The temperature is only supposed to be in the mid-90’s today. Woo hoo! The dogs have had their walk; I’ve had my coffee and read my paper. Life is good. About darn time! And yes, I am kidding. It’s strange though, how it’s the small things in life that can make our life good or bad.
Last week ago my life was bad. Beeping bad. My security alarm battery went low on a Tuesday evening at 10:30. I knew this because my system to start to be beep incessantly and because my security company was kind enough to call me with a recorded message telling me this – just in case I didn’t hear the beep-beep-beep that echoed through the house. Naturally wanting the blessed beeping to stop, I called the security company back. I listened to my options, although they were hard to hear through the beep-beep-beep. Option 1 – did I want to buy a security system? Nope, got one and not necessarily happy having it right now. Option 2 – was my alarm system going off? No, but I couldn’t help wondering if it were, why wouldn’t that be considered more important than me buying a system? The beeping beeped out options 3 & 4 but I held on and finally got a real person who asked what I wanted. Yea!
“I want to stop the beeping.”
“It’s beeping because your batter is low.”
“I realize that and I will get one but it’s 10:30 at night and I need the beeping to stop so the dogs and I can go to sleep.”
“Certainly, ma’am. Enter your code into the system and the beeping will stop for a few hours.”
Need I say that this was not what I wanted to hear at this beeping point in time? Or that our conversation went around in circles with her saying I need a new battery installed and then the beeping would stop.
“Great – then send the serviceman, please.” Note that I was still minding my manners.
“Certainly. I have an opening for next Monday.”
This was a Tuesday night. Next Monday was, hum, six beeping days later? No beeping way I could wait that long!
I decided the next morning after a night of getting up every two hours that it was time to get firm with the security company. After all, they work for me, right? I’m paying them. Makes sense to me. I called Wednesday morning and requested that a service man be sent that day. If not, then I would discontinue my service. The lady on the other end of the phone knew I was serious because after she said they couldn’t any one out until Friday, she transferred me to customer service to have my service disconnected. Thoroughly angered now, I thought fine. I don’t need their darn old security system anyway. However, my sense of empowerment waned when I heard “We will discontinue your service for you, ma’am but you will still need to get a new battery or the beeping will continue.”
Guess you can see where it is going. Yes, they won the battle. Yes, I finally got my original scheduled service man to come on the following Monday. Yes, I kept the service because I can’t afford to install a new system.
But I won the battle too though. I stopped the beeping, not them. Any guy reading this won’t get it but you gals will. Unplugging the battery was simple but the big metal box that housed it was intimidating with all of its locks, screws and maze of wires. Years ago I rewired a lamp. When I plugged it in, sparks flew out the outlet, I got a new hairdo, and the entire apartment complex went dark. Needless to say, I am afraid of electricity. The beeping forced me to face my fear and empowered me to unplug that battery. Who’s the real winner in this story? Yep. Me.
P.S. However, if I ever win the lottery, you betcha I’ll fire their … and with pleasure.
Sunday, July 1, 2012
Sunday, June 17, 2012
It's Electrifying
It's a rainy Sunday afternoon. I've cleaned house (in my style which is tackle one room until you drop and the heck with the others), have the washing machine doing its thing, and I'm relaxing with my pups. Well, my body is relaxed but the mind is busy thinking of having to get ready for work tomorrow while reviewing the past week at work. I tend to multi-think as well as multi-task which should explain why things tend to come out of my mouth not quite in their proper order.
I'm trying to do this thing called aging with grace and style. I'm reading everything I can about how to do it the right way. Right now I'm reading The Last Gift of Time - Life Beyond Sixty which is a great book. In it the author, Carolyn G. Heilbrun talks of knowing when it's the right time to retire. I've probably hung in the work world a tad bit too long (is that another meaning of getting long in the tooth? lol)but when I recall last Friday afternoon with two of my BFCW's (best friend co-workers) I realize that maybe I can hang in there a little longer and maybe I'm finding my own style of aging -- without that much grace but a whole lot of fun.
At least I did this past Friday afternoon. Let me set the scene for you. The bosses are all gone. My office is at the end of the hall with a glass door. J has come into my office to help me watch the clock turn 4:30. Then D drops in. Her Friday has been much more stressful than ours and she's losing control, she says. I have no idea how the subject came up but within minutes of "what was that song" and a click to YouTube, we three were singing and moving to "You Are the One I Want" from the movie, Grease. It was electrifying! We didn't lose total control until D came in right on time and the beat with, "o, o, oo." The singing stopped and the giggles took over.
Was it a pretty sight? Ya betcha. Three grown women feeling 16 again! And looking it! Amazing how wrinkles and stress can be erased with good memories, singing, dancing and laughing. Maybe I'm on to the fountain of youth! If not, it's a good start and a great way to end a stressful work week. Hum, wonder what song we can do next Friday?
I'm trying to do this thing called aging with grace and style. I'm reading everything I can about how to do it the right way. Right now I'm reading The Last Gift of Time - Life Beyond Sixty which is a great book. In it the author, Carolyn G. Heilbrun talks of knowing when it's the right time to retire. I've probably hung in the work world a tad bit too long (is that another meaning of getting long in the tooth? lol)but when I recall last Friday afternoon with two of my BFCW's (best friend co-workers) I realize that maybe I can hang in there a little longer and maybe I'm finding my own style of aging -- without that much grace but a whole lot of fun.
At least I did this past Friday afternoon. Let me set the scene for you. The bosses are all gone. My office is at the end of the hall with a glass door. J has come into my office to help me watch the clock turn 4:30. Then D drops in. Her Friday has been much more stressful than ours and she's losing control, she says. I have no idea how the subject came up but within minutes of "what was that song" and a click to YouTube, we three were singing and moving to "You Are the One I Want" from the movie, Grease. It was electrifying! We didn't lose total control until D came in right on time and the beat with, "o, o, oo." The singing stopped and the giggles took over.
Was it a pretty sight? Ya betcha. Three grown women feeling 16 again! And looking it! Amazing how wrinkles and stress can be erased with good memories, singing, dancing and laughing. Maybe I'm on to the fountain of youth! If not, it's a good start and a great way to end a stressful work week. Hum, wonder what song we can do next Friday?
Sunday, January 22, 2012
Betty White
Last Monday night our fitness instructor couldn’t make it to class so we (the class) were supposed to go upstairs and walk the indoor track instead. Being the exercise buff I’m not, I opted to go back home instead. I’m glad I did. I had forgotten to tape Betty White’s 90th birthday TV bash. I missed the first twenty minutes of it but managed to get the gist of the show. Actually I would say the “gists” of the show but apparently that is not a legit word. Ah, the joys of writing “creative” nonfiction. So the gists of the show were: Betty White was awesome and still is, (most of us named Betty are, you know) and the TV stars that I grew up with and loved are REALLY old! OMG – Mary Tyler Moore, Carl Reiner, Ed Asner, and the one that shook my reality the most – Chevy Chase. I couldn’t believe how much older HE looked and he is only three years older than me. OMG! My mirror has been fibbing to me for how long now?
TV reruns and old movies warp our perception of aging. Laura, Dick Van Dyke’s TV wife, never aged while Mary Tyler Moore did. So did Betty White. I just didn’t notice. Maybe because Betty White and I have been growing older together. She never hid her age but played on it, used it to her advantage, with “Golden Girls”, TV commercials, “Saturday Night Live”, “Hot in Cleveland” and her newest show, “Betty White’s Off Their Rockers”. I felt old watching her birthday party, I felt sad for those who were missing, and at very end, I felt so very lucky for all of us to have the ultimate senior role model, Betty White. As she stood on stage, swaying to the beat of the music and clapping, she looked radiant and vibrant. Just the way I want to look when I turn 90.
