Women of a Certain Age

My friend and fellow blogger, JJ, just had her blog, The Fifty Factor, selected by the Huffington Post as one of the top blogs for women over 50 (that would be me). 

It listed several others, and I've added some of them to my "Good Reads" list on the right.  I'm especially intrigued by Naked at Our Age, about women and sex as we get older.  Hoping for some good pointers, there.

Getting Older

Wineskin (Dave Bonita)

So much of what I’ve written before feels like innocence.
I could no more write it again than the earth could cool.

How did I find this pencil? Was I reaching in the kitchen drawer
for a twist tie, or did I fish it out of my old shorts?

It’s hard to change, being old. It’s hard to start over.
Death is no longer a metaphor.

We have wine. The label is stained with wine and
resembles parchment or an old man’s arm.

These hot days and short breaths are the sweetest, never
to be repeated. Leaves fall in July and come to mind.

Last night we had a repeat of the house alarm going off every minute.  It happened after a lightning storm; last time it happened after a power failure.  We had to have a tech come out and clear the keypad and run us through some basic operational crap.  We have the manual, but nowhere was there a trouble-shooting section on this particular malfunction.

When it happened again last night we couldn't remember how to clear it.  Or, we did, and gave it a try and it didn't work.  But it really bugged me (infuriated) that I couldn't initially remember the tech's advice.  And the alarm beeping didn't help my powers of concentration.  I was becoming unglued, I tell you.  Finally, we tried an old-fashioned method, using a broom handle to push the center button of the particular detector that the noise was coming from.  Doing that set off the fire alarm.  A second push ended the alarm and ended the beeping.  Peace at last.

It is really irking me that I am becoming that old person who can't remember the basics, though.  All things mechanical and technical are quite bothersome now.  At least I can still program the DVR.  But dad can't remember those basics, and I can't tell you how many times he asks for my assistance.  I patiently plod through the process with him, and when done he says, "aha!  well, I'll remember that now."  He doesn't.  But I do have empathy for him now.  

I'm not that old.  I need to get my shit together. 

 I grow old . . . I grow old . . .
I shall wear the bottoms of my trousers rolled.
- - - - T. S. Eliot “The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock”

Best. Birthday. Ever.

I woke up this morning with my love.  She gave me such wonderful presents; thoughtful and so thoroughly me. What a gift to be with someone who gets me, who enjoys who I am.  What a joy to be with someone who delights me!

We had breakfast with the gang as per usual on Sunday mornings and I treated myself to a mimosa and eggs Benedict. A lovely meal on the patio bathed in mild morning sunshine before the heat of the day set in.

Then a luxurious afternoon nap, alone, free to float and dream.

For dinner, Tuli Bistro, two blocks from home with the family and my girlfriend.  Fabulous food, deliciously paired with just the right wines.  Dad, of course, strayed into dangerous political and cultural territory, but my fabulous BIL gave it right back to him, to the delight of everyone else (perhaps, not, my mother).  We kept it light, and the GF was not grilled too much on her life.  I dunno, honey, did it feel like an interview sometimes?  Well, when meeting the new GF,  people cannot seem to stop themselves.  She handled it all with humor and grace.

Could I have envisioned this a year ago?  No.  Did I dream?  Did I hope?  Yes yes yes.

On this, my 55th birthday, I am as happy as I can be.  I have no trepidation on being this age.  This age is just right.  This age has brought me the life, and love, that suits me.  To say I am grateful is the understatement of the century.

From "In You the Earth," Pablo Neruda

"...in love you have loosened yourself like sea water:
I can scarcely measure the sky's most spacious eyes
and lean down to your mouth to kiss the earth."

I've had many rivers to cross, but it does seem that I found my way over.

More Senior Moments

To be clear, I am 54.  Not exactly my vision of senior, and yet, I'm having plenty of those moments.  Visiting a friend recently who is my age, we laughed about the frequency of those moments.  Lost keys, misplaced cell phones, glasses for gawdsake.

While making a dental appointment today with a new dentist, they asked for my former dentists name.  You know, the guy who has peered into my mouth twice a year for 25 years.  Well, I came up blank.  Absolutely completely, oh geez, I'm fooked blank.

While the gal on the phone was waiting for her appointment calendar to come up to speed, I was typing away on mine to find "Dentist on Park Ave. in Capitola."  Viola!  There he was.  Saved by the internet once again.  Oh, sweet resource, restorer of my sanity and basic facts of my existence.

