sixtyfivewhatnow

The stuff that keeps us.

2013-05-20T07:47:00.001-07:00

In my pantry I keep bags and containers of dried food, shelf after shelf of things that I will use one day. All can be easily picked up at the supermarket. An entire room with shelves like this one!

I have closets full of boxes with important papers, and more papers hidden in back drawers, piled under underwear, usurping space, keeping me busy year after year, when guests arrive and I need those closets for other uses. I'm constantly reminded of our modern obsessions.

I have papers I have written; and papers others have written, from people I will never meet, from people whose sole pursuit is to create trails of evidence, to point out that whatever goes wrong in life is not their fault.

Did you know the amount of insurance you bought in your youth, regardless of how much you paid, and for how long, that amount diminishes with age? At my present age, (forget those insurance claims that you can get guaranteed insurance at any age!) a onehundredfiftythousand life insurance is worth a meagerly onethousand dollars!

I was cleaning up a drawer, and there I saw the fine print, the print that was not sympathetic to my situation any more. Nobody can buy a cemetery plot for that amount, I thought.

What to do with all your stuff? Store if you have storage room. Let the supermarket store your dry goods. Just buy what you need when you need it, and keep your pantry shelves clean and bare. You are not going to go hungry these days.

Better yet, convert your pantry space to an artistic pursuit!

And for papers?
Read and shred. Feed your compost pile. If you want to keep them because you anticipate collecting benefits, be sure you read the small print, on some tiny line somewhere at the end of the document.

A day in paradise

2013-05-16T10:15:00.001-07:00

This is what I see out of my back windows: the ocean and dunes in the distance, the lake, my fenced-in garden plot with vegetable boxes built last summer and planted again this spring. The boxes are made of local Port Orford cedar, a wood that turns grey with age, rot resistant.

Cultivating these boxes is easy for any age, especially mine.

I stand up the entire time; I can stretch across to weed and to plant, and since I am short, I do very little reaching or bending down. I've made only two planting mistakes last season. The first one is the planting of artichoke plants, the tall plants in the top row. I'll have to wait until they die off from the main stock, and then transfer the little shoots on the ground. Artichokes take a lot of room and need space to expand as they send shoots that will continue to produce for a few years more.

The second mistake was to plant strawberries in the bottom right box with cucumbers and nasturtium all of which sent shoots out, everywhere. For this season, the strawberries will keep their own box.

Looking up from my boxes, the sea and the sea stacks across the lake, and dunes and clouds offer their own version of a day in this paradise. I never tire watching, listening to the waves and the birds, delighting in the small and big things that continue to surprise me every time I look this way.

This is whale migration season, and we are accustomed to see spouts from entire families on their way to Alaska stopping around here to feed and play.

I can do some fishing here on this stack of rocks, just dipping my pole in. People do catch marvelous eating fish here. I might just do that!

Can we still afford to dream?

2013-05-13T08:15:00.001-07:00

Port Orford's little league field, as all little league fields, is supported by volunteers, coaches, managers, field preppers, concession moms and dads, sponsors of uniforms, bench builders and transporters. City fathers who see that the premises are safe and cleaned up before and after the season is over, know that these were dreams they had, and their cousins and fathers had before them. Keeping up the tradition of little league is a matter of honor for everyone involved.

Nobody ever complains that we are spending so much time and money and labor as a community to see that children experience what we experienced at their age. If we own a business, we'll support the team by writing up the cost of uniforms, awards dinner, trophies. The picture of the team will remain prominently in the halls of the business, to remind the community that this was a very good thing! Even if the team lost. Even if the team lost year after year.

Helping children fulfill their dreams is a natural high for a parent; for the community.

How often we buy stuff we don't need from a boy or a girl who comes to the door and tells us about this dream she/he's pursuing? A child who dreams of becoming something or someone must be assisted to achieve that dream.

How about more basic dreams, about being safe, educated, with access to great health care, to experience what every child should have in the course of his/her development?

When I started college, the cost of education at Los Angeles City College was $10 a unit. Everyone could afford college then; and everyone who couldn't pay even the ten dollars received scholarships and other assistance.

Nobody I knew became bankrupt before they started their career.
When did education become a luxury?

You must remember this...

2013-05-08T07:55:00.003-07:00

Do you find pictures of yourself you don't remember anything about?
This is me, or a woman with the same stride, hair color, size and general build.

It must have been taken a few years back, when Brian was still alive. The clue is my son's dog, Butters, behind me, stopping to sniff another dog. My son must have taken this picture with his phone, when I wasn't watching, his object to chronicle Butters's better pursuits.

Butters was just a year old or so.

(I found this photo as I perused the downloads from his phone after his death.)

I can tell you that we walked, Brian and I, all through his neighborhood, and with his dog. I remember attempting to hold on to her leash with determination because she had a habit of grabbing the leash and playing tug with me. It was not a game I enjoyed with such a strong young dog. My son, on the other hand, enjoyed his dog's strength, agility, playfulness.

