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    

 

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

Breaking rules......

 It had already flipped as I rounded the curve but the back window shattered as the car came down on its roof and the crash was followed by an eerie silence. I pulled over and jumped out, phone in hand as I dialed 911. Another vehicle stopped and its driver joined me as I gave the dispatcher the location. We peered into the car, its wheels still spinning, but we heard nothing. As we walked to the other side, the one that wasn’t quite as smashed, we saw movement. The driver was a young woman, strapped into the car by the seat belt, and she was now hanging upside down, probably dazed and unsure of what had happened.

The man spoke to her, but only got whimpering in return. I don’t think she even knew where she was right then, much less that there was someone talking to her. It’s strange the things one’s mind does in a situation like this: all she seemed concerned with was the fact that her skirt, now pulled up around her waist, was exposing too much of her to strangers. She kept trying to pull it down, vainly of course. After all, she was upside down, hanging from the strap that probably saved her life. 

And her phone was in her hand. Had she picked it up after the car flipped or had she been using it at the time? We saw no blood, and she was moving quite a bit, struggling to free herself and get that errant skirt in place. More people had stopped but no one else came closer. Did they want to gawk or what? Are these the same people who slow down and create backups on the highway when they pass a bad accident, waiting to see….what? We asked if anyone had a knife so the seat belt could be cut.

The young man closest to us shook his head. “You should wait until rescue gets here, man. You’re not supposed to move her.”

You’ve read the articles in the media of schools that expel 5 year children for having a butter knife in their lunchboxes to spread their PB & J, right? Well, here was another example standing in front of me. Someone who hears a “rule” and applies it the same way in every instance, with no thought process accompanying it. It can be a school principal or teacher, a politician, a city council member, a parent.....or a bystander at an accident scene.

It’s happened to me before. One day, a student in my classroom began to have a seizure, and I knelt next to her and laid my hand on her arm to let her know that someone was there. Not to move her, or restrain her, or try to get her to “stop.” Just to offer human kindness in that moment, whether she was even aware of it or not. Suddenly, another teacher came shrieking through the connecting door. “DON’T TOUCH HER!! YOU’RE NOT SUPPOSED TO TOUCH HER!!”  That woman berated me for days about that in front of my class and anyone else who would listen, seemingly incapable of seeing the situation for what it was at that moment. Of course I know about seizures and neck or back injuries and the fact that bystanders can do more harm than good sometimes.

But I also am a mature, thinking human being who is observant enough to assess a specific situation and make some judgments about how to proceed, even if it’s only to lay my hand on an arm to offer solace. I know that I’m not an expert in emergency situations; but I am an educated person who has a great deal of information in my head, as well as a heart that is capable of offering comfort to someone who is hurting in some way.

As it turned out, the young woman in the car was able to unsnap the seat belt herself, and she crawled out of the car just enough to straighten her clothes and sit up on the grass. I laid my hand on her head (no, I didn’t twist it or attempt to move her any more but I did let her know that she wasn’t alone), and told her that help was on the way, all would be fine. She appeared to be okay, but was still dazed. She was intent on making a phone call but was too disoriented to make that happen, and insisted she didn’t need any assistance from rescue, which I’m sure is normal under the circumstances. I’ve never flipped a car, so I’m only guessing here. And shortly after that, I left. I don’t know what happened to her, but I’m sure the whole experience was frightening for her. I hope she’s okay.

What I do know is that sometimes unthinking adherence to “the rules” stands in the way of common sense and humanity.

“Know the rules well, so you can break them effectively.”
Dalai Lama

Bringing home the bacon.....

Murky, murky, murky. Life just gets less and less transparent as the years go by. Highly inconvenient, I must admit.

I might have thought....if I had thought about it at all.....that age and the accompanying maturity would lend itself to knowing the answers a litte faster or easier than when we clattered around in our 20s or 30s. Maybe even longer depending on some folks' inability to learn from mistakes.

I'm a very independent woman, a state that is a result of both my personality as well as the circumstances of my life. Raising children on your own will do that, believe me. You learn quickly that there are few people you can truly rely on, maybe even having the axiom, "If you want something done right, do it yourself" stenciled on your living room wall. In bright red.

But the longer you live within that bubble of self-sufficiency the less it appears that you need anyone else or their help for anything at all. Many women build walls that are strong and often tower over those (and I mean men, of course) who get too close, either inadvertantly or with good intentions of being useful.