TV reruns and old movies warp our perception of aging. Laura, Dick Van Dyke’s TV wife, never aged while Mary Tyler Moore did. So did Betty White. I just didn’t notice. Maybe because Betty White and I have been growing older together. She never hid her age but played on it, used it to her advantage, with “Golden Girls”, TV commercials, “Saturday Night Live”, “Hot in Cleveland” and her newest show, “Betty White’s Off Their Rockers”. I felt old watching her birthday party, I felt sad for those who were missing, and at very end, I felt so very lucky for all of us to have the ultimate senior role model, Betty White. As she stood on stage, swaying to the beat of the music and clapping, she looked radiant and vibrant. Just the way I want to look when I turn 90.
Sunday, January 15, 2012
These Days
Only 15 days into the new year and I’ve come close to breaking two of my New Year Resolutions, blogging and writing, but I have a good excuse. My life is comfortably lacking drama these days so that leaves little to blog about. I am also content these days. Talent plus pain and angst are the bones of good writing. I have a wonderful niece by marriage who proves that because when love goes awry in her life, she writes beautiful poetry. I loved too much when young and endured the pain of loss. I wrote then too though not as beautifully as she does. I am at that stage of my life now when I no longer crave a romantic relationship. 
These days my main squeeze is Petie Pie, a one-eyed dog that stole my heart over a year ago. He doesn’t care if I have no makeup on, or if my clothes match or if I have thinning fly-away hair. He loves me as I am.
I was asked yesterday by a newbie to the 60’s if I was enjoying them, the 60’s. I said no. After writing this, I realize I was wrong. I am enjoying my 60’s. I have a full life with my son, my friends, my job and my beloved pups. My health is good. I pretty much do exactly what I want when I want. I have all that I need and most of what I want. I miss not writing these days though and want that back into my life – minus the pain and angst of youth. So maybe I substitute wisdom or humor instead? Build up new writing bones with exercise? I just hope it won’t be as painful as the pushups and crunches that I do at my exercise classes I go to to build up my real bones these days.
These days my main squeeze is Petie Pie, a one-eyed dog that stole my heart over a year ago. He doesn’t care if I have no makeup on, or if my clothes match or if I have thinning fly-away hair. He loves me as I am.
I was asked yesterday by a newbie to the 60’s if I was enjoying them, the 60’s. I said no. After writing this, I realize I was wrong. I am enjoying my 60’s. I have a full life with my son, my friends, my job and my beloved pups. My health is good. I pretty much do exactly what I want when I want. I have all that I need and most of what I want. I miss not writing these days though and want that back into my life – minus the pain and angst of youth. So maybe I substitute wisdom or humor instead? Build up new writing bones with exercise? I just hope it won’t be as painful as the pushups and crunches that I do at my exercise classes I go to to build up my real bones these days.
Sunday, January 1, 2012
Six New Year Resolutions for 2012
I could write that I am going to try blogging on a weekly basis again. Perhaps if I realized that my blog entries don’t always have to be so long or profound or even very good, they will be easier to do. Okay, I’ve convinced myself. Weekly blog added to the list.
I could write that I want to start writing seriously again but my writing forte seems to be writing humorously instead. Hum, maybe I could sum this resolution up with a wonderfully wise cliché “Go with the Flow.” Add both to the list.
I could write that I’m going to get rid of all the clutter and dust bunnies in my house but whom I am kidding? Not anyone who knows me and you know what, they still like me anyway so this will not be on my list. Aw, on second thought, it is going on the list. Maybe if I have less clutter and dust bunnies, my creative thoughts needed for writing won’t have so many places to hide.
Okay, so I have now added 4 items to my 2012 New Year Resolutions. Top of the list is the one resolution I vow not to break because it seems to be working for me. Keep on doing what I’ve been doing! I’ve been going to my exercise class twice a week (except for the holiday weeks), I have been spending more time with dear friends, and I have been making new ones. The only way I could possibly improve that would be to exercise even more, and spend more time with both old and new friends. Another New Year Resolution and cliché to add to the list – forget moderation, go for the gusto.
Well, that’s done. My New Year resolutions for 2012. I think they are going to be doable except the one that was caused by a grammatical error. Did you catch it? No, not that one! This one: “more” and “exercise” do not go together. Not in my world but then anything is possible and who knows what 2012 will bring! So Happy New Year all and may 2012 bring you the very best of health and happiness!
I could write that I want to start writing seriously again but my writing forte seems to be writing humorously instead. Hum, maybe I could sum this resolution up with a wonderfully wise cliché “Go with the Flow.” Add both to the list.
I could write that I’m going to get rid of all the clutter and dust bunnies in my house but whom I am kidding? Not anyone who knows me and you know what, they still like me anyway so this will not be on my list. Aw, on second thought, it is going on the list. Maybe if I have less clutter and dust bunnies, my creative thoughts needed for writing won’t have so many places to hide.
Okay, so I have now added 4 items to my 2012 New Year Resolutions. Top of the list is the one resolution I vow not to break because it seems to be working for me. Keep on doing what I’ve been doing! I’ve been going to my exercise class twice a week (except for the holiday weeks), I have been spending more time with dear friends, and I have been making new ones. The only way I could possibly improve that would be to exercise even more, and spend more time with both old and new friends. Another New Year Resolution and cliché to add to the list – forget moderation, go for the gusto.
Well, that’s done. My New Year resolutions for 2012. I think they are going to be doable except the one that was caused by a grammatical error. Did you catch it? No, not that one! This one: “more” and “exercise” do not go together. Not in my world but then anything is possible and who knows what 2012 will bring! So Happy New Year all and may 2012 bring you the very best of health and happiness!
Monday, December 26, 2011
A Christmas Hope
This morning, the day after Christmas, I opened the newspaper to see the blood red letters spell “Christmas Day Killings” and large black bold print shouting, “Apparent murder-suicide leaves 7 dead in Grapevine” making my heart shutter for a minute or two. No, it wasn’t my family or friends. No, I don’t live in Grapevine but the city that has a main street like the one I grew up had is close to me. Too close for comfort. I’ve always known on an intelligential level that the Christmas season can bring out the best in us and it can bring out the worst in some of us. I’m feeling it now after this morning.
This Christmas I experienced the best. Step-children and grandchildren who made time for me and seemed thrilled that they were able to finally give me a gift that I didn’t have and really wanted– a Color Nook. The best part though was that they still know me so well even though our lives have become disconnected in some ways. I was able to spend the day before Christmas with girlfriends, enjoying a movie, a meal, and laughs together. Christmas Eve was a gift from two very special friends who shared their hearts and their Christmas spirit with me and another friend. Christmas lights at the Gaylord, dinner, wine, great conversation and so much laughter and joy gave me one of the best times I’ve had in years. You can’t wrap a bow around that but I wish you could. Thank you so much, David & Lesly!
Spending Christmas Day with the special man in my life, my son, was another gift you can’t wrap. Christmas cards, phone calls from a dear friend in Mississippi, a texted Merry Christmas from my brother whom I haven’t seen since I was 20, Facebook Merry Christmas greetings from old school friends and family, an e-mail from my best high school guy friend: in person or snail mail or electronically, they all mean so much to me.
I had a most wonderful Christmas. One family and friends in Grapevine didn’t. I can’t help from wondering why such a horrible thing could happen. My heart and prayers goes out to their loved ones. And I also realize just how blessed I am to have had such a wonderful Christmas. I hope that yours was too and we carry all the joy and love we were fortunate enough to experience this Christmas into our New Year!
This Christmas I experienced the best. Step-children and grandchildren who made time for me and seemed thrilled that they were able to finally give me a gift that I didn’t have and really wanted– a Color Nook. The best part though was that they still know me so well even though our lives have become disconnected in some ways. I was able to spend the day before Christmas with girlfriends, enjoying a movie, a meal, and laughs together. Christmas Eve was a gift from two very special friends who shared their hearts and their Christmas spirit with me and another friend. Christmas lights at the Gaylord, dinner, wine, great conversation and so much laughter and joy gave me one of the best times I’ve had in years. You can’t wrap a bow around that but I wish you could. Thank you so much, David & Lesly!
