Happy Valentine's Day: Bah Humbug!

It's HERE again.

That insidious holiday for lovers, replete with hearts and roses and couples everywhere. Where does that leave the rest of us, the ones who aren't one half of a couple or used to be half but now are......less than that?

I could offer "hearts and flowers" platitudes here like.....

**You don't NEED to be half of a couple to be worthy!

**Buy yourself some flowers.

**Go out to dinner with treasured friends and toast one another for your strength and brilliance.

**Light some candles and put on the music YOU love.

**Treat it like any other day!


But I won't. You might throw me out of the room.

Here's the truth: Valentine's Day is for lovers. Period. There's nothing anyone can say that takes the sting out of it for singles. I've had some romantic, incredible Valentine's Day celebrations as part of a couple,  but I've sat alone under the Golden Arches, too.

Now, I'm not saying that all of those great suggestions aren't true. They are. And more power to those of you who actually take some of that advice and flaunt your single-ness in a fancy restaurant with your BFF. 

But once we experience a fantastic Feb 14th. only to have it taken from us, it hurts. Now we have a basis for comparison and it's not pretty. 

What to do? 

I have a default position in life. It has served me well, and it might be a perfect time to pull it out here. 

“There is no exercise better for the heart than reaching down and lifting people up.” 

John Holmes

Find someone who could use your time and attention and shower them with that goodness. The fact that you do it on February 14th is merely added icing on the cake! 

For both of you.

Breaking up is hard to do......

At any age.

I find myself in the silliest situations, even though one would think that I had learned enough by now to avoid the yawning potholes of life.

Again, one would be wrong.

Why would a woman of my age, the age at which she just got her first social security check, find herself writing a blog about "breaking up"?

Yet, that woman is me. 

The breakup happened several months ago, but the ripples from that unfortunate event only finished gurgling within the past couple of weeks.

The problem, I guess, is that I have this notion that decency is possible even AFTER a relationship ends. That two people who have been intimate can continue to maintain a positive connection once the intimacy is over. (I will show my age here a bit by confessing that I've never moved from a relationship to a "friends with benefits" configuration. I do keep my options open at all times, though.)

I believe that life is too short to collect bad karma by collecting enemies along the journey of life. And I've managed that in most cases. But this last one, not so much, although I have tried.

We broke up (at my instigation) and agreed to remain friends.  We still have common interests, like college football, music, and eating out in memorable places. Why not continue to share those interests? Only one of us really meant it, though. Again, silly me.

I even reached out after a period of time and, upon my invitation, we attended a musical event along with dinner, a friendly occasion on a Sunday afternoon. I thought he needed to actually see how this could work and he agreed.....at the table. But, once we went our separate ways, he continued to keep those ways very separate. The door slammed and hasn't opened again.

And since this is the only configuration he seems to know after a relationship split, I gave him what he wanted all along: another "ex" to add to a string of similar beads. 

Maybe I'm naive. But I still think it's just sad.

GAME OVER

I was wondering......

Life is perplexing, wonderful, terrifying, and often inexplicable. And as we mature, the answers come no more quickly, believe me. There are just MORE questions.  

Like.....

~~~where cyberspace actually IS. Can I go there to find that story I wrote and never saw again? I know we have clouds where we can now save important stuff, but do the clouds mix with all that space....somewhere?

~~~how the nifty keyfinder device that was the rage two Christmases ago helps me when I'm standing in the parking lot at work and can't find my keys? In the rain. After I've dropped my purse and book in a puddle.

~~~why more men don't understand why dancing is often called "a vertical expression of a horizontal act"?

~~~how doing nothing under someone else's direction can be so exhausting, but if you're home trying to get some rest, it's different?

~~~where that guy behind me in the monster truck thinks I'm going to go when all three lanes are bumper to bumper as far as we both can see? Vertical, maybe?

~~~the customer service person who is obviously in India. Is he having trouble understanding ME, too? Is there a point to all this miscommunication?

~~~when does the "CALL IN THE NEXT FIVE MINUTES!" start on those ads that run continuously? Is the person in India matching up the ads with the local time....around the globe? And what time zone is HE using to start that process?

~~~did God think it was funny to create men and women from the mud of two different planets? I can't speak for you, but I am not amused.

~~~why people in other parts of the country don't know about shaking clothes out before you put them on? Here in the South we know what can lurk in clothes, waiting to crawl on your neck after you put that robe on. Is it scorpions in the West? Ladybugs somewhere else?