Soon we begin to believe it ourselves, the fact that we don't need anyone, we can take care of ourselves, thank you very much, so everyone needs to stand back behind that solid concrete wall, that one that we erected over the years for protection.

But the problem is that we DO need each other in lots of ways that have nothing to do with one gender being "weaker" or "stronger."  It has to a lot to do with the undeniable symbiosis inherent in being human in our culture, and less to do with gender inequities that still exist whether we like to think so or not.

I can carry on successfully by myself.....if we're measuring success by dollars and cents. Our culture, though, sometimes traps both men and women into identity roles that we don't even notice after a while. We're so used to clutching either our independence or our deeply ingrained sense of role tightly to our chests that we miss each other completely. The fact that I could support myself was not the same as not needing anything.

I didn't need a man to pay my bills or "bring home the bacon" but I did need someone to support me emotionally. Life is hard, and it is nice to have a shoulder to cry on or a hand to hold as we face the storms together.

Rather than being constrained by the male/female roles of weak vs strong that still slither around the edges of our society, maybe we should just all relax and be human instead. I can ask for help without threatening my independence, and it can be offered without fear of being rebuffed as sexist.

I used to think this was all so clear.

"Limits exist only in the mind."

 

Dancing fool finis.....or not

"Those who dance are considered insane by those

who cannot hear the music.” 

George Carlin

 

This is a hard one. It has been percolating for weeks, working its way to the forefront of my attention, and now clamors to be released. The writing process for me is much like a coffee pot in that respect, the idea getting hotter and hotter, my attention turning to it more frequently the higher the internal temperature rises, until I simply cannot keep my fingers off the keyboard no matter how hot those keys are. Or how much it hurts to release the lid of the pot.

 

George's words caught my attention, because I feel a bit insane right now. Many of you will remember when this Dancing Fool was born [http://agedtoperfectiondeborahhansen.blogspot.com/2011/05/dancing-fool.html] the day my feet dragged me into a dance studio as my "one thing I had never done" for that month. It was April 28, 2011. And my life changed forever.

 

I was 62 years old and I was terrified of dancing. I had been my entire life. You know how it is, I know you do: We think everyone is watching us, judging us, even laughing at our awkward attempts to move our feet and bodies in time with the music. (I learned that they aren't. They're only thinking about their own clumsy feet, but that's a topic for another day.)

 

I have become more adventurous as I aged, but I really only intended to take that one lesson and quickly check it off my bucket list. Life has its way with us, though, and I signed up for dozens of lessons with my instructor, a young man who taught me the basics of the waltz, tango, cha cha, swing, hustle, and salsa. No one was more surprised than me at these new turns on the dance floor.

 

He moved to another studio and I followed. I brought him a new student, a man who later became more than a potential dance partner. (He was only taking lessons to....well, that really is a story for another day.) My instructor put on an open house, and he and I danced the waltz in front of my friends and family, a magical experience for me that proved that you CAN teach a not-so-young woman new things.

I learned to trust someone else to lead. I learned to listen and not talk, even if I disagreed with the instruction given. I learned to stop thinking and just move, a torturous thing for someone who has lived solely in her head. I learned to smile and never stop moving. I learned to continue to move forward and not look back. My body literally changed shape as a result of using it in new ways. My love of music now has a physical manifestation that is wondrously satisfying to me. All of this was unexpected and brought such beauty to my life. For those two hours every week, I was transported to another place, one that transcended my problems, my irritations, my every day life.

The result? I can now walk onto the dance floor and do just about any dance anyone wishes to do. In fact, I can't stop moving, as those around me can attest. My feet and my body sway, tap, twirl, accompanied by a beat no one but me hears.

 

Which makes the sudden, ripping away of my dance lessons even more difficult. The details are not important to anyone but me, I'm sure. We trust people, and then we find out we shouldn't have, but would we have done anything differently if it meant never experiencing it at all?

 I will never regret dancing my way into a new life, filled with beauty and grace. No, I wouldn't change any of this for a second, regardless of its difficult end.

I guess George was right about the insanity.

"You must understand the whole of life, not just one little part of it. That is why you must read, that is why you must look at the skies, that is why you must sing, and dance, and write poems, and suffer,

and understand, for all that is life.”

 

 

      

Breaking bad.....

I can break rules now, too.

