A CONVERSATION ON AGING

Getting old is a challenge.  Take time and  have a conversation with someone you see that is old enough to have their body begin to fail.  An honest conversation will show you that transition into old age is often scary, lonely, and physically challenging.  

When I talk with the elders here in the community, I hear things like, “I don’t want to bother the kids.  They are so busy with their life.”  “I don’t want to bother anyone.”  “I am okay. (Even when they are not.)”  Often,  the eyes on the elderly rest with caring neighbor’s who, more than anyone, are able to see up close the needs of those who have reached this stage.  

As long as health and mental abilities are good, there are no issues.  I know, at 68 almost 69, I find when I hear a comment that refers to my age as “elderly”, I often cringe inside and say quietly, “Really?  Elderly?”  Right now—today—I do not feel elderly.  Oh, I know my body tries to show me in many ways I am.  I look at my hands surprised at times at the wrinkles and brown spots that seem to multiply daily.  I only need look at my naked body in the mirror and watch what gravity is doing to those parts that use to be perky!  My hair grows grayer by the day, my body is apparently rejecting foods I use to love to eat,  my muscles are not functioning at a level they did when I was just 10 years younger.  Oh, I feel the creeping effects of age on me.

Change is the most challenging.  Especially change that comes without choice, like death or health issues that make it impossible for one to stay in a home they know.  Often in conversations with others here, I hear people plant their feet in cement, and do not want to give up what they have or where they are at in life.  A feeling that “at my age, why should I …..” and I don’t always understand this.  With many of us living 25 to 35 years beyond retirement, I don’t get how we can expect our monies to last that long.  I know that I have already been looking at alternatives for myself when the time comes that I can no longer afford to live where I am now.  I get that it could be hard if you are living in the home you raised your family in, with the hopes that you could die there too, but the reality is different.  

Often, a home large enough to raise a family in becomes a physical challenge to upkeep.  It is also not realistic to think that we will die with all the money we had at retirement in the bank.  Some of us may be lucky in that field, I expect I will not be one of them.  The moment I start losing sleep over the fact that I don’t have enough to cover my primary living expenses I hope to be able to find the wisdom to move on with grace.  

I have a friend, Martin Bayne, who I met after listening to him speak on aging on NPR radio.  He has written so eloquently on the art of aging and what we Baby Boomers are going to face in the future.  He rings a bell as loud as he can, but too many of us are too busy living and playing to take the time to listen. His blog, http://thevoiceofagingboomers.com/ is worth a look and has a large following which produces in him the hope that by the time Baby Boomers arrive they will face a different long-term care system that what he has found himself living in.   I will write more about his work later….

YOU MUST WALK YOUR OWN PATH

I enjoy reading biographies, memoir and personal stories of people whose beginnings were challenging yet found ways to overcome those challenges.  Tavis Smiley is a commentator on NPR radio, author, columnist and guest on various other news shows.  He wrote a book about his friendship with Maya Angelou, “My Journey with Maya.”  

I read the following clip on his work, “Tavis Smiley dictates a letter to a young American with inspiration from his late friend, Maya Angelou. No matter how much you seek the answers to life from external sources, the truth you seek can only be found within you. You must walk your own path without aid of shortcuts. And you need to acknowledge that the journey toward the authentic you is more important than the destination.”

I am reminded this week, through the journeys of a couple of my friends, that no matter the journey we are on, learning how to be a survivor of anything is something no one can do for us.  We can search for answers from other people in hopes of inspiring us, or we can want others in our life to “save us”, but the truth is, what we search for can only be found within us.  

A lesson I learned in my initial journey of learning how to survive childhood abuse is that I first had to decide that I was worthy of a life well lived, then decided what “I” was willing to do to allow that to happen.  Hanging on to old hurts and pain only keeps us hurting and in pain.

I am lucky in that I was married to someone who allowed me to find my own way while standing by my side and loving me through it all.  The tools I learned through that journey have helped me through my journey of grief too.   

In my case, my personal grief was a struggle because I felt so complete with my best friend and husband by my side.  With him gone, I felt the vulnerable side of me become exposed and it was as if I was learning all over again how to live life.  And in many ways I am.  Living life as a wife and mother was a 45-year adventure.  Now, living life as a single person is a new and often alien experience for me.  The most important thing I am learning is to look for the authentic “me” that dwells within.  