Spending Christmas Day with the special man in my life, my son, was another gift you can’t wrap. Christmas cards, phone calls from a dear friend in Mississippi, a texted Merry Christmas from my brother whom I haven’t seen since I was 20, Facebook Merry Christmas greetings from old school friends and family, an e-mail from my best high school guy friend: in person or snail mail or electronically, they all mean so much to me.
I had a most wonderful Christmas. One family and friends in Grapevine didn’t. I can’t help from wondering why such a horrible thing could happen. My heart and prayers goes out to their loved ones. And I also realize just how blessed I am to have had such a wonderful Christmas. I hope that yours was too and we carry all the joy and love we were fortunate enough to experience this Christmas into our New Year!
Sunday, November 20, 2011
Shopping
Today’s Sunday newspaper is full of ads, articles on e-readers, and Black Friday. I really want an e-reader, and a new camera, and the new dance Wii game. I really want new clothes as the ones I have don’t fit me like I’d like them to. I tell my friends that I’ve grown up but my clothes haven’t. They are still immature. I want new pillows to brighten up my living room. I want, want, want… And yes, I just noticed that I didn’t list any “I need”.
I remember thinking years ago when I was what I considered “young” that once folks reached retirement age, they didn’t need much money. I never remember seeing my grandmother go shopping. Not for fun, that’s for sure. She had everything she needed and was content. My mother was entirely different. She had everything she needed too. A house that was paid for, furniture for every room, a car, a TV, shelves of books and a closet full of clothes. But she loved to go shopping. It was a grand adventure for us. At least once a month and sometimes more, we spend a Saturday going to the “city” to shop. Sometimes we went to Carroll, a mere 30 minute drive. Or to Ft. Dodge, a 45-minute drive. We often went to Sioux City, Iowa, which was an hour and a half drive and occasionally, for a special treat, we’d go to Omaha, a three-hour drive.
Shopping in the cities were always adventures for us. We’d shop a bit,have a leisurely lunch in the dining room in a large department store or a hotel, then shop a while more before heading back home. It didn’t dawn on me until I started thinking about writing this blog that I never remember my mother buying anything for herself. She always bought for me, saying that’s what gave her the most pleasure and that she didn’t need anything else.
So why do I still have the “I wants”? Because I’m not content with myself or my life? Maybe at one time, but not at this stage of my life. So what has changed? I honestly hate shopping now. It’s no longer a pleasurable adventure. The malls are too crowded, the parking lots too crowded, the people too rude and too loud. And God knows, there isn’t anything I need or want bad enough to go shopping on Black Friday—even if they were giving it away. Maybe my “I wants” aren’t really clothes, pillows, e-reader, but the going back to the time when shopping was an opportunity to spend quality time with a loved one and creating memories more than buying stuff. I guess that maybe that means that my “wants” are really “needs” after all. They are just aren’t the tangible ones. Time for a road trip to Canton or Salado I think. Who wants to go with me?
I remember thinking years ago when I was what I considered “young” that once folks reached retirement age, they didn’t need much money. I never remember seeing my grandmother go shopping. Not for fun, that’s for sure. She had everything she needed and was content. My mother was entirely different. She had everything she needed too. A house that was paid for, furniture for every room, a car, a TV, shelves of books and a closet full of clothes. But she loved to go shopping. It was a grand adventure for us. At least once a month and sometimes more, we spend a Saturday going to the “city” to shop. Sometimes we went to Carroll, a mere 30 minute drive. Or to Ft. Dodge, a 45-minute drive. We often went to Sioux City, Iowa, which was an hour and a half drive and occasionally, for a special treat, we’d go to Omaha, a three-hour drive.
Shopping in the cities were always adventures for us. We’d shop a bit,have a leisurely lunch in the dining room in a large department store or a hotel, then shop a while more before heading back home. It didn’t dawn on me until I started thinking about writing this blog that I never remember my mother buying anything for herself. She always bought for me, saying that’s what gave her the most pleasure and that she didn’t need anything else.
So why do I still have the “I wants”? Because I’m not content with myself or my life? Maybe at one time, but not at this stage of my life. So what has changed? I honestly hate shopping now. It’s no longer a pleasurable adventure. The malls are too crowded, the parking lots too crowded, the people too rude and too loud. And God knows, there isn’t anything I need or want bad enough to go shopping on Black Friday—even if they were giving it away. Maybe my “I wants” aren’t really clothes, pillows, e-reader, but the going back to the time when shopping was an opportunity to spend quality time with a loved one and creating memories more than buying stuff. I guess that maybe that means that my “wants” are really “needs” after all. They are just aren’t the tangible ones. Time for a road trip to Canton or Salado I think. Who wants to go with me?
Thursday, October 13, 2011
Sunday, October 9, 2011
Time Thief??
A dear friend asked me why I didn’t post a blog last Sunday and I answered, “I didn’t have time.” That comment has haunted me ever since I wrote her that. Because it was true and it shouldn’t be. So….I want know who did it. Who stole time away from me? And don’t blame age. Age has nothing to do with it. In fact, now that I’m older, I should have more spare time.
After all, it doesn’t take me that long to do my hair in the mornings since I have so little of it now. It doesn’t take much time to put on my makeup since I’ve stopped wearing foundation after reading it shows the wrinkles more. And except for special occasions, of which there aren’t many, I don’t bother with eye liner either. I’ve noticed that my eye-hand coordination tends to be a little shaky lately and my eyeliner ends up looking like last week's stock market line graphs, bullish to my eyebrow and then bearish to my cheek bone.
It doesn’t take as long to clean house it seems or maybe it’s just that I don’t care as much as I used to. Even if I’m wearing my glasses, I tend not to see the dust bunnies or wads of dog hair until they attack bomber-style or I start having sneezing fits.
I still remember the good old days when I commuted to work, on a good day, one hour one-way, on a bad day, two to three hours one-way. I cooked and kept house for one husband, two teenage boys, two dogs and one cat while attending college night classes, the guys’ softball games, etc.
So what happened to all of my time? I still work, but my commute is 15 minutes one way. I only have myself and two little dogs to take care of, clean up after and feed. I exercise only two hours a week and try to limit myself to only one hour or so of TV time per night. So I ask ya, again? Where does all my time go for heaven’s sake? I still have the same 24 hours a day that I did years ago.
Hum….. Wonder if it could be all the time that I spend on the computer reading everyone’s blogs or the news or checking my e-mails or Facebook or playing games? Naw, it couldn’t take up that much of my time and energy, could it? After all, technology is supposed to make our life simpler, easier, right?
Sunday, September 25, 2011
Blogging Well Refill
It’s been a dry spell for blogging lately. I’d told myself I was quitting when I hit the magical 52 weeks (equaling one full year of blogs) but I pooped out at 51. It just wasn’t worth it, I thought. Outside of my loyal and dear soul sister, I doubted if anyone even missed them so why bother. Plus I had better things to do with my time. Wrong on both cases.
First, I’ve realized that I’ve been blogging for myself all this time. It’s a way to keep my mind and fingers moving in a more creative way than playing Pogo Scrabble and keeps my eyes on the lookout for topics to write about. It’s a way to keep true to myself about where I really am in this life, this year, this week, and today. Without blogging, I’m finding that I’m in danger of becoming the proverbial ostrich with my long skinny neck and head in the sand.
Secondly, like everyone else, I do have lots of things to do with my time. Clean house, mend clothes, do laundry, weed, read, go for walks with the pups, shop, redecorate, paint, write, etc. And since I still work full time, I don’t have enough time to do those things and blog too. Ha!
