Category Archives: #Social Security/#Retirement/#What Age//

A White House Christmas

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2012-12-04 09.05.29

white_house_xmas_08

 Aging & Attitude

My eyes swell with tears, and throat chokes with emotion as I read the letter confirming our Christmas tour date at the White House. Ten days later inside the White House, I am misty the entire visit, and once back home, can barely respond to inquiries of “How was your trip?”

It is not just about the decorations, or First Family’s dog, Bo, a life size replica, made from chicken wire and eighteen thousand one-inch black and white pom-poms .

It is an experience.

At the East Wing entrance, you walk past snowflake wreaths into a foyer of red, white and blue, and instantly feel more than a guest. The tree in this foyer is a tribute to military families. The gold star ornaments pay respect to those who made the ultimate sacrifice. You can write a note of thanks to service men and women. www.JOININGFORCES.GOV.

Visitors are welcome to wander through the nine magnificently decorated rooms and two hallways until you tire of being there, or preparations for a state function start. On this day, a luncheon and afternoon tea are scheduled, so guests will vacate by 11a.m.

We have plenty of time to soak up and absorb the glitter, glitz, and magic.

The theme for Holidays at the White House 2012 is Joy to All and HGTV’s special programhighlights the planning and process of decorating the People’s House. Please click on these links, you will see Bo Obama and the magical decorations. Eighty volunteers spent two to three-days creating joyous splendor throughout the White House. All rooms are decorated but only the State floor is viewed by the general public.

My favorite, a tree in the Book Sellers area, glass bubble ornaments in primary colors; orange, red, purple, blue and green, cascade around the branches. The circular simplicity leave an elegant effect and a lasting impression.

And it gets better.

The East Garden room is a children’s wonderland of gingerbread wreaths and “Boflakes” hung on trees. The Library pays tribute to past Presidents, and First Families. The China Room is set to enjoy a holiday dinner. The Vermeil Room celebrates past First Ladies. The East Room displays American folk art. The Green Room reflects on the joy of a winter garden, The Blue Room honors troops, veterans and military families, The Red Room remembers First Lady Dolly  Madison and her famous Wednesday-evening receptions with cranberry floral arrangements.  The State Dining Room filled with vibrant holiday tones displays the 300-pound gingerbread house.

But it is not just about the decorations.

It is about American pride.

It is about the Princeton Tigertones singing acappela in the North Entrance Hall. An excited 2012-12-04 09.22.48preschooler yelling “I found it” and pointing at a red Bo Obama glass ornament hung low on a tree.

It is about Abraham Lincoln poised above the State Dining room fireplace, his face lined with evidence, that all men are created equal.

2012-12-04 09.07.12You can hear JFK’s poignant request, “Ask not what your country can do for you, but what can you do, for your country.”

It is about meeting three Marines on the Metro, who are returning from Arlington Cemetery and a service for fallen unit members. We have a light discussion about their medals and uniforms. As the doors open, I struggle to say “Be Safe,” before leaving. The soldier’s eyes meet mine and revealed war’s reality but he replies gently, “We try, Maam.”

A White House Christmas tour is not just about the decorations.                                 

                                                                  …just saying

Manly Men

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                     The Gingerbread Men

It would not be Christmas without “THE MEN”, Gingerbread Men cookies that are a family holiday tradition.

The recipe and trademark attire of  a three raisin vest and sliver of Marchiano cherry lips was created for my daughter’s kindergarten class. This year is their thirtieth celebration.

As class mother in 1982, my responsibility was to provide a holiday refreshment; traditionally a white flour sugar cookie, dripping in red icing and sparkling with glitter sugar, accompanied by cherry  Hi-C Juice.

I could not do it.

My children had been told Ritz crackers were cookies and did not learn differently until they went to school. Birthday cake was carrot cake made with whole wheat flour, and I baked bread.

I searched for a  festive substitute and found gingerbread cookies in The Good House Keeping Cookbook on page 657. Determined to make the cookies healthier yet, I eliminated the sugar, increased the molasses, added whole wheat flour, and loved the results.

They are cute. Their crooked lips and misshapen eyes add personality. But not everyone likes them, it is an acquired taste and even Mr. Wonderful took his time coming on board.

When grammar school was over, I could not stop baking, started delivering decorative containers of MEN to  neighbors, and decorated a table tree in our  foyer with gingerbread men, to wish the teenagers Merry Christmas.

