NO SENIOR COFFEE

Part II - Inequality, Rights, and Respect (A Look At Prejudice and Ignorance in 2012 America)

2012-01-20T09:01:00.001-05:00

Part II - Inequality, Rights, and Respect (A Look At Prejudice and Ignorance in 2012 America)

Part I - Inequality, Rights, and Respect (A Look At The Prejudice and Ignorance That Still Exists In 2012 America)

2012-01-20T09:01:00.000-05:00

Part I - Inequality, Rights, and Respect (A Look At The Prejudice and Ignorance That Still Exists In 2012 America)

What Is The Saddest Thing About Approaching Advanced Age?

2011-12-09T02:41:00.000-05:00

What Is The Saddest Thing About Approaching Advanced Age?

2011-09-25T07:23:00.001-04:00

Birthdays, Gifts, and Mothers

Somehow, one way or another, birthdays can often lead to reflecting.

What Teens and Young Adults Need to Understand About Parents - Part I, "The Basics"

2011-06-07T02:36:00.000-04:00

What Teens and Young Adults Need to Understand About Parents - Part I, "The Basics"

Memorial Day, Remembering Someone I Never Knew

2011-06-02T02:47:00.000-04:00

Memorial Day, Remembering Someone I Never Knew

Birth Parents and Ancestors - Is There A Cut-Off Age When We No Longer Want or Need to Know About Them?

2011-06-02T02:44:00.000-04:00

Birth Parents and Ancestors - Is There A Cut-Off Age When We No Longer Want or Need to Know About Them?

Hey - We Fifties Babies Were Boomers Too!

2011-04-14T01:47:00.000-04:00

I just read something about Baby Boomers; and the writer went on and on about all the things those people born in the forties have done "as Baby Boomers". He went on and on about how they're all retired now, and how they all have gray hair. Things he mentioned (besides the retiring thing and the gray-hair thing) were definitely associated with those late-forties Boomers with which the Post War Baby Boom is associated. The thing is, though, that the Baby Boom wasn't confined just to that flock of babies born in the late forties. By some definitions, the Baby Boom years included people born as late as the early 1960's. By all definitions it definitely included babies born in the 1950's.

Granted - at this stage in the game, there's not a whole lot of difference in age between the over-50's in their 50's and the over-50's who have already also become over-60's; but whenever anyone writes or talks about the Baby Boom, out comes the talk about Howdy Doody, the first generation of television sets, American Band Stand, or any number of other things associated with that group of people.

Now, I'll admit that I'm trying to hang onto whatever shred of "younger-than-retirement-age" I have left; but as a second-wave Boomer, I'd kind of like to see some of the things associated with MY childhood mentioned in Boomer talk once in awhile.

First-wave Boomers didn't watch Romper Room. Second-wave Boomers, however, were the very first generation of Boomers to watch Romper Room and Captain Kangaroo. We second-wave Boomers were also the first generation of girls (in the world, and in history) to ever play with Barbie dolls. I had both the Barbie Dream House and the Barbie Fashion Shop.

To the best of my knowledge we second-wave Boomers were also among the first kids to use the "Jingle Jump". We didn't know black-and-white TV for very long, because color TV came early in our childhood.
We weren't stuck watching the Milton Berle and Sid Caesar. Our childhoods included the far more "advanced", Beverly Hillbillies. Where the Action Is was our American Bandstand; and when The Beatles were on the Ed Sullivan Show we soon got Beatles bubble-gum trading cards to show our friends at grammar school recess.

There are things we have in common with our older siblings of that first wave of Boomers, of course; but we are not they. We are different. We are younger. We're not retired. A lot of us still have our original hair color. Sometimes we're lumped in with those first-wave Boomers when people are discussing Boomers. Sometimes we're not included. (This says nothing, of course, about the final wave of Boomers, who are close to completely overlooked a good part of the time.) Other times, we're just lumped in with the first-wave Boomers, as if the difference between us and them doesn't exist or doesn't matter.

My complaint is that talk of the Boomers too often forgets that we second- and third- wave Boomers ever existed. If people want to talk about the first-wavers, they ought to specify, "first-wave". OR, if we don't belong to the Boomer generation then let's officially exclude everyone who was born in 1950 or after. Let's just not call people my age, "Boomers," and then proceed to talk as if our memories and the impact of our pocket of the Boom was minimal. As far as I'm concerned, it's one or the other; and someone has to figure out which it is: Are we Boomers, or are we NOT Boomers. (Of course, we all know we ARE Boomers - so how about someone mention us once in awhile? )

Living With A Close Family Member Who Has Hearing Problems

2011-01-26T06:00:00.000-05:00

Living With A Close Family Member Who Has Hearing Problems

Vegetarian and Vegan Foods

2010-12-21T16:40:00.000-05:00

Vegetarian and Vegan Foods

Sexy shoes

2010-11-19T08:25:00.000-05:00

Sexy shoes

Of Grandchildren and "Grandcats"

2010-10-05T00:46:00.000-04:00

When my kids were in their teens and just past them, I would joke (or sort of joke/sort of mean it) that I didn't want to be a grandmother until I was at least 50.   Somehow, I just didn't feel the least bit old enough to even imagine being a grandmother; and while I always knew there was the possibility I'd become one sooner than I preferred, the fact is my almost grown and just grown kids didn't feel ready to be parents, or interested in being parents, either.   I knew that I've love grandchildren if they showed up, of course. I preferred they not show up before I was at least 50. Well, I got my 50th birthday without having anyone give me any "Happy Birthday, Grandma" cards. All was as I preferred.