I worried out loud about this habit. He reassured me that he had all under control.
Grown up children don't know everything, I thought.

Do you know your neighbors?

2013-05-01T07:52:00.000-07:00

We lived in Los Angeles most of our adult/working lives. In our last place, we occupied the same corner house for twenty years and except for families with children in the same sports as our son, or the same activities as our daughter, we didn't know too many people. People didn't stop and say hello to anyone.

They were on a tight schedule; we all were.

We retired to Port Orford, on the Southern Oregon Coast, a small hamlet that sits quietly behind pines, day in and day out, looking out on the Pacific and bordering the forest. In winter, the town seeks relief from the constant wind and the constant rain by shutting itself in and exposing its thoughts through artistic pursuits. A town of twelve hundred, maybe half of whom are full time inhabitants, here and there and in the surrounding hills, manages to support the arts and wild life with equal fervor. There are fourteen art galleries in this town.

I've begun to feel like an artist here; something in me wants to live without schedules, between days and nights; garden in the moonlight, write in the sun, cook only when hungry, declare love at every thing and everyone who's listening, take up music, poetry, watercolor, and drop love stones wherever I've walked from the beach with a pocketful of agates.

There is a rumor that this town lives in its own time zone; people wake up and show up at the Post Office when they know they have mail, and the rest of the time you might not see them for months.
Once you know someone's schedule, you honor it. You manage around it and soon it becomes a normal thing to meet for coffee at the spur of the moment when both of you are not running off to a doctor, a dentist, an errand to the hardware store you hope stocks sprinklers for your new lawn that is dying out because, unlike every year since you have moved here, this year, for the first time, the weather has been dry for weeks and you need to turn the sprinklers on your new lawn.

Unlike many beach towns where Main Street is full of trinket places, this town supports small enterprises that provide needed services and support, hardware and lumber stores, a laundromat, four or more RV parks and campgrounds, a school, a park, coffee shops, restaurants, motels and B&B's, a car repair, a hair salon, real estate offices, a quilting shop, an ocean resources office, a dentist, a newspaper, a data business with offices all over the nation, a couple of manufacturing places for machine parts, and unknown numbers of small home businesses, in addition to ranching and cranberry growing. The port served commercial fishermen as well as sports enthusiasts. A marine reserve, run by the Marine Studies Dep. of Oregon State U. sits right off Table Rock at the Visitor's Park. The reserve is set to study the future of marine life in this part of the world

This town is full of part timers; yet, when they do show up, they fit right in! Unimaginable anywhere else. And since everyone knows someone you don't know, if you need a repair person, start asking around. Did you know that your neighbor used to be a plumber?

Did we know this before we moved here? No!
We moved here to be on the water.
We moved here for its beauty and affordability.
All things that everyone knows.
But what's keeping us here are the people; smart, open minded, eager to engage, perceptive, well read, good stewards of the environment, and mostly, friendly and acceptable of each other's idiosyncrasies.

We are lucky, that way.

The distance that defines us.

2013-04-25T18:02:00.003-07:00

(From right: Hubby, eldest son, his daughter, I and my son's wife)

We spend more time facing our mobiles than

walking side by side

the way people do in

other places

other countries

other times.

Each time we see each other, we re-learn habits

on an hourly rate

negotiating every little decision, where to go for dinner

what to do for fun.

We notice how much and how little

we have changed; how little and how much we know of each other's

daily challenges

as years and months are rolled up and stewed down to their essence

each time we see each other.

We talk, or avoid talking; we share or avoid sharing;

initiate and extinguish difficult conversations

reveal and dispel fears.

Which each hour

each day

each activity

memories return brighter

ties grow stronger

a new balance is re-established.

We have to face the truth.

2013-04-20T08:33:00.001-07:00

My dad used to tell his friends of the time when barely a toddler I blurted something out while he was negotiating to sell his horse. I told the other party they were trying to find faults with the horse because they didn't want to pay what the horse was worth. I was three years old and truth came out of my mouth like a wild spring.

My parents worked hard at modifying my enthusiastic delivery.

Now that I'm older and wiser, I pride myself on the simple principle that truth, the whole truth must come out somehow, and much of it in plain speech. I tend to appreciate food when it is presented in ways that all its elements are easily identifiable too.

And that brings me to today's topic. At our age, with our experience, with few days ahead, we are obligated by ethics and morals to state the truth and face it with grace. We can't hide it to save face; we can't hide it because someone will be offended; we can't hide it because we'll lose friends and acquaintances.

The horrible truth on my mind this morning is the tragedy in Boston and all the tragedies that involved young people, in Columbine, in Newtown. The perpetrators all felt like outsiders, friendless in most cases. As a nation we say words like "mentally ill" and then we bury that truth in the rubble of blame and the carnage of fear.

People with mental illnesses, people who are suffering unbearable abuse, people with major paranoia and insecurities, people who hurt and can't cope with life's bumps, all of them just a minute away from committing abominable acts towards themselves, or towards innocent victims, living right in our house,or next door, among sane, smart, law abiding folks, these people walk right along us in malls, schools, churches, public and private offices.