One year my daughter pulled me aside  to whisper there was no “MAN” for Laura. We scribbled a name tag and she hurried to follow my instructions, hang it in the back of the tree and tell Laura to look again, carefully.

These small memories grow huge in my heart and make my holidays special.   … just saying             


The Best Bad Plan

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In Greek Mythology, Argo is the name of the ship the Argonauts sail to retrieve the Golden Fleece, and prove Jason worthy to reclaim his father’s throne.  In Ben Affleck’s new hit film, Argo is the title of a fake science fiction movie, or the best bad idea the CIA can conjure up to rescue six American Embassy staffers out of Tehran. It is a real nail biter, even though you know the ending, and peppered with great acting by John Goodman, Alan Arkin, and Bryan Cranston.

I love this type of movie where limited dialogue and stoic facial expression mysteriously communicate an emotional message. Ben Affleck as Tony Mendez, a CIA “exfiltration” specialist, will be an Oscar nominee even if his six-pack (viewed in one shirtless scene) is makeup made.

In November of 1979, Jimmy Carter was President and my children age four and two. I watched Laura and Luke’s wedding on General Hospital, not the evening news, and militants storming the U.S. embassy in Tehran. The movie credits the United States giving safe haven to the ex-Shah of Iran for medical treatment, for erupting Iran citizens to a frenzy. They break down the embassy door and take fifty-two American hostages. In the midst of the chaos, six Americans manage to slip away and find refuge in the home of the Canadian ambassador.

Tony Mendez’s job is to get them out of the country.

The initial plan is to give them all bicycles and they will pedal to the border. Tony points out the border is 300 miles away and the road unpaved. The bicycle plan is not only the worst bad solution, it’s stupid. The tires would wear out.

He has a better bad plan; a scheme that surrounds a fake movie, Argo. He attempts to convince superiors this is the best bad plan, arguing others are: horrible, terrible, dreadful, none are good, some are god –awful, miserable, and the worst; the travel by bike. The Argo movie plan is crappy, and no good, but the best.

The best bad plan concept precipitates thought about life, politics and politicians.

According to the government, in this situation there were no good solutions, just the best of the bad.

Tell that to the six Americans who left Iran, safely.

Argo is four star movie.                                      ….just saying

Electoral College for Kindergartners

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Jeff Parker

Capital_Building

I live in Florida, a swing State, and evidently a swing County, Flagler. The News Journal, our local paper, recently reported an Associated Press pre-election analysis that points fingers at 106 communities in nine states. Bullseye, voters living in Flagler County got real influence.

Remember the Chad uproar of the 2000 Bush/Gore election, the nation held hostage for a month, while volunteers inspected ballot tickets.

Nominee
George W. Bush Al Gore
Party Republican Democratic
Home state Texas Tennessee
Running mate Dick Cheney Joe Lieberman
Electoral vote 271 266
States carried 30 20 + DC
Popular vote 50,456,002 50,999,897
Percentage 47.9% 48.4%

Bush won 271 electoral votes, Gore 266, because of the twenty-five(2000 census) votes in question. Gore lost the election by 4 electoral votes. The chads spiced up the questionable  recount vote. Gore would have won 291 to Bush 246, so we know the significance  of Florida swinging.

Thirty states went to Bush; Gore, twenty; plus, the District of Columbia. However, Gore won the popular vote by five tenths of one percent, 50,999,897 to Bush, 50,456,002.

Does this make sense? Not to me either.

I went online to refresh my knowledge of the Electoral College, and by the way, there is no campus.

Each state is allocated a number of electoral votes equal to the number of members it has in the U.S. Congress.

The most recent Huffington Post   a “snapshot of where the presidential race stands based on hundreds of state-wide and national opinion polls, filtered through a poll tracking model and updated throughout the day.” On October 29th the polls  indicated the electoral vote distribution below:

Barack ObamaBarack Obama  277

(217 Strong Obama + 60 Leans Obama)

Mitt RomneyMitt Romney 206

(15 Leans Romney + 191Strong)

The graph shows five tossup states; Colorado 9 , New Hampshire 4, Virginia 13, North Carolina 15 and Florida 29, a total of seventy electoral votes. Polls have confidence Obama will win New Hampshire, Colorado and Virginia, and that Romney will win North Carolina.  In Florida the polls are split 48% to 48% with a 10% greater confidence Romney will win.
It takes an amendment to the U.S. Constitution to change the electoral college and popularity does not count.
The way Florida swings needs watching.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                            …just saying

Is Life a Bowl of Cherries?

