavier.

I also know how I feel inside. I still have goals and dreams. There are places I want to visit and people I would love to meet and learn from. I know, too, that I have much to offer younger people, both within my profession as well as an independent woman who has succeeded in a world that was often not kind to a single, divorced mother. It's not that I am interested in any huge career moves, heaven knows. I'm happy with what I've accomplished, but I still welcome intellectual stimulation and challenges.

Life doesn't get any easier with age. I just know more about it now. But I don't know what designates one a "senior citizen."

And I bet you don't, either.

"Youth would be an ideal state if it came a little later in life."

Herbert Henry Asquith

Big box = big pain

Last weekend, my mother and I were out Christmas shopping, hitting a number of stores in the morning before the roads became clogged with other shoppers. We ate lunch while the holiday music enticed us to spend more once we had full stomachs and our feet were rested a bit. One item eluded us, though. Something that jumps out in front of you whenever you're not looking for it, but now we couldn't seem to find one anywhere.

We ended up at the closest Big Box store. You know the one I mean. They have the best prices after all and there seems to be one in every quadrant of town. I have taken to avoiding this place at all costs, for a number of reasons. Too few employees, buggies of stock blocking the aisles. But the major reason is the sheer size of the place. First you have to walk the length of a football field in the parking lot to even get into the building. Then you're faced with a store the size of Oklahoma, not that I've ever been there, but I know it's big.

As we entered the front door (the one I'm convinced they have rigged with some fancy technological whirly gig to make you forget why you came there in the first place, so you buy lots more than you intended) of this particular SUPERSTORE version of the Big Box, I came to a dead halt. My mother ran into the back of me, in her fog of being 85 years old and probably out way too late by this time.

ACRES of stuff, as far as I could see. Farther, actually, since I couldn't even SEE the back wall of the place. Groceries to the right, off into the haze over there. Clothes in the middle, everything else to the right. And it was probably EVERYTHING ever made, from the looks of it.

A sheer exhaustion dropped down over me. I think the current vernacular would be OMG! I have the money today to buy just about anything I need, but the energy level of my younger days has deserted me. We stood there for a few minutes, trying to decide if it was worth it. Did we want that item enough to walk the distance it would require to find it?

Well, it turned out we did. So, off we went into the innards of the monster. However, I stopped the first employee I saw, the one who had her head ducked into a shelf of candles, hoping no one would notice her. I asked for the item. She stood up, gazed across the store diagonally and indicated I should follow her. Then she took off at a clip nearly impossible for me to match....me, the person who has conquered the Stairmaster at the gym. My poor mother was left shuffling in the dust, hanging on to the cart for support. But I didn't want to lose that woman who seemed to know where the item hid in the midst of millions of other items. Why don't they have a little trolley? A map, starting with YOU ARE HERE!  Maybe some of those headphones like they use in museums for walking tours. Something, anything.

After what seemed like 15 minutes, weaving around abandoned buggies, screaming kids, arguing couples, the foxhound employee stopped and pointed down the aisle in front of her. Then she was gone. Poof! Disappeared. I waited for my mother to catch up with me, and she didn't look too good by this time. Her face was pale and her breath was choppy.

Then we marched down that aisle, craning our heads right and left, up and down (yes, you have to look UP, too), until we reached the end. Puzzled, we reversed and did it again. Nothing.

It wasn't there after all. All gone. Empty space. SOLD OUT. OMG....

Is Peterson's 5 & 10 still open?



The hardest thing in life to learn is which bridge to cross and which to burn.

Frank Noble

Everything's shifting.....

You have to laugh. Really. If you don't, you'll be swept into the whirlpool of inconsistency and insanity of life as it dances around you each morning, snickering and daring you to take it seriously.

In the past two months or so, I have spent close to $400 on products or services that have one purpose: To make me look better. Wait...that isn't quite accurate. To make me look YOUNGER.

There was the facial I had on my recent cruise, ending with the $200 + products the young British woman sold me before I walked out. Maybe it was her fancy English accent that rendered me temporarily mute, unable to even choke out the word "NO." Or it might have been that I didn't have to reach into my purse and pull out that much money. I signed on the dotted line, added my cabin number, and I was good to go. At least she put it in a pretty bag.