Well, I've always been a bit of a rule breaker, I think. It's just that now, as an "older" person, I can get away with it a little easier.

You know how it goes.  Younger people think we're non-entities anyway, so no one cares if we snap a few proclamations along the way, mainly because they're not paying attention to us any more.

What fun we can have during all this anonymity, right?

Turn my cell phone off as soon as I enter the library? I don't think so. Surely they mean they don't want to hear phones ringing all up and down the stacks, but my business depends on customers reaching me, even if I happen to make a stop to check out a book. So how about just setting it on vibrate? That's one of the delights of self-employment; I can actually have a life during the day, and my phone doesn't need to be turned off to make everyone happy.

Or "don't cross the solid white line" as I attempt to get from one side of the river to the other on the three-mile long bridge near my home. That would work fine IF drivers had much sense at all, which appears to be not only debatable but impossible. Maybe they're all under the age of 30 and learned to drive playing video games. So, in their minds, everything is a drag race, and no one EVER lets another car merge in to their lane, right? Apparently not.

Therefore, the white line and I are invisible to each other, as I cruise alongside the lane I really want to be in, and then I merge over when it's safe and I can manage it. That's the way the whole thing is supposed to work, if ONLY we assisted each other just a tad. 

I realize that breaking rules that also happen to be laws is a risky undertaking. I can personally attest to that one.

The trooper who pulled me over one day for speeding (on wet pavement to boot) asked me very politely if there was a particular reason I was exceeding the speed limit by about 20 miles per hour. I smiled, he smiled back, and I owned up to the fact that I had broken the law. But that's another mark of aging to perfection.

We know what we're doing while we're doing it. And as I break the rule, I implicity choose the consequences, too.

But life is a lot more fun now, I can tell you that.

If I'd observed all the rules, I'd never have got anywhere.
Marilyn Monroe

Looking for trouble......

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

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

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

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

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

$1.35.   

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Bertrand Russell



Weather energy.......

What IS it with the men I know and weather? I know, I know....generalizations are unfair. But I'm speaking here from my own personal space on this planet, and that small square of ground has convinced me that men hit the floor in the morning and head directly to one of two places, (well, after the obvious first one, I mean): To the television or to their computer. 


Not to check their email. Nope. Or post their status on Facebook. No way. 


They immediately check that moving multi-colored map that shows the weather conditions in their slice of the world.


"Hey, honey! This radar looks BAD for the next TWO WEEKS! Don't we have a barbeque party scheduled  in about 10 days??"


"Look at all that red and yellow on this map, kids! And it's moving fast. I will be POURING here any minute. I'll call the coach and see if they've cancelled the game!"


OK, I think to myself. You do that. I've got to go grocery shopping, the cat needs food (and THAT is a circumstance I do fear), and the kids need supplies for a school project that was due yesterday and I just found out about it today when I went through one of their backpacks. The weather? You're kidding, right?


Does this weather update mean I get to stay home, snuggle under a comfy blanket while I read the hottest new novel?  Right.


On what planet would that happen, I want to know? Nothing changes in reality. Not a thing. My umbrella is in the car, ready to escort me as I make my way through my day, come rain, sleet, snow, or hail. The mail carrier has nothing on me.


It even happens on the phone, for Pete's sake. I call him to say "hello" in the midst of a busy day. "I was thinking about you. How is your day?" 


"WOW, did you hear about the storm brewing in the Gulf? Bad stuff!" 


Okey, dokey, then.


As I have aged, I gave up paying attention to weather forecasters. Decades ago, actually. It seems that they are one of two brand of professionals who don't even have to be right for people to keep tuning in. Gluttons for punishment that we all seem to be. Plus, if I'm not going to alter my plans based on what they "predict according to the latest models," what's the point? 


So, guys: How about diverting all that "weather energy" to something more useful? Like buying cat food before the cat is hiding behind walls and jumping out to bite our ankles in hunger? Or talking about the latest political polls or what we'll do for the kids' birthday? Something, anything.....except the weather.


What's that you say? You want to know the other category that can be consistently wrong and still keep their jobs? That one is easy. 


Economists.

                                        
 Don't knock the weather; nine-tenths of the people couldn't start a conversation if it didn't change once in a while.
                                                                                      Kin Hubbard 

 

How can I help?