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800px-Bowl_of_cherries_with_colours_enhancedFinally, the air has a chill and I need long sleeves this October morning.

It is high tide, and dirty seaweed decorates the beach. The shore line looks ugly but the sky does not. Pewter grey clouds hover above angry white caps. In the distance a shirtless boy, pounds the sand intensely with his small fist and I share his anger. Dad sits behind him talking into a cell phone.  No one smiles or says good morning when I walk by, shake my head, and think about the world.

The waves slap each other and drive home a recent expectation of parents playing with kids.

On my return trip, Dad is picking up shells and pointing out turtle nests to his son and I forgive his digression and reevaluate my assumptions.

I bristled at the cell phone, but is it any different from a live conversation, probably not.  Fathers teach children to wait and not interrupt.

My father’s words “Life is tough, TUFF,” dance in my head and I reminisce about being told, “You’ve had enough fun this week,” and so, I was not allowed to go to the movies with friends. I could not argue. I did have fun.

We fabricate an idealized world in which every day is happy; and we are disappointed when it is not.

Perhaps this wise Dad is teaching his son to find the happy moments in the day.

Life is just a bowl of cherries.

                                                                                  …just saying

Two Little Words

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images

Aging & Attitude

Looking exhausted, I pay for an empty cardboard cup and turn toward the coffee carafe.

“Let me help you with that,” the clerk says and takes back the brown container made from recycled paper.  “How do you like your coffee?”  She inquires walking away with her head turned sideways.

“Medium, light, no sugar, please.” I respond and fumble my way to a nearby seat.

I am extremely thankful the hospital cafe is open after midnight and the coffee is hot and fresh.

“Thank you.” I say to the young woman with very blue eyes when she delivers my coffee.

They are the same two little words I said upstairs to the surgeons and nurses for performing a twelve-hour life saving operation on my husband.

Two little words, thank you.

Over the next few hours, days, weeks and months, I say those words repeatedly to family and friends who call to boost my sagging spirit and spoon feed me courage.  Two little words that wrap themselves inside my heart and feel insufficient, so I add; so much, if only you knew or I really appreciate, to thank them for their gift of caring.

I struggle to find a way to acknowledge and return their kindness, and hope they hear the enormous gratitude sealed inside, “Thank You,” then realize their gifts are mine to keep, for me and my family to remember, relish, and treasure; help us grow in love and wisdom, two words; thank you.

They are not little.

                                                                                                ….just saying

My Most Embarrassing Moment

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o

 Wet & Wild

Aging & Attitude

   My most embarrassing moment occurred the summer of 1986 on Long Beach Island, a well know vacation spot for families from the New York, New Jersey and Philadelphia area. The drive along the Garden State Parkway to exit 63A and over the Manahawkin Bay Bridge, affectionately called The Causeway by locals, is a true Jersey experience. The unique bridge lights, famed Strand of Pearls, are memorable viewed at night.

Called LBI, the island known for its beach umbrellas, sand castles, and surfers, has no boardwalk, and is minus the frenzy of other nearby beach communities like Seaside Heights, famous for Snookie and the TV show “Jersey Shore.”

My husband says his most embarrassing moment was asking a cousin when her baby was due and she responded, “I’m not pregnant.”

His experience pales next to mine.

Makes you wonder what is behind embarrassment.

My children and husband watched the incident.

In 1986, my son was eleven, my daughter, nine, and me; I was thirty-eight years old. I do not know the age of the pimpled face teen.

The week was uneventful, no rain or black flies, and the mosquitoes only came out at night. Our friends and their two kids visited a few nights, and we went to the Wet & Wild slide in Beach Haven.

Recently, I Googled  Wet & Wild on Eighth and Bay Ave, and it is renamed the Thundering Surf Water Slide, but the giant pink bubble gum colored slide remains the same.

The kids enjoyed Wet & Wild so much we went back. My husband, not up for the wet and wild experience, joined other parents in the gallery to cheer and applaud when the ride ended. I was eager and grabbed a rubber magic carpet for the ride.

For the vacation, I purchased a hot turquoise one-piece swimsuit; halter-top, knotted behind the neck and perfect for swimming.