Once I turned 50, however, I discovered I STILL wasn't ready to be called, "Grandma". In fact, when/if I ever have grandchildren I'm thinking I might want some other name, like "Mimi" or something (for reasons I won't go into now). What I discovered, however, was that, grateful as I was not to be a grandmother before 50, I upped the age I imagined I might feel more ready to be a grandmother. And, that age has become 60.

Knowing the present plans (or lack of them) of my grown kids (who, of course, are also older now than when I said, "No grandchildren before 50, hopefully," I'm beginning to see that my clinging-to-relative-youth and joking (although not all that serious at all by this time) wish that I not become a grandmother until I'm 60 is a distinct possibility. See, my "plan" isn't just to not-become-a-grandmother until I'm 60, but also to keep my natural, light-brown, hair until at least then too - and so far, all is great on that front too (although I am starting to see some telltale grays showing up more now than before). (I like to delude myself into thinking people are fooled into believing it's a hint of blond highlights, although I strongly suspect they may spot the difference between gold and silver.)

What I don't know (although I suspect I do), is whether, once I eventually hit "The Big Six O", I'll be all that ready for grandchildren and more gray hair either. Such are the matters of feeling perilously close to moving past middle age and into..... (oh, let's just say) "upper middle age".

In the meantime, I am the pround "Grandperson" of three (sort of four - I'll explain later) grandcats. One of my son has a ten-year-old, beautiful, little kitty that I've known since she was four or five weeks old. I've cared for her when my son has gone on vacation or travelled, and I stayed awake all night a few months ago, worrying that her eye surgery (for a tumor on her eye) would go well and result in her return to good health. The poor little lady had to lose her eye, and I did my share of crying over that; but she's apparently OK now.

My daughter has two kitties, one she got when it was a tiny kitten. That one is now ten years old too (the two cats are a few months different in age). That one has lived with me for years now, and just today I'm getting used to having her go live with my daughter, who moved out over the weekend. (Missing my daughter is a separate matter and not to be underestimated, but this is about grandcats right now.) My daughter's cat and I became close after my daughter went to college, and I'd recently lost my own cat. A few years ago my daughter brought home an older cat, in urgent need of a home and one that had become attached to her at work; and this little lady is one who has some medical conditions (which, of course, means my tending to her medication when my daughter hasn't been home). We've had a few scares with her, but for now she seems OK enough; so besides getting used to her not being here, I continue to worry (just a little and here and there) about the older cat's health.

Recently, my other son had a roommate switch, with the new roommates bringing a cat to live in the apartment. My son and one of his other roommates had previously been babysitting this cat (the cat of a friend), until that friend moved in. It turns out the friend may be moving and want to leave the cat with my son, who seems to have developed a friendship with the cat. So, for now, this cat is not my "grandcat", but it looks as if he may become one.

With all these cats either directly, or indirectly, in my life; I've discovered that I have my own set of worries about their health and adjustment, concerns, attachments, and whatever else associated with pets who are not mine but to whom I have some pretty strong attachment.   In other words, "so this is what being a grandmother is sort of like, I guess".    There's the caring about someone/something but the simultaneous knowledge that they aren't "our own", and sometimes we need to stand back, think of them from a distance, and hope they will be fine. Oh, I know that grandcats shouldn't be compared with grandchildren, but never in my life have I even had a taste of the worries and issues associated with caring about someone/something who is not "my own" - so for me, I can't help but ponder this new set of experiences and feelings I'm discovering; or ponder the fact that someone else's cats might feel at all like "an issue" for me too.

In the meantime, when one son suddenly realized I'd be cat-less now, he asked if I'd be getting another cat. I emphatically told him I would not.   I didn't add that "sort-of-joke joke" that right now I'm not ready for grandchildren OR a new cat of my own - but I'm not. It turns out that empty nests can also involve cats moving out, and I still say I'm too young to be a grandmother - and too tired of cat-proofing the house, cleaning up cat vomit, and worrying about who has cold water. Reliving-my-carefree-youth (while I still have brown hair and nobody to call me, "Grandma"), here I come!