~~~why men over about 60 continue to search for younger women? The women in their own age group know for a fact that many of those men can't....you know.....even with that little blue pill available. And a doctor saying, "Since you have heart problems, you can't use the pill, but you can go ahead and TRY if you really want to" does tend to make women a tad nervous. Just a tad.

~~~and what about those younger women when they find out what's NOT going to happen with their Sugar Daddy? Some will be OK with.......well, never mind.

~~~why some people won't pass a police car, even if it's traveling at 25 mph in a 40 mph zone?

~~~those double turn lanes where drivers won't use the second one, especially if it's new? Everyone continues to line up in the original lane, like lemmings unable to get out of order, while the new lane sits empty and unused.

I'm confused.

“Insanity is doing the same thing, over and over again, but expecting different results.” 

The headliner........

You should be the headliner in your own life.

Just picture it: Your name in lights!

Yes, you. The woman with her arm draped over the frig door, contemplating one more meal for the hordes who drift through your house (some of whom actually live there), eating, traipsing dirt into your living room, dragging dirty sports paraphernalia behind them like aliens stuck to their backsides. And then eating again. That arm is actually holding you up, isn't it? Your energy is gone, your food, too--and so are the dreams you once had for yourself.

To write.

To sing.

To paint.

To dance.

To soar.

But you refuse to add your own name to the calendar. Everyone else's lives are there, dates marked in red. The kids, your spouse, your family, his family, the pets. But not you.

"I'm not sure what [person A] will need on Friday, so go on ahead to the art show without me. It's OK."

"No, I can't plan anything with the [girls' night out group, the sorority, the reunion planning committee]; the cat has a vet appointment."

"Sorry......I can't."

"Not sure....."

"I'd love to go, but....."

Goals? Dreams? How about just one night out to do what YOU want to do? Do you even remember what that is?

 What's wrong with using that red pen to schedule an art class, a writing group, a hot bath behind a locked door?

No one else will do it for you. They're too busy eating.

You only live once, but if you do it right, once is enough. 
― Mae West

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

Balls with edges.....

There doesn’t seem to be a gender or age component to this particular oddity, the one involving the ball that refuses to bounce.  I sat next to a 20-something young woman recently who caught the ball and then let it fall with a hollow “THUNK”  on the table between us, its jagged edges preventing it from returning to me.

Then there was the strange man I sat next to at a party. (I could call him a stranger and be right either way.) He was a great catcher. Superb, in fact. But that ball, the one I kept trying to get into play, caught on the edge of the plastic chairs we were sitting in every time. I finally got tired of bending over to pick it up off the dusty ground, so just left it lying in the dirt. It got real quiet then between the stranger and me. (I guess he didn't bring any balls of his own.)

This happens so often that I play other games with it. (Might as well; I’ve got a silly looking ball in my hand, right?) I’ve sat at a dinner table and tossed the ball to the person sitting across from me, and then watched as the “catcher” has a wonderful time with that ball. I wait, I smile, I wonder, “Will THIS be the person who knows how to throw this darn ball back to me?” Only to watch in disappointment as he puts it down by his water glass. It won’t roll—remember, it’s got edges—so it just sits here. Mute. Silent. Dead.

I do this several times with the dinner guests until I tire of the game. At that point, the only sounds drifting around the table consist of the clink of silverware or dishes being passed. And all the balls sit on their edges, simply because so many people have forgotten how to play.

Or converse.  The art of conversation seems to have gone the way of the dinosaur. This is one issue that can’t be blamed strictly on texting, either (although texting certainly hasn’t helped anyone actually “talk” to others). I have observed and participated in sad scenarios like this one for some time now:

“Hi, this is my first time here! I’m Deborah. What’s your name?” I lob the ball into play.

“[Strange man says his name.]”  THUNK. The ball just found its first edge as it drops.

“How long have YOU been part of this group?” I pick the ball up off the ground and try again; I hit it back across the net.

“Oh, about a year! I started coming after I moved here, and didn’t know anyone.”  I wait, but then Oops!…the ball falls to the ground again, another edge notched into its surface.

“Where did you move here from?” I’m nothing if not persistent, so back across the net goes the ball.

“California. My grandchildren live here, so it’s been nice to be closer to them.”  CLUNK! It sits there again, lonely and quiet.

“How many grandchildren do you have?” I know, I know…why am I still trying to get the ball back, you ask? I agree; this is getting pretty tiring.