After several carpet rides, I was starting to enjoy myself, you know let loose, when the embarrassing moment happened. To this day I am thankful my husband was standing in the gallery, keen-eyed.

I landed in the bottom pool with the heavy magic carpet on my head, choking on water. My eyes opened to Pimple Boy staring at me like he is stoned.

I managed to remove the mat from my head and stand, then heard a voice call my name. Once my husband had my attention he pointed to his chest.  I looked down. Yes, I was fully exposed and playing to a full crowd, about twenty people.

Pimple Boy popped more zits and I scurried to hide and put things back in.

I sort refuge behind the stairs, where my two children where hiding, and exclaimed out of breath, “The most embarrassing thing just happened.”

In whispered tones, they mouthed, “We know, Mom.”

I wonder what Pimple Boy’s most embarrassing moment is.

What is your most embarrassing moment?

                                                         …just saying

Peculiar

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Picasso Blue Nude

Picasso Blue Nude   Aging & Attitude

My only aunt died recently at the age of ninety-two. Peculiar is how my mother describes her sister. It is a kind word choice considering, and gives my aunt personality and style, rather than label her strange.

Born on January 13, 1920, her dad, Charles Achilles DeSalvo, proudly named her Marie Antoinette, (while her mom was sedated) though she was called Carol; and legally changed her name once twenty-one.

As a twelve-year-old, I thought her a princess arranging articles of clothing (padded bras, garter belts and silk panties) on the bed, to wear after a bath. She wore high heel, open toe, sling back shoes lined with Kleenex tissues, as slippers; bathed with Palmolive soap, used a pumice stone to ward off foot callous, brushed with tooth powder and applied makeup sitting at a dressing table in a house coat. The final step once I zippered her newest dress was to take out the Bobbie-pins and comb through her hair. She did not dilly-dally wanting to be only fashionably late for cocktails.

Aunt Carol was frozen in time. Nothing changed for her since 1958 when she owned a green Buick.  She had a Nancy Regan style, but never went to Washington. Her hair-do the day she died was the same as the day my parents married. She never had children and did not marry until sixty. She did not wear slacks, low shoes, socks, or sneakers. Every dress she owned was individually surrounded with plastic and stored in a closet. I still can hear her response to the mention of denim, “Only cowboys wear denim,”  she said with a sharp rise in her voice, clutching a tissue.

Picasso Blue Nude

Aunt Carol loved to shop and demonstrated peculiar behavior at the checkout.  She watched carefully every item rung up as though it was her first trip to Disney then waited for the cashier to ask, “Will that be cash or charge?” which did not happen. Aunt Carol eventually said “Credit Card,” with a look of distain, opened the metal clasp on her black leather purse, and removed a zip lock bag.  A wallet wrapped in Kleenex tissue; the tissue secured by a blue rubber band was inside the plastic. Unwrapping, the wallet was a slow process that suspended time for everyone around her. Eventually she removed a credit card and paid. I wonder what her life would have been as Marie Antoinette DeSalvo.

                                                                                  …just saying

Phone Trash

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GE DIGITAL CAMERA

 Aging & Attitude

   Remember being a nine-year old and selecting a number from the telephone book; dialing the number and addressing the party by name, Mr. or Mrs. Smith, to ask; “Is your refrigerator running?” When the reply was “Yes,” I delivered the gem of a retort, “Well, you better go catch it,” and hung up the phone doubled over in laughter with a room full of my closest friends.

That was summer fun in 1957. That and playing Gin Rummy under a weeping willow tree or collecting discarded cigarette butts from the gutter to smoke after straightening them out.

Phone trash became more sophisticated in 1962. We lived in Hensonville, N.Y. and had a party line. Our number was two digit, eight -seven; an operator much like Lillian Tomlin on Laugh-In connected you to the party to whom you spoke. A telephone hullabaloo erupted when my boyfriend, Ronnie King, wrote my brother’s girlfriend, Lillian St. Claire, a hand written letter, saying he would give her a ring when he came upstate for the summer. He stuffed the letter in an envelope and glued a three-cent stamp in the right hand corner. Ron meant he would call her on the telephone but Lillian, a drama queen, used the line out of context to set the Windham Ashland Jewett High School reeling and all party lines smoking.