Throwing Things Out Versus Saving Things

2010-07-30T05:06:00.000-04:00

Throwing Things Out Versus Saving Things

Mothers and Grown Kids

2010-07-30T04:56:00.000-04:00

Mothers and Grown Kids

Why Men Are Often Reluctant to Seek Help from Physicians or Mental-Health Professionals

2010-06-23T22:46:00.000-04:00

Why Men Are Often Reluctant to Seek Help from Physicians or Mental-Health Professionals

Thoughts of September

2010-01-07T08:10:00.000-05:00

Thoughts of September

On Thinking About the Future - Just Some Thoughts

2009-12-06T03:09:00.000-05:00

The future is a funny thing. When it is the future it is a mysterious, blank, expanse of time before us that holds the promises of dreams fulfilled and a life perfected. Once any point in our future turns from being part of our future to part of our present, however, we often discover that what was once the future holds no more mystique, mystery, or magic than any part of our past ever has.
I have my own theory about how we view the future; and from what I think I've observed (in myself and others), I believe people often generally view the future as follows:

When we are young enough that our future is a vast, unknown, expanse before us; and our our past consists of a very few years; thinking about the future is a matter of either having trouble imagining it, or imagining our perfect future and believing it will become reality. The younger we are, the more difficulty we tend to have even imagining what our future will be.

I can actually recall being a very small child and wondering what kind of woman I would "turn into" once I was grown up. The concept that I would still be the same person (only bigger and older) wasn't one I grasped. The idea that my future face and hair would pretty much be the face and hair I had at the time eluded me. Even once I got to an age where I feared having my parents die, when they (fortunately) didn't die young I viewed my future as one in which I would have them forever. Children have neither the knowledge nor the experience to bring much valid information into their dreams of the future, and so, for children, the future can be either a blank, white, page or a water-color, idyllic, dream. Children often don't think of the future much beyond their next birthday. With all that, however, children may often feel quite certain that the future will be better than the present. The song, "Tomorrow," from Annie expresses that common childhood belief (sometimes hope) that tomorrow will be better (of "even better") than today.

Birthdays, for kids, are defining things and play a large role in a child's view of his past and future. As a child grows closer to those birthdays that mark the milestones associated with getting closer to being an adult, children and teens often think of the future in terms of the 16th, 18th, and 21st birthdays (each of which marks the 1-2-3 steps toward becoming "officially" grown up). When the 21st birthday lies with reach it is often viewed as the dividing line between not being an adult and being one, and it can seem as if the future is as close as that dividing line.

In the late teens and early twenties, grown-up realities tend to creep up and around the young person and create the feeling that at least small bits of the future are finally becoming part of the present. People this age may no longer see the future as a blank, white, page or an idyllic dream. They may be more likely to view it as an extension of the almost grown-up reality in which they live. For teens and young adults, who often feel as if they're approaching the finish line of dependence on parents, the future may no longer seem like an abstract, hard-to-imagine, thing. People of this age can feel as if they have finally reached an imaginary pile of building blocks that will make up their future. It can seem as if all that needs to be done is use those blocks to build the foundation for the future - and from there, just head on into that perfectly constructed future.

The twenties are often a time of particular focus on living in the present, even though the task of building a future remains. The thirties aren't much different, although, just as teens begin to see their immediate future come more into focus, people in their thirties have seen yet more of a once imagined future come into clear focus. People this age have enough past, and have reached "enough future", to be better able to see that, in ways, the future doesn't change who we are very much. People this age have a better grasp on a more realistic concept of "future". If they sensible and able they may concentrate on preparing for their, and their family's future, by focusing on financial stability, college savings plans, and having a home the grandchildren can inherit.

Because people in their thirties often have children, they not only have a tendency to have a pragmatic approach to the future, they often develop a particular appreciation of the past. A person in his thirties often sees particularly clearly the link between the past and the future, and an appreciation of the past may extend beyond the person's own life and into history. When the mother in her thirties saves a sugar bowl her mother gave her it isn't just a matter of keeping a reminder of the past. She may be thinking about how her great, great, grandchildren may appreciate discovering such an item in an attic trunk.

Having children usually makes people think not just about their own future, but about the future of their children and grandchildren, as well as the future of the world in which they will live.

People in their forties may think about the future in ways very similar to the ways people in their thirties do. The difference may be that the fortieth birthday can make a person aware that he is, without a doubt, at a point in life where the number of years in the past may be equal to, or greater than, the number of years in the future. While young children may see the future as something as close as their next birthday or as distant as another universe, people in their forties may view the future as "the next twenty-five years", while avoiding thinking about the years that will follow if all goes well.

Although all people have different life experiences at one point or another in their lives, and although some have more "kicks in the head" than others, people in their forties have generally had enough life experience and loss to have begun to view the future as frightening. On the one hand, people in this age range usually think pragmatically about the future, while also having hopes and dreams for their own. On the other hand, there can be times when it seems necessary to squash all thoughts of the future if ominous thoughts of it have found their way into a person's consciousness.