My Avon lady advertises via the Internet. And that's dangerous for the health of my checking account. It is so easy, isn't it, to tap in numbers and buy stuff?  You can't even feel the money leaking from your wallet....it's just suddenly gone. But the creamy tints for my disappearing lips and the wrinkle cream that is GUARANTEED TO WORK will be delivered next week. At least Avon is inexpensive, in the scheme of all my cosmetic spending. $20.

Earlier this week I visited a friend who moved a few hours away. We meandered down an avenue of boutiques, holiday music effortlessly pushing us into festive businesses decorated with boughs of holly and silver tinsel. My friend bought silly costumes for her dog and I bought beautifully scented cream GUARANTEED to erase the brown spots that freckle my hands. $119.00. (Stop laughing.....)

But here is the inconsistency. The one that makes me chuckle at myself and shake my head in disbelief.

I am experiencing, right along with this silliness with my appearance, a period of intellectual growth unlike any I can remember in my life. I am embracing the fact that my life is now more about finding meaning than  climbing that career ladder I put in the closet a few years ago. The inner work that is organically occuring is huge, right along side all of this work on the outer shell that is truly meaningless.

Currently I am reading The Worldly Philosophers: An Economic History; a philosophy textbook I found at a garage sale; Coming to Our Senses; Romancing the Ordinary; and Life 101. Every morning I sip my coffee and read from these works for about 30 minutes. I am learning the beauty of contemplation of just about everything, as well as clearing my mind and making room for me.

And then I retreat to my room and slather cream all over my face and hands.

You gotta laugh.

When we are no longer able to change a situation, we are challenged to change ourselves.  ~Victor Frankl

Time's form....

Three generations of women's hands:

Thanksgiving 2010



Time is an illusion, given form only

by the work of our hands.

Nothing else matters.

"Charlie Sheen-itis"

Most of us by now have watched at least one episode of the popular TV show that highlights two men and their (now grown) son/nephew. You know the one: The uncle is a caricature of the playboy, a jingle-writer whose dictionary doesn't reference the word "commitment" and who loses days at a time while overindulging in, well, just about everything there is to wallow in. Women, alcohol, gambling......you  name it, he jumps in and might not come up for air until the booze runs out or the woman does.

Charlie has come close a couple of times. Meaning to a WEDDING, not some satanic ritual where everyone gets naked and shakes things at the full moon, although now that I think about it, there are some similarities. But, a glitch always appears that causes him to run for the door like he IS the centerpiece at some human sacrificial ceremony, leaving a beautiful woman at the alter wounded and bewildered.

Apparently the writers of the show are intelligent enough to take note of the fact that their lead character MUST be aging, especially since the nephew has literally become a young man on the set of this comedy....they can't hide that one with make up and spiky hair. So, occasionally they insert a throw-away line that proves that Charlies knows his jowls are a bit longer and his stamina leaves just a little to be desired.

This takes them into the media minefield of aging. They can't pin the "getting old" label on HIM too often or their audience will remote their way to MTV. So, they splash his women with dialogue that proves it can't be his inability to "keep up," even with sly references to those little blue pills. But my ears perked up one evening when Charlie and I were meandering through a half hour when he said, "Ewwwww! I'm not going to put my tongue in some 60 year old woman's mouth!" And his face was all screwed up in disgust as he swigged his vodka. Like women over 60 were so unappealing and OLD that he couldn't even say the words without gagging. 

I had to back the recorder up and play that segment again to make sure that's what he said. Yep, I heard right the second time, too. Let's think about this now:

Christine LahtiCristina Ferrare

  Jane Pauley Linda Thompson

Yes, these women are all over 60, folks.

But I think many men agree with Charlie on this false age-referenced distaste, based on my own experience with dating (or attempting such a hilarious thing) after 50. But that's a topic for another day.

Maybe Charlie just needs to keep better company. And the writers need to acknowledge the obvious....their lead character HAS to be knocking on the door of middle age. Soon it may be the women who can't imagine kissing him(or whatever...this IS an adult-themed show with plenty of the action taking place in his bedroom). Think what fun the writing team can have with THAT.