Today phone trash is real a dilemma I experienced when all four phones in our home displayed the prompt, still connecting. Since the batteries had recently been replaced, I gave it time, and waited until 10:30 PM to contact the Bright House customer service line.  A recorded message said, “Most problems can be corrected by pushing the reset button on the “Box.”  Crawling under a desk equipped with a flashlight and cake tester to reset did not work, and consequently used my cell telephone to speak with a live person.

An hour conversation determined an on-site visit is needed and someone would be out between three and five pm the next day. I had inadvertently reset the router box and now did not have wireless internet service as well. It is now after midnight.

Promptly at three PM, the doorbell rang and to make a long story short, after testing all equipment the technician determined I needed new phones. It was likely the power pack was faulty and more unlikely I would be able to buy one. I had to go shopping.

A day and a half later, we had land line service. I am still working on the internet.

Here is the dilemma, what to do with the four telephones, four new batteries, one answering device, three phone docks and one power pack that might possible work.

  • Donate to  Goodwill
  • Sell on Craigslist
  • Convince my neighbor she needs them for her grandkids to play house.
  • Save the four batteries, (although they do not fit my new phones someone I know might have phones they do).
  • Throw everything in the garbage and pray Zero Waste blogger, Jen, does not haunt my dreams.
  • None of the above and have a suggestion to leave in comment box                                                                                                                                                                                   ….just saying

Am I Politically Stupid?

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Capital_Building

 Aging & Attitude

“Hardball” with Chris Matthews is on the television as I join Mr. Wonderful on the couch to snuggle.  The urgent tone in Matthew’s voice compels me to listen. A heated discussion about Mitt Romney’s selection of Paul Ryan as a VP running mate is taking place, analyst predict Ryan’s budget cuts will intensify the political fight over Medicare.

By commercial time I feel stupid, have difficulty following the ping-pong conversation and question what I can follow, as not making sense.

What fight over Medicare? Every republican in the House and Senate, including Paul Ryan signed into law Obama’s cuts to Medicare Providers (insurance companies, hospitals, nursing homes and drug companies).

Oops, right the 2012 budget was never passed on July 31st, a continuing resolution was approved.

“Oh wait, wait, don’t tell me,” Romney says he will not sign the bill into effect if elected.

After the break I turn up the volume and lean in to concentrate.

Chris Matthews introduces Ezra Klein,a political columnist for the Washington Post, and David Leonhardt, Washington bureau chief of New York Times, to clarify the politics of scaring people especial baby boomers.

Matthew insists Leonhardt delineate Obama, Romney and Ryan on Medicare for viewers.

Delineate sounds dangerous and I am nervous but Leonhardt delivers the difference clearly, with a smile. It is simple without all the political double talk.

  • Obama keeps a single payer government system with cuts to provider management and an emphasis on quality care in the future.
  • Paul Ryan voted yes for all of Obama’s cuts (“only because Obama did first”) but in ten years wants to move to a voucher system, aka, premium support e.g. a check sent to Mr/Ms Senior Citizen to shop around for a provider.
  • Romney wants the voucher system in ten years, but not the cuts in the 2013 Budget/ resolution deal, he will veto when brought to a vote in March 2013 if elected. (Republicans are foxy.)

Ezra Klein confirms the points and reiterates that Obama makes modest changes, the voucher plan is radical; and all three politicians predict the same path of growth in Medicare but look for savings in very different ways for the entitlement program.

The term entitlement blurs my mind and triggers thoughts of stupidity.  I know I’m entitled to Social Security and Medicare benefits because for the past fifty years I and my employer have contributed to the fund. We had a deal; give Uncle Sam part of your pay weekly and the money will be returned for retirement and medical coverage.

Why do I feel caught with my hand in the cookie jar?

Wait, wait don’t tell me, I’ll get my money back but what is left will not cover the costs of Medicare so  cuts are mandatory.

Let me get my pea size brain around this with an analogy I can relate to.

I put aside $100 to buy a dress, when I go to buy the dress it costs $115. There is  only $55 in the kitty because my sister Judy borrowed money to buy designer shoes, consequently, the dress costs too much. If Judy returns the designer shoes the dress becomes affordable.

Wait, wait don’t tell me, Judy has already worn the shoes so I have to shop around for a much cheaper dress (something under $55); what retires, now fifty-five will do in ten years according to a voucher plan.

Am I stupid or are people fifty-five and younger being thrown under a bus?                                                                                                     …just asking