Can we say we don't know what to do?
Can we say that just throwing a label their way does no good?
Can we say that we have been silent too long?
Can we say that "mental health" has to be our new frontier?

S

Not every one golfs here.

2013-04-11T08:31:00.000-07:00

Thirty minutes north of here we can play golf at the world class Bandon Dunes, designed to resemble the links on the Scottish Highlands. We had lunch last weekend as people who had flown in for the game spent hundreds to play a round and more to be housed in lakeside bungalows and lodges with the sounds of the Pacific as it roiled and moaned all night.

Most people who live here cannot afford to play here.

But they are happy The Dunes provide work. Some work full time with benefits; many more work part time. Groundskeepers, the wait staff, housekeepers, caddies, drivers, cooks, general service people feel lucky to have a job, any job. They do not have the extra money to cover even one round of golf in the place they work. Young, ambitious high school juniors become caddies as soon as they qualify, and will work here for a few years, unless they are headed for college with a scholarship and the blessings of a supportive family. Most of the young people will not return to their town after graduation because the chances of getting a job is quite small, anywhere on this coast where millionaires fly in on chartered jets and play a weekend of golf without giving a thought to the town that is hosting them.

Before Bandon Dunes came to the west coast, cities like Bandon, Coos Bay, Port Orford, Gold Beach, survived on lumber and fishing and ranching. With the arrival of retirees from California and other areas where real estate had reached skyscrapers' prices these towns began to see an influx of steady income and the need for services like health care and hospitality. Restaurants and hospitals are doing well; other businesses, however start up and close down within a couple of years.

People here survive on very little. Over 70% of our school children qualify for free or reduced lunches. Parents work part time, with no benefits and make do with meager salaries. The free dental van that visits our elementary schools found a bigger percentage of dental decay in our children than usually found in undeveloped countries.

You are not going to hear sad stories out of anybody's mouths. These people are survivors, proud of their abilities to make do, year after year, cutting wood to use for heat and cooking, growing their own food, hunting and freezing their own meats, fishing in the rivers for fish that will feed their families for weeks. You may find they are eager to help neighbors, and they trade easily with each other, a mower, a tractor, a new part for an old engine.

The local municipalities have many challenges, not the least of which is how to upgrade crumbling buildings, water treatments, sewer systems, electrical grids, communication networks to keep the city alive and thriving. Grants are few and they require in-kind investments from a municipality without any industry to keep the coffers filled. Twice we have tried to pass a bond to upgrade our water system; both times it failed. With the sequester in place, schools and police force are seeing cuts that cannot be undone by local means. Safety and education will suffer; people will be displaced; food banks will empty out.

Yet, the golf business will continue to thrive. The recession did not affect them, as they developed and expanded even during those times; and they continue to grow and provide world-class recreation in a milieu of third-world economics.

Trouble, right here in Rivercity, my friends.

Untold stories.

2013-04-08T09:11:00.002-07:00

Much of life's depth and breath fail to be represented, talked about, written about. Our movies, television shows, social media seem to be inspired by the very fortunate or the criminal. Our institutions are either glamorized or condemned.

Where are the stories about working people without college degrees, without savings, without mortgages because they don't make enough money, or can't save enough to put the minimum money down to afford a home in a decent neighborhood? Where are the stories about successes and failures of our institutions, schools, hospitals, churches, charitable organizations?

Ordinary lives are rich with extraordinary depth.

I'm challenging us all to share not just the pieces of our lives we have always shared, but the rest of our context. Sometimes, what's all around us, as we see people at the drugstore, the movie theater, the coffee shop, the doctor's office, what should intrigue us is to tell stories never told, to illuminate lives of unexpected courage right around the corner.

We all know a retiree living on meager Social Security vouchers, on food stamps and other public assistance; or someone who is a working poor constantly trying to keep from losing ground, hoping a catastrophe is avoided; even someone who cares for a mentally or physically challenged family member, burdened by a task that would crush most; young people who are trying to start a career, but have limited skills, making no progress.

I've been thinking about this topic ever since reading a short story in the April 1 edition of The New Yorker, about a motel maid with a child she brings to work with her titled: "Marjorie Lemke" by Sarah Braunstein. www.newyorker.com

Counting up, counting down.

2013-03-31T12:52:00.001-07:00

About this time of the year

days become
slippery
misty with anticipation

spring returning like a new uncle
moving back home

someone nobody really can be sure of
couldn't be guaranteed
what exact dimensions
or disposition would make him arrive. He had
promised to come
when the right detail
the right colors
the right mood
was achieved
though nothing we did changed anything
since his coming was dependent on secrets carried in the winds
and a calendar chiseled in a marbled land.

When he finally shows up

and easily accommodated

in our daily routines

each new food will taste grand

so tired

we all are

of indoor games
and canned beans

and nights spent captured

under heavy blankets.