All I can say is that I really enjoy meeting and talking to new people. I've found I even enjoy more now than when I was younger. We all have such great stories and experiences—at least at last recollection we did—and these shared experiences can bring us together in some very important ways. Regardless of our age, or ethnicity, or gender, or place of birth we are more similar as humans than we are different. We might even learn something from each other.

But we have to talk to each other to find that out, right? I’m exhausted most of the time from stooping over to pick that silly ball up. So, for those of you who need concrete lessons, let’s start that “conversation” between strange guy and me over again:

“Hi, this is my first time here! I’m Deborah. What’s your name?”

“[Strange man says his name.] Is this your first time here?” 

“Yes, it is! It seems like a nice group. How long have YOU been a member?”

“Oh, about a year! I started coming after I moved here, and didn’t know anyone. Did you meet  a group member somewhere or did you just find us on line?”  

“Actually, I met Susie at a networking meeting last week, and she invited me to come tonight! You mentioned that you moved here; where did you move here from?”

“California. My grandchildren live here, though, so it’s been nice to be closer to them. Do YOU have any family in the area?” 

“Yes, I do. My daughter lives here and my mother lives with me. I don’t have any grand children yet. How many do you have?”

And the ball bounces on, no edges to catch on anything at all! The ball stays in the air more than it drops and it’s a lot more fun to play the game.

Conversation doesn’t have to be a mystery. It simply involves showing a little interest in the person on the other side of the net. Enough to throw the ball back at least once in a while.

Dancing Fool......Encore!

 “Dance, when you're broken open. Dance, if you've torn the bandage off. Dance in the middle of the fighting. Dance in your blood. Dance when you're perfectly free.”
Rumi

Easy for Rumi to say. Last Saturday, I was wondering why I had agreed to such a foolish thing.

WHY did I agree--no, VOLUNTEER--to learn a choreographed waltz and perform it in front of friends, family, and strangers? Who did I think I was: Julianne or Katarina or Cheryl on Dancing With the Stars? Those folks spend untold hours every week learning their dances. I was contained to two hour long lessons a week to learn the intricate patterns and steps my instructor put together for us.

Saturday was THE day! I loaded my clothes into the car and went to get my hair done. Everything has to be BIG in performing, so those are the directions I gave the young woman who sat me down in her chair in the salon: BIG hair, please. Well, that's fine if you've got a lot of hair to get BIG with, but I don't. (Remember? It's one of those aging things we have talked about before.)  I had to settle for hair that was.....well, nicer than I could have done myself. Aging teaches us to be realistic, if nothing else.

Nerves get me for about an hour each time I've done this (yes, I have done it before, don't ask me why I didn't learn not to volunteer again), but then excitement takes over. I finally get to show my family and friends exactly why I keep slipping away to a dance studio, only to return an hour or so later a totally happier person. Transformed. Transfigured.(Everyone likes it that I go do this.....trust me.)

Performing, though....that's transformation of a different sort. I had to learn to move BIG (to go along with the hair, of course), to exaggerate putting that arm up into the air, to hold that pose longer than seems humanly possible, to keep smiling no matter what.

Like when I unexpectedly and for no apparent reason, cut a move short and ended up turning the wrong way. I can recall standing there thinking "How the heck did I get HERE??" But I kept that smile plastered on my face, turned back the RIGHT way to get back to where I was supposed to be, and made eye contact with my instructor/partner. His look said, "Just keep going!" We knew what had happened, but as it turned out, no one else realized anything was amiss at all.

The afternoon was magical, mistake included. As I've gotten older and bumped into more walls than I care to remember (or admit) and made hundreds of mistakes, the lesson has been clear: don't ever stop...... and whatever you do, keep smiling!

Dance on!

Shock and awe.......

 “I may not have gone where I intended to go, but I think I have ended up where I needed to be.”

Douglas Adams

As a woman who is aging to perfection, steeped in the wine of time, I am still often shocked--well after I thought there was nothing left to rattle me--as well as in awe of the vagaries of the human race. Some things I know.......

• New jeans with holes up and down the legs, hanging on the rack in the department store, must be an attempt to make us look mindless. 

• When we were 16, a boy who was even 5 years older was taboo. That chasm was huge and not to be crossed on penalty of irate parents, scandalized neighbors, and the law. By the time we were 25, those 5 years had shrunk and they no longer made much difference. In fact, they added a bit of texture to a relationship. But I bet you didn't know that the same 5 years stretch again at the other end of the age spectrum, causing all kinds of mischief for us in our 60s, 70s, and older. Take my word for it.....it isn't pretty. Because.......