I resisted it for a long time because the completeness of being “a part of something” felt so good and comforting.  So when someone comes to me looking for those magic answers, they are disappointed that I cannot provide the secret code to the door that opens them up to life again.  I cannot save anyone.  Choosing to live as full a life as I can, I can by example, be a light to those in darkness, to show that if you want to live, you will find a way.  

WELCOME TO MY NEIGHBORHOOD

As a child, I was surrounded by language that was demeaning and often ugly toward those who were different than “us”, especially if you were black, Catholic, Jewish, or gay.  By the time I was seven years old, I experienced enough to know to challenge this language, both in thought, word and deed.  

We lived in Waukegan, Illinois, and our home was located in the city where school was diverse.  I was a minority in my class.  Top this off with the fact that our home life was not the ideal and often surrounded with alcoholic chaos.  

For me, kindness and generosity, was often felt first outside my home…not from within.  So as a kid, when I would hear my parents and the adults with them, discuss people of color using derogatory terms, in my head I would be thinking, “but so-and-so is not like that, she/he is nice.”  The truth is, my experiences most always were the polar opposite of the language I was surrounded in.

So at an early age, I learned to not trust the adults in my life.  The seed was planted to not only challenge but to base my opinions on my own experiences.

This has brought great joy in my life.  By being open and accepting of differences, (even political ones), I have been blessed to make friends with very interesting and kind people.  

At my age, I have watched society grow more open and tolerant of one another.  I can remember the day when marrying outside one’s religious believes would bring condemnation from family, and often the member who dared to love outside the circle would face living outside the circle forever.  This behavior would bring about great sadness and turmoil to those involved.  

Although it is better today, than how we lived in my early life, it is obvious that we still have a long way to go by the headlines and activities I see today in states where laws are being passed that say, my religious beliefs give me a right to not treat you the same as I expect to be treated.  I don’t get it.  We live in a country that cherishes the right to practice our own faith without harassment or interference.  That government is separate from our faith and is to be allowed to govern the whole, not just the parts.  

Historically, all faiths have a history of challenge to it’s existence.  But we live in America.  We live in a country where we ALL have rights to be who we are, follow our own faith without harassment, and exist in peace.  

My own conversion to becoming a Catholic came about, not by someone trying to convert me, but by experiencing first hand from the Leuthe family of Milwaukee, the joy and binding love of a family unit, that just happened to be Catholic.  I was drawn to them all by their welcoming and outreach.  I have carried them in my heart since those days of long ago.  I have often thought, if they had been another religion I most likely would of converted to that, it was the joy of their existence that I longed for.  Making the decision to follow the Catholic faith, brought me first hand to the prejudice of such an act.  I didn’t convert because I was marrying a Catholic.  My conversion was personal.  Something my family didn’t understand.

I hold with honor, the distinction of being kicked out of my Grandmother Curnes’s funeral gathering, because I had the audacity to challenge the family support of George Wallace and his run for President under the umbrella of segregation. 

Our own existence cannot come without the acceptance of those around us, no matter who they are or what they believe.  For if I want the freedom to believe as I wish—and I do—then I must grant it to all those around me.  I have friends who are Buddhist, Jewish, Protestant, Catholic, Muslim, Agnostic, black, hispanic, foreign born, American, politically Republican, Democrat, Independent, gay and straight …all people who hold a special place in my heart.  I don’t love them because we all think alike, I love them because we accept each other for who we are.  Out of these relationships come wonderful conversations that broaden my own understanding of what it means to be human.  

I was given a writing assignment once, that asked me to describe how a tossed salad was like life.  It was easy.  One vegetable in the bowl alone would be boring and dull to eat, but mixed together with an assortment of fresh and tasty vegetables, bound together by a dressing makes for a satisfying edible experience.  

I believe in us.  I believe in the U.S.  I believe that goodness will prevail.  I welcome you to my neighborhood where diversity brings a richness in life that can only be measured by how I make you feel.  

POPULAR SENIOR PAST TIMES? FUNERALS OF COURSE

Spring is sprung

The grass is rizzzz

I’m heading out 

To where all the bodies is….

My way of saying it is funeral time again in the ok corral.  Yes, the 2nd most popular past time of seniors—the first being going to the doctor’s office—is attending funerals.  And I must say the last couple I have been to have turned out to be enjoyable in a macabre sort of way.  