Out damned Senior Moments, OUT!

A Certain Age

What's a 53 year old woman to do? Why, drink Alive! Whole Food Energizer with vitamins, minerals and protein! Follow that up with some Bio Sil for skin, joints, hair and nails. Good for bones, too, so they say.

The thing is, this Alive! stuff is green.  And there's a reason the Bio Sil should be mixed with juice -- it tastes like shit.

I am feeling so much better after having started on an insulin pump (who knew?) and I suppose this has motivated me in the nutritional department as well.

If you have a regime that works for you in your, uh, old age, please share.  Tell me I'm not the only one.

Insulin pump, circa 1966.  Now the size of a deck of cards.

Little Treasures

I'll let in you in on a little secret: I 'work things out' by expressing them verbally, outwardly. Hence, I blog. I photograph things, I write poems, I journal, I sketch, once upon a time I painted. And I'm married to someone who works things out very internally. I suspect I am not the only one to have married my opposite.

This expressive self has been going on for a long time: recently my parents gave me some little books I made when I was between 8 and 10 years old. I loved making little books, and this one even has a section at the end "About the Author" I dedicated the book to my family.

I was so happy to see these little books - 4 of them in all! I don't remember making them in particular, but I do remember how I loved making books. I also remember sitting on the front porch with my colored pencils, drawing my mother's blooming iris flowers. And like most children, I loved drawing horses - I rode them, I brushed and fed them, I loved them.

Little treasures that parents save; I've saved some of my daughter's work for her to see sometime. Then she, too, can wonder at the mind and spirit that expressed these things.

Winter Palace

http://www.newluxuryitems.com/ice-hotel-sweden.html

Philip Larkin's Winter Palace. Thanks, Elisabeth. It seems to dovetail quite nicely with my dream post of yesterday.

Most people know more

as they grow older.

I give all that the cold shoulder.

I spent my second quarter-century

Losing what I had learnt at university

And refusing to take in what had happened since.

Now I know none of the names in the public prints,

And am starting to give offence by forgetting faces

And swearing I’ve never been in certain places.

It will be worth it, if in the end I manage

To blank out whatever it is that is doing the damage.

Then there will be nothing I know

My mind will fold into itself, like fields, like snow.

To Reunion or Not to Reunion?

Best response ever to the question, "Are you going to our reunion?"

I've been to three, I think, including the one that you probably attended. After each of the last two, I vowed to set aside the next reunion date for a TV night at home, mend socks, clean up the daddy-long-legs and dusty mosquito hawks. I'm sorry to disappoint you, but I don't plan to go because these things depress me....

The same people always organize each reunion, meaning the jocks and cheerleaders are happy, happy, happy. There wouldn't be a reunion without the organizers, of course. But the more interesting, progressed people don't tend to come. With Carmel being an art town, it's rather a lapse in imagination for the organizers to omit reference to the arts or artists of our class, not to mention the successes of other classmates who've led intriguing lives in a myriad of ways. How about creative videos, classmate musicians? I was excited to see Bill at one reunion. I doubt he will return. I don't think another person there knew he'd become world renown as an innovative glass artist/craftsman. That may have been the 20th reunion, but I don't recall. Very few people found the wherewithal to step outside their habitual niche to discover lesser known classmates' life stories.

And, later in the missive, "I don't mix well with sales types; they expect convention, insist on an easy script. I don't mean to piss them off. It happens. Silently. Suddenly." Brilliant, is it not?

I have all these concerns about attending, it's just that I've only been to one and am feeling nostalgic. Now I wonder if I should bother. She's absolutely spot on, of course, and perhaps I have been deluding myself that I could have an enjoyable time, make new connections, etc.

We did have some stellar individuals in school with us. A group of us, along with a couple of teacher sponsors, established an alternative high school for all of us who longed for something more than the insipid high school experience. We embarked on innovative projects and reveled in the open classroom: the world became a more relevant place for alienated teenagers. We did manage one reunion of this alternative school...perhaps it is time for planning another one. Those are really the people I'd like to catch up with.