When uncle leaves
and aunt and cousins take his place

we'll hardly notice

busy jumping off lake ramps

into cool water

to shed the heat

that

has

become

unbearable.

We'll grow tired

of long swims and long days

just when

the cousins will be collected
to return to their homes

needing new clothes

and backpacks.

We'll all be eagerly waiting for

school to open, for the time

when
in
single

file
we

line
up
to
enter
another
grade

and greet our old friends.

Waiting for miracles.

2013-03-22T08:21:00.001-07:00

In these parts, wild
rivers cross county
and state lines
laugh wildly across
property lines
knowing only
the restraints of
weather and time.

The Elk, the Sixes,
the Smith
the Rogue all
jump fences and
spill into meadows
at this time
growing bolder
with each snow
melt
mounting knolls
and drowning moles.

Soon
lamblets will leave
their mothers
a foot behind each day
testing
their legs
and young grass
rivers leave behind.

Nesting behaviors of old people.

2013-03-10T11:46:00.003-07:00

(I decided to return, just so I could cover some topics we usually don't talk about.)

We are in a rush to grow up, be independent, drive off toward our future, have all the things we have dreamed of having, grow to a perfect size, with perfect features, and live our fantasy life with a perfect mate, in a perfect house with adoring children who behave better than we did as children.

At each stage we check off the markers:
1. driver's license
2. graduation(s)
3. ideal job
4. meet and marry the girl/boy we dreamed about
5. house of our dreams
6.
7.
8.
9.
10 Retire in comfort

Soon, for most of us, the hurdles we encounter are reminders that tomorrows may not be too many.
So much of our time is dedicated to doctors' visits, surgeons' procedures, and only after these are plugged in, we may see an opening for a visit to our children out of state. I have a good friend who still has constant visits with her relatives. She lives part of the time within driving distance to each of her children and she doesn't ever miss any special occasions like birthdays and anniversaries.

Each time we visit our children we have the feeling that that occasion may be the last time we can physically make that trip. Purchasing new clothes and household furnishings seem such a waste if our health continues to change the way we have lived so far.

Last year, we decided to upgrade the garden, add pots and a driveway that would accommodate a wheelchair in the front, and tall garden boxes so we didn't have to bend or get on our knees to grow food in the back yard by the lake. We have enjoyed each and every change.

Still, the weight of that decision was immense. Were we going to live in this place so long to warrant such expenses? Would it have been more prudent to plan for a possible nursing home? Will these extra changes enhance the value of the house to a future buyer?

We keep returning to topics such as moving closer to one or the other of our remaining children, even just moving to be closer to doctors and hospitals.

Growing old and decrepit was never a worry of mine. Any advice I received about retirement was about having lots of money, as though money was the cure for everything. According to the latest statistics we'll all outlive our money!

Unfortunately, most of us will outlive most of our faculties.

Time to close this curtain.

2012-11-06T08:39:00.001-08:00

There are places to sit, and contemplate, if a chair is needed. There is always time to change and view life from a different angle. Today, is one of those days. Here, in my new- easy-to-cultivate garden, something my parents who grew food for a living would never have imagined, here I say my goodbyes to sixtyfivewhatnow.

Looking from this vantage point spoils us.
Making ourselves suffer less weakens our resolve in some ways.
We expect that life will forever get easier, for everyone.

I've counted over six hundred posts since January 2008, and over 800 followers. By tonight, I will have voted for two presidential elections, and my posts have been vocal about my leanings.

We have seen a financial collapse, the beginning and ending of two wars, half a decade of changes that included hurricanes, tsunami, drought, floods, oil spills, record heat waves, a sweeping change in the Arab World, financial and social changes in Europe, and melting of the ice caps.

Here at home, we have battled many issues, including the most painful of all, losing our son Brian in 2011. We are not over that tsunami event.

After five years of chronicling life after retirement, I'm ready to do something else. I have a couple of other blogs that will allow me the opportunity to continue to communicate with the blogging world, a world that has opened up many friendships, a world beyond my town and my country.

I want to thank you all, for your kindness, your generosity, your friendship. Do drop me an email if you'd like to remain in touch. If you like, join me on Facebook. Better yet, if you plan on travelling to this part of the world, know that there is room for you under this roof, and always a warm meal to share.

May your days be bright.
May your dreams be within your reach.

Rosaria

I think I'm still sane.

2012-11-03T08:32:00.000-07:00

Remember Catch 22? The Book and the Movie?
The premise was a complex conundrum: if you know you are crazy, you are then not that crazy!

Does the same apply to sanity? If you think you are always sane, you might not be?

When you go through a major trauma, you question your own ability to cope with all that's demanded of you, all that you demand of yourself. Keeping on top of these demands, coping with all that you must do to carry on will tire you; will deflate you' will make you wonder if you can make it through; it will ask you to think short term the entire time, knowing that if you think long term, you will break down.

