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.

Places, everyone!

 

“People tend to complicate their own lives, as if living weren't already complicated enough.”
Carlos Ruiz Zafón

It shouldn’t be a bad thing to see a need that you can fill and move forward to help. Or become friends with a coworker who seems to see the world through the same glasses you carry around in your pocket.

Should it?

This lesson keeps offering to teach me a few things that might be useful . But I continually slam the door in its face…..quite a few times, as it turns out.

 I’m a slow learner. And not a very good student, it seems.

But, this time, I think I’ve got it. And it wasn’t easy getting that door pried open—finally—long enough to stick my head in and say, “Come on it! I have finally seen the light!”

Here’s the deal: I’ll become acquainted with someone who moves into my world for a specific reason, and over time I learn much about them, problems and all. Keep in mind that by definition a writer is a nosy busybody who will suck every detail of your life out of you given half a chance. It’s what we do; what can I say? I’ll find out every secret you have and then I WILL put you in a piece of writing (without your name, of course; I do have some sense) for the entire world to see.

And then I’ll make my fatal mistake. I try to fix a problem for these nice people, friendly soul that I am. The boundaries between us in our original framework become blurred, or, if I’m honest, I wipe those lines out completely, as surely as dirt can be swept bare with a straw broom. Suddenly, we don’t know who we are in relation to each other anymore. Things get all mucked up and confusion reigns. The sad part is that the result often is a loss of the original relationship, the one that I relished so much from the beginning.

It all comes from a good place, but it never seems to end that way. (Which is probably why companies have rules about workplace relationships. But this is a story for another day...believe me.)

I think I have finally learned to keep people in their roles. My auto mechanic needs to be kept at the garage where he belongs, even though I found out that he has a child that needs some (free) tutoring. After all, I was a teacher in another life. It feels like a natural thing to do; help when I can. But if something goes south, I lose a tutoring job AND a good mechanic.

Aging gracefully—or at least without kicking and screaming the entire way—means giving up those impulses that got us into so much trouble in our younger version. For some, like me, it takes a bit longer.

But it doesn’t have to for you, those of you young enough to be thinking, “That will never happen to ME.”

Yes. It will.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Danger ahead!

Only you can control your future.

Dr. Suess

 

 Remember when you were 21, and your future stretched ahead like a ribbon of highway as far as you could see? And you thought you could see every curve and bend that was on that road and knew where it was going to lead you?

Oops.

We know better now, don’t we?

Who would have predicted a recession that would put us all behind the financial 8-ball and destroy our plans for retirement?

Or the need to divert some of our own limited funds to caring for an elderly parent?

Which then led us to think about selling our home generate those funds, only to remember that we refinanced only two years ago to get a lower payment……and stretched those payments ahead another 30 years? So, no equity means no selling.

Sigh…..

Sometimes we can’t see where the road is taking us, so it’s best to hang back and not speed along the highway without watching out for—even anticipating--the potholes and detours. How could I have known that I would need to sell my house the day I gave a huge “thumbs up!” to hogtying me to an unending mortgage? Or that maybe, just maybe, I SHOULD have sold my house just before the real estate bubble burst, when I thought about it, but then fell prey to inertia….and the mistaken notion that things would always be the same down that highway?

Circumstances change and people change. What looks like a well-paved road today WILL change. It’s the one thing we can depend on. The rest? Well, just be careful about assuming there isn’t a cliff just ahead up there out of sight on the road. It’s there, for sure.

Oh, yes, indeed……

 

Not on MY planet........

 

They’re all around us. And as I’ve gotten older, they seem to seek me out for some reason.

Lucky me.

Let me explain.

I worked for someone once who wouldn’t talk to any of his staff on the phone…..and we all worked remotely.  At home. And, as in any job, I often had questions that needed to be answered in order to accomplish what this man gave me to do. Questions only he could answer. So, I emailed him.

I waited for a response, twiddling my thumbs, essentially dead in the water of tasks undone.

I texted him, thinking maybe the vibration of his phone would spur him on….or whatever. (I don’t like to think about that one too long.)

And I waited some more. Nothing. Customers would get irritated, although my laundry was done and my cats were (over)fed.