•   ....men of all ages want younger women. They just do. The problem is that those men hanging onto the right end of the timeline have difficulty keeping up with a woman younger than they are. In many important ways. And men younger than that same woman aren't interested, because--remember?--they want someone younger, too. Where does that leave me? I'll tell you where: women of a certain age who want a full, true relationship are stranded on that timeline, searching both ends of the spectrum. Alone. 

• Which leads me to this: I should have protected, nurtured, and cherished some of my earlier relationships so I wouldn't be stuck on this darn timeline at all.

• You can enjoy gospel or religious music without believing a word of it. There's just something joyous about it, isn't there?

•  I refuse to listen to any song that has the word "chainsaw" in it. It's just not right.

•  Why do many men refrain from using poor grammar until AFTER you've become invested as a couple? Maybe it's a sign they are truly comfortable with us, their new love. I could stand a little less comfort. Please.

•  When a man agrees in advance to "talk about things that bother us" as you launch a new relationship, his mouth is merely moving.

That's what I know.....at least for now!

An apology? Nope......

Things fall apart every once in awhile. They just do.

Being able to accept that is a huge step in our maturation process. Plus it keeps us sane when the magnetic force field of our lives shifts a bit and we are tossed off balance.

Again.

Yes, young reader, this will happen consistently and repeatedly over the course of your life. Those of us who have aged a bit--to perfection, of course!--know this. "Perfection" is an ideal, we all know that, but aging towards that ideal means, by definition, that we adapt and adjust to new directions when that compass starts to show us another way. Instead of resisting, which comes in the forms of whining, complaining, and giving up.

Those aren't options for me. It's taken me some time to get where I am, but I'm doing better every day! Which gets me to my point....finally.

I had high hopes for this year, especially with my quest to seek out new adventures every month. I enjoyed that two-year process a few years ago, and it brought me great joy in a number of ways. Then I took a year off and missed it. Or thought I did. When I started again in January, I really thought I wanted to get started.

And then the grind started. What did I want to do THIS month? I have to do something, I told myself, because I told all of you that I was started down the yellow brick road of adventure again. If I was behind schedule, which is what happened, the whole thing started to weigh on me. I was BEHIND--and those of you who know me personally (I hope that's all of you by now, even if we've never actually met face to face) --know that I don't like getting behind in anything. (Yes, something else I'm working on!) It just puts my life under duress and I don't need that stress.

So, I've put the "new thing every month" journey on hold for now. I do more things that are outside my zone of comfort on a regular basis anyway, and that may have been the whole reason for doing it in the first place.

I've gone back to dancing, which was one of my first "new" things, and that brings me great joy, more than I can begin to describe here in this space right now. But I'm not going to beat myself up about the rest of it.

After all, I'm aging toward the perfection of acceptance.

The first step toward change is awareness. The second step is acceptance.

Nathaniel Branden

Putting it in context........

I recognize context better now. As a younger person, I had never  faced some experiences that have now happened to me multiple times in the course of my sixty-plus years. We learn from those experiences, at least  if we're paying attention.

Driving to the mountains of North Carolina from Florida for the first time should have been a piece of cake. It's only 8 hours or so, and I once drove from Florida to Colorado in a little over 48 hours, so no worries. Right? The only problem was that we arrived after dark. An unknown location, at the top of a mountain ridge reached only after putting the car in 4-wheel drive and inching up a narrow, one lane road to the top. The person who owns the cabin told us "It's the sixth cabin from the top of the ridge" and it was very dark that night. (Go ahead; think about that for a minute. I can see your face now.....)


Put that trip in context and I've never tried it again. We leave home in the morning one day, stay overnight along the way, and then finish the trip the next day, when the sun is still out and I can see well enough to navigate up that ridge where the cabin is located.

Context.....

It also raises its head when those who don't have the longevity we enjoy try to pull a fast one on us. We understand context when a 30-something personal trainer makes continued excuses for being late for appointments (for which I was paying him well), with things like, "Oh, I lost track of time" or "I didn't realize it would take so long to get my hair cut" or "Did you know I went back to school? I was studying for a test and forgot about the time." (In other words, he forgot about his customer, completely or simply irresonsibly, or both.) And the excuses always came along with him AFTER he showed up late for every appointment....yes, EVERY one. Sometimes he never showed up at all.