On our way back home after a cruise to Bermuda, we stopped for lunch at one of those eateries hunkered down along interchanges every where. You know the ones. The servers shout their orders to the cook. The one standing two feet away. 

              For the next 30 minutes, we listened to a young woman chatter about her after-work plans, as she stood stationary for long periods of time. Then she and the manager, a woman not much older than this young chatty person, argued about what she was supposed to be doing. All in full view of a captive audience of hungry travelers, including me. The cook was the only male employee present in a crew of about six, and he kept quiet, probably for good reason. 

           The contrast between this group of service folks and the crew on the ship we had just left was stark. We had been catered to and waited on for over a week by a multi-national group of young people who worked together like the gears of an expensive Swiss timepiece. They smiled, they chatted politely with their customers, they anticipated what we might need. And then they provided it. There was no extraneous conversation between them. No complaining about the boss. No wailing about how unfair life is, or what they were planning when they got off duty. We were the center of their universe, at least while they were on the clock.

           José from Haiti made orange juice every morning in the buffet area. This twenty-six year old can’t possibly like orange juice as much as it seemed, but he made all of us want it as soon as our eyes opened every day. We sat at a table nearby, just to watch him greet people as they came by, and soon he was addressing them by name. He said that he chose this job because “Everyone has to work,” and it provided a good income. He hasn’t married yet, because being away from home and family for months at a time is tough, he said. 

           Did you know that when you leave your cabin on a ship, the steward cleans up after you? Every time. Leslie from Trinidad and Tobago was our steward and she agreed with José. She has two children back home and after eight months at sea, she is looking forward to two months off soon. But she is providing for her family.

          The cruise industry ranks high on the list of pastimes for many people, but especially for older people who have amassed the means and time to travel in style. There were over 2000 people on this majestic vessel, and it isn’t even one of the larger ships sailing the seas today. When travelers mark their customer satisfaction surveys, one of the top scores has to rest on the fact that everything is done for you while on board. And it is done efficiently, quietly, and with a smile. 

           Any other service-oriented business could take a lesson. Beginning with that restaurant on I-95.

Do what you do so well that they will want to see it again and bring their friends.

Walt Disney

A-HA!

It seems that we're never too old for an "A-HA!" moment. I had one hit me between the eyes the other day, right in the middle of a conversation. I was carrying on of my near-monologues with a new person in my life. Oh, he talks to me, there's no problem with that. We talk a lot. It's just that I have a tendency toward philosophical discourse and I sometimes verbally follow the thread of my  mental gyrations while my audience sits and waits it out.

Maybe that's why I have a change purse that says it all, right there printed on the side in bright colors: "Consider me a challenge!"

And that was the topic of our conversation. Relationships. Hunkering down for the long haul. Navigating the passageways flowing between two people who have already seen a lot, if not all there is to experience when someone catches another's attention.

Marriage and I have been bedmates a couple of times (pun intended, we need to have fun where we can in life), but not successful companions, I admit. I CAN be a challenge, although I'm also kind, patient, and loving. And we were talking about that when I said, "I'm just me, and I don't apologize for that any more."

Too many times we get involved with someone, all is well at first, and then we start trying to change that person to fit some mold we have in our heads of the "perfect" man or woman for us.

What's up with that, anyway? 

Two people come together for a reason, some traits that tickled the fancy initially. And then, over time, we start noticing things we wish were different. But we shouldn't be in a relationship to change the other person, or to be changed by them. If that becomes part of the deal, we need to keep looking.

But then it hit me: I can't change the other person, nor should I want to, BUT I can try to be the best version of me that I can possibly be. I like this person....a lot.....so why shouldn't I want to please him as much as possible? Won't that end up pleasing me, too?

I know my strengths, but I also am very familiar with my weaknesses, those characteristics that do not play out well in close proximity to other people.

For example, I know exactly when I cross the line from involved to controlling. My brain also can now monitor my mouth whenever I choose to do so, instead of watching in horror as I say things that cut deep, only regretting them, too late, as the blood from the wound flows around our feet.

Our skin may wrinkle, our memory may weaken, but it seems we always have the capacity to see new paths open up in front of us. Mine hit me squarely between the eyes with a mighty "A-HA!" that can improve my life in many ways. I'm not interested in changing HIM, but I certainly can improve ME in ways that I know are already there inside.

It is never too late to be who

you might have been.

George Eliot

What's that tattoo say??