It can seem as if as the expanse of future left to live shrinks, and as the number of "kicks in the head" in the past accumulate, the future turns from seeming like a dream into seeming like little more than an extension of the present. Those "kicks in the head" (otherwise known as "realities of life") have a way of showing us how the future we once viewed as dream-like or perfect turned out to be far colder than we ever would have imagined. With more real-life under our belt and a future that doesn't extend nearly as far out as it once did, thinking about the future can seem impractical or pointless sometimes. People who has passed their fiftieth birthday already have half a century of past under the their belt. While it is true there's a good chance they could be exactly at the mid-point of a 100-year life (people over 50 often need to believe that), a half century of passing from one present into each phase of future can make it seem very clear that no future is ever more magical or perfect as any present or past. Of course, the hope that tomorrow will be better (or "even better") is always there; but a half century of wonderful or terrible past (or a combination of both) can take up one's thought processes enough that thinking about the unknown may take a back seat.
Even so, a surprising thing can be that the person who has noticed how differently he views the future usually still has that hope that tomorrow will be better (or "even better").

As maturity sets in more and more, maybe we get an increasing awareness of the importance of thinking about, and living in, the present. After all, we have brought our past with us into our present. All that life and living can mean one plate is more than full.

As more and more presents turn into pasts, and more and more future turns into present (and then pasts), it can become clear that there's sometimes (not always) not a lot of point in thinking about the future because, whether we like it or not, the future comes to us and brings what it will. Some of those building blocks we put together when we were young have proved to be a solid foundation for the future that has closed in on us. Others may have knocked out place when life decided we would not have the luxury of having our best laid plans left in tact.

In maturity we learn that some parts of a future can turn out to be filled with loss and horror. Then again, we learn that some parts of a future can turn out to be just as we planned. We learn, too, that futures can bring to us a wholeness that we would never have imagined back when futures were always viewed as wonderful and dream-like. We may learn that we don't really care that our future has become smaller than it once was, because we have our present and past that have been so much more whole than any imagined future could ever be. Something else we learn is that even with all those "kicks in the head", we somehow still often have that hope we've had since childhood.
When we have reached maturity, we no longer have such trouble imagining what's left of our future. We may, however, choose not to think about some of what we do imagine.

Of all the things my once-futures have revealed and taught me, I have to say that one lesson is surprisingly most memorable, and that is this: When I was a very little girl, spending so much time, wondering what kind of person I'd "turn into" in the future, I would look at pretty actresses on television and wonder if I'd look like them. They could be light skinned or dark skinned. Some had light hair. Some had dark hair. Some had blue eyes. Others didn't. Some were extremely tall. Others were petite. I didn't understand that my coloring, skeleton, and facial features were unlikely to change (without cosmetic surgery and chemicals); so I imagined I could "turn into" any number of types of women. What the future held for me was certainly a magical mystery to me.

Little did I know that decades later I would look in the mirror and see the exact same face, coloring, and hair that I saw back when I was three or four. It's an older face, but it's the same face. The hair is older hair; but, much to my dismay, it's pretty much the same fine, straight, light brown hair that I couldn't stand even back when I was three or four. I'm still the same person I was back then. I just know more now and have less future ahead of me.

The lesson I learned about thinking about the future is that futures are unravelled minute by minute, and aren't really all that mysterious. We neither turn into different people nor abandon the selves we once were. As presents turn to pasts and futures turn to presents, it is we who bring the continuity to the process of the passage of time. When we do what we can to lay that foundation for our future we enhance that continuity, even though we can't control what the future which bring.

That little girl I used to be once believed that when I reached my twenty-first birthday I'd magically turn into someone who looked like Natalie Wood, Grace Kelly, Debbie Reynolds, or any number of other actresses I knew because I had paper dolls with their names. That little girl viewed the future as mysterious and magical and nothing but wonderful. Now I know that futures are nothing more than presents that haven't happened yet, and that futures sometimes bring things that are far from wonderful. Still, as I sit here at my PC (not looking the least bit like Grace Kelly), I'm kind of glad to have learned that futures aren't about bippity-boppity-boo, magic wand, transformations; and are, instead, of having these same two grounded feet under me regardless of how time changes what is around me.

I have lived a good part of the future of that little girl who once couldn't imagine it. As I ponder the matter of thinking about the future, I kind of wish I could travel back in time and tell that little girl how even though her future didn't turn out to always be easy, it turned out to be pretty good. I'd like to tell her, too, that even if she didn't magically turn into someone who looked liked Grace Kelly; the continuity of having journeyed, one step at a time, into her future would help keep her from getting lost at those times when her journey became difficult.

Planning for the future is always a good idea. Worrying about it usually isn't ever a good idea. Dreaming about it may be more for the young than anyone else. Tucking away into memory former futures that have turned into pasts is, as we all learn, part of life.

Exploring the Saying, "The Grass Is Always Greener"

2009-12-06T03:02:00.001-05:00

The say, "the grass is always greener" (in someone else's yard, on the other side of the fence, etc.) applies to those people who can't seem to be happy with what they have, or with the way their own life is going.