Two funerals ago, it happened in a snow storm.  It wasn’t so much the funeral that was fun, but the people I went with.  Retired hospice nurses all, (well I can’t forget Jim, our lone man of the group) and neither snow, nor sleet, nor hail, or storm could keep these gals from their final destination.  Once the somber event of the viewing and mass was behind us, it was off to a bakery, then Tony Lukes for lunch.  Hardly any cars on the road due to the storm conditions but there we were!  Yes, we were heading home, and we did not make any changes in that direction, as they were just stops on the way.  But imagine the surprise of the owners of the bakery and the workers in the restaurant when they saw four old farts strolling in to their place of business….and just as old people do, said to the bakery owner, “Since we are your only customers are you going to give us a discount?”

And she did, so we cleared out a few items before she shut up shop and gave us free coffee to boot!  Due to her kindness and jovial nature, you know we will be back there again!

Once again I was traveling with the same group plus Jim…only this time it was one of us that lost someone.  In this case it was an ex.  Let me saying losing an ex is not the same as losing a husband.  I don’t know from personal experience, but watching those around me…well let me just say the murmurings  were funny to listen to.  What made this funeral noteworthy, was knowing the background to the family, the stories of how the man lived and especially what he left behind when he died—tie that into the fact that the priest was a boyhood friend of the ex-wife’s family—well, let us just say to hear the priest dance with his words about how this good man is going to heaven, but ever so gently remind us all that we all have sins on us that need to be forgiven.  

I found myself thinking, “be gentle Marlene, for one day you too will die, and when people are sitting mourning or rejoicing your loss, you better hope someone is praying for your sinful soul so that the door to our heavenly father will be opened for you.”

I AM NOT UNIQUE, OR DIFFERENT, OR SPECIAL

As a young mother I took a workshop on how to best communicate with my children.  During the course of the workshop I was presented with the idea that no matter how unique you think you are, or how special, if your eyes are open and you look around you will see, even in the dark, you are not alone where you stand.

To prove the point, the instructor shared the story about how he decided to order these very special red glasses.  He desired to stand out…be different…a one-of-a-kind man.  “How many times do you see red eye glasses on anyone?” he said.  He searched and searched until he found just the right ones.  Spending good money for these one and only kind of glasses they finally arrived.  To his amazement after a couple of weeks he began to notice others had the same red pair of glasses.  How come he didn’t see this before?

I equate this same phenomenon with cars.  I cannot tell one new car from another.  Not like the old days when a Mustang or Corvette looked like a one and only.  Or my favorite, a Thunderbird.

So you go out and buy that one car that calls your name.  What happens?  Suddenly you notice that car everywhere.  You see them in all colors, on every street.  Yet before purchasing it myself I could not see my car anywhere….that I noticed.

So here I am today…a widow.  Looking back on life we had family members die.  But as a young person you grieved and then quickly got back into the rhythm of living.  Gone but not forgotten are those that had passed on.  

Today, I feel like I am living a cascading event of people passing away all around me.  Yes, I do live in an “active adult community”.  But I have noticed since I became “one”…a widow…that it is not unique, or different, or special…and even in the dark, I am not alone in this journey.  I am one of many and a continuing growing community.  

I am not sure how I am suppose to feel about all this.  I know the world pushes me to say, “get on with it”, but no matter what we think we know about “getting on with it”, when it is our turn we each have to find our own way through the loss, grief, and new growth that will eventually follow.  

I know one thing, I am more keenly aware of those around me.  In a crowd, I watch couples and find myself even wanting to go up to them and say, “hold tight to each other, for these moments are as fleeting as it was when raising your family.”  When I hear a couple bicker, I want to ask them, “Is this really worth the pain you are causing each other?”

But I know this is just life…just as the life I lived and took for granted.   The good thing about this realization, is accepting the fact, that I do not stand alone in the dark as I once thought I did.  And this is a good thing.

LORD, HELP ME PRESERVE MY DIGNITY!!!!

Me as I start my new chapter in life!

I am in a new chapter of my life.  And the goal?  To keep my dignity about me!  The chapter you ask?  Surviving working with a trainer and physical therapist.  Beautiful people in body and spirit, both of them.  I especially enjoy the young man, Dean, who is my trainer.  A brilliant young man who takes his work very seriously.  But he puts my body in positions that I haven’t tried since I was six months old.

Age I could last lift my legs
over my head.

I mean, when is the last time you put your legs over your head?  You know the position.  The getting-ready-to-change-a-diaper position!   Okay…maybe six months is pushing it, but not more than two years old for sure!  The worst part about this position is the fear I will fart in his face as he pushes my leg toward the back of my head!!!!