What's with the bruising? I walk around looking like a social worker might want to take notice, with mean looking bruises on my legs and arms, all from seemingly insignificant bumps against things like the edges of desk drawers that SOMEBODY left open. One day I caused a bruise on my thigh by resting a heavy box on my leg as I balanced to open a door, although I forgot what I had done as I watched the brown welt turn colors over the next few days. Where did THAT come from? (Impaired memory as we age, coupled with a tendency to bruise easier makes for really fun thought experiments, take my word for it.)

It makes getting dressed for a semi-formal event (I don't go to formal events, so no problem there) a bit difficult, what with the fact that no one wears pantyhose any more.The women, I mean. Here I've got bruises and other unexplained brown spots on my legs...which USED to be one of my best body parts...and nowhere to hide them, unless I want to highlight my age YET AGAIN by wearing pantyhose with my sexy strappy sandals. I've even tried concealer on my legs, but I ended up leaving it on the seat at the concert hall downtown. Bet they didn't like that as they cleaned up after the show. And afterwards, I had all those distracting, blotchy marks showing anyway.

Maybe the answer is tanning. No wait.....that causes cancer. And someone my age tries to protect the ones we have left, the years I mean, so purposely chalking time off the tote board of life doesn't make sense. Does it? I think most people know that those tanning beds are life-stealers, but they seem to be busy all the time, anyway.

Just last week, the nice saleslady in the lingerie department looked at ME with suspicion when she saw the huge bruise on my mother's arm...the one she got from running into a rack in ANOTHER store the week before. That woman was thinking about calling social services on me, I swear she was.

It's a conundrum. If you're under age 50 or so, you have no idea what I'm talking about, other than to recall the "old people" you know who do seem to have lots of bruises tattooing their bodies. You will, too, no matter how you try to hide behind that trite "But it will be different for me!" wishful thinking. All those secret thoughts you have about "old people" (don't lie, I know you have them) will come back to laugh and point in your face someday. Save this column to remind you.

Maybe that's the answer, though. Bruises can be the new tattoo art for those of us marked without the benefit of needles. Our skin is already sagging, too, so we won't have to listen to that boring warning about "What do you think that tattoo is going to look like when you're old and have sagging skin?"

I'm going to throw all my pantyhose away now.

"Life is full of bumps and bruises. It's what you learn from it and what you do with it that makes you who you are."

Change, and then change again.....

Life is all about perspective, isn't it? We all have one, and it's often very different from the person sitting next to me, or walking with me, or looking at me with disdain as I navigate through my day.

But as we age, some strange things begin to happen. We either lose total sight of everyone else's right to even have a different perspective, or we embrace the fact that life is like a carousel, with constantly changing people and viewpoints around us as we ride those brightly colored horses labelled "experiences." I hope I'm in the latter group.

Last week I accomplished my "thing I've never done before" for the month, which showed me my city from a new perspective.

Here in Jacksonville we have an elevated Skyway that consists of a few automated cars that creak along a track through the downtown area. It was built sometime within the past 20 years, and I had never ridden it. (Which illustrates its usefulness around here, but this city has been debating THAT point ever since the little self-propelled car pulled away from the station the very first time.) I can remember when my now 28-year old daughter was a little girl, we stood and watched it on occasion, and said "We should do that some day." But we never did.

 So, downtown I went last week with a friend to ride the Skyway. I'm not sure why it was free (THAT'S a new perspective!), but we went through the turnstile and up to the platform. I looked down on the roof of the cars in the parking lot below, huddled like toy vehicles scattered across the dirt. We don't often get to see how dirty the roof of our car is, do we?

We boarded the next car that came by, not really knowing where we were going. I've gotten much better at that, too, as I have aged. I don't always need to know where I'm going....life has been so much more fun operating in the dark, too.

I saw the central plaza in the city from above the trees, and city hall workers on the 4th floor peering out at us as we rode by. We crossed the St. Johns River that runs through our huge urban area, and saw it stretched outside the windows, our ever-present reminder that nature is mightier than we are, no matter how much we try to puff ourselves up.

I saw myself looking at, well, me in the reflection of a passing building, an admonition that there are eyes everywhere, a lesson we all learn the first time we do something we think no one will EVER find out. And then we get found out. It never fails.