The context is rich with meaning. He didn't call ahead of time to say something like, "My little one is sick today and I have to take her to the doctor" or a similar reason that, within the context of our own experiences in a life replete with them, makes sense and everyone has had happen at some point.

Context matters. And we get much better at putting life in it as we age. We also hold others accountable within the context of a situation, too.

We are old(er) and we aren't to be toyed with.

I now have a new personal trainer, by the way.

Context, context......

“Reality is not a function of the event as event, but of the relationship of that event to past, and future, events.” 

Robert Penn

 

Active Master exposed.......

There it is again.

Peeking out a bit.

It's represents one of those "Oh, that won't happen to ME!" things that accompanies becoming an Active Master, at least for some of us apparently.

There are some advantages as we age.

Yes, I have a greater depth of experience to draw from on an everyday basis.

Yes, I've learned to slow down the decision making process, to look at so many angles that had evaded me when I was younger.

Yes, I try more new things than I ever had.

Yes, I have even finally let down my defenses enough to trust my instincts more often than not. And most of the time those instincts are correct.

But can someone please tell me why that bit of pink scalp is peeking through my hair? I may be smarter, more able to navigate the tumultuous waters of life, but I'd really like to do it with my hair.

OK?

How can I control my life when I can't control my hair? ~Author Unknown

I know not what I do.......yet

It's that time again!

The one where I do something I've never done before.

Each month around the date of my birth (the 28th), I embark on an adventure of some kind, stepping out of my personal comfort zone and into the realm of the unknown. And that's the whole purpose.

As we age, we tend to lose that sense of excitement, anticipation, wonder....call it what you want, but we kind of collapse into a boring, dreary puddle until it's hard to divine any fresh water in our lives. So far, I've had some great experiences, some truly awful ones, and some that I continue today.

I asked for suggestions from friends on my social media site a couple of weeks ago, and got some good ones....as well as some scary ones, at least to me. A trapeze? Zip-lining over alligators? Not sure about those two, in particular. But then there was attending a great mini-conference with Maria Shriver and Martha Beck in Savannah (too late for that one; it was last weekend when I couldn't go), swimming with manatees, acupuncture, hot yoga, some other workout routine whose name escapes me right now, rock climbing. One that's been on my own mental list for quite a while is to ride a bus in my city, and that idea won't go away, so I'm adding it to the master list right now. (I'm sure many of you who live in cities with excellent mass transit systems find this idea comical, but believe me when I say that it's not the same thing in many southern cities at all. I'll just leave it at that for now.)

I haven't decided which adventure to choose yet for the month, but the whole process invigorates me. The process of thinking of things to do and then deciding on one keep my mental systems on "go" and that's a good thing. Carrying the activity out is often physically challenging, and that, too, is a very good thing.

So, stay tuned. By the time I get back here, the latest event will be over and I can share it with all of you.

Be brave enough to live creatively. You have to leave the city of your comfort and go into the wilderness of your intuition. You can only get there by hard work, by risking and by not quite knowing what you are doing. What you will discover will be wonderful: Yourself.
Alan Alda

Liberals and social engineering......

They're still empty. Unused, unoccupied. I know because I checked yesterday.

I found this building a week or so ago, a brand new branch of my credit union in a part of town I only frequent a few times a month. But I had some other business to transact in the area and there it was, so I zipped into the parking lot and searched out the front door.

Sounds simple, right?

Well, it couldn't be located on the first side that faced me--every one of those parking spaces was empty. I noticed all the cars were parked on the other side. That must be it. I kept driving around to another side (front? back?) of the building.

Oops. No door anywhere. Maybe it's one of those new "no building" banks, where all your business is transacted in cyberspace......somewhere. But why would they have this beautiful building then? I circled again, totally confused now.

Oh, there's the door, tucked over there facing--wait--all those empty parking spaces!  As I turned into the first space, a sign stopped me in my tracks: "Fuel efficient cars only." Well, that's open to interpretation, isn't it? I drive a Kia, a small one at that. But somehow I gathered that's not what they meant at all.The space next to it was the same. I drove slowly to the next one: Handicapped.As was the next one. No problem with those at all. There were still two left down there at the end. I was bound to find one soon.