I look around the room and there is a younger women who, laying on her back, brings her legs up over her head and reaches back toward the wall with her toes.  I think to myself, “My God what I am doing here?”

The work I do with Dean is not cardio…but it sure makes me sweat.  By the time I walk away from him I am sweating as if I was in a sauna and my face is as red as an apple.  From the outside it looks simple.  At least he makes it look simple.  

“Just stand with your back to the wall, open your arms to your side and your elbows at 90 degrees, hands up in the air….touching the wall with the back of your hands.”  He demonstrates and I think, ah an easy one.  Sure.  I stand with my back against the wall, lift my arms as if I am surrendering to the gunman, push my arms back to touch the wall…pushing…pushing…I can’t touch the damn wall!!!!  

“Don’t worry,” he says.  “You’ll get there, just don’t give up.”

I want you to know that standing in this surrender position and lifting my arms straight up and then back down is very hard for this 68 year old body!  

Balance is my weak spot.  I mean it is so bad that if a policeman pulled me over for a DUI, I would just have to surrender because I could not pass his “stand on one foot and lift the other” test.  I would fall over on my face and he would haul me in!

I'll always love to cook!

And can I ask, why the mirrors?  In this place there are mirrors everywhere.  I don’t even like to look at myself naked in the privacy of my own home and yet here I am in a room full of young sweaty bodies who seem to be able to tie their legs into pretzel holds, unable to move without catching a glimpse of myself in the mirror.  Do you know how hard it is to try and do these exercises while seeing my “old women’s body” flopping around on the floor?  Most of the time I just close my eyes…and that does not help either!!!

As hard as this is…and it is hard…I will not give up on working to get my strength back into my muscles.  There is so much I want to do and places I want to see, and all require a good deal of walking and hiking and damn it…I am going to do these things!!!  Until then, Lord, please help me preserve my dignity!

MY THOUGHTS ON DEATH WITH DIGNITY

I have been following the Brittany Maynard story.  In case you have not heard, she is the women who diagnosed with a brain tumor and no hope of a cure, moved to Oregon so she could take advantage of their Death with Dignity Law.  I have been aware that Oregon had this law for a few years now.  In 2011, a documentary titled, “How to Die in Oregon”, won the 2011 Sundance Film Festival award.  

I remember the impact that documentary had on me at the time as I was in year 12 of a 13 year battle of my husband’s illness which came after caring for my father, my husband’s grandmother, uncle, and mother-in-law through their dying days.  Some have floated off willingly and some, like my mother, went the hard way.  Death is never easy, the loss can be unbearable, and I believe on some level watching someone suffer is a gift to the survivor to be able to let go.  

But having walked this walk with others I have loved, what about me?   What do I want when it is my turn. If my death were as peaceful as my husband’s or my husband’s grandmother, then let it go “naturally”.  I believe none of us knows for sure how we will think or behave when we sit across from the doctor and he/she tells us that our time has come.  I have told my children that I want no heroic measures…let me go when that moment comes.  

But if my end would knowingly come with some major hardships and pain for me and for the family being asked to care for me, I think I would want the option to end it sooner...or not.  When I have had this conversation with others, they say, “but it should be God who decides when you should die, not you.  Just let God and nature take it’s course.”

I find myself thinking that because we have allowed medicine to take us into a realm of being, that if “nature had been allowed from the beginning to take it’s own path” we would have not reached, then why not allow medicine to stop the artificial lane we reached as a result of that choice.  

I don’t have the answers.  I know faith, fear, and hopelessness guides many decisions in each of us.  But having the right, when faced with an awful end, such as Brittany Maynard faces, then why not bless her with the peace and allow her to choose her own death with dignity.

All of us fear the end that is filled with pain and loss of dignity as those around us try and care for us.  Is this living or existing and then existing on what level?  I know I pray that when it is my turn, take me quickly and “please dear God, don’t let me die while on the toilet!”

TAKE CARE CARETAKERS

As I traveled these past couple of weeks I once again met some incredible people whose positive attitude and outlook on life can only impress once you hear what life has dealt them.  Each of us has a story to tell and in them all, the life’s lesson is that it is not what happens in life, but what you do with life once the hardship has passed.  