There weren't many people riding the Skyway, although we met a nice gentleman, impeccably dressed, who rides for entertainment every day. We encountered two young women (twice!) who seemed to be students, and were using the train to get to the college downtown. But their perspective remained focused on the little screens on their phones, as do most young people today. Some day they will realize that life happens elsewhere, but who am I to spoil their fun?

Perspectives change over time, too. Riding the Skyway showed me new views of the city I have lived in for nearly 30 years, giving me a new perspective of my home....at least until it changes again. 

Just like we do.

No rehab for stupidity......

I've learned that years do not equal understanding. At all.

The chalkboard of events that make no sense, are illogical, incomprehensible, and well, let's face it, just plain stupid seems to grow every day. Here I thought some magic genie would start riding on my shoulder at some point (the shoulder that hurts all the time) and whisper words of wisdom in my ear. I was wrong....again.

And some of these things can set me off on a rant with little provocation, probably because they have been so persistently puerile that a mere whiff of them can provoke me in an instant. I know, I know.....what good does it do to get upset? None, but it feels good anyway, doesn't it?

You're trying to figure out what some of my favorites are, aren't you? Maybe they are yours, too.

Why, oh, WHY do I have to wait...and wait....and wait at a red left turn arrow, when all I can see coming toward me is three or more lanes of NOTHING? Is it because there are so many people who learned to drive by playing video games that they can't be trusted to understand that when we actually hit a real car people get hurt? Idiots, in other words, have caused our "traffic engineers" to treat us all that way.

Alert! to all those nefarious persons who seek to destroy. (I started to use the "T" word, but you can get in trouble these days, with guys in black suits showing up on your front lawn if you're not careful.) Anyway, start looking for 75+ year olds to carry your tools of destruction for you. The TSA announced, loud and clear recently, that they had relaxed the rules for older folks at airport security checkpoints. This is equivalent to me taking out an ad with my address in it before I leave on a 2 week vacation. How nice for the bad guys......

Do I really trust a scientific community that studies the sexual frustration of fruit flies?? REALLY??

And, surely we all understand by now that we're supposed to "wait for the tone" to leave a message on someone's voice mail, much less "simply hang up" when we're done? I think we've got it by now, even old geezers like me.

I don't get high, but sometimes I wish I did. That way, when I messed up in life I would have an excuse.

But right now there's no rehab for stupidity.

Chris Rock



Hotel rooms by the hour....

Here's a silly question: How many hours are really in a day? I know as we get older it seems that they fly by, faster and faster, as we march to that day (there's that word again) when it won't matter any more. I'm not trying to be morbid here.....the "day" issue is bugging me.

Oh....you want to know why it's gotten under my skin? Well, you know me: I'm about to share that with you!

It seems that in hotels and other such places, a "day" is defined by some strange calculation that has to do with cleaning rooms or something. Towels washed, maybe? But NOT with accomodating guests who might want to stay an actual DAY in that lovely place.

Recently I was calling around, trying to find a room for an upcoming wedding in another city. Which starts at 5 PM. Now stay with me here: I am driving for about 2 hours to get there and would like to check in, shower, dress, get made up, (which, let's face it, takes longer as we age, right?), and catch my breath before we head off to a location that is unknown to me. So, age having provided me some wisdom, I leave time to get lost and then find my way to the wedding venue, park (you never know what that's going to be like, either), and to the right location for the wedding INSIDE the venue. (We all know how big some of those places are. You can walk forever just to find a bathroom.)

Check in times ran from 3 PM to 6 PM. Yep, 6 PM. Oh, no problem, I told my mother. They'll let us check in earlier to get ready if we only explain the situation. Wrong. They didn't care. "Sorry, we can't guarantee that any rooms will be cleaned any earlier from the night before."  Really?

Especially considering that check out time at that same hotel is 11 AM.

So, let's count: Check out time is 11, check in time is 4. That gives them 5 HOURS to turn that facility around, and yes, I understand that some of them are huge. HIRE MORE STAFF! Who are you in business for....your housekeeping staff or, God forbid, your customers??

Which leaves a 19 hour day for the customer who pays a "DAILY RATE" for that room. And that's just using the hours I've indicated above. The one that really blew my mind was the 6 PM check in time, with a noon check out.  And that was a Bed & Breakfast with 6 rooms total! That's 6 full hours subtracted from the length of a day's stay. Even if the innkeeper has to clean all 6 by herself, I could do it in 6 hours. And those of you who actually know me know that would be a painful sight.....but I COULD do it if it meant paying customers on the other end of the agony.

