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

1984 Vs 2035

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 259/365 Clock Work by martinak15 (CC BY 2.0)clockwork

Aging & Attitude

Happy New Year!

It is hard to believe it is 2015 but it is.

Mr. Wonderful* and I celebrated by eating at McDonald’s on the way home from Orlando International. We were hungry. We were away for sixteen days and that return flight was our best choice, besides New Year’s is not about fun; we are retired and have fun all the time. New Year’s is about making changes, anyway; it was a direct flight.

One of life’s challenges is change or to move forward, because there is no standing still and consequently we will go backwards or decline. This is evident with aging, and the realization none of us will escape wearing diapers and eating soft food. We can only hope to keep up with the changing world around us. Perhaps these thoughts are the cause of my recent dwelling on the novel “Nineteen Eighty-Four” by George Orwell. You must recall the terms it made famous; Big Brother, doublethink, thoughtcrime, Newspeak, Room 101, telescreen, 2+2=5, and memory hole.

Reading the book as a sixteen year old scared the crap out of me. I could not imagine the year 1984, and doubted I would be alive to have Big Brother watch me. And if I were, would insist 2+2 equaled four and be convicted of thoughtcrimes .

It was 1964 and 1984 was twenty years away.

In 2015, I have the same predicament. I cannot imagine the world twenty years from now, and doubt I will be alive.

Not true! Senior Journal reports, “– Happy New Year! If you are age 65, and pretty much average, you should expect to live another 19.3 years, according to new life expectancy projections.”

Well I am pretty much average. In twenty years I will be eighty-seven and Mr. Wonderful eighty-six. Yes, I married a younger man. Our son will be sixty; daughter, fifty-eight and grandchildren in their thirties.

I am considering going vegan or at least eating blueberries for breakfast.

What will the world be like in twenty years? Will we get flying cars, personal robots and travel in space? Some people predict a Utopia existence free of pollution and poor health. Mandatory ID chips inserted in our brains will provide education and track our location so there will be no forgetting where you parked or left your keys. Right, we won’t need keys, nor be parking.

So now I am rethinking my New Year resolutions and changing my expectations. How important is losing five pounds?

 

. . . . just saying

*Mr. Wonderful aka, Bob, my husband

2014 Weight Loss Resolutions

New Year’s Resolutions

Polar Bear Plunge

A Lost Pearl

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81070be8-4105-4dda-b88e-eac682dc7c17Picture Male Tufted Humming Bird by Ray

 

A Lost Pearl

Flash Fiction

The last time I saw her, she was young; youth sparkled in her eyes. Now the sparkle is gone, the jade blue color diminished by time; her convictions etched in lines across her face. Her once narrow nose is broader, broken from standing up for others. Her chest sunken with anger, not there the first time we met.

“Pearl is that you?” I inquire.

She strains to turn towards me, her range of motion greatly compromised.

“Yes, I’m Pearl,” Her voice recalls dignity, and she pauses to ask, “Have I had your acquaintance?”

It was 1971; we got on the Concourse Avenue bus each with a child in hand. She took notice of my bruises and we became friends.

I take the seat alongside her and gently touch her forearm, “Pearl, it’s me Rosa . . . . Rose, remember. . . .” I expect her to ooze with gladness, say, “Lordy, Lordy, Rose, how are you?”

Instead, she says “Rose? Can’t recall a Rose, refresh my memory child.”

If she remembers me, she would never mention beatings, and hiding in safe houses. I remind her of Bainbridge Park; how we would meet after lunch, let the children play in the sand box then walk them to sleep in strollers.

“Yes, I remember sunshine and playgrounds, how is your boy . . . ?”

“Danny, Dan, he’s at Fordham University; studying to be a lawyer.

Danny was five when I made the decision to leave the morning after a beating. I phoned my sister, asked her to get him from school, and left a note for John saying I didn’t want a divorce, and wouldn’t fight him for our son.

I worried about leaving Danny behind. Pearl said, “Don’t fret; your boy be fine,” and hooked me up with people.

John was a New York City Police officer and protected by his brothers, but the force would not ignore his beating a child.

Sill, I moved every four months with a new identity.

Three years later, the Richmond Virginia Newspaper reported the hunt for the killer of John McGill, a NYC Police Officer shot in the line of duty. I went home;  stood next to his coffin, widowed with a pension; my eight-year-old son at my side.

John had never mentioned I was gone to anyone on the force.

