Category Archives: Aging

Out With the Old in With the New

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The Days of My Life Series

Today is the 72nd day of the year. Can you believe it? My draft of this post was written on January 1st., with a commitment to post at least once a week. However life didn’t go as planned. It’s a mystery as to where and when I lost control. February flew by with little to show for it and is a blur. Perhaps it was the shower curtain rod that kept falling down in the guest bathroom, the bedroom wallpaper curling off the wall, or the bedroom shade that collapsed leaving us exposed. Duck tape failed to solve anything. Maybe because we frequently need a magic wand to get the automatic garage door open, or that I got COVID after being fully vaccinated, and I’m not going to mention other health related stuff that consumed my time and energy.

The original post is below. Welcome to the days of my life.

We all can agree 2022 was one heck of a year. Combine that with the previous pandemic years of hibernating, well. . .I want to break out and tidy-up. So, it is out with the old and in with the new.

First step was to get rid of and rearrange furniture. I listed a couch and wooden file cabinet on Nextdoor, moved the dining room table to the breakfast nook, and ordered a new dining room table.

Now we have a dance floor until its arrival.

The 20 plastic carriers hidden in the closet have been reduced to 10.

But what do you do with that stuff? Framed college diplomas, wedding and communion picture albums, football trophies, baby teeth and dried up leather baby shoes, a box of flower vases, that were never unpacked, etc. It is time to say goodbye.

And then there is the stuff I am not ready to say goodbye to.

Like the card below.

My friend Liz, made Bob’s 60th birthday card, fourteen years ago.

She and I have been friends since we were thirteen.

I can’t throw out a find that represents our lifelong friendship.

This treasure will go back in my closet.

                                                                                      . . . just saying . . .welcome to the days of my life

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Murphy Brown

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Ask Me if I Care

The answer? Yes, I do!

Recently I listened to Hoda Kotb’s 2017 interview with Candace Bergan in which she claimed repeatedly; “I don’t care!” Although the quote is five years old, I paused to think hard about why I still do. Evidently her appearance on NBC was to promote the romantic movie, Home Again, starring Reese Witherspoon.

It was entertaining.

However, let me be clear, Candace was not talking about politics, environmental issues, poverty or medical insurance. Candace was talking about that stage in a woman’s life when she stops censuring what she says to family and friends, applying mascara and changing clothes numerous times before she goes out the door.

In her memoir, A Fine Romance, she happily acknowledged and embraced her weight gain and in a magazine article said, “Let me just come right out and say it: I am fat.”

She sounded as though this acceptance of self happens automatically, like your wisdom teeth coming in between the ages of 18 and 21.

Well, I have news for Murphy Brown, some women never get wisdom teeth and many, have to have them pulled.  

. . . just saying

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Monday, Day Five of Vacation

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Jackson, Wyoming the morning of

The next day, after breakfast, we checked out and wandered around Jackson, mostly shopping and people watching. After lunch we headed north into the Grand Tetons National Park. The temperature dropped as the elevation climbed to 10,000 ft and once inside the park the temperature was about 40 degrees, although the sun had came out.

We checked in at 4:15PM. Why do I remember the precise time? Because like most accidents the events are played over in slow motion. We drove to our close by cabin.

I carried my luggage inside the cabin then heard a scream. We ran outside to find my husband lying on the ground.

The above pictures tell the story. Bob tripped holding his ipad, fell, and fractured his right shoulder. Betsy call 911. Hotel staff came immediately in a golf cart, knew not to move him, and called for an ambulance. It was raining and temperatures continued to drop. We grabbed blankets. The man layered their winter jackets underneath a garbage bag hoping to prevent shock, The ambulance, traveling from outside the park arrived one hour later. The ride back was the same one hour over bumpy roads. Doctors at St. John’s hospital determined Bob probably need surgery but didn’t argue. A man with his medical history needed to be home to Florida. He was discharged, arm in a sling with pain medication.

The process took hours.

Betsy and Bill had followed the ambulance and patiently sat in the ER waiting room wondering what to do.

“Well girlfriend,” I said, calling on my cell phone. “You’ll have to go shopping. Bob has nothing to wear. That really nice blue checked shirt was cut off.”

. . . just saying

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Day One of Vacation

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A chartreuse pillow similar in shape and size to a to a large dog bone sat on a purple couch in the hotel lobby. The clerk was all smiles telling us we were early. So, we sat on the purple sofa and waited, mesmerized by a carpet cleaner. The bubbling steamer was pushed back and forth by a housekeeper determined to suck up its remains. The noise and disinfectant smell quickly drove us outside into the Florida heat and sun, which was worse. So, back inside. . . we stood, as the lobby was now crowded. An audience of turning heads as though attending a tennis match watched silently, and I wondered if they would applaud.