I took my first full week of vacation in over ten years this past week. Guess what? I started off with a bang but by Wednesday I’d started pooping out. By Friday I was nearly comatose, prone on the couch watching TV in between naps. Now the pups loved it, I admit. But like most of us baby boomers, I was raised by parents who were raised with the Puritan ethics that only by hard work is your being justified. So instead of enjoying relaxing on the couch and the warmth of my pups, I mentally beat myself up for not getting up and doing something worthwhile which then sent me spiraling into a depression which then….
My vacation officially over, I will start work tomorrow well-rested and with a clean garage, a repaired wall where a previous pup had gnawed the sheetrock to the metal, clean and polished bottom kitchen cabinets, some laundry done, quality time spent with my son on a day trip to McKinney, a fun day out shopping with a girlfriend, and two very content and well-loved pups. Plus I’m back to blogging for another year. Maybe it was a productive vacation week after all!
First, I’ve realized that I’ve been blogging for myself all this time. It’s a way to keep my mind and fingers moving in a more creative way than playing Pogo Scrabble and keeps my eyes on the lookout for topics to write about. It’s a way to keep true to myself about where I really am in this life, this year, this week, and today. Without blogging, I’m finding that I’m in danger of becoming the proverbial ostrich with my long skinny neck and head in the sand.
Secondly, like everyone else, I do have lots of things to do with my time. Clean house, mend clothes, do laundry, weed, read, go for walks with the pups, shop, redecorate, paint, write, etc. And since I still work full time, I don’t have enough time to do those things and blog too. Ha!
I took my first full week of vacation in over ten years this past week. Guess what? I started off with a bang but by Wednesday I’d started pooping out. By Friday I was nearly comatose, prone on the couch watching TV in between naps. Now the pups loved it, I admit. But like most of us baby boomers, I was raised by parents who were raised with the Puritan ethics that only by hard work is your being justified. So instead of enjoying relaxing on the couch and the warmth of my pups, I mentally beat myself up for not getting up and doing something worthwhile which then sent me spiraling into a depression which then….
My vacation officially over, I will start work tomorrow well-rested and with a clean garage, a repaired wall where a previous pup had gnawed the sheetrock to the metal, clean and polished bottom kitchen cabinets, some laundry done, quality time spent with my son on a day trip to McKinney, a fun day out shopping with a girlfriend, and two very content and well-loved pups. Plus I’m back to blogging for another year. Maybe it was a productive vacation week after all!
Sunday, August 28, 2011
Two-Stepping Back the Time
I went country-western dancing again last Sunday evening with a group of young savvy senior singles. Sundays are when the older set goes dancing, you know. It’s fun watching the old folks get out on the dance floor especially since they haven’t gotten the message that they’re old yet. Women still dress to please men at the dance club. One woman caught my eye as she colorfully two-stepped across the dance floor in her tight sequined pants and shimmering turquoise top. She looked good and she knew it. Another gal, an escapee from the Red Hat Society, stood out about the sea of heads with her red wide-brimmed cowboy hat.
It’s easy to identify the couples who have spent a lifetime together. They move as one on the dance floor. It was hard not to secretly sigh as I watched them, wishing I’d been able to have a lifetime of dancing with my loved one. I also wondered why I was there, especially since I’m not that good a dancer. Still, I accepted every request to dance, even being silly enough to get out there and do the twist. (My hip wasn’t too happy with me about that one the next few days.) But when I started getting out of breath, had to use my inhaler, and realized I couldn’t follow most of the gentlemen I was dancing with, I told myself that this is something I shouldn’t be doing again.
But two images from that night remain in my mind taunting this decision: An old man, back hunched and feet shuffling to a nearby table, asked a young woman to dance. She graciously accepted. His lined face broke into a wide smile and while his back remained rounded; his feet became alive when they hit the dance floor. A dance turned into an instant shot of youthfulness with little side effects. I saw another scene that made my heart warm, a woman obviously in her 80’s beaming as a young cowboy gently two-stepped her across the dance floor. When the dance was over, she leaned against him for support on their way back to her table, her face flushed with joy and youth. She now had a story to tell and something to dream about again.
Maybe if I take some dance lessons….
It’s easy to identify the couples who have spent a lifetime together. They move as one on the dance floor. It was hard not to secretly sigh as I watched them, wishing I’d been able to have a lifetime of dancing with my loved one. I also wondered why I was there, especially since I’m not that good a dancer. Still, I accepted every request to dance, even being silly enough to get out there and do the twist. (My hip wasn’t too happy with me about that one the next few days.) But when I started getting out of breath, had to use my inhaler, and realized I couldn’t follow most of the gentlemen I was dancing with, I told myself that this is something I shouldn’t be doing again.
But two images from that night remain in my mind taunting this decision: An old man, back hunched and feet shuffling to a nearby table, asked a young woman to dance. She graciously accepted. His lined face broke into a wide smile and while his back remained rounded; his feet became alive when they hit the dance floor. A dance turned into an instant shot of youthfulness with little side effects. I saw another scene that made my heart warm, a woman obviously in her 80’s beaming as a young cowboy gently two-stepped her across the dance floor. When the dance was over, she leaned against him for support on their way back to her table, her face flushed with joy and youth. She now had a story to tell and something to dream about again.
Maybe if I take some dance lessons….
Sunday, August 7, 2011
A Cool 65
I missed blogging last Sunday but I had a good excuse. No A/C in a record-breaking Texas heat wave tends to divert all creative thinking into strict survival mode. The week before that I suffered a computer virus. OMG! With the famine in Southern Somalia, the heat wave, and the computer virus, doomsday cannot be far behind, can it? Of course not but I will admit to having a full-fledge meltdown of “what if?” for a minute or two before I called the air conditioning repair man for the third time.
I also turned 65 since my last blog – a number I mentally was terrified of. Surprise of surprises—I didn’t vaporize into my grandmother as I feared. In fact, just the opposite. Unplanned and unexpectedly, I’m finding 65 to be freeing. All of a sudden, “what will they think?” has been replaced with “who cares what they think?”. So who cares if the adorable sleeveless top I fell in love with shows my old lady arms? It makes me feel pretty and that’s what counts. So what if I went boot-scooting last Sunday evening with friends and danced until I was breathless (which was about 2/3 through the first dance)? I had a blast and I didn’t have a heart attack. Who cares that I can’t touch my toes in my exercise class? I’m content to keep on showing up at class and so is the instructor.
Was I trying to find my youth by going to a Harley Davidson Garage Party to support a friend’s daughter’s marketing event? No way. But you know what? It was interesting, entertaining, and I saw a Harley Davidson jacket I really, really want. I attended a stimulating panel discussion on To Kill a Mockingbird this week so I think I have a healthy balance. Now if I can start eating healthy and keep on exercising and somehow stay cool in this Texas heat wave, I will keep looking for more opportunities to enjoy life at 65. It won't be fast lane but it's going to be enough for me to become a cool 65!
Sunday, July 24, 2011
Summertime Blues Book Review
What does this baby boomer blog about when this baby boomer does nothing but goes to work, goes to two work-out classes from Hell, eats at Al’s Hamburgers on Friday nights, and has breakfast at the Neighborhood Café on Saturdays? Think I’m a rut? Lol. Hey, the exercise classes are a new addition and I order a grilled cheese sandwich at Al’s Hamburgers!
Getting back to my subject of nothingness, based on this past Saturday morning at breakfast with dear friends, we baby boomers sometimes find conversation challenging. Mr. D was being a bit peckish because his wife and I were discussing our health issues. He said we were talking “old folks’ talk”. Okay, so he's younger than we are--his day will come. It didn’t seem help either when I, trying to polite and include him in the conversation, asked about his next colonoscopy. I mean, doesn’t he watch the tv show, Men of a Certain Age? If you don’t either, you got to! Great insight to guys’ minds, gals. Talking about work was off limits at the breakfast table, and frankly, we were too bummed out over Oslo’s tragedy and the big boys in Washington playing “Blind Man’s Bluff”. And then there’s the heat! I think we are all really tired of hearing the weatherman tells how many days it’s been hot. We know that already! Even if we never ventured out into the front or back yard, our electric bill would tell us.