Some people who may be, say, single, will look at their married friends and think of how much better life would be if they were married. Childless people may look at people with children and imagine how good life would be if they had children. Conversely, people with a bunch of little kids and a lot of responsibilities may wish they could be as free as those childless couples.

People who live in the city may wish they had the open space of the suburbs. People in the suburbs may wish they lived where more activity makes life less bucolic. Those who have money worries may wish they be like those who are wealthy. Wealthy people, on the other hand, may wish the could have the calmer family life of some families of modest means. Students may wish they could graduate and work. People who work may long for the days when Summer meant having a couple of months off. There is no end to the situations that could look enviable, and, to some degree, most people may find something about their own life that they wish were different.

What is built into all situations, however, is that nobody can have all the good aspects of all different situations at the same time. What is built into human nature is that tendency to see only the positive aspects of other people's situations, and the inability to know what goes on behind closed doors or the struggles involved in dealing with one situation or another.

We can't both have children and not have children, and we can't be both full-time stay-at-home moms and full-time career moms. We can't live both in the city and in the suburbs, unless, of course, we have more than one home. If we did have more than one home, though, we can't have that one home that is our one-and-only home and that makes us feel the way a one-and-only home makes its residents feel. We can't be both young and old, and we can't have both large and small families all at the same time.

There are positive and negative aspects of all situations, and people who have a really solid perspective on life are not as likely to look over that "fence" and see "greener grass". People with a really solid perspective on life, and those who are very sure that their life is what they want it to be (even if it is imperfect), don't suffer so much from "grass-is-greener syndrome" as people who are young, immature, or dissatisfied with many aspects of their own situation. Another group who suffer from "grass-is-greener syndrome" may be perfectionists, who are so acutely aware of the imperfections of their own situation they have trouble seeing all the positives. These are people who often feel so frustrated with all the perceived imperfections in their own situations that they inevitably begin to look at other people's situations. Because the imperfections in other people's situations aren't always obvious to outsiders, perfectionists may come to believe that everyone else's situation is perfect; while theirs never was, isn't, and never will be. Dissatisfaction brings discontent and a roving eye. When that roving eye spots what appears to be something better viewing one's own situation with contempt may become the only way someone sees his own situation.

Being one of those people who lives in the bucolic suburbs, where some lawns turn brown because of town watering bans, I've come to have some degree of being at peace with the idea that there are always those years when someone else's grass is, in fact, greener; or when someone else's lawn does, in fact, have fewer weeds. Some of those people with the absolutely beautifully green lawns, though, have given up quite a bit of their time, taking care of those lawns. Others have spent a lot of money hiring someone else to keep that grass super green and weed-free.

The grass in my yard has its good years, but its never absolutely weed-free. I'm not willing to use chemicals to kill a few weeds that aren't all that noticeable to the non-grass connoisseur. From my neighbors' windows my grass probably looks perfectly green, but if they cross property lines and take a closer look they'll see that I, too, have my weeds.

My grass, too, has its bad years - those years when there's not enough snow or rain to keep the grass green. Those are the years when the hay-colored grass blades outnumber the green ones, and when - even from the neighbors' windows - it is clear that their grass is greener than mine.

I've lived through enough lawn-years to know that the bad years come and go, the green years tend to outnumber the brown years, and as long as we remain healthy enough to get out there and rake those lawns nobody else's grass matters very much.

That 50th Birthday - A View From The Other Side Of It

2009-12-05T04:44:00.000-05:00

Here comes a long post, but this topic, I've discovered (now that I'm past my 50th birthday) is a complicated one.

My mother was 52 when my father died. I was 21. I thought, at the time, "Gee, she's sort of on the young side (SORT OF) to be a widow, but then again it's a sort of (SORT OF) reasonable-ish age to be a widow too." (!!!) Now, I'm in that area myself; feel as the same as I did when I was 25 (and sometimes even 14, sometimes even 6); and I now think how horribly young she was to be a widow.

I was fortunate enough to have no signs of any changes in my complexion all through my forties (and I've noticed some other people that haven't either). Right after my 50th birthday, though, it was as if the fine lines under my eyes came in overnight. My hair is still it's natural brown, but I now have some gray streaks that I've been trying to pass off as bad blond highlights. I almost think it has been more of an adjustment for me to see those visible signs of aging show up, because for so long I actually kind of believed (kind of) that they never would.

I'm kind of in an identity crisis because I'm not quite sure how old I really look right now. I see the fine lines, but since I do now need reading glasses, I don't see them without glasses on. (People say God makes us lose our 20/20 vision so our partners will look better to us in old age. Maybe the real reason is so we won't freak out when we look in the mirror.)