Now Pearl dozes next to me, and her head bobs from side to side startling herself. “What was I saying?”

“We were talking about the time we brought the boys to the Bronx Zoo and rode the train around the park ten times. You packed potato salad and fried chicken; a stranger asked to buy your picnic lunch.”

The mention of potato salad crystallizes in her milky eyes, “I remember the day you left, bruised and wearing borrowed clothes; it broke my heart knowing I’d not see you again. How you been?”

“I never got to thank you, Pearl. . . .” She interrupts my attempt at gratitude and explanation of regret .

“Hush, Woman . . . tell me something that will make me smile.”

. . . . just saying

An Irish Hand-Me Down

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Aging & Attitude

 Daily Prompt Clothes and toys, recipes and jokes, advice and prejudice: we all have to handle all sorts of hand-me-downs every day. Tell us about some of the meaningful hand-me-downs in your life

 

 An Irish Hand-Me Down

Smiles tell the story of joy and happiness in this Baptism picture. My Uncle is holding our six week old son, and my seventy-five year old grandmother, Gertrude, is clutching her purse. Judith Andrea, my sister and baby’s Godmother, is behind them.

It is the best picture I can find of the dress.

My mother, Patricia DeSalvo Boylhart and her sister, Carol DeSalvo Connolly were Christened in it, as well as seven siblings and myself. My son was the first of many grandchildren and great-grandchildren to wear the hand me down.

There is history in this dress.

Still in our possession, it was handmade by my mother’s mother, Mary Ellen Doherty DeSalvo. The fabric is  Batiste (Fine Cotton) and  Irish lace,  that her mother; Myra O’Rourke Doherty, brought from Ireland.
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The bodice is hand embroidered, and the seams French to prevent fraying and unraveling. My memory says it is similar to the pictures below.

christeninggown91

The mock neckline has no collar and the back is open to allow dressing over the infants head. Numerous round mother of pearl buttons sewn along the passage await to be fastened by silk thread eye loops. I recall a decision to leave the top buttons unfastened, hoping my son would not cry. The dress is sheer, and a full-length slip underneath  necessary to hide cloth diapers and mandatory plastic rubber pants of early times. It is a delicate dress and has always been hand washed, rolled in a towel, and then laid out to air-dry.

christeninggown3

Katherine Boylhart Ferreira, my sister Abigail’s daughter, was the last child to be christened in the dress in 2006.

I am traveling North soon and hopefully can take a picture of the actual dress that is more than a hand me down.

. . . just saying

 

 

 

The End of Summer

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640px-Lake_Alice_WinterLake Alice –Winter In Florida

The End of Summer

In Florida, the hot summer days never cease. The temperature does not drop; the leaves fade; never glory in red, yellow, and orange changes. The median temperature, eighty-eight, in June, July and August varies only one degree in September, but the days grow shorter.

The end of summer is an event in my mind, attended by memories and strong scents; long idle days accompanied by the excitement of new beginnings, school.

We did not mind summer heat on Long Island. We lived in a Levitt house and felt lucky to have a community pool, which we walked to daily, for 9AM swimming lessons. Learning to swim was a safety issue. The instructor taught the sidestroke saying, “Imagine picking an apple from a tree, put it in your opposite hand, and then reach for another apple,” which we practiced lying on the cement. Once in the pool, a magic scissor kick produced a glide through the water.

 Next, we learned the Australian crawl, holding on pool side. We blew bubbles, our face in the water, we then turn our mouth to the side and gasped for air. The breathing technique was essential  to mastering the crawl, or freestyle as it is known today.

At Lunch time we walked home to eat sandwiches of peanut butter & jelly, or baloney on Wonder bread. Occasionally, lunch was a tuna fish sandwich or tomato soup. After a rest, sitting on the living room couch in the dark, we walked backed to the pool for open swim.

Mornings off from swimming lessons, I met my friend, Vicki Love, under the Weeping Willow tree in her yard. We played Gin Rummy until lunch.

As I grew older, the summer felt shorter although the calendar said the number of days for summer vacation stayed the same.

Even though summer ended, school was beginning.

I loved school, the smell of pencil shavings, blackboard dust, leather school bags, and white shoe polish.

 My leather school bag was a birthday gift from my grandmother, not a hand-me down. Brand clean with an adjustable lock flap that expanded effortlessly when the bag was very full. The frame kept the bag open while I search inside for homework or an eraser.