The people affected by Sandy have experienced the unthinkable!
Every second, they are experiencing additional doses of trauma, pain -discomfort -fear. They tell each other that they are still coping; they manage to find positives to talk about. Yet, hunger, cold, dirt, and the devastation in front of them numb all other sensations.

We cannot picture this if we have not experienced it ourselves.

This is hell.

It took us decades for my husband, Brian and I to recover from the Northridge Earthquake where we lost our house, its contents, our savings, our child's college fund, our investments. Thank God for FEMA, for SMall Business Administration, the National Guard, Churches, employers who extended their hands and helped us cope, and even mortgage holders who modified our payments until we could begin to collect insurance.

Do you think your bills will stop coming because you no longer have a home?

It took us years to recover, and we had insurance and savings. It took us decades to find our way back financially, emotionally, socially, and even career-wise.

Tomorrow, Sandy and its aftermath will not be in the news. Yet, the harm, the sheer destruction will take years and decades to be repaired. People's nerves and finances will take just as long.
If you know anyone in these straits, know that they need to talk; they need to know you are there for them; they need to explain to you the details of their discomfort; and you need to be a giving soul, attend to them as long as they need; as long as they are hurting. Banks and many institutions will need to be charitable and kind, assisting in many ways, offering options that have never been on the table for these people who have lost everything.

The First Tree.

2012-10-29T10:09:00.000-07:00

The rains have arrived, and we are scrambling down in the garden, picking fruit and vegetables, drying some, using some, blanching and freezing some, and giving them away to friends and neighbors. I remember as a child getting sick of fruit. Sick of too much of this or that, so much so that I could give up the very sight of persimmons, quince, figs, grapes...

I don't feel that way anymore. I still hope for each tree, each bush, to give me an abundant harvest, year after year, so the house smells of that fruit for weeks on end, so the kitchen has scattered bowls and implements to accept the challenge of preserving the bounty.

These apples have no name. There are no others like these in the local supermarket. They taste a bit like Fuji, or Gala, more tart. In the orchard, there are four different apple trees, and two pear trees. The apples produce yearly, more or less equally. The pears, one attempts to produce half a dozen a year, asian pears by the look, and Bosch by taste; the other goes into ebullient production every third year, and attracts a host of blackbirds and raccoon by harvest time. This year, we stripped it naked very early, gave the fruit away to the local pantry, and used some for pear cakes and for drying.

We actually planted persimmons, figs and grapes when we first moved here. Only the fig is thriving, and this year it has over a dozen figs coming to maturity, and hopefully all will ripen before a cold snap cuts their lives short.

All this bounty surrounds us with good will, a true miracle of nature, odors and taste perfuming the house for weeks, hard work for our weak muscles, thankful at the end of such days.

What's left is to prune the trees while they are still with leaves! The idea is to see the full tree in all its splendor, and then figure how best to eliminate redundant branches that make it too heavy one way or another. Our plan is to go down on sunny days-if we still get a few between now and the next storm-and begin trimming away. The cut branches can be stored, or stuck in the ground to create another tree!

We ask ourselves as we work day in and day out with all our might: How did we forgo this work, work that is not predictably rewarding, for work that was extremely stressful, but the paycheck was predictable, (unless a global recession sucks up all resources, including your job!) with few opportunities for all our senses to be stimulated, so we could purchase food that has very predictable taste and looks, so we could then add an additional hour a day at a gym to stimulate the muscle mass that didn't get stimulated by our work, distressed in ways we couldn't imagine; so that we could hand our hard earned money to a bank to invest in some made-up scheme for a made-up product that bet against our homes, our jobs, our health, our future.

All the bounty on earth should be lessons in living, to young and old, to protect our diverse food, to invest in real products, to make all work as rewarding and as necessary to all our happiness as raising food was and it can still be.

Perhaps I'm a dreamer.

Yet, as I sit here after forty plus years of hard work, where the blood pressure was out of bounds, where we had no choice but continue to remain in those jobs until we could escape, we ask ourselves if we stopped dreaming too soon. There must have been new ways to make a living.

There must be new ways to stay connected to the source of our inner peace.

Between the spaces.

2012-10-20T21:15:00.003-07:00

You know how you hear your own voice, telling you why didn't you take this walk more often, why did you take this picture? You are constantly interrupting yourself, while you try to shush the noise inside your head.

We live in the present, and the reflective present, alert to waves that might bury us, watching ourselves being clumsy as we step lively to avoid being soaked by errant waves, and reminding ourselves that we have responsibilities, deadlines, expectations.

We are spectators in our own lives.

The very ability that allows us to interrupt ourselves, the very thing we call self-control, can also be a major detractor.

Today, this minute, just BE.
Don't spoil these sensations.

Our next stop.

2012-10-15T09:11:00.000-07:00

We used to count decades:
-till children graduate from college;
-till cars are paid off;
-till we can retire;
-till........