I guess one solution would be for all hotels to charge by the hour, just like some of those, well, you know.....

So, how many hours ARE there in a day? There are 24...unless you enter a time warp of hotel accomodations. Then they suck some of them right out of you at the front desk upon check in.

Time is making fools of us again. ~J.K. Rowling

Stymied, stumped, perplexed......

I'm stymied.  Perplexed.  Stumped, in other words.

You would think that by the time one reaches 60+ that just about everything that can happen would have by now....wouldn't you?

You would be wrong, my young friends. After all, that's why this series of revelations was started many months ago: To enlighten younger people about the vagaries of getting older, especially in a society that affords little respect to age (unless it's bourbon or wine, but that's a story for another day).

Without implicating those who have wandered innocently into my life, I must admit that I'm in a quandry right now. The "scratching my head, tossing a coin, asking the uninvolved for advice, even reading tea leaves" brand of dilemma of a sort that I have never encountered. Or at least I haven't for a very long time.

I guess if we embrace the designation of "Active Masters" (instead of  "the aged" or "senior citizen"), we are keeping ourselves smack in the middle of the flow of life, instead of sitting in a rocking chair gathering cobwebs until the hearse shows up. And life is messy, no matter at what age it is flowing around you.

And sometimes you get drenched, whether you are 16, 36, or 63. It's messy, that's for sure. There will be rocks hidden under the surface.

But I'll take a little disarray or a scraped knee over creaking boredom on my front porch any day.

Youth, large, lusty, loving Youth, full of grace, force, fascination.
Do you know that Old Age may come after you with

equal grace, force, fascination?Walt Whitman

Getting comfortable.....

We're not a comfortable couple, never have been.

A bit stand off-ish.

We just don't understand one another. Maybe there's even a little fear involved. Certainly not the basis for a healthy relationship.


But last week we took a step to learn more about one another, and I must admit, we're much more comfortable in each other's presence.


Guns and me.....who would have thought?


But in order to shoot a hand gun, my "thing I had never done before" for February, I was required to take the NRA Basic Pistol Safety Course, a two hour session that forced us to become acquainted on an intimate level: the parts of a gun, how it operates, how to keep our sights straight, where not to point it (at anything you don't intend to destroy), and how to take care of one another. All relationships are built on these things, it seems to me.


At the end of the second hour sitting in a chair, I was getting antsy, ready to get my hands on my partner in a real way. So, off to the range we went, ear muffs, goggles, pistols and semiautomatics. My instructor finally got us together, and I have to admit, the lessons helped. We made beautiful music together.

There is now less fear and more understanding, essentials for any relationship. Do I plan on moving in with my new companion? No, we're still a little hesitant around each other, and it's probably best that we live apart. But it was great fun for a one-day stand, and the whole experience supported the axiom that knowledge is power. I am not going to run out and apply for a permit to carry a gun, but I know I would feel more comfortable with a weapon in my house if I change my mind.


Thanks for my instructor, Ed Blaker, who was patient and kind to this liberal who showed up on his doorstep without much notice on a Sunday. (The fact that he kissed my hand has absolutely nothing to do with it.)


And, Jack...thank you for, well, you know. You saved my February adventure when we had to go to Plan B!

 ”The great object is that every man be armed. Everyone who is able may have a gun.”
~Patrick Henry

 

Get out the sledgehammer......

Assisted living centers.

Nursing homes.

Clunky plastic shoes.

Unending doctors' visits.

Arid, sexless unions.

Steel gray hair.

Golf carts parked in the carport.

Rocking chairs.

Ticking clocks in the silence instead of rock and roll at full volume.

                  Do you have the visual yet? Go ahead....I'll wait.

Now that you have it, destroy it! With a sledgehammer if you must.

Apparently my subconscious had that visual in place for decades, just biding its time until the clock ticked over to age 60 for me a few years ago. I didn't realize that I had that perception of life after that particular age, but based on my reaction when the calendar flipped over to December 28 a few years ago, that is exactly what I thought.


I was OLD. Life was essentially over for me. I was depressed for months that year. And I know that most people under the age of about 50 have that same perception. If  you don't believe me, just ask them at what age they will be "old." I bet that most of them say 60.


With that, they think life will consist of the list I provided above, with the essence of existence sucked right out of them. 