Upstairs, I loved the room and fantasized about living in a Tiny House before we headed out to dinner. The restaurant was with-in walking distance, but we decided not to walk hearing thunder, once downstairs.

So, my husband took the elevator to get his car keys, but returned saying the room key didn’t work. He held out the key to examine and discovered he was using a hotel business card to open the room door.

The sky opened-up with what is called “Big Rain” in Florida, as we drove to the restaurant and although wet, we eventually we had dinner.

Day one of the vacation from hell.

. . . just saying

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Lemon, Orzo and Meatball Soup

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Today, I was tempted to write about Kyrie Irving’s $50,000 fine, or Johnny Depp’s and Amber Heard’s domestic abuse claims; Putin and the war or (don’t even go there) Florida’s political shenanigans, but instead, I decided to make soup.

Lemon, Orzo and Meatball Soup really does help one “Escape the Daily Grind.” The recipe appeared in the October 2013 issue of Southern Living. It takes some time to prepare things and I was thrilled my husband volunteered to help. Bob shaped the meatballs, peeled and cut the carrots; and then asked; what do you want done to the lemons? “Zest them,” I said over my shoulder and leaving the kitchen to write.

An hour later when I returned and found the lemons peeled.

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Would you complain? And all was not lost; I chopped and diced the lemon peel as you would cloves of garlic and the taste and texture was actually better.

There is a note to self at the top because, the soup is better when you follow the recipe. . . that’s the truth Edith-Ann.

. . . just saying

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Easter 2022

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scan0019Pictured above, Aunt Carol with leucite handbag, sister Judy, Mother (Pregnant with sister Abigail),  sister Mariellen, Me, Grandmother, and standing at attention sister Martha Gertrude

Easter Hats and Egg Hunts

As Easter approaches I find myself reminiscing about days gone by, holidays I tried to duplicate for my kids and grand-kids that only slightly mirrored mine.

In Florida, the smell of spring and Easter that signaled renewal by a burst of color on Long Island is missing, but memories of blooming Dogwood trees linger. The Weeping Willows wore yellow-green buds to announce the occasion.

We woke to Easter Baskets filled with love made by our grandmother. Hollow chocolate eggs squiggled  with confectionet sugar peeked out of cellophane surrounded by squishy marshmallow chicks called Peeps and jump ropes, jacks, pink Spaulding balls, and socks trimmed with lace, for the girls and for the boys; army men, matchbox cars, baseball cards, and cool shades.

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Great Granny B and 4 month old great-grand son, Tony

My grandmother also baked trays of cookies, some made to look like an Easter baskets, by adding a  handle, shredded coconut, and jelly beans. She used cookie cutters for Bunnies with chocolate ears, and cherry jelly linzer cookies, egg white cookies laced with walnuts and her famous chocolate chips cookies. 

We usually had new dresses and shiny black patent leather shoes, bought by Aunt Carol at Macy’s Herald Square. The shoes fit perfectly because Aunt Carol would trace our feet on card board, cut the pattern out and bring it with her to the store where she and a shoe salesman determined the correct size.

Aunt Carol always carried a pretty handbag and a tasteful hat, similar to  these: 

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After opening our baskets my mother dressed us in order of our behavior, and told to, “Sit on the couch, and don’t move, or else!” And we didn’t.

Drew, the youngest at the time, was dressed, after my mother dressed, and held by the hand until he was in the car and Mass over.

The Easter Bunny  hid real hard-boiled eggs dyed the day before and shortly after  company arrived on Easter Sunday, a whistle was blown, and we ran, desperate to  find THE GOLDEN EGG, a chocolate egg wrapped in gold foil. Little did we know my brother Victor searched ahead  of us, yes cheated, while I prayed to find the Golden Egg . . . . just this once. The prize was one dollar.

Although Easter was about baskets and dyed eggs, it was really about hats. as seen in the above picture and  I remember shopping at Montgomery Ward’s, the day before Easter in a panic then  thrilled, to find the hat I am wearing, an exact match to my homemade celery green coat.  My sister, Judy, was ecstatic with hers, the red band makes the outfit pop, and sister Mariellen’s  perfect in classic white.

Don’t we look marvelous?

Now if I only had that hat.