"Van pools only." Both of them.

Are you kidding me? When was the last time you and your coworkers decided to hop into the van and head on over to the credit union to do your banking in a cozy little group? Women often go to the restroom in herds, but banking? That's a new one.

As I told the manager when I finally was able to GET INTO this edifice, I'm probably more liberal than most people walking around. As a matter of fact, as I've gotten older, I've become even more so. I think that goes counter to what happens to most people, but I've never fit the mold in any aspect of life, so why start now?

But social engineering carried to this extreme offends even me. The manager's explanation of being designated as a "Green building" doesn't carry much weight. As I told him, I guess it's a matter of deciding what you want more: a "green" plaque on the wall or customers inside doing business. I'm guessing they will have to make that decision soon, too, because each time I drive by that building now, I make a point of checking out the parking lot: All of those spaces remain empty. Every time.

Or maybe I'm just not aging perfectly this week........

A man's age represents a fine cargo of experiences and memories. ~Antoine de Saint-Exupéry,

Road trip!

It is sad to go to pieces like this but we all have to do it.”
  Mark Twain

Do things move farther away the older we get?


It used to be a one-day road trip from my home now to the town where I attended college. You know the one, right? Their football team just won a National Championship. But we'll get back to that topic another day.

It is only three hours away. No problem at all to jump in the car, head west on the most boring interstate in the country and head over to attend a game. When it was over, we'd hop back in the car and come home. There might have even been a stop for dinner at one of those dark exit ramps along the way. Then, it would be midnight or later before the headlights hit the garage door back home, but hey....who cared? That still gave us 5 or 6 hours before the clock alarmed us out of bed--literally--so we could get to work on time.

Nostalgia is painful. 

Here's how it goes today. All because things get moved farther and farther away as we age.

You have to consider the time to drive over there (and the interstate is STILL boring after all these years), PLUS then you must add 4 or 5 pit stops to that itinerary. You discover early on which rest areas have the cleanest, safest bathrooms. They become favorite haunts, much like bars or diners used to be for us. You never pass one by without stopping. And your destination just got a little farther away.

Finally you get there, and parking is the next mountain to climb. It's not realistic any more to park 2 miles away and hike on over to the venue. In the olden days (before we were the olden ones), not only did we walk it, we carried coolers, chairs, jackets, and sometimes children the whole way without breaking a sweat. That stadium is farther away now, right? Now we need to a pay a fortune to park somewhere in the back 40 and ride the shuttle.

Keep in mind, though, that all we have accomplished so far is getting there. The event happens, and it's great. But when the clock on the scoreboard ticks down to 0:00, the reverse of the whole trip kicks into gear. Notice I didn't say "high" gear. That gear got stuck about two hours ago as we waited in line for a restroom in the stadium, which....yep....got much farther away from our seats than it used to be. All those steps, all those (young) people walking and texting and pushing and.....

Someone call and get a hotel room. Please. 

 

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

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

Only those who ask for more can get more 

and only those who know there is more, ask. 

Alan Cohen

My mind is like a room with lots of drawers. The drawers hang half open, all askew, with socks and lingerie and scarves exploding onto the floor or sneaking out like snakes slithering away into dark corners. Ideas are much like that, aren't they, as are the things we wish people would guess about us if they would only pay closer attention. They stay hidden for a while, then pop up unbidden (and often unnoticed), and are sometimes forgotten altogether. It isn't any wonder that relationships are so chaotic; how are we supposed to keep up with our own messy drawers much less someone else's? How do we get what we need in life?

Unidentified messy room to protect the innocent

Well, the short answer is that we need to ask.

I'm not a big fan of the New Year's resolutions idea. It has always seemed to be an artificial exercise, most of which is forgotten by March.....or even January 15th in some cases. But, 2013 lived up to its name, at least for me personally, what with that pesky #13 in plain view and all. Not a good vintage.

So, I took some time the other day to consider what to do about it. I could resolve to do all sorts of things (going to the gym more would NOT be one of them) to start off the new year with a more positive outlook. But I don't live in my world alone; there are lots of folks who support (and infringe upon) me.