Instead I find vibrant people who not only refuse to buy into that stereotype, they are secretly amused by it. They don't have to prove anything to anyone, and they know it. 

I know it now.


And then the fun began.....just ask me about it. I'll be glad to tell you!

The old are in a second childhood.

ARISTOPHANES, The Cloud

 

I can but I don't want to......

I can hit a softball pretty good.

I can shoot a basketball and get it near the net at least.

I can organize and pull off an event, from a parent's sports meeting to a church social and everyone will have a great time.

I can park outside a VERY large discount store that sounds like an amusement park and walk all the way to the back to buy, well, whatever they sell back there in the mists.

But I don't want to.

And by the time one reaches my age, we have the right to say that. No excuses, no diversionary tactics, no verbal deflections. Simply, "I don't want to do that."

We no longer have much to prove to others, or, perhaps more importantly, to ourselves. I know my strengths, and I got to be a master at them. Sometimes I still even enjoy participating in the activity once it starts, but the planning, the internal stress, the snafus that always happen, I don't miss those at all.

So, I step aside and let the younger folks knock themselves out. I sit in my hot tub, or go dancing, or sit on the dock and watch the clouds pass by overhead in the sky. I'll be glad to offer my advice, if I am asked, but other than that, I have better things to do.....or not. The choice is mine.

I also shop at stores that only park about 20 vehicles.

Old dogs and new tricks.....

You have all heard it, too:

"You can't teach an old dog new tricks."

Oh, yes, you can. I'm walking proof of it, so I have no patience for others in my age group (or older) who use the statement as their default excuse for everything.

You know, the ones who say things like, "I've been this way my whole life! I can't change now." Mutter, grumble, whine........

What they really mean is that they don't WANT to change. They want everyone else to pat them on the head, either literally or figuratively, and give them a free pass to demean, moan, belittle, and complain their way through the rest of their lives.

Don't plan on it around me, that's all I can say. Although I have no definitive explanation for it, I went through one metamorphasis at age 35 that reconfigured my personality and thus, my life. I often "joke" that I learned to talk at age 35 and haven't stopped talking since.

It's not a joke. Those who have been on the receiving end of some of my verbal dissertations can attest to it, too.

Then about a year ago I morphed again, but this time I know why. It was deliberate and well-planned, although it has worked better than even I had envisioned. I was bored with myself. Life presented itself to me each day in shades of gray, the mist hovering around my head like a perpetual storm cloud just waiting to envelop me. To be honest, it didn't matter to me if I woke up the next day or not.

And then a book offered me a way out of my ennui, and I embarked on a year of new experiences that has delivered me out of the gray mist.I dance through my days, I smile all the time, and most importantly, I have taken back my life.  It's up to me to be happy.....and I am.

So, don't default around me. I have no patience for it.

Plus, I'm just having too much fun to listen to you!

Growing old is mandatory; growing up is optional. ~Chili Davis

Disconnected......

Jimmy Buffett and I need to hang out. You know those people who are famous or otherwise high profile that you know in your bones would be great friends if you could just get to them? JImmy is one of those for me. (Simon Cowell, too, but that's a story for another day.....for sure.)

I was listening to one of Jimmy's greatest hits albums in my car the other day. The specific song is not important.....and I don't remember the name of it anyway.....but he was lamenting the concept of "supersizing" at movie theaters, ending with the cry "I don't want that much organization in my life!"

Me, neither. A little order is necessary, especially if one is in a professional position. But a little of that goes a very long way, to fall back on a cliche. Yes, a VERY long way.

This particular point smacked me in the face last week as I traveled out of town on business with the young woman who runs the company I work for. For a short period last year, I ached to buy an iPhone. Other expenses took higher priority, though, so I am forced to stick with my tiny, outdated cell phone.

Well, hallelujah is all I can say!  Technology has added much to our lives, there is no doubt about that. We can keep in touch in ways that were unheard of a few years ago.But my traveling companion spent the entire trip, right up until her head hit the pillow each night, answering email and text messges from customers and the office back home.

She is never off duty.

I don't want that much organization in my life. Ever. But we are allowing one another unlimited access to our lives through the use of these devices, our stress level rising every day until we each reach our personal flash points.

And I don't want to know what that point is for me. So, Jimmy and I are sitting out here by the pool with my antiquated phone silent next to me.

Plus, I bet it's five o'clock somewhere.