So as in real life, when it gets too intense for comfort, I turn to books. I just finished Lisa Scottoline’s latest novel, Save Me and I loved it. I’m surprised, too. Not because I don’t like this author, I love her, but because this particular novel starts off with a raging school fire. I escaped from a fire many years ago and once you’ve been through something like that, the senses never forget. But Ms. Scottoline had captured this reader and carried me through the flames into the main story – a woman who had to choose between saving her daughter or someone else’s. Rose does what we like to think we would do—manage to save them both.
Perfect ending? No, only the beginning of a powerful, compelling story of a woman who did the right thing and it backfired. She finds herself being sued and criminal charges filed against her for abandoning the child she carried to safety before going back for her own daughter, Melly. She can lose her home, her husband and perhaps even her freedom. As she struggles to find out what went wrong, why Amanda, the other little girl, went back into the burning school cafeteria, she also has to face her past and the secret she’s kept from everyone, even her husband.
Lisa Scottoline, a prestigious trial lawyer is unique author, one who can write women’s fiction that holds you capture until the very end and nonfiction that will make you split your sides from laughing. I didn’t discover Lisa until I saw her first nonfiction book, Why My Third Husband Will Be a Dog sitting on a shelf at Barnes & Noble. I normally don’t pick books just because of their title but come on, this was so different and I’m such a dog lover, no way was I going to pass it up. Her next nonfiction book, My Nest Isn’t Empty, It Just Has More Closet Space is just as warm and funny and fast-pace as her first. Lisa also writes a delightfully humorous weekly column that you can read on her website: www.scottoline.com
Getting back to my subject of nothingness, based on this past Saturday morning at breakfast with dear friends, we baby boomers sometimes find conversation challenging. Mr. D was being a bit peckish because his wife and I were discussing our health issues. He said we were talking “old folks’ talk”. Okay, so he's younger than we are--his day will come. It didn’t seem help either when I, trying to polite and include him in the conversation, asked about his next colonoscopy. I mean, doesn’t he watch the tv show, Men of a Certain Age? If you don’t either, you got to! Great insight to guys’ minds, gals. Talking about work was off limits at the breakfast table, and frankly, we were too bummed out over Oslo’s tragedy and the big boys in Washington playing “Blind Man’s Bluff”. And then there’s the heat! I think we are all really tired of hearing the weatherman tells how many days it’s been hot. We know that already! Even if we never ventured out into the front or back yard, our electric bill would tell us.
So as in real life, when it gets too intense for comfort, I turn to books. I just finished Lisa Scottoline’s latest novel, Save Me and I loved it. I’m surprised, too. Not because I don’t like this author, I love her, but because this particular novel starts off with a raging school fire. I escaped from a fire many years ago and once you’ve been through something like that, the senses never forget. But Ms. Scottoline had captured this reader and carried me through the flames into the main story – a woman who had to choose between saving her daughter or someone else’s. Rose does what we like to think we would do—manage to save them both.
Perfect ending? No, only the beginning of a powerful, compelling story of a woman who did the right thing and it backfired. She finds herself being sued and criminal charges filed against her for abandoning the child she carried to safety before going back for her own daughter, Melly. She can lose her home, her husband and perhaps even her freedom. As she struggles to find out what went wrong, why Amanda, the other little girl, went back into the burning school cafeteria, she also has to face her past and the secret she’s kept from everyone, even her husband.
Lisa Scottoline, a prestigious trial lawyer is unique author, one who can write women’s fiction that holds you capture until the very end and nonfiction that will make you split your sides from laughing. I didn’t discover Lisa until I saw her first nonfiction book, Why My Third Husband Will Be a Dog sitting on a shelf at Barnes & Noble. I normally don’t pick books just because of their title but come on, this was so different and I’m such a dog lover, no way was I going to pass it up. Her next nonfiction book, My Nest Isn’t Empty, It Just Has More Closet Space is just as warm and funny and fast-pace as her first. Lisa also writes a delightfully humorous weekly column that you can read on her website: www.scottoline.com
Sunday, July 17, 2011
Camp HRC - False Advertisement!
Okay, I am making this my official charge of misrepresentation and false advertising by a local rec center. This summer I had decided it was time for me to get physically fit. Please note that I did not end that sentence with “again”. Not with my history of being one of the few to have flunked gym class in the 60’s thanks to President Kennedy’s national fitness program. No way could I do twenty-five pushups, five chin-ups and scurry up some darn rope back then! I’d lost most of my baby fat by the time I was in high school but my idea of exercising was turning pages in whatever novel I had my nose in or riding shotgun in a speed boat while everyone else water-skied.
When I studied the rec center’s catalogue of activities, I immediately vetoed the Energize Exercise class that promised that I’d like to exercise in the morning and feel energized all day because I knew I didn’t and wouldn’t. I passed on the Spin & Sweat class because I already have a problem with dizziness and no way do I like to sweat. It just feels yucky. The class for Active Independents sounded good but it was all daytime classes. Apparently the rec center hasn’t gotten the message most of us baby boomers can’t afford to retire so we need evening classes.
I finally settled on signing up for Camp HRC. The title sounded scary until I read the class description, “Do you have low back pain, feel sluggish, and just physically unconditioned? Exercise can prevent, treat and cure diseases associated with poor diet and sedentary lifestyle.” Hum…. I met all of the qualifications, so it must be the class for me.
Here’s where I got in trouble. I take things literally. Therefore, I assumed that if someone was leading a sedentary lifestyle, their exercise class should be fairly sedentary to start off with. Like musical chairs or a slow hokey pokey perhaps. So when I walked in and saw folks dragging out mats, huge rubber balls and weights, I figured I had the wrong class. “Oh no, you have the right class,” I was reassured by a group of very friendly folks about my age. “You better start with the light weights, one pounders.” So far so good. I knew some yoga and I figured I could handle the hand weights so I picked up the 3 and 5 pound ones as well.
“So what do you do with the ball?” I asked. “Sit on it while you do your hand weights?” “Yes.” Cool, I could handle that. “While you lay back on the ball facing the ceiling.” Huh? The darn ball was a size of a small planet. “So how do I get back up?” “We’ll help you.” At that point, I turned to run away, but they quickly locked the gym door on me. Class started and I immediately realized while the class was titled Camp HRC. Our instructor had to be an escaped drill sergeant from some military boot camp and HRC had to stand for Help me, Rescue me, and Crisis, I’m crashing!
After a ten minute warm-up from hell that caused me to sweat profusely and pant, we then proceeded to do pushups, crunches, planks, free weights, lifts, toe balances and squats. I was back in high school again, only this time with a 50-year older body. After class, these very nice classmates came over to me (probably to see if they needed to call 911) and reassured me that when they’d first started this class two years ago, they’d had the same problems! “After a year or two, you’ll get the hang of it,” they said. We’ll see.
When I studied the rec center’s catalogue of activities, I immediately vetoed the Energize Exercise class that promised that I’d like to exercise in the morning and feel energized all day because I knew I didn’t and wouldn’t. I passed on the Spin & Sweat class because I already have a problem with dizziness and no way do I like to sweat. It just feels yucky. The class for Active Independents sounded good but it was all daytime classes. Apparently the rec center hasn’t gotten the message most of us baby boomers can’t afford to retire so we need evening classes.
I finally settled on signing up for Camp HRC. The title sounded scary until I read the class description, “Do you have low back pain, feel sluggish, and just physically unconditioned? Exercise can prevent, treat and cure diseases associated with poor diet and sedentary lifestyle.” Hum…. I met all of the qualifications, so it must be the class for me.
Here’s where I got in trouble. I take things literally. Therefore, I assumed that if someone was leading a sedentary lifestyle, their exercise class should be fairly sedentary to start off with. Like musical chairs or a slow hokey pokey perhaps. So when I walked in and saw folks dragging out mats, huge rubber balls and weights, I figured I had the wrong class. “Oh no, you have the right class,” I was reassured by a group of very friendly folks about my age. “You better start with the light weights, one pounders.” So far so good. I knew some yoga and I figured I could handle the hand weights so I picked up the 3 and 5 pound ones as well.