Florida’s summer does not come to an end. The leaves do not change, although, the nights are slightly cooler and the days shorter. The end of summer is an event in my mind. 

 

. . . just saying

 

Wrinkles & Prunes

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dorian-gray-portrait

A writing prompt from WordPress:

You wake up one day and realize you’re ten years older than you were the previous night. Beyond the initial shock, how does this development change your life plans?

Wrinkles and Prunes

May Dillard wakes to the sound of a bird chirp coming from her smart phone. A birthday text message appears from her daughter, Melissa, saying, “Happy 76th! You’re the Best.” May is surprised by the time, 9AM, and cannot remember the last time she slept this late. She stretches, flutters her feet to get blood circulating, and thinks, I’m not seventy-six, although I feel ten years older this morning. I am sixty-six.

In the bathroom, she lets the hot water run cold while she brushes her teeth, then washes and cleanses her face once the water is warm. The mirror reflects a ten year older version of her. The famous quote, “Old age is not for wimps!” ping-pongs in her mind. She says aloud, “I’m sixty-six today. I was born November 1st, 1948. Today is November 1st 2014, I’m sixty-six.”

Yesterday’s newspaper touted the benefits of coffee and May brews a pot. Anticipating the aroma, she walks to the front door and retrieves today’s newspaper. She removes the plastic sleeve and spreads the paper open on the kitchen table. The headline, “School Board Candidate Borrows Answers” is bold. Evidently, a member had copied and pasted information from Wikipedia onto their application form,and the media considers it cheating.

The date on the newspaper is November 1, 2024.

She had gone to sleep in 2014.

May retrieves a pair of  eyeglasses from her handbag to check the year. It reads 2024 clearly; aging her ten years. She searches the recycling bin and finds a paper dated October 31, 2024, but no story on the benefits of coffee. She recalls the article’s title, “Coffee’s surprising perks,” and the writers visit to the annual Convention of the Hawaii Coffee Association in the year 2014.

It is possible she slipped off the toilet and hit her head last night, as Hillary Clinton did in 2011 or could not remember due to a stroke or amnesia.

The phone rings, really it is a whistle to announce a call. She answers. Her sister Judy sings Happy Birthday. Then says, “God how did we get so old, in four years you’ll be eighty. We’ll have to do something special, like climb Mt. Everest, LOL.”

They chat freely, Judy doing most of the talking and May pretending to be ten years older than she believes. Later, the family gathers to celebrate and May blows out the chunky seven and six numbered candles that decorated an ice cream cake.

That evening she fears sleep, afraid she will wake another ten years older.

Well, she would still be alive. If life expectancy was eighty-one, she had five more good years. She was going to make the best of them.

There would be some changes..

Saturday morning May is packing when her daughter arrives. 

Melissa asks, “Mom, what are you doing?”

May struggles to an upright position and straightens her back and shoulders with a smile, “I’m going on the road. Do you need a vacuum? In five years I won’t be vacuuming.”

“Mom what are you talking about?”

“I making some changes, selling the house, traveling to all the places I haven’t been to. If you don’t want the vacuum I’ll donate it. How about a Crock Pot? They’re real convenient for one pot meals. On second thought I think I’ll take that with me.”

                                      . . . just saying

Sweet Memories

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Goodies  (Not the Franklin but close)

 

I love the way a dear friend captured the nostalgia of eating ice cream and asked her to guest blog. The inspiration came from her love of ice cream and July being national ice cream month. Please leave a comment for Glenda as she doubts others will find it enjoyable. 

   

              The Franklin Ice Cream Store by Glenda Cunard                                                                                                                                                                             

“You scream, I scream, we all scream for ice cream.” Isn’t this the mantra for most little children in the good ole USA?

I remember my twin brother and sister sitting beside me in the back seat of our car and all of us chanting this little rhythm every time we got close to an ice cream store.

It all started in the 1930’s when I was about 4 yrs old and lived on Bellview Street in Indianapolis. (Now a rundown dilapidated street with shabby rental homes.) But, it in the golden days of my childhood there stood the most exciting building in the neighborhood, The Franklin Ice Cream Store.