Life was full of daily chores and must do's waiting for the big one to arrive.
Every decade brought a big sigh of relief. I remember when our last child left for college, how fortunate we felt managing to pay for all or most of their expenses, proud that they didn't have to be saddled with loans as we were. When our first went to college, we were still paying for our student loans!

When each found a love of their lives, how proud we felt for the wonderful people they met and cultivated. Each step they took, was one more goal we too had achieved, one more hurdle we managed to overcome.

Health issues, money issues, career issues. We fought the good fight. We managed to save, and plan and take steps to support ourselves and manage our lives. Responsibility and Commitment were our mantra all those decades, as we encountered detours and stops on life's highway.

The future at this point is not so well delineated. It feels blurry and foggy. We can't earn anymore, as jobs are scarce; and there are many young people with young families to support; a lot of people have more talent and especially energy to tackle anything that comes their way. And we are already living within our means, buying only what is absolutely necessary. We know our car will eventually need to be replaced, for instance, as will our deck, our roof, our windows...

We face the season of catastrophes, situations that we can't plan for. We see people who lost houses and all their savings battling a debilitating illness; their spouses moving in with their children; their possessions sold or given away as they packed hastily and were removed from their own neighborhoods.

Nursing homes, retirement villages, help centers are waiting with open arms for those who have means to afford such services. Each stage will require new services; each service will require more resources from family members.

We may not have had a fool-proof plan for aging comfortably, but I wonder if my children can save enough or insure themselves enough to prepare themselves for such foggy situations. How much money do they have to put away from the time they start working, and never touch it, and hope the value of that money grows or at least doesn't decrease, so they can pay for all the years and months they will be incapacitated and unable to pay for the care and services they will need.

I'm curious.
Are we the only seniors worrying about such things?

We build dreams every step we take...

2012-10-12T14:35:00.001-07:00

Here I am, after a walk on the beach.

Yesterday, a little girl told me she wanted to live in a house just like mine. I smiled back at her and told her: "Keep that in mind, for what you want, you will work for, what you dream will become energy you send to the world. You will forgo so many other things that people perceive as important, fancy shoes, jewelry, vacations, and will not miss any of those things because your dream cannot be bought at a supermarket."

All politics is local!

2012-10-08T08:29:00.000-07:00

"This beautiful sunset doesn't help pay the bills!" The old woman stated with a toothless smile. I noticed that smile before I heard her words.

"Yes!" I stated in retort, not really wanting to get too involved in the conversation.

She was fishing on the city dock with her young grandson, both of them wrapped up in layers, though the temperatures were still mild. The jackets and sweaters were old and dirty. The two of them were sitting at opposite sides of the dock, and from the look of it, they must have been there for hours.

"Caught anything?" I chanted, still not truly wanting to be engaged, ready to move on my walk.

"Look!" She pulled a string of trout from the water, a beautiful catch indeed.
"Wonderful!" I smiled back.
"Do you like trout?" She asked as she pulled a couple off the string and bagged them.
"They are delicious." I said, not sure what to do, how to accept. I had nothing with me except my phone.
"Take them. We have lots of them." She kept smiling as she handed me the bag.
"I have to give you something back..." I was hesitating. I couldn't take something for nothing, I thought. This kind of interchange only works between friends, or family, people with whom you give and take.

"Nah. Nothing. Take them."

I did. The little boy, a first or second grader, came over and asked me if I knew how to gut and fillet the fish because he could do that for me too. I told him it was ok.

By the time I got home and prepared the trout, and ate it for dinner, I still could not believe than anyone could just give me something for nothing. The next day, and the next, and through the week, I carried a ten dollar bill on my daily walk. I wanted so much to meet the same people and thank them properly.

This weekend I was at the Democratic Party Headquarters, at a small gathering to get out the vote. I met the woman again, and I found out her name and her status, and the names and status of dozens of other folks who represent the democratic party here in our small town. Some, like this woman, are making do, living on social security check. She wanted to know that some kind of help is available if she can no longer take care of her grandchild.

She is still looking for a job, by the way, anything that she can still do, gardening, cleaning, pet sitting. She volunteers at the local Pantry, bagging groceries, going on gleaning trips to local orchards and farms to get surplus produce for people who are worse off than her. She volunteers at school most days too, and is present at every event her grandchild participates.

She is barely eligible for Medicare, but has not enrolled yet because she doesn't need a doctor. She is happy her grandchild has Oregon Child Health card, and occasional dental care provided by local dentists who stop by in a van at every elementary school, once or twice a year.

I explained to her that she must enroll for Medicare, and see a doctor.

Her only need, she said, is that her grandchild is cared for if she is no longer around.

From sixty to seventy: Are you the person you were back then?

2012-10-01T08:21:00.002-07:00

(November 2008, just back from our France vacation. I bought that hat in Marseilles, in a bookstore across the Yacht club. Here I am on the public dock of Lake Garrison, on one of my morning walks.)

Back then, we thought we could/would visit the world, one section a year. Let's see, by now, we would have added at least three more countries. In the previous year my husband had a couple of medical procedures and as soon as we could we managed to travel all the way to France, stopping both ways to spend time in New York, a place I had never visited.