I emailed again. You know how you begin to think that the first email was circling, higher and higher, in cyberspace, and would never make it through all those storage clouds, getting misfiled somewhere, never to be seen again? So you forward your original email to its recipient all over again, hoping for better results this time.

Nope. My boss was AWOL. Often. For days.

Until he wanted something from us, his separated staff. He still wouldn’t call us, but he’d email and then apparently he sat staring at the screen.

Five minutes later, his second email would ding into the virtual mailbox: “I would appreciate it if you would monitor your emails more closely. Please be professional and respond…..immediately!”

He really said that.

And there it is. The proof that there are people who do not live in the same reality as we do. Their behavior is so bizarre, so illogical, so irrational that it is inexplicable. And to try to make sense of it only makes US as crazy as they are. I'm not sure on exactly which planet they live on, but it's not anywhere in THIS universe.

These are the folks who seem to dog me. I had two in my life at the same time recently, which must have been a test of some kind, the universe poking me with a sharp stick as sport. Fun, huh?

But what I have come to understand is that we can’t waste time with these people or energy trying to figure them out. They will not change, because they think they are RIGHT and the rest of the world is WRONG. The definition of the word “ego” is etched on their soul. I spent a year in therapy trying to explain one of these people to my logical self, until I had a stern talk with the person in the mirror…… and gave up trying to make sense of the nonsensical. Therapy came to a screeching halt.

If only they weren’t so good at hiding all that craziness, we could pick them out earlier. But, what I’ve learned is to let them go on their way, lurching and chattering to themselves. It’s the only sensible—and sane--thing to do. We don’t need to help them populate their reality, wherever that is.

 

“If you're rational you don't get to believe whatever you want to believe.”
― Michael Huemer

 

 

 

 

 

 

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

 

 

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.” 

Me and God......

“The deep emotional conviction of the presence of a superior reason power, which is revealed in the incomprehensible universe, forms my idea of God.” 

Albert Einstein

So many folks believe they own God. Not only do they own him, they know what’s he’s thinking, how he wants things done, and how to find him.

These proprietors of God expect to be his lone spokesperson, as well as the sole arbiter of your behavior and mine. They point to a weighty tome or tablets as their blueprint, insisting that he transmitted “THE PLAN” upon which their edicts rely, the many rules for knowing and following God. There is an overlay of a belief that morality flows only from that source; that those who aren't lock-stepping behind them cannot possibly live a principled, ethical, life replete with love for others. 

Never mind that the whole PLAN was written by flawed folks like them—and me, too—even the part about how this plan got to us in the first place. By humans simply relating how God delivered all this information through flaming bushes, or entrusted to a sinner (again, one like you or me) who went to a mountaintop, or storytellers writing the tales down. There’s a lot of room for misinterpretation about who God really is and what he wants, when mortals are in charge of the details.

God and I have been compatriots at various points in my life. Once even in a highly ritualized way, complete with incense, candles..... and mere men who came to presume they WERE God. We had a falling out, though, and went our separate ways. It seemed to me that there is a whole lot of evil he could take care of if he got more involved. So, why doesn't he? What’s up with the “hands-off” approach to beings he supposedly created and loved so much? Why leave us hanging over--and tumbling into--the abyss so often? 

And the default position of “As humans we can’t understand why God does what he does. We have to trust Him” has never convinced me that God can get away with being complicit in children being tortured, for example. It certainly isn't the "free will" of those innocent victims that’s to blame, is it? Nonsense is nonsense even when formalized in celestial language.

Plus, many so-called paths to him insert an intermediary between the two of us, the creator of vastness and I. Did he set us up in a beautiful idyllic Garden only to distance himself from us as soon as we messed up? We are needy people and he seems to take a lot of coffee breaks.

Today, we talk. We cry on each other’s shoulders when we need a friend and everyone else disappears. We can have disagreements about how things are going, yet friends do that, don’t they? But we operate on our own terms. No intermediaries—human or mythical—are necessary. I’m thinking that the creator of the Universe doesn't need any help understanding my heart. He (or maybe he is a she, just to throw in another incendiary device to the conversation!) has taught me a great deal about loving and serving others, about living an ethical life, about savoring the moment and appreciating what I have right now instead of living in the past or the future. The Universe--or God or Allah or "the right path" or whatever we choose to call it-- has taught me that I don't need to know. I can simply sit in awe and accept and learn.