The Gift

This pillow was a gift to me from the children of my friend, Laurette. After her passing, after her burial here, back at the house they gave this to me. It was stitched by her father-in-law, sewn into a pillow by her mother-in-law. I had it with me (perfect back pillow for driving) when I went to her grave site today. I thought it perfect to photograph it with both their names on the headstone -- the pillow that was stitched for them over 50 years ago, by Lazlo's parents, placed upon their graves. The full circle of their wonderful lives. Lazlo died in 1977 when I was a callow youth, unable to absorb the enormity of his passing. He had been a regular overnight guest in my family's home, traveling the way he did in his architectural practice. He had escaped Hungary before the 1956 revolution. He was a dear man, who enjoyed life and took so many under his wing. Cancer took him when I was 20 years old, and he was only 56 years old. Laurette lived a good long time after that, and she carried on admirably. Had an entirely new life and came into her own after raising 3 children and being a diligent and loving stay at home mom.
Sitting at their grave today, I had a good cry. A cleansing release of loss. A gift that lifted a heavy weight from my chest. A blessing. Even in their death, they keep giving such divine gifts to me.

Oh Very Young

My sister and I, 1961, San Diego.

Oh very young
What will you leave us this time
Youre only dancing on this earth for a short while
And though your dreams may toss and turn you now
They will vanish away like your daddys best jeans
Denim blue fading up to the sky
And though you want them to last forever
You know they never will
You know they never will
And the patches make the goodbye harder still

Oh very young
What will you leave us this time
Therell never be a better chance to change your mind
And if you want this world to see a better day
Will you carry the words of love with you
Will you ride the great white bird into heaven
And though you want to last forever
You know you never will
You know you never will
And the goodbye makes the journey harder still

Oh very young
What will you leave us this time
Youre only dancing on this earth for a short while
Oh very young
What will you leave us this time

--Cat Stevens, aka Y. Islam

Stormy Weather

So far, dear friends, January 2008 has been wild.  Storms have knocked out electricity to about 350,000 locally.  Lots of trees down, fences blown away, cars smashed.  I've been in Carmel Woods for 4 days with no power.  After 4 days of it, the 'kids' and I decided to move L. to hospice care so she could stay warm and well cared for.  It was an easy decision -- Friday night was her last lucid time.  We had a great dinner with my parents, and she drank and ate and laughed and had a jolly time.  Since then, she's gone pretty loopy mentally.  It happened so suddenly...a bit frightening actually.  

I'll probably not be posting for awhile...too much going on and my mind and heart are trying to process so much information.  I am working on staying in the moment, and not projecting too far out there in any direction.  Going with the flow is the order of the day.  Not a bad way to approach this crazy life.

Be well.

On Aging Boomers

I’ve been reading along with Rural Lesbian about her work schedule, retirement plans, living simply. She’s got a good thing going, and the maternal spirit in me is also glad she is saving for retirement.

I was telling RL that one of my biggest concerns is growing old in poverty. Old and infirm. In a stinky nursing home with a lot of other cranky old people. With disaffected, embittered aides. Not my idea of a way to live. At all.

I Googled “transformative nursing homes” and hit the jackpot. I figure with our baby-boomer generation (yes, I am, albeit at the tail end). Hopefully by the time I’m ready for nursing care, the transformation will have already become the standard. How wonderful to have a truly home-inspired living environment, free from the hospital, institutional model. An environment when the residents have an active part in decision-making. Another version of my fantasy of living with friends when I’m aged. We’ll get a big house together and pool our funds in order to hire live-in help. We’ll pay them well; we’ll go for the long haul, not the high turnover.

I worry about my mom, who has advanced Parkinson’s. How long will she be able to live at home? Dad takes good care of her and he is the picture of health. But 24-7 care is exhausting and he’s going to need help at some point. I think it would be great if mom could have live-in care to help out when she is at that point. I also know that a nursing home may end up be the solution – the last one hopefully.

Can this transformation in nursing care come soon enough for her? Probably not.

My wife’s grandparents are still alive and grandpa’s already been in a nursing home for 2 short stays when grandma was incapacitated. He had a fairly decent place to be, but it was institutional for sure. He hated it. He would cry when we came to visit, and cry when we left. Heart wrenching. The best places are out of reach financially for them – what a shame. With all this national debate about health insurance, we ought to add nursing home care into the discussion. Long term care for those who need it but don’t require hospice. A home-like environment filled with life and purpose for those lucky enough to live to a ripe-old age. Those of us who might just need a little help with the small tasks of daily living. Someone sweet and loving to attend to our personal care when we are too frail to do for ourselves. Isn’t that what all of us deserve? Sure it is.