If I put the reading glasses on the fine lines are magnified - which is particularly horrifying. Sometimes I do a quick over-the-glasses/under-the-glasses thing to see if I can figure out how bad the fine lines really are; but then I realize it doesn't matter. Someone who is 20 and has 20/20 vision will see them as bad. Someone else who is older won't see them without glasses, but will see them worse if they're wearing glasses. I've figured out, I look different to everyone - but the real problem is the fact that, in reality and regardless of how bad the fine lines really are, they're there; and I'm not too thrilled about that. :)

To my surprise, though, I've discovered that necks, arms, hands, etc. don't look any older than they ever have. I guess tissue paper neck and "old" arms and hands must be more for the 80-year-old set (or the 60-year-old set, in which case my remaining "good years" in that department are numbered - but our days are always numbered; so there's never an easy figuring out of all these aging issues).

I'm fortunate enough to feel as energetic ever and (knock on the wood computer desk) remain healthy and arthritis free. I just ordered a whole workout program because the Massachusetts Winter didn't let me get out and walk the many, many, miles I had been walking until last December. A few extra pounds did creep on; and, I think, faster than they would have 20 years ago.

I'm kind of horrified at the number, "50". Then again, it doesn't feel bad to be this age. I'm pretty much horrified, horrified, horrified to see that the fines lines are just staying there (rather than magically disappearing as if they were just a bad dream).

What may bother me most about my age is having all the people who haven't gotten to be this age yet think I'm old. I don't really care if they think people over 50 are old. I just don't want to be treated as if I'm 110, when I am, after all, ONLY 50-ish.

My sister (in my age range) and others my age seem to notice the same thing, though; and that is that even if we feel great and are fortunate enough to be healthy, there's a new feeling that "it's all just a matter of time" - and good health seems more like good fortune now than something to take for granted.

Part of my loves my age because I know so much more now than I did when I was younger. Part of me has noticed, though, that all my relatives in the generation before me have gone now. There's something a little sadder about living without all those people who once pretty much made up one's world. Then again, I've discovered - to my surprise - that I remain incredibly happy with, and still enjoy, my kids, even though my youngest is old enough to be in college.

I still would like to change the world. I'd still like to do any number of things. It doesn't feel as if I don't "have the rest of my life ahead of me". Then again, sometimes I realize that so much of my life is behind me.

It took a lot of thinking before I showed my age online. It wasn't so much that wanted to make people think I'm younger. It was more that I don't want people thinking I'm older than I am (inside). Then again, it occurred to me that if I write AND show my age there may be times when "the world" will see that 50-plus isn't as old as lot of people think it is. (Of course, my "old, fuddy-duddy" side comes out often enough too; but sometimes I'd rather be that than be the way some of today's teenagers are.)

If we really think about, age can both be "no big deal" and be "a very big deal" - and since it is sometimes both at the same time, it isn't anything we can always get our minds around. I've figured out that not thinking about works best.

Sometimes I'm proud to be as old as I am and still look and feel as ok as I do. Sometimes, though, I am depressed to realize that the signs of face aging have set in I imagine how maybe I'll never leave the house again. (Isn't that horrible? :) ) I've discovered that the insecurities I had as an awkward teenager have come back (not all the time but sometimes, at least when it comes to the fact that I don't look the way I wish I did).

My mother was in her 70's when she said how she didn't realize how young 40's are until she was well passed her 40's. She said how she had wished she had realized, in her 40's, how young she really was. I've done the opposite. I've continued to feel like I am 20 years old. The trouble is when you feel 20 but see 50 in the mirror (or, I like to think, 45 in the mirror) you both worry that others may think you don't realize how old you are; but also feel the need to get reality into your own head as well.

As with most matters of age, there are the two different ways of thinking going on at the same time: 1. I'm glad I still feel 20. 2. "Hey, self, you're not 20. Stop thinking you ought to look it."

When sports reporters interview professional athletes after a game one of the most frequent replies they get to their questions is, "Is it what it is." I would love to know exactly how many times the words, "It is what it is," have been uttered by athletes (for some reason, football players in particular - maybe because football is such a rough game).

When I was in my forties I guess I worried about what was to come once inevitable signs of aging showed up on my face. The forties were, for me, a time of realizing there was "no going back to young, and only getting closer to older if we're lucky." The forties were knowing that the next decade was fifties, which, without a doubt, cannot be glossed over as being the least bit young.

It wasn't until my fiftieth birthday passed (and those lines showed up three days later, it seems) that I found myself faced with having to deal not with what was coming, but what has arrived. After a blend of both supreme "ok-ness" with my age and also needing to adjust to the whole idea of it, I came around (as those my age usually do) to realize that it is what it is.

After spending my forties getting my mind around the idea that I was now "middle-aged" and had, without a doubt, left being a young person behind; and after a decade of not seeing any signs of aging and believing that maybe, for some reason, I'd get to look 35 forever, I was faced with the fine lines and the reality that aging is a game even the best of us cannot win. Then again, as each horrifying birthday comes around (and they're all horrifying once you pass fifty), and you're still in the game, that is, by itself, winning.