.   .   .   .  just saying

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Wine Not and Cataract Surgery

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Wine Not and Cataract Surgery

Those of you who have had cataract surgery know what I’m talking about; the world is brighter. I see the walls in my house as cream, not mustard. And my hair, isn’t dingy grey. I’m hoping after the second eye is corrected, I’ll have fewer wrinkles.

Rumor was the regiment of daily drops three days before surgery and up to one month after was the most annoying part.

They were right.

Although, I had to strip naked and wear a surgical gown three times too large; told to use the restroom which was locked, and consequently, had to sneak into the hall with my butt exposed.

The surgery was everything promised. After the doctor marked my forehead to indicate the left eye was to be operated on, I didn’t feel a thing.

In recovery I overhead the nurse’s discharge instructions for the patient in the next bed; no driving, DO NOT bend at the waist, and no alcohol.

However, she did not include the no alcohol in her discharge spiel to me, nor mention the difficulty one might have walking. One eye is new and improved, but patched and vision in the other eye is cloudy and compromised. A glass of wine was in my future.

After dinner I poured myself a glass of wine and watched the level rise in the glass, carefully, not to over do it. There was no rise in the glass and I thought the glass could be cracked, only to realize I had been pouring the wine on the counter.

Fortunately, it was inexpensive wine.

Fortunately, the spill didn’t travel to the floor. I would have had to bend at the waist.

Note to self; in preparation for the second eye surgery, buy straws.

. . . just saying

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Poetry; How I’m Doing?

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Photo by Sasha Prasastika on Pexels.com

Some Explaining to Do

Zipping along, writing without a clue . . . The words flew

A minor dental procedure was the first undo

Follow by pain in my hip, x-rays and a walker too

Then vertigo . . .boo-hoo . . . once the crystal where out

There was something else to do

Physical therapy not to walk like a drunk

Add to the stew . . . cataract surgery.

And . . . there’s still more explaining to do?

But I’m not feeling blue and please don’t you.

. . . just saying

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B is for Brain Power

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B is for Brain Power

My joints are stiff, my muscles suffer from atrophy and my brain is rusty. There is no doubt about it. It is called growing old, and the decline goes hand and hand with aging.

But is this true?

What if physical decline is not as heavily tied to aging as we think?

What if our brain is like a muscle that suffers when not used?

The expression grow old suggests a condition we developed. However, many ninety-year old’s have more energy and are less forgetful than peers in their seventies. Some of us become decrepit, some don’t and some maintain a quality of life well beyond their physical ailments. Why?

I thought of Christopher Columbus, not because he was old but because he disputed the belief that the world was flat and travelers would fall off. Yes! I know he didn’t set out to prove the world was round; the hope of profit from the spice trade made him set sail, but his frequent voyages proved the point. The world was round. People had been limiting their behavior based on a false belief.

Is aging a self-fulfilling prophecy? gb_magazine_fall20_cover-1161x1536-1-1

Growing Bolder, a movement to rebrand aging, thinks it doesn’t have to be so. There is a PBS television show, podcast and magazine and numerous resources to support the idea.

“To change the way we age, we have to change the narrative around aging. Growing Bolder is doing just that. Learn how to stop growing older and start Growing Bolder.”

. . . just saying

Check out their website https://www.growingbolder.com/stories/introducing-the-new-look-growing-bolder-magazine/

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A is for Attitude

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A is for Attitude

Tony Bennett

A recent interview on CBS Morning News with Susan and Tony Bennett revealed his diagnosis of Alzheimer’s disease and the challenges of aging. The discussion highlighted how helpful the disclosure was for the general public. His wife said, “Tony Bennett is battling Alzheimer’s disease, but singing is saving him.”

Well, singing is an option. Remember the songs Get Happy sung by Judy Garland or Happy; written, produced and performed by Pharrell Williams? Both are uplifting and yes after humming a few bars people feel happier. 

The correlation between attitude and quality of life has never been clearer. Books, lectures, magazine and newspaper articles go on and on describing the benefits. We frequently celebrate one- hundred-year-olds who may need help blowing out the candles but nevertheless are recognized for their positive attitude, activity and ability to socialize. Captain Tom Moore published his book, Tomorrow  Will Be A Good Day at age one hundred.   

Having the right attitude matters.

There are more indicators that quality of life can be maintained as we age and questions about the inevitability of dementia in seniors.

Dementia

Attitude can be a challenge and I used to coil at the phrase happiness is a choice.

But now think; happiness may be a choice. . . some days, although maybe not every day . . . even if the sun is shining.

Well, just hum a few bars of your favorite song.

. . . just saying

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