I ended up with MY LIST OF THINGS I NEED TO BE HAPPIER IN 2014. Not accusatory at all, right? Then I divided my master list into segments by person: what I need from Person A to be  happier, Person B, etc. And, that's as far as I've gotten. (It's only January 2, after all.) I imagine I'll do some editing (to protect the innocent) and then meet with each person to ask for what I need. 

After all, how else are they supposed to know? But I also believe that the ensuing conversations  might be healthy for each relationship. They may even tell us what THEY need from US in the process and soon everybody is happier. Or we can fret and fuss about how we're being treated by Friend C, but never take the honest path to actually share how we feel to that person. What is being accomplished that way? Inevitably, bad things tend to transpire when we hide how we feel and what we think, for fear of rocking the proverbial boat. The boat will sink under its own weight, though, if we don't bail a little of that muddy water with a true heart to heart. They won't know unless we tell them what we need. Then we have to be willing to listen in return.

Of course, one of the segments is reserved for ME. What do I need to do to be happier in the new year? Many adults continue to blame their parents for a difficult childhood; or they blame their teachers for being uncaring; or their siblings for being....well, siblings. But once we hit that threshold of adulthood, we must act like adults and take responsiblity for ourselves. Yes, we need to ask for what we need and want from others, but ultimately it's up to us to take the first step, and then follow through to make the life we want.

We may get more than we ever thought possible. 

And some order just might be brought to those unkempt drawers, too.

 

We begin again.....

60 was bad. Some of you may remember that. (What I know)  It brought us all together here after all.

So,  when my friend, Paula, and I were discussing my approaching 65th birthday, she wanted to know what I had in mind to celebrate. "You must do something," she said. "It's a special one!" Of course, I'm the one who doesn't start thinking about events until the last possible second; Paula, on the other hand, plans events for a living. She won. I threw myself a party last night to celebrate,with a Retro Chinese Buffet at a local Asian restaurant. We had a great time. I'm glad she prevailed.

The point, though, is this: I was willing to acknowledge this birthday. I've settled into the decade nicely, I think.

But I have missed my monthly "thing I've never done before," after a year's hiatus. It adds a sense of anticipation and excitement that is often dulled as we age, a way to challenge ourselves just when we begin to think we've done it all. We haven't. Not by a long shot; it may take some time to come up twelve new things to do, but that's part of the mental gymnastics that go along with the actual activities.

I learned to dance, I tried a hookah lounge, tiled in my kitchen, had my palm read, and went on cruises, just to name a few of the roads I traveled when I did this before. (See more here.) Sometimes I was scared. Often I was nervous. But always I was exhilarated and I learned a lot about myself as a person, regardless of my age. I recommend it to anyone, no matter THEIR age.

I missed it last year. Not right at first; it was actually kind of a relief to not have to come up with something each month. But I realize now that it added a great deal to my life, and I'm ready to begin again. Are YOU ready?

The road ahead....

Stay tuned!

Be your biggest competitor - challenge yourself each day to 

be better than you were yesterday. Kaoru Shinmon

 

Silver bells and ugly sweaters...

Have the silver bells finally stopped ringing? Did those reindeer with the scratchy hoofnails that go "click, click, click" on the rooftops finish their rounds without falling off?

Sometimes it seems like once it all starts it will never end. But here we are on the day that is either tinged with a shade of disappointment or replete with exhaustion--or both. Um, not so fast, you remind us: we still have New Year's Eve to deal with.

Scarlett tells me that I can think about that tomorrow, so bug off.

But I'm not here to grumble and "bah humbug" your day off to a grumpy start. The holidays simply reminded me of something that has been tumbling around inside my head even before Santa visited multiple parties and millions of home to enliven our lives, to toss a bit of magic glitter onto our heads and hearts.

He tries, but is often met with reactions that belie that effort as various recipients grouse that "this isn't the color I wanted" or "I don't LIKE marshmallows on my yams" or "It's great, but I just got one last night, too!"

In other words, we have forgotten how to be gracious. We qualify, we complain, we behave with a petulance that acts like a blast of cold air on the warmth that was intended by the giver.

To be gracious means to peer past the concrete in front of us to the love or fellowship or friendship peeking out behind that ugly sweater or duplicate CD or casserole with an ingredient that isn't our favorite. To give to someone who qualifies or quantifies everything is frustrating, to say the least. The long-term result may be to abandon the effort altogether, knowing that our well-wishes won't be accepted well at all, no matter what we do.