In the afternoon, after our bath and clean clothes we would sit on the front porch waiting for Dad to come home. One could look to the left across the street and see the 8th Christian church, which was catty-corned from Public School 51. When you looked to the right there stood the Franklin ice cream store.  It was on the corner of Bellview and 16th street. A busy intersection that we could never go down alone. I thought it the most beautiful ice cream store I had ever seen. It looked like something from a fairytale. It was a rather small white stucco building with a most unusual roof. The roof was sculptured all around the top like small snow-capped mountains with icicles hanging down on all sides of the building.

Just looking at the building made you feel cool. At least two times a week and always on Friday evening after dinner, the family walked to the Franklin ice cream store. We looked like we were following the Pied Piper, Mom, the two older girls, me, and my twin brother and sister all following Dad down the street.

This store did not have 31 flavors, sugar-free, all natural ingredients, Neapolitan, glutton free or any other strange-sounding names for ice cream. It just had three flavors – vanilla, chocolate and strawberry. But that was enough for us.

People ordered  at a small window, much too high for a small child to reach, trimmed in icy cool blue. Our father was a very tall man and we stood around his legs while he ordered for the family; and on a hot summer day it felt like the line would never end.

Some children would run, like all children do, around the beautiful white wrought iron tables and chairs, until someone would hand them their cones. Then they would sit in the princess style chairs. But, we never got to sit in them because we always walked to get our ice cream and then go back home. Dad often got three scoops – one vanilla, one chocolate, and one strawberry. That was the ultimate in cones.

Our cones were just one flavor, mostly vanilla. Mom and the older girls got 2 scoops, me and the twins got one scoop. I can hear Dad still saying as we walked back home “hurry up and lick those cones before they melt and Mom saying “don’t let that ice cream get on your clean clothes,” of course that was impossible.

I still close my eyes, lick my lips and have sweet memories.

 

 . . . . just saying,  Thank you Glenda!

R is for Raucous- The Alphabet Series

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Aging & Attitude

paula-deenNew Thought on Words

Raucous describes the commotion occurring around Paula Deen’s admission that she used the N-word. Lisa Jackson is suing Dean and her brother, Bubba Hiers, for racial discrimination and sexual harassment. Jackson, a former manager of one of their restaurants, is white and has stated; Deen never used a racial slur in her presence. However, during the deposition, when asked if she had ever used the N-word, Deen replied  “Yes.”

The Food Network immediately cancelled her contract. Supporters protested the television’s show knee jerk reaction.

Deen initially a no-show for an interview with Matt Lauder appeared on Wednesday’s, (June26th) show and that is when she shot herself in the foot.

Matt Lauer repeatedly asked about Deen’s motivation for appearing on the show and pressed her to say it was to stop the “financial bleeding”. Deen stuck to her message; she wanted to dispel the lies and tell people, she is not a racist.

Lauer persisted and demanded to know, “How could anyone use the N-word and not be a racist?” Since Deen admits to using the word, she is a racist. Lauer’s omnipotent view reflects today’s faulty thinking, implying that racism can be defined by the  use of a single word.

Dean continued ranting about how she was raised and what her daddy said about lying. The theatrics ending with her saying, “If there is anyone who hasn’t said something they regret, to throw a stone at my head and kill me.” It was a meltdown moment and there is speculation about a daytime Emmy.

Most contracts  have been cancelled, and many affiliations severed with the celebrity during the past few days, over her truthfulness. Think of all the people who are now out of work.

It is reminiscent of the Fairy Tale, “The Emperor’s New Clothes,”  in which a lone boy unknowingly speaks the truth that the king is in his underwear.

There is a race divide in the United States and more in some states than others.

We moved to Florida six years ago and labeled Northerners. When the following incident occurred I came to understand why.

Robert, a hired landscaper, was working on his own in our yard when it started to rain, big rain, a sudden heavy downpour. Robert was a husky African-American in his mid twenties with a good sense of humor. I called him Robert, he always called me Miss Claudia. I assumed it was due to our age difference. I saw him standing under a tree for protection, went to the garage to press the remote door opener and called, “Robert go in the garage.” He did so reluctantly and stood looking scared, barely inside the door dripping wet. I grabbed a towel, tossed it to him and suggested he dry himself off. His sad eyes were hesitant as he replied, “You sure, Miss Claudia.”

When the rain stopped our conversation became awkward as he said, “I’ll take this home to launder and bring back my next time.” My response was, “Don’t be silly,” and took the towel back. I was from the North but Robert had been born and raised in the South.

We have all been standing on the sideline letting the Emperor think he looks good in his new outfit and now we are throwing stones at the little boy who spoke the truth.