“So what do you do with the ball?” I asked. “Sit on it while you do your hand weights?” “Yes.” Cool, I could handle that. “While you lay back on the ball facing the ceiling.” Huh? The darn ball was a size of a small planet. “So how do I get back up?” “We’ll help you.” At that point, I turned to run away, but they quickly locked the gym door on me. Class started and I immediately realized while the class was titled Camp HRC. Our instructor had to be an escaped drill sergeant from some military boot camp and HRC had to stand for Help me, Rescue me, and Crisis, I’m crashing!
After a ten minute warm-up from hell that caused me to sweat profusely and pant, we then proceeded to do pushups, crunches, planks, free weights, lifts, toe balances and squats. I was back in high school again, only this time with a 50-year older body. After class, these very nice classmates came over to me (probably to see if they needed to call 911) and reassured me that when they’d first started this class two years ago, they’d had the same problems! “After a year or two, you’ll get the hang of it,” they said. We’ll see.
Sunday, July 10, 2011
Another Betty
I ran into an old friend yesterday while shopping. My hair was a sweaty mess, I had no makeup on, and I was wearing a sleeveless top that exposed my old lady arms and a pair of baggy jeans that drooped along with my rear. Isn’t it that way it always happens? Except—this was the way I looked, minus the sweaty hair, earlier in the day when I met two friends for breakfast. Ah, the joys of growing up.
I apologized with the customary, “Doesn’t it always happen this way – running into someone you know when looking a mess,” as I greeted Diane. We exchanged the typical “How have you been” and “how’s the kids” and “Gee, I’ve been thinking of you,” before she asked, “Are you still living alone?” When I said yes, she looked at me and smiled, “You like it, don’t you? Living alone?” Without any hesitation, I said, “yes, I actually do.” She nodded and said, “I thought so.”
Sitting this morning at the computer, still in my pj’s, my hair uncombed, wondering what to blog about and procrastinating the best I could, I played computer scrabble, then decided to check on what my favorite blogger, Dominique Browning, had written to see if I could get some blog inspiration. As always her blog was entertaining and thought-provoking. She sometimes has great links and I followed one this morning to where I discovered my future.
A blog entry in www.womensvoicesforchange.org written by Roz Warren titled The Library Witch starts off with “Betty wanders through the library muttering… In her 70’s with scraggly gray hair and a hard, troubled gaze, she resembles a witch, but in baggy sweats and faded T-shirt…..”
By now I am lol when I should be wondering why I am laughing. The red cardinal who only visits me when I’m blogging or should be blogging raps on the still-clean window and Petie, my one-eye sweet pup, is pawing my leg to be picked up.
I continued reading. “..Bob, the man who brings Betty in (the library) isn’t her husband. We don’t know what he is. All we know is that he sits down at a computer and ignores her, leaving her to wander the library unsupervised…..What will become of Betty? She’ll probably continue to haunt our library until she manages to spark a conflict with one of crazy patrons…Betty will glance at Old Baldy the wrong way and the next thing you know, we’ll have a good old cat fight on our hands.”
This, of course, isn’t my future. It’s about another Betty, much older than me. All we have in common is our name and our love of libraries. So far. But as I enjoy living my life as I choose, dressing up or down as I like, reading and laughing out loud at something someone else might not find funny, while shouting and waving away a demented cardinal, I think I might consider making a few changes—starting with showering, doing my hair and makeup, and dressing up for going out for an afternoon adventure today with a girlfriend who is not named Bob. Yours truly, Elizabeth.
I apologized with the customary, “Doesn’t it always happen this way – running into someone you know when looking a mess,” as I greeted Diane. We exchanged the typical “How have you been” and “how’s the kids” and “Gee, I’ve been thinking of you,” before she asked, “Are you still living alone?” When I said yes, she looked at me and smiled, “You like it, don’t you? Living alone?” Without any hesitation, I said, “yes, I actually do.” She nodded and said, “I thought so.”
Sitting this morning at the computer, still in my pj’s, my hair uncombed, wondering what to blog about and procrastinating the best I could, I played computer scrabble, then decided to check on what my favorite blogger, Dominique Browning, had written to see if I could get some blog inspiration. As always her blog was entertaining and thought-provoking. She sometimes has great links and I followed one this morning to where I discovered my future.
A blog entry in www.womensvoicesforchange.org written by Roz Warren titled The Library Witch starts off with “Betty wanders through the library muttering… In her 70’s with scraggly gray hair and a hard, troubled gaze, she resembles a witch, but in baggy sweats and faded T-shirt…..”
By now I am lol when I should be wondering why I am laughing. The red cardinal who only visits me when I’m blogging or should be blogging raps on the still-clean window and Petie, my one-eye sweet pup, is pawing my leg to be picked up.
I continued reading. “..Bob, the man who brings Betty in (the library) isn’t her husband. We don’t know what he is. All we know is that he sits down at a computer and ignores her, leaving her to wander the library unsupervised…..What will become of Betty? She’ll probably continue to haunt our library until she manages to spark a conflict with one of crazy patrons…Betty will glance at Old Baldy the wrong way and the next thing you know, we’ll have a good old cat fight on our hands.”
This, of course, isn’t my future. It’s about another Betty, much older than me. All we have in common is our name and our love of libraries. So far. But as I enjoy living my life as I choose, dressing up or down as I like, reading and laughing out loud at something someone else might not find funny, while shouting and waving away a demented cardinal, I think I might consider making a few changes—starting with showering, doing my hair and makeup, and dressing up for going out for an afternoon adventure today with a girlfriend who is not named Bob. Yours truly, Elizabeth.
Monday, July 4, 2011
Happy Independence Day Everyone!
In the spirit of Independence Day and the typical Texas summer heat, I am celebrating the freedom that our forefathers fought for us in the comfort of my air-conditioned house with a good book and my sweet pups. I will still be enjoying the summer sunshine beauty (and the red Cardinal who is determined to keep knocking at my window) thanks to my freshly hand-cleaned and cobweb-free windows and screens. And no, I certainly did not do them myself. I am thankful that I live in a country that gives me the opportunity to work so that I can pay it forward by hiring someone to do my windows for me. It was always a Midwestern tradition to welcome summer in by taking down the storm windows, cleaning the window panes and hanging freshly brushed window screens. Come Fall, the tradition was reversed to welcome Winter. I have missed these coming-of-seasons rites since I moved to Texas many, many years ago.
And on this Independence Day, I have also decided it’s okay to celebrate our independence by accepting that maybe we can have too much independence, hence hiring someone to clean my windows. I’m starting to realize that it is not a sign of weakness to ask for help or allow assistance or even take shortcuts when necessary or desired. I didn’t do my blog yesterday for several reasons. One, it’s been brought to my attention that sometimes they are downers. Two, I didn’t think it would be missed. Three, I had a fun day planned with a friend and really didn’t have the time. Two proved to wrong! Hurray and thank you Soul Sister for letting me know that you missed it!
Today I am going enjoy my freedom in blogging by paying it forward again and directing you to two of my most favorite blogs (if I can get the links to work!) If not, the website addresses for both are as follows:
www.slowlovelife.com (Look for her June 30th blog. I really got a kick out of it.)
http://patriciavdavis.pnn.com/articles/show/48394-from-an-older-woman-to-a-younger-one (This one is a total hoot for all of us single gals at any age.)
Happy 4th everyone!
And on this Independence Day, I have also decided it’s okay to celebrate our independence by accepting that maybe we can have too much independence, hence hiring someone to clean my windows. I’m starting to realize that it is not a sign of weakness to ask for help or allow assistance or even take shortcuts when necessary or desired. I didn’t do my blog yesterday for several reasons. One, it’s been brought to my attention that sometimes they are downers. Two, I didn’t think it would be missed. Three, I had a fun day planned with a friend and really didn’t have the time. Two proved to wrong! Hurray and thank you Soul Sister for letting me know that you missed it!