The thing about 50, for me, has been that thing where you think and feel two things at the same time so much more once you get to that age. I love my age, and I hate my age. It is what it is.

And Then There Were Three (On Siblings)

2009-12-03T07:46:00.005-05:00

The first Mother's Day after all three of my children were in a position to
be able to do what they wanted to do as far as gifts for me went (rather
than having to rely on their father to assist with gifts) was a Mother's Day
that I will always remember.  As my three pretty-much grown kids skulked in
and out of the house in secrecy I realized how very much the same three
children they still were.  My two sons and my daughter were clearly
delighted as their secret plans fell into place over the course of an early
afternoon, and before I knew it they had created an elegant and thoughtful
Mother's Day afternoon for me with a level of taste and loveliness that, I
guess, I just wasn't expecting.  They decorated.  There were flowers and a
new vase, gourmet chocolates from a shop near one son's work, a bunch of my
favorite buttercream potpourri tarts, some nice earrings, and a CD that was
just my taste in music.  The larger gift, though, was seeing them as the
capable adults they'd become; and more importantly, seeing them work so well
as a team.  I think every mother hopes her children will grow up to be
close.   Those three kids of mine are close, and I know how important that
is.

My siblings and I are at the point in life where both parents have gone.
When I think of my own sister and brother and me working together as a team
I can't help but remember those days surrounding the death of my mother,
when the three of us, shell-shocked and numb, went about doing all the
things that needed to be done after losing the mother who had been bedridden
for over a year and who suffered terribly.  It wasn't just a matter of
funeral arrangements.  There was a world of things to be done when it came
to her house and finances and whatever else there was to deal with.  When
our father died we were all young, and our mother was the one to deal with
things.  Since she would remain in her own home there weren't the issues of
dealing with an estate, as well as as some of the complicated matters that
came about as a result of her long illness.  When she died, though, there we
were - just us "kids" (39, 44 and 49) - feeling strangely united while
feeling equally and woefully alone.

I am the middle child and was (appropriately) seated in the middle the day
we went to the funeral home to at least take care of those arrangements.  To
my left was my "baby brother".  To my right was my "big sister".

Let me tell you about my big sister.  For five years she and I were two
sisters.  She was the "big sister".  I was the baby for a while until I turned
into "the little sister".  We played together much of the time.  Santa Claus
brought us pretty much the same things, although we'd get a few things for
our own age-group.  We would name the dolls we got for Christmas and play
house.  (We'd call one another, "auntie" in a very peculiar and high voice,
and my father never knew why such a voice and the name "auntie" for each of
us was necessary.)  As "aunties" we'd pretend that potato chips were fried
clams (because we have never seen fried clams).  On Saturday mornings we
would sit in the living room with a "magic slate", and each of us would draw
people and tell stories about our people and then whip up the film on the
magic slate and draw more and talk more about what the people we drew were
doing.

My sister and I got along all the time when we were young.  I saw her as
big, and I saw the fact that she was in school as "important" and grown-up.
We were happy little girls, and one Saturday morning our father popped his
head in our bedroom door and announced that the doctor had called and said
we had a new baby brother.  He said that the doctor said, "He's little but
he's healthy."   I've never quite figured out when my mother went to the
hospital or whether my father was there and when the aunt who came to be at
the house showed up and then left - but my sister and I were delighted to
have a baby brother.

When I think of my sister, besides recalling the annual and boring dancing
recitals I got dragged to even though I hated tap dancing, I think of two
other particular things:  We shared a bedroom.  One night she apparently
wanted to create some magic for her little sister, so she told me when I
went to sleep and woke up a fairy would have come and left me a present.  I
was - needless to say - excited about this fairy that would be coming in the
night.  I was probably 4 or 5, and she was 9 or 10.  When I woke the next
morning on the chest that was mine was a peculiar toy (one of the "Three Men
in a Tub" I think, and I'd never liked it) that had been hers when she was a
baby.  When I got a look at what this so-called "fairy" was supposed to have
left two things hit me:  1) I was incredibly disappointed and 2) I was
incredibly moved to think that she was willing to give me this toy that had
been hers most of her life.  I began to cry pretty hard, and when my
mother came in to see what was going on and found out about the fairy story
she kind of scolded my sister.  I was crying too hard, and I was too little,
to explain to my mother I wasn't crying because I was disappointed but was
crying because my sister had tried so hard to create some magic for me.

Just before my seventh birthday and just before I was about to make First
Communion my mother got pneumonia, and there was a question that it could
also be tuberculosis.  She was in the hospital for several months, which
meant that it was a good thing she had brought me to get my beautiful First
Communion dress early but which also meant she would not be there to see me
lead the First Communion line or to curl my straight hair (which she had
done every school night since I'd started school).   One memory that stays
poignantly with me all these years later is that of my twelve-year-old
sister, who wasn't all that much taller than I ( compared with adults),
standing directly in front me and trying to get my hair right as her tears
fell right past my face and onto the ground.  She would be the one to stand
with my father in the church and cry as her little sister led the First
Communion parade.  During those months when my mother was hospitalized
she and I would cry every night because we missed her and because we were so
afraid she would die.