This is a relationship, much like all such relationships: complicated, messy, perplexing, and very personal. 

It works for me.

Holiday-Induced Happiness?

Halloween barely takes off its mask these days before the Christmas music begins. Glittering trees appear overnight in malls and retail stores, almost as if required as part of November 1st. Maybe all those saints decreed it or something.

We complain about this rush to Christmas, but have you noticed that a warm fuzzy blanket of good will descends at the same time? Maybe this is why we grumble, but we don't object too vehemently. (The one aberration here is the chaos that ensues on Black Friday--or maybe even Thanksgiving Day--but that's a topic for another day. Plus, some people are just crazy, no matter the season.)

People are kinder during this time. I've even had strangers step aside for me as we both approach a common check-out line. Whoa!! In July, they have shoved me out of my planted position in that same line as we purchased our fireworks. Creating a few more, actually. 

We smile more at each other, wishing the mailman, the gas station attendant, the bag boy a cheery "Happy Holiday!" or "Merry Christmas!" And we all seem to mean it. Movements to fill various voids for others in need pop up in front of stores all over town. People who don't give a penny to a pauper any other time of the year do so now.

The roads are not only less populated as vacations begin, our traffic-induced tirades and stress levels diminish, too. Perhaps some of the smiling that began in those areas already mentioned spills over to our vehicles, too. (Unless two of us are eyeing the one remaining parking space in the back 40 of the mall, then all bets are off, of course.)

Twinkling lights, beautiful music, gracious attitudes and helping hands--maybe we could stretch this season from one end of the calendar to the other. Even those of us who are not religious constructionists can identify with this holiday of Ho-Ho-Ho Happiness. What's not to love about peace and goodwill? Isn't that what we all want, no matter what shape our star is--or even if we have no star at all?

“There's more, much more, to Christmas Than candlelight and cheer; It's the spirit of sweet friendship That brightens all year. It's thoughtfulness and kindness, It's hope reborn again, For peace, for understanding, And for goodwill to men!”

Wild pitches.....

Curve balls. Stolen bases. Wild pitches.

Life's analagous relationship to sports comes naturally, doesn't it? It's one reason I love to watch competition on the field of play. (Another one is the fact that I can watch huge, muscular men in tight uniforms, but that makes me sound creepy, so let's move on.)

As we age, we learn never to leave the room until the game is over. Even if the home team is down by 10 at the beginning of the ninth inning. Wellsprings of strength can be tapped, the tide turns, and there goes the scoreboard, reflecting what no one would have thought possible mere minutes before.

Much like our lives. Just when we think we have everything under control, here comes that wild pitch, knocking us out of the batter's box--or even to the ground. But, like the player knocked on his butt in the dust, we must get up, too. Unexpected events demand fortitude, courage, and faith in ourselves, a surety that grows the more innings we play.

Recently, I lost a contract that provided 95% of my income. Luckily this isn't the first time I've had to dodge a ball. My teeth rattled when I hit the ground, but I got back up and dusted myself off before the next pitch left the pitcher's glove.

This kind of assurance is only attained over the course of time; time and the resultant knowledge that we are capable of facing and handling whatever life throws at us. When we are young and new in a game, every curve ball or wild pitch seem like a catastrophe. The experiences, however, can lend us cumulative strength as we mature.

As long as we pay attention over time, learn to trust ourselves, and above all, stay in the game.

“Adversity causes some men to break; others to break records."

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.

I think I found him!

I think I may have finally found the one for me! Let me tell you a little about him:

He basks in my attention.

He sits patiently as I soak in the hot tub, keeping me company, since he isn't comfortable in the warm water.

At night, he snuggles as close as he can get to me, eyes on my face until he drifts off to sleep.

As I write, he often seeks my hand, just a touch to remind me that he is nearby.

If I leave for any length of time, he is waiting for me patiently when I return. No questions asked.

He doesn't offer advice or criticize or whine. He simply accepts me totally, flaws and all.