Today I am going enjoy my freedom in blogging by paying it forward again and directing you to two of my most favorite blogs (if I can get the links to work!) If not, the website addresses for both are as follows:
www.slowlovelife.com (Look for her June 30th blog. I really got a kick out of it.)
http://patriciavdavis.pnn.com/articles/show/48394-from-an-older-woman-to-a-younger-one (This one is a total hoot for all of us single gals at any age.)
Happy 4th everyone!
Sunday, June 26, 2011
Choosing a Vice on Purpose
I honestly don’t have anything to blog about. Okay, that’s not quite true but if I wrote about what I’ve really been up to, then that just might be TMI for yours and my comfort. (Got your attention, didn’t I? lol!) I’ve been attempting to make a few changes in my lifestyle, hair color being one of them, and I’m now back to my nature color—that I had when I was sixteen. As thrilled as I am to still be on this planet and able to enjoy good health, a good job, and fantastic family and friends, I confess my upcoming birthday next month seems to be emotionally traumatic for me. I’m from the generation that considered anyone over 30 old, anyone over 40 really old. I now think anyone in their 50’s as young, and anyone 60 or over as in-between young and old.
I’ve been consumed with reading all the ‘how-to-knock off ten or twenty years from your age’ books lately which means I should be adding 10-20 more supplements to my armory of pills, toss out all the carbs and sugars from the pantry, and start exercising a minimum of two hours a day. I’m making some progress as one of the changes I’m considering is hiring a personal trainer – if I can find one who can promise to change cellulite into muscle in three or less thirty minutes sessions a week.
Another change is that I’ve decided to add, okay, let’s be honest here, increase one of my personal vices—laziness. A friend at work pointed out last week that I had used the word “too old” at least four times as I was telling her why I couldn’t get out of my rut. Another time this past week I was talking to a potential new friend on the phone and I heard myself saying “I’m too old” at least half a dozen times. The saddest part of this scenario is that I’m starting to actually convince myself that I really am every time I say that phase.
So….. I’ve decided to slow down the aging process at the root of the problem. Every time I am about to say “I can’t ______ because I’m too old”, I’m going to say instead, “I can’t ______ because I’m too lazy”. Now before you say, “OMG, she’s losing her mind,” here’s my rational: I can change a vice like being lazy. I don’t want to change or halt the aging process in its entirety, just slow it down a bit. After all, getting older can be a good thing when it’s not being used as an excuse to live life.
I’ve been consumed with reading all the ‘how-to-knock off ten or twenty years from your age’ books lately which means I should be adding 10-20 more supplements to my armory of pills, toss out all the carbs and sugars from the pantry, and start exercising a minimum of two hours a day. I’m making some progress as one of the changes I’m considering is hiring a personal trainer – if I can find one who can promise to change cellulite into muscle in three or less thirty minutes sessions a week.
Another change is that I’ve decided to add, okay, let’s be honest here, increase one of my personal vices—laziness. A friend at work pointed out last week that I had used the word “too old” at least four times as I was telling her why I couldn’t get out of my rut. Another time this past week I was talking to a potential new friend on the phone and I heard myself saying “I’m too old” at least half a dozen times. The saddest part of this scenario is that I’m starting to actually convince myself that I really am every time I say that phase.
So….. I’ve decided to slow down the aging process at the root of the problem. Every time I am about to say “I can’t ______ because I’m too old”, I’m going to say instead, “I can’t ______ because I’m too lazy”. Now before you say, “OMG, she’s losing her mind,” here’s my rational: I can change a vice like being lazy. I don’t want to change or halt the aging process in its entirety, just slow it down a bit. After all, getting older can be a good thing when it’s not being used as an excuse to live life.
Sunday, June 19, 2011
Baby Birds and Father's Day
I thought I’d lost this picture, the only picture that I have of the father who raised me. I found it while looking for something else which is usually the way it happens with clutter. (It does seem that I’m becoming obsessed with this subject, doesn’t it?) So why do I have only the one picture of my adopted father amidst the paper clutter in my life? Maybe because of too many moves too early in my life and an apartment fire in Houston that stole everything but our lives, my childhood bible, a few pictures, and a folder of poems I’d written.
Regardless of all hype that a successful blog must have a theme, mine being the first of the baby boomer era, blogs are still online journals. Journaling, by nature, is a journey into one’s self and I think I just might have discovered the reason for my clutter obsession. Maybe I use clutter to hide the void for all that I’ve lost over the years?
This picture of my father, Harry, and I, was taken when I was six, our first summer together. I hope that I was scowling because the sun was in my eyes but I can’t be sure. The transition for both me and my new parents must have been a rough one. My father, a CPA, was 54 when I entered into his life. My husband, Eddie, had already become a proud grandfather by that age. I never knew my father was older than most parents of my friends. In fact, I didn’t learn his age until he died and I thought the newspaper had made a mistake when they wrote he was 64.
It didn’t take long for me to learn to love this new father though. His stern features in this picture, perhaps it was the sun in our eyes after all, masked his gentleness and giant heart. He spent many a frustrating hour trying to teach me math, the term dyslexia unknown to both of us at the time. He never raised his voice even though I’d stomp out of the room yelling, “It’s not fair! I knew the right answer!” And I usually did. Know the right answer somehow. I just couldn’t prove to him how I got to it.
He taught me the love for dogs and all living creatures—except for cats. (I still ended up being a cat lover as well.) He hated cats because they killed birds and he loved birds. I still remember him coming home one day, his broad hands cupped gently over a baby robin he’d found in the alley. He showed me how to nurse the baby bird with an eye dropper. He then showed me how to let the bird we had raised and loved so much go once it learned to fly. The robin returned the next spring, and the spring after that. We always knew it was him when my father whistled and the robin answered with a short song, then flew in low, glazed my father’s shoulder, then flew back into the trees. A few years later he found a baby sparrow and brought it home. I found a baby rabbit whose mother had been killed. He always made sure that once they were strong and able to survive on their own, that we release them back to their world. His time was cut short but he still managed to do the same for me. Happy Father’s Day, Dad.
Sunday, June 12, 2011
In The Year 2525
I have never been a science fiction fan but I have always loved the 1969 hit song, In The Year 2525 by Zager and Evans. I occasionally hear it on the oldies but goodies stations and I always find myself tapping my feet, swaying my hips and singing along off-key with gusto. Not the best visual of a woman my age, I know and a dangerous one if I’m driving, which I usually am when listening to the radio.
I thought of this song again yesterday evening as I stood drooling in front of Barnes & Noble’s newest color Nook. I’d dashed over there to pick up the June issue of Whole Living, Body + soul in balance, a magazine that I love. I once gave a friend of mine a subscription to this magazine but never wanted to subscribe to it myself for one reason. It gave me an excuse to go to Barnes & Nobles at least once a month, my place of refuge and anti-depression therapy.
When the Barnes and Noble Nook representative showed me all the clichéd bells and whistles I started to hyperventilate. I had managed to resist the e-book reader so far thanks to my passion and dedication to books. Not only do I love to read, I truly love books: the feel, the scent, the beauty of them. I also am addicted to magazines, a trait I inherited from my mother. As the sales clerk continued titillating me with all the Nook features, I rationalized that I needed it to reduce clutter in my life. Fewer magazines stacked on chairs and floor and maybe a few less books on the shelves. "I might buy a color Nook next month as a birthday present to myself," I told her.
When the sales clerk told me that they were reducing the discount rate for my membership card and that last year they had sold more Nooks than books, I swear I started hearing the lyrics to In the Year 2525. More Nooks than books? Does that mean that the day will come when there will be a Barnes & Noble in the cloud only with no physical store to stroll through and books to scan through? Will that become the fate of our libraries as well? With the 64% budget cuts made recently by Texas legislation for libraries, this could be sooner than we think.