We walked a few miles to Central Park.
We walked up and down Rockefeller Center.
We walked to the theater and back after midnight.
We explored blocks and blocks of Manhattan.

Now, just a few years later, and a few more medical procedures, we can barely walk a block. We go down to the garden and can't come up the small incline without taking many breaks. We need help lifting and pushing and digging. Just a few years ago, life was looking good.

Are we the same people? Yes and no. We are still trying to remain active in ways we hadn't thought of before, in small ways, and in unusual ways, and we have accepted that certain things we used to do are now being done by professionals.

We are aware that even small things are important to do:

1. violin playing and practice most days.
2. driving to events, like the Old Time Fiddlers Concert in Brookings this weekend.
3. entertaining friends and neighbors regularly.
4. volunteering at the party headquarters.
5. making phone calls for fundraising and get out the vote.
6. volunteering to teach cooking to school children.
6. hosting book clubs and writers' groups.
7. holding public office/I am still on the school board; my eight year.

What we no longer do:
1. Heavy maintenance around the house.
2. Seasonal cleaning.
3. Major traveling.

We are aware of our limitations and build activities to strengthen our bodies, avoiding things that might injure or complicate our bodies. Our front yard and back yard have been renovated so we can still be active and enjoy gardening, only now it is easier to move about and to cultivate. We have remodeled our home slowly, looking at ways to open up space in case we were in need of moving around in a wheelchair.

Growing old may occur quickly or slowly. We aim to hold our own, and still be prepared for further complications.

Only in America!

2012-09-27T09:47:00.000-07:00

In America, we feel connected to the entire world in so many ways:

One: Hubby and I have these connections: I am Italian by birth; he is American by birth; My father was born in Brazil. His mother's family came from Denmark, connected to Sweden through her father. His father's family is connected to England, Germany, and Norway. His religions: Unitarian, Presbiterian, and many more. Mine, Catholic. We were practicing Catholic when the children were young.

Two: My brother in law married twice; the first time to a native Mexican. The second one to a black woman from Texas. Their religion is Southern Baptist- evangelical.

Three: My eldest son married a native of Burma. Her mother is a native of China. Her sister is married to a native of Taiwan. Their religion is Buddhism.

Four: My daughter is married to a Jewish man whose family traces ancestry to Russia and Poland. They have a blended religion of Jewish and Catholic traditions.

(Thanks to Paul at Costco for inspiring this post.)

How about you? Are you also related to the bigger world?

Critical markers.

2012-09-24T09:04:00.000-07:00

As late as January last year, just after I celebrated another birthday, five years after I started this blog, I still felt as sprightly as a sixty-five year old! My goals remained the same; my hopes and attitudes intact! Hubby and I could make this walk (Port Orford's Heads, close to Coast Guard Hill) a walk we took many times, at times walking from my house four miles away and all uphill!

But our lives took a major turn after last July. We lost a son and soon my husband's health took a major dive. He is recuperating slowly from a couple of operations; his gait is still good, but his strength has not returned to how it was before.

Now, we walk around our neighborhood, a mile or so, on even terrain. We rest often, pick and eat wild blackberries, admire birds and other sights. Everything about last year is still with us, palpable, raw. He feels pain in his hips and legs, and those pains are nothing compared to the pain we swim in as we delve into the memories of Brian and how tragic his loss has been for anyone who knew him.

We have changed in fundamental ways.
Just last January we were planning a cruise to the East. Now, we are happy to take our daily
walks, simple rituals of thankfulness and mindedness.
Thoughts of tomorrows are kept simple, listing doable tasks, put out the garbage at the curb, weed the upper garden, call the kids.

A neighbor died yesterday. A sudden heart attack. A walking companion drove her to the emergency room. By all accounts, she had been healthy, active all along, except on the previous day she had complained, not feeling well, still not missing her walking routine.

These constant reminders of death are not new in this neighborhood where the average old age is 80+; where senior citizens are seen clearing brush, walking dogs, volunteering. We see people all around us make the most of their lives, visiting with friends, tending to their gardens, helping their neighbors with chores.

We made our wills for the first time this year. A simple will. We shared it with our other children.

We all need help sometime. Even the rich!

2012-09-19T09:20:00.002-07:00

So, how do you see yourself this morning? Are you rich with possibilities? Are you grateful for all the riches and blessings bestowed on you by a benevolent providence, family, contacts? Are you standing in front of a mirror and examining your status in life right now?

Yes. Do.
You are young for your age? What luck!

Not luck, you say?
Did you get any help, assistance, consultations, professional interventions?

No?
Again, I think that's sheer luck!

Did your perfect smile come naturally, without help from dentists, orthodontists? That your parents didn't insist you brush your teeth, with that special toothpaste, and even insisted you flossed between teeth and used that rinse? And they checked that you did?

There was knowledge, support and caring there for you.