….just saying

Related articles

Q is for Quagmire – The Alphabet Series

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Aging & Attitude

FBog_03swamp

New Thoughts on Words

We call them lose-lose situations, predicaments, or sorry plight. We feel squeezed in a trap; morass, swamp, or quicksand­­­­­­­­­. It is a quagmire. Quagmire is a noun meaning, “soft miry land that shakes or yields under foot, or complex or precarious position.” Both are difficult to get out of.

The joke about the Jewish Mother comes to mind. You know the one; A Mother buys her son two shirts. The next morning he comes to breakfast wearing one of them. The Mother says, “What, you don’t like the other shirt?” The son is in a quagmire, an emotional trap, and wonders how to get out.

As with all types of swamps, cranberry to quicksand, once immersed there are techniques to avoid drowning in quicksand, whether you are dealing with your mother or mud.

  1. Stay calm, panicking or wriggling around will only get you in deeper.
  2. Delay reacting while you think over the predicament.
  3. Slowly pull out one leg, and if the muck is only up to your knees, your best bet is to move slowly.

Now let us practice responding to the Jewish Mother’s question, “What, you don’t like the other  shirt?”

  1. Do not explain that you plan to wear the other shirt to the game on Saturday because it is a pastel color. Guaranteed, she will say, “So it’s not good enough to wear to the office. You’ll wear it when no one sees you, strangers.”
  2. Control negative body language, wait her out and let her keep the discussion going. She will continue with  something like, “Did you try it on? Does it fit? I can take it back.”
  3. This may be a good time to kiss her Good Morning, then respond with a question. For example, “How does this shirt look?” With any luck, she will say, “Perfect!” If her response is, “You look like your cousin Jonathan,” you could be in over your knees. Move slowly out the door saying you have an early office meeting.

 

                                                                             ….just saying

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Uncle Sam Shenanigans

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Aging & Attitude

Uncle Sam Shenanigans

(Conversation between Uncle Sam and Mr. Working Middle Class)

“You know Mr. Working Middle Class, Congress is going to raise your taxes.”

“No way Uncle Sam, you’re kidding, right?”

“Am I a Kidder?  On Fox Sunday News, Democratic Senator Dick Durbin said, ‘I can’t believe, that at a time when working families in this country are struggling paycheck to paycheck, when we need them to have the resources to buy things in our economy, to create wealth and profitability and more jobs, that the Republican position is they’ll raise the payroll tax on working families? I think that just defies logic.’

“Me too, I already pay enough income tax.”

“No, they’re leaving income tax alone. Payroll tax, well really Social Security Payroll tax, FICA, you pay half and your employer pays the other half, Social Security Entitlement.”

“Social Security Entitlement, don’t you mean Social Security Benefits that I’m entitled to because I gave you money from my pay; and my employer matched that amount, to invest for my retirement and health care.”

“Right, only I didn’t invest all of it, but let’s stay focused on the Republicans. It’s not a real tax increase, call it a take back, or take away….your pay will be less because you can’t get the tax break you got. Don’t look so puzzled, payroll taxes were reduced by 2% for a year so working people could buy more stuff and stimulate the economy, create jobs. It’s time to start paying your full share again. Republicans, simply don’t want a lower rate extended.”

“Oh, I get it. Just like Bush gave the wealthy tax breaks and now it’s time for them to start paying their full share again.”

“Yes, only Republicans are smarter, they’ll never pay the 3.25% surtax on income over one million proposed by the Democrats to cover the deficit created by your 2% break. And nobody will notice when they extend their tax breaks, again.”

“Republicans have a better plan?”

“Yuppie, Republicans want to pay with cuts elsewhere. House Speaker, John Boehner recommends:

  • Freeze Federal Employee’s pay until 2015
  • Reduce bureaucracy by 200,000 jobs through attrition
  • Raise Medicare premiums for the wealthy
  • Deny unemployment benefits and food stamps for incomes over seven figures”

“Won’t that increase employment? People earning one million dollars are eligible for unemployment and food stamps?”

“Get real, the wealthy live paycheck to paycheck too.”

“Neither of these bills will pass.”

“You got that right, Mr. Working Middle Class.”

“What’s Congress going to do?”

“It’s an election year, extend the 2%, and borrow to cover the deficit. Don’t be so concerned with the wealthy.”

“You got to be kidding me.”

“Do I look like a Kidder?”

                                                                Just Saying