In the year 4545, ain’t gonna need your teeth, won’t need your eyes. You won’t find a thing to chew, nobody’s gonna look at you.
I am a hermit by nature. And that is one of my biggest fears about retirement. That I will end up sitting in front of a television or computer screen rest of my life, never having to leave my house. Never have human contact.
In the year 5555, your arms are hanging limp at your sides. Your legs got nothing do. Some machine is doing that for you.
In 1969 we thought we’d never live to see these lyrics come to life. It was not in our future. But we’re ahead of schedule and it scares me.
In the year 6565, you’ll pick your son, pick your daughter too from the bottom of a long glass tube.
Now it’s been 10,000 years….. No. Maybe it's only yesterday.
I thought of this song again yesterday evening as I stood drooling in front of Barnes & Noble’s newest color Nook. I’d dashed over there to pick up the June issue of Whole Living, Body + soul in balance, a magazine that I love. I once gave a friend of mine a subscription to this magazine but never wanted to subscribe to it myself for one reason. It gave me an excuse to go to Barnes & Nobles at least once a month, my place of refuge and anti-depression therapy.
When the Barnes and Noble Nook representative showed me all the clichéd bells and whistles I started to hyperventilate. I had managed to resist the e-book reader so far thanks to my passion and dedication to books. Not only do I love to read, I truly love books: the feel, the scent, the beauty of them. I also am addicted to magazines, a trait I inherited from my mother. As the sales clerk continued titillating me with all the Nook features, I rationalized that I needed it to reduce clutter in my life. Fewer magazines stacked on chairs and floor and maybe a few less books on the shelves. "I might buy a color Nook next month as a birthday present to myself," I told her.
When the sales clerk told me that they were reducing the discount rate for my membership card and that last year they had sold more Nooks than books, I swear I started hearing the lyrics to In the Year 2525. More Nooks than books? Does that mean that the day will come when there will be a Barnes & Noble in the cloud only with no physical store to stroll through and books to scan through? Will that become the fate of our libraries as well? With the 64% budget cuts made recently by Texas legislation for libraries, this could be sooner than we think.
In the year 4545, ain’t gonna need your teeth, won’t need your eyes. You won’t find a thing to chew, nobody’s gonna look at you.
I am a hermit by nature. And that is one of my biggest fears about retirement. That I will end up sitting in front of a television or computer screen rest of my life, never having to leave my house. Never have human contact.
In the year 5555, your arms are hanging limp at your sides. Your legs got nothing do. Some machine is doing that for you.
In 1969 we thought we’d never live to see these lyrics come to life. It was not in our future. But we’re ahead of schedule and it scares me.
In the year 6565, you’ll pick your son, pick your daughter too from the bottom of a long glass tube.
Now it’s been 10,000 years….. No. Maybe it's only yesterday.
Sunday, June 5, 2011
Walking, Talking Oxymoron
Per Jane Glenn Haas’s column today, there are 77 million of us baby boomers who are reaching 65 and will be altering life as we know it in the United States. Wow! And here I thought I was unique – one of a kind. According to her, we baby boomers who have settled in the West and Sun Belt areas are part of the “silver tsunami”. I don’t appreciate being coined with that phase for several reasons. Most of us prefer to disguise the silver, men included, and more importantly, I can’t shake the mental picture of the horrific damages that the tsunami did in Japan and Thailand. Coming of age in the 60’s and 70’s, we wanted to change the world for the better, never destroy it. That hasn’t changed.
What’s changed for me personally is that I have become a walking, talking oxymoron. I have dozens of hair, skin, and wrinkle-reducing products lined up on my bathroom counter alongside dozens of makeup that I can’t apply without using the tripled-magnified mirror that does not dare answer “Who’s the most beautiful of all?” for fear of being shattered with one of my deadly glares. My medicine cabinet is stocked with supplements, herbs and minerals that promise to reverse the damage that I’ve done to my body throughout the years but I forget to take them.
I am currently multi-reading two books, Forever Young by Nichols Perricone, M.D. and 20 Years Younger by Bob Greene. In other words, I am obsessed with becoming young again even though I know it’s impossible. Turning 65 will do that to a gal. Yet, I balk at getting Botox, fillers, face-lifts, liposuction and exercise. Another side effect of coming to age in the 60’s and 70’s is wanting the “natural look”. I want to still be me and me is getting old so I tell myself, “deal with it. “ But I keep on reading.
I’ve also culled from my closet the clothing that no longer accents the figure that I no longer have, replacing them with flowing skirts that show off my still trim ankles. Suddenly I find I want to look more feminine when I didn’t want to when I was younger and had some sex appeal. I’m trying to add more color to my wardrobe of black that has filled my closet for years.
I signed up for an online dating service even though I am quite content with the unconditional love of my two sweet pups and good friends. It was a disappointment as I anticipated, especially when I realized that I was too old for the young cuties and way too young for the men my age. I am apparently still a teenager at heart.
I also complain about having to work full-time even though I know I am blessed to have a job. Yet, deep down, I dread retirement. To me, retirement is a synonym for becoming old. I went out to dinner a couple of weeks ago with a very nice man that I’d met online. Although he was a few years older than me, he looked younger than his age, was pleasant and had a nice sense of humor. But when he asked me for another date, I quickly declined. At first I thought it was because I either really didn’t want to date or I just wasn’t attracted to him (like I said, I’m still a teenager at heart). While both may be true, I finally figured out the real reason. It was all the “I used to ride horses” and “I used to have two dogs” and “I used to….” in his conversation that turned me off. I don’t think I want retire after all. Not if it will keep me from becoming a “used to”.
What’s changed for me personally is that I have become a walking, talking oxymoron. I have dozens of hair, skin, and wrinkle-reducing products lined up on my bathroom counter alongside dozens of makeup that I can’t apply without using the tripled-magnified mirror that does not dare answer “Who’s the most beautiful of all?” for fear of being shattered with one of my deadly glares. My medicine cabinet is stocked with supplements, herbs and minerals that promise to reverse the damage that I’ve done to my body throughout the years but I forget to take them.
I am currently multi-reading two books, Forever Young by Nichols Perricone, M.D. and 20 Years Younger by Bob Greene. In other words, I am obsessed with becoming young again even though I know it’s impossible. Turning 65 will do that to a gal. Yet, I balk at getting Botox, fillers, face-lifts, liposuction and exercise. Another side effect of coming to age in the 60’s and 70’s is wanting the “natural look”. I want to still be me and me is getting old so I tell myself, “deal with it. “ But I keep on reading.
I’ve also culled from my closet the clothing that no longer accents the figure that I no longer have, replacing them with flowing skirts that show off my still trim ankles. Suddenly I find I want to look more feminine when I didn’t want to when I was younger and had some sex appeal. I’m trying to add more color to my wardrobe of black that has filled my closet for years.
I signed up for an online dating service even though I am quite content with the unconditional love of my two sweet pups and good friends. It was a disappointment as I anticipated, especially when I realized that I was too old for the young cuties and way too young for the men my age. I am apparently still a teenager at heart.
I also complain about having to work full-time even though I know I am blessed to have a job. Yet, deep down, I dread retirement. To me, retirement is a synonym for becoming old. I went out to dinner a couple of weeks ago with a very nice man that I’d met online. Although he was a few years older than me, he looked younger than his age, was pleasant and had a nice sense of humor. But when he asked me for another date, I quickly declined. At first I thought it was because I either really didn’t want to date or I just wasn’t attracted to him (like I said, I’m still a teenager at heart). While both may be true, I finally figured out the real reason. It was all the “I used to ride horses” and “I used to have two dogs” and “I used to….” in his conversation that turned me off. I don’t think I want retire after all. Not if it will keep me from becoming a “used to”.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)