For many children I've known, tooth tending was not part of their daily routine. Money for dentists was not available; money for toothbrushes and toothpaste was not available. Many children I've known didn't even get the first well-baby visits after their birth. Their mothers brought them home, and soon after these same children became a burden she could not manage. You see, she was barely a child herself.

I wondered many times what she could have done differently when she told me she was dropping out of school at fourteen. I reminded her that school was mandated until eighteen. That's when she told me her uncle had raped her and now he was in jail, and she was sent away to live with her grandmother who might help her raise the child so she could continue attending school. She was not the only child I've known who quit school at an early age and never returned.

And then I thought how close we all are to perdition, at some point in our lives. How, if not for the help of a relative, or a good friend, we could not get money down for our first used car, so we could get to our job, to school, to the doctor.

I know my path is full of good Samaritans.

I know my husband started back to college with the help of the GI Bill. Only with that help he was able to get an education. He and I attended graduate schools on scholarships and loans. His father provided for money down for our first home. Without that help, we could never save for that house.

So, you see, most of us are flawed from the time we are born. Without the help of family, churches, friends, and lucky breaks, we could not make the journey successfully.

My writing life.

2012-09-10T11:05:00.000-07:00

I come from modest upbringings, few things acquired, even fewer wished for. My dreams were finite and immediate: finish homework, do your chores, and if there is time and daylight you can read a library book until Father complains your eyes are being destroyed.

What worlds I met in books, they were all make-believe, imaginary, voluble, had nothing to do with real life. I needed to finish homework with accuracy, pass tests with high marks, impress teachers with my tenacity and good manners, and develop my brain power. My parents lived every moment with grace and dignity, doing their best every minute of every day. Their values were the same as their parents', the same they wished for each of their three children.

I wrote to achieve concrete purposes. I wrote to explain, to illustrate, to collect and present information to superiors, to arrange information for the classes I was teaching. I wrote not to escape or create alternate worlds, but to explain the present world; to understand the nuances of issues and conflicts.

Occasionally, I wrote journals, slowly developing my own voice and style.

When I found myself newly retired, with more time on my hands than I knew what to do, I began sharing some personal narratives. When a fellow writer shared her blog and showed me how to start one, I was hooked. (Thank you Martha!)

I fell into my groove.

I began blogging with sixtyfivewhatnow, a title my husband came up with, just five years ago, when I turned sixty five and was flabbergasted at how difficult it had been adjusting to retirement. I followed that with my official Memoir blog, then an Italian language for beginners blog and a beginning cooking blog to help my grandchild learn a few things about me. I added a creative fiction blog to share short stories and poetry I had been producing. Lately, my last blog, is another memoir, this one focused on the sudden loss of my youngest son last July.

All these blogs pull at my heartstrings in different ways. They are all parts of who I am at this time in my life.

Blogging has been a way for my adult children and I to stay close. Now and then, as we speak on the phone, they mention something I said in my blogs, a way for us to communicate on many issues. Blogging has also been a way for me to express my deepest fears and my strongest hopes. Blogging has kept me sane and alive.

How about you, what prompted you to start writing?

Gardens are like autobiographies.

2012-09-08T11:36:00.004-07:00

Brian, noticing the height of things. My boys, Scott and Brian found themselves helping me in the garden early in their respective lives. Mostly, with moving stuff, positioning stuff, building paths, digging holes, chopping down long limbs, transporting rocks. I could tell you who did what and when as I walked around the property.

I did nothing to get them to love gardening besides accepting their help. Yet, each of them went on to build gardens in their own houses, transforming arid stretches of Southern California into beautiful landscape, for food growing, for beauty, for recreation.

My daughter Pia came late to gardening. She preferred to spend any home time she had (she was busy with lots of hobbies) playing piano, dancing, reading... It was in her adult years when she saw how easy it all happened when a few plants of tomatoes began to branch out and produce bowlful of delicious stuff. Now, even with deer climbing into her patio, she grows a few pots of lettuce, peas, arugula, and of course tomatoes.

When I visit them, or when they visit me, pots of something growing, basil, oregano, sage travel along. For a few months, herbs create a Mediterranean smell in their kitchen in no time. Later, the pots move outdoors, plants move to a sunny place or to a bigger pot on a sunny porch.

Even after I moved to Oregon, even during our rainy season, we have protected sunny spots to grow herbs and other perennials through winter months. Parsley does extremely well, as do sage, mint, oregano, rosemary and thyme. I have managed to grow and keep my herbs around until they go to seed, then snip, dry and use them in my recipes the rest of the year. The seeds go into a special envelope and get replanted for a new season.

Like a visual and sensual autobiography a garden relates us to our past, to our wishes and hopes, to the memories we build together. Wherever I go, a fig tree or two get planted, perhaps an olive tree also. Then, lots of herbs, enough for everyday use and to give out as gifts. I may be far from all I love, but our love of gardening keep us close. Our use of certain herbal remedies, like lemon and honey on days when a sore throat is threatening, will keep us together as well.