He doesn't point things out in my house that need fixing (meaning I should fix them, for heaven's sake, what am I waiting for?) or sigh heavily at something I say or do that he doesn't understand. I don't think he knows how to roll his eyes.

He is playful (although he does have to be in the mood, but hey....so do I).

He doesn't expect me to visit his family. In fact, he is remarkably free of what people our age label "baggage."

Would you like to meet my "perfect" man?  Meet him here!

“A friend is someone who gives you total freedom to be yourself-and especially to feel, or not feel. Whatever you happen to be feeling at any moment is fine with them. That's what real love amounts to - letting a person be what he really is.”
― Jim Morrison

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!

It's all about "the pick".......

Marriage is not about age; it's about finding the right person.
Read more at http://www.brainyquote.com/quotes/quotes/s/sophiabush197197.html#LmHtEiAUBA6FbuEb.99

 

 

 

Marriage is not about age; it's about finding the right person.
Read more at http://www.brainyquote.com/quotes/quotes/s/sophiabush197197.html#LmHtEiAUBA6FbuEb.99

"Marriage is not about age; it's about finding the right person."

Sophia Bush

 

 

 



Oh, so correct.

 

I have finally come to understand that it's all about "the pick," whether it's marriage or any other long-term relationship.  Once you have thought about who YOU are and what you want in a partner, the search is on. But it's critical to have that  dialogue with yourself first.

 

This is where I always made my fatal errors, at least fatal to the longevity of my relationships. (Heck, if you add them all together, I have a great track record!) I am seduced by the fancy trappings of courtship, by the attention..... by the "sell." I should have been more thoughtful about what happens after the shiny gloss fades, who I wanted to stand next to me when the world hands out an unexpected hardship, a job loss, errant children, all of the chaos that slithers under the front door just when we think we have it all.

 

I realize now that I had no explicit instruction on how to do this. The sad part is that now that I have learned it, the window of opportunity for me to build a long-term, steadfast relationship with a partner has slammed shut. Hard enough to  break the casement in the process. That time can never be swept back up in the dustpan to be used again. Never.

 

And that IS sad.

 

I won't ever know the joy of sitting shoulder to shoulder on the couch to look at pictures (yes, real glossy photographs pasted in a scrapbook) of our wedding day or our first car, first pet, first child, first grandchild.

 

I haven't built a history with someone who stood by me when that health scare struck (the one when I drove myself to the hospital for the biopsy). There is no shared frame of reference for not making the same mistakes with one child that we made with the first one. When one of us loses the ability for physical intimacy, the option of walking away isn't an option at all. The " pick" laid the foundation. And then it's about making the commitment  more than words.

 

I know two young women who are currently planning their weddings. I wish someone had told me all of this when I was 22, fresh out of college and about to marry. For the first time.

 

If someone had, maybe I would be getting ready to celebrate my 43rd anniversary.

 

Instead, I'm back at "the pick."

 

 



Shades of truth......

The opposite of "the truth" is a lie.

Right?

The older I get, the more maturity I acquire, the less I believe this.

Life used to be so precise for me. It was either right or it was wrong. White was reflection of all colors, and thus the opposite of black. Simple. Clear cut.

Not so much any more. I now view beautiful shades of pearl and silver, gray and slate, all shouldering their way into the space separating black from white on the spectrum of experience. But life is also overflowing now with paint cans of uncertainty.

It's rather disconcerting. But it forces me to listen more closely, to observe others more humanely. The truth told by one person and contradicted by another might still represent the truth. It doesn't mean that one of them is "lying." I have found that it very often means their personal experiences of the same event were vastly different or that time has molded their truth into a protective cover, one that was necessary for survival.

This happened to me recently. I heard one story, then a completely different version of that "truth." I pondered. I chewed on it. I stewed.  And then I thought, "What difference does it make to me right now, other than the fact that I simply must know 'the truth'?"

Do I really? Does it matter to my life today? Or is it all simply more drama?

Both versions painted shades of the truth for the people it encompassed. It serves some purpose for them. And even if I am one of those people, I have my own truths, too, my own recollections of how things unwrapped themselves within the context of my life. Eternally unique.

 

“The truth is rarely pure and never simple.” 
Oscar Wilde    

 

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