To be gracious means to be "well-mannered, courteous, considerate, friendly." And, even though it isn't included when you cheat and visit the on-line thesaurus, here's a word I will add to the list: accepting. It means to accept that ugly sweater with a smile and a hug to acknowledge what the giver meant by handing it to you at all. Or unobtrusively moving aside the bits of bacon you hate from the casserole that was made with love for your pot luck. It means a heartfelt "thank you!" as you unwrap that CD by the artist you don't follow.

As we add maturity to our years (notice that I didn't use "get old"), we come to understand that people matter more than things do. The item they just handed us isn't the gift at all. The gift is that we are here to hold it close to our hearts and they were willing to give it.

And once we smile and offer a sincere hug to the giver, gift receipts help.

“The only gift I have to give, is the ability to receive. If giving is a gift, and it surely is, then my gift to you is to allow you to give to me. 
”

Jarod Kintz

A cause for celebration?

It's December 1st.

The day I qualify for Medicare.....

....which is a day to celebrate, right?

Some may be asking WHY I feel this way, as it simply means I am technically "OLD" in the estimation of many.

For some reason, I never thought I'd get here. Strange, because I am a very healthy person. (Just ask one of my close friends who was amazed that I hadn't had cause to see a doctor since 2009. She still tells people about her OLDER, healthy friend.)

So, here's to me: I'm now able to reap the benefits of all those deductions from my pay over the years. And I don't feel "old." Inside my head I'm still 25; actually, I'm having more fun now than I did when I was that young. I know how to enjoy myself, as well as how important it is to appreciate the small things that can add beauty and sparkle to our lives every day.

And I'm still coherent enough to figure out all the crazy Medicare paperwork to make it happen!

Cheers!

Getting older is no problem. You just have to live long enough.

Groucho Marx

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You can't help getting older, but you don't have to get old.

George Burns

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You can't help getting older, but you don't have to get old.

George Burns

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You can't help getting older, but you don't have to get old.

George Burns

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Wooden Dutch shoes and all things.....wrinkled

After seven days at sea on this ship with a Dutch-looking flag, the shore can't appear off my balcony on the ninth level fast enough. This is my fifth cruise in a span of three and a half years; it may be my last for a while.

Without opening myself to a libel suit, I did know that this particular cruise line catered to "older" cruisers. Meaning those WAY over my own age. (For those of you new to this page, I will qualify for Medicare in six days. I congratulated the on-board blues band for proving there were actual pulses aboard ship with mine, something I seriously doubted for the first few days aboard.)

Some other clues that I had picked the wrong cruise line this time.....

• Even if this Dutch-sounding cruise line had provided a pair of their wooden shoes to all those who came aboard, it wouldn't have slowed these people down any more than they already were. 
• The spa spent most of its time presenting seminars on taking care of your feet.
• The bar called "Chocolate Seduction" was never open, probably because no one who crawled on board could remember what that second word meant. And their doctors had told them to avoid the first one anyway. (Bad for those hearts.....)
• I didn't get splashed even once in the pool by a person younger than 80. Actually, the pool never had more than five people in it at any one time.
  

  

  A lonely pool.....

• All the "Name That Tune" games featured music from the Big Band era.
• .....and all the games were over by sunset.
• Most people were reading real books.
• The bars were populated only by a crew member wiping the already-clean bar...a lot. 

  

  A lonely buffet area....

  

  The lonely barkeep.....

  
  
• What's up with this mouth-breathing thing with older people?? Mysterious. But maybe that's why I was feeling anxious to get back to shore; all the oxygen around me was being sucked out of the air.
• The nurse automatically asked what blood thinner patients were on before passing out band aids.
• The only noise in the passageways at night came from the lonely "DING!" of an elevator.....once an hour or so. 

  

   A lonely theater....

I thought I would welcome a vacation at sea sans children and drunks. In exchange, though, I got  more gnarled feet that I ever care to see again and no activities that even smacked of a trip to the tropics. (I sadly remembered the great deck parties that started even before the ship sailed...on all those OTHER cruise lines.)

All of this is another reminder of the axiom that continues to prove itself as I age to perfection: Be careful what you wish for.

“If you didn't remember something happening, was it because it never had happened? Or because you wished it hadn't?”
― Jodi Picoult, Plain Truth