At the time, our baby brother was a toddler.  Because he had been premature
he was sick a lot, and he got pneumonia a couple of times.  Every time he
would get a fever he'd take a seizure, which was absolutely terrifying.  My
sister and I would stand by, scared to death, as my father took care of the
baby and got him out to the hospital.   A few times he was admitted, and
we'd watch our father go between one hospital and another, calling one
hospital, and then calling my mother, and then another hospital.   She and I
were pretty grown-up as we worried together about our mother, our little
brother, and our exhausted father.

My aunt had quit her job, and my father paid her to watch us while he
worked, and, of course, my brother was allowed to run wild as a two-year-old
because everyone had been so terrified at how sick he'd been.    I was an
extremely small seven-year-old and he was a good-sized two-year-old, and he
started to terrorize me and even my sister (twelve) in a way that nobody
would ever think a toddler could do to older kids.  He would tease and tease
and get us upset, and one day my sister was so upset she ran after him and
fell down and did something to her nose.  Another time my out-of-control
brother leaped off the arm of the couch and through the glass on a french
door (without much injury).  He had become a happy, teasing, wild, fresh,
little boy who was king.

In a few years my sister outgrew his torture, but I remained for the long
haul.  In pictures he and I almost look like twins, so it was rough even
though I was older.  For years he and I probably seemed to hate each other

a good part of the time, although he had also become my playmate in view

of the fact that I still needed to play and my sister was now too big.

He and I played as well as my sister and I had (with the exception of the teasing and

arguments that took place between play sessions.

There would be times in the backseat of the car when we'd get a whole

big fight going because someone was looking at the other one.  Sometimes,

though, we'd play "club" quite well.  He would announced that we were

"going to have a club" and that
he'd be "president".  Even five years older, when

I said politely one time, "I'd like to be president", he said, "I'm the president.

You're the treasurer".  (Not that the treasurer or the president ever did

anything past stating their office in these do-nothing clubs).  We didn't seem

to like each other a good part of the time, and yet - oh so many memories

of playing Vacu-Form, Creepy Crawlers, GI Joe and Barbie in a boat,

and Erector set!

My brother was messy, and I was neat.   My sister was messy, and I was neat.
Nobody understood why I wanted to be neat, and neither of them
appreciated my pickiness.  My brother at all his Trick or Treat candy.
My sister at all hers.  I would store mine and never eat it.  My mother
would eventually throw it away after a long time had passed.  I am the
middle child, as I said.  I had had the benefit of being close to both my
sister and brother. I think I came to see myself as some sort of glue in
the family (although I know that each of us, in his own way, has, at one
time or another, been "glue").

My brother was 16 when our father died, and it wasn't until I had grown much
older that I realized how awfully young he was to lose his father.  My sister
was married when our father died.  With my brother going through his own
thing and her married, I sometimes almost played man-of-the-house (in some
ways) until my mother began to take on more of her new role as widow
(and until my brother got a little older).  It wasn't that our mother was, in any
way, incapable or lacking in ability to be strong (very much to the contrary).
It was just that for a while she wasn't quite used to doing some things around
the house.

The most meaningful memory I have with my brother is the Thanksgiving when
my mother had died the day before and when my youngest children were with
their other grandmother; and when he, my oldest son, and I sat at the
dining room table to eat the dinner my brother had cooked (I guess because
we had nothing better to do that day.).  My grown baby-brother has done a
lot for me.  So has my big sister.

What siblings share grows with them in ways we don't really expect.

When my sister and I go shopping and see little, tiny, elderly, ladies who
must be sisters we smile and say, "That's how we're going to be."

When I see my kids with their siblings I'm proud of them.  My parents would
be proud of me and my siblings too.  Siblings can hold things together when
it seems all could fly away.

The Empty Nest - When Your Youngest or Only Child Moves Out

2009-12-02T23:08:00.000-05:00

The Empty Nest - When Your Youngest or Only Child Moves Out

Middle-Aged People and Dreams

2009-11-11T19:36:00.000-05:00

Middle-Aged People and Dreams

When Kids Head Off for College

2009-10-16T06:26:00.000-04:00

When Kids Head Off for College

2009-10-16T05:21:00.001-04:00

Selecting a Gift for Ill or Hospitalized Loved Ones or Friends
Things to keep in mind when searching for the right gift for a loved one or friend who is hospitalized or confined to their home as a result of health problems.
http://www.associatedcontent.comarticle/1528727/selecting_a_gift_for_ill_or_hospitalized.html

2009-10-16T05:17:00.001-04:00

Nostalgia and Occasionally "Dwelling on the Past"
After a few months of seeming obsessed with the past, I realized that this temporary phase served a purpose.
http://www.associatedcontent.comarticle/342820/nostalgia_and_occasionally_dwelling.html