Possessing a positive spirit does not come without some pain in the background.  I easily see that those who carry a happy spirit make a personal choice to do so.  Being around people who choose this is nothing, if not a motivation for each of us to figure out the secret of living with a happy spirit.

One of the common threads of discussion this past week was caretaking our loved ones through illness and eventually their death.  Until someone walks this walk with a loved one, it is hard to think about what it is like.  Most will respond with, “Oh, I don’t think I can handle that.”  The truth is, that we often find ourselves in the middle of what we think we can handle before we realize it.  

Listening to the sharing that went on this past couple of weeks I am reminded of the lessons I learned in my own journey of taking care of my family through their end days on this earth.  The last 13 years was the hardest for me.  First, my Dad was with me the last 3 1/2 years of his life when my husband became ill a year before my Dad died.  

I too thought I could not handle what eventually I became good at.  The hardest part was caring for my Dad’s personal hygiene.  Quickly though, it became “doing what needs to be done” without thought of how I felt or how he felt.  The blessing for him was that by the time it reached that point his mental  faculties were lost and he did not realize who was taking care of him.  A blessing for both of us.

Caring for Pat for the years he was ill was the toughest yet most tender part of our life together.    Not because of how the fun things in life took a back seat to the caretaking, but because there is so many other issues wrapped up in the days spent by the side of a loved one who has entered the dying process.  There is the preparation of the loss.  Each day I found myself trying to give my best, because I knew how much I would miss him when he was gone.  I tried to soak in every good moment I could, yet there were the days when fatigue and depression would set upon me and I was unable to give him my best.  That would often be followed by guilt, which he would never let me own because he recognized how hard this was.  That would only be followed by more guilt because his kindness and love toward me was so complete and unconditional.  

As the years went on, and I became more and more teathered to the house, standing at the door watching the world go on while feeling trapped became the most challenging moment for me.  Pat deserved the best of me during this time, because i always knew that if it were me in that bed he would of given the best of himself.  But how to do that on a day in and day out basis?

People would offer up their help, but we believed in the commitment of “for better or for worse, in sickness and in health”.  This was our journey and we did not want to impose on anyone, especially our children until our need for them was required. As caretakers when we think of help, we don’t think of ourselves as much as we should.  When someone offers up their services to us, we immediately think of what can be done for the person who is ill.  The truth is, we should be asking what do I need so I can continue to do my best.  That is when I concluded that I needed to find every small way I could to refresh my soul.  

I bought a convertible so that when heading out on errands, I could put my top down and enjoy the ride on a back road to the grocery store, listening to music or just the sounds of the wind blowing in and the birds singing their songs.

I decided to bring in someone to clean the house at least once a month.  Seems silly on many levels to do this,  as my place is small and hearing my mother’s voice in my ear, “anyone can clean this in a minute.”  But the truth is when we are bogged down in the chores of everyday, it can get hard and be downright depressing.  Having someone come in and clean the corners lifted my spirit.

I needed a challenge not connected with death and dying. I decided to try something totally out of my comfort zone.  I took up oil painting.  Now I never have considered myself an artist, but I needed something so alien to me, that it challenged me and kept me engaged.  I bought videos, books, watched how to you tube videos and began to play.  I loved it (and still do) even though I still don’t consider myself an artist I just love to play.

These are just a couple of things I did to keep me engaged, challenged, and inspired by the world.  Instead of standing by a window watching the world live, go and do, I brought what I could into the house.  I was inspired and it brought a level of comfort to me as I was tethered to the house doing my best for Pat.  

By working to stay positive, even in the face of his death, we had happy times…laughing moments…and tender sharing moments.  All possible because I was in a better frame of mind…not a bitter one.

So caretakers….take care.  When you stand before someone who says to you, “if you need anything call me”, put yourself on that list of needs.  If you take care of yourself then you will have all you need to care for the ones you love.

Are you listening Dee?

LAUGHING IS THE BEST MEDICINE

As my Virginia and North Carolina trip winds down, and we start thinking about heading back home, I sit here laughing just remembering all the reasons we laughed these last few days.

As we traveled to explore retirement possibilities for Dee, we experienced things you don’t want to hear on a road trip, like, when we got out of the car we heard someone say in another part of the parking lot, “Ya know…some people just need killin!”  

That is one way to make a person perk up!

Out of my mouth, as we were shuffling things around the car in the parking lot, I shouted out “So how many drugs did you bring?” Laughing Lucyann, John and Dee began to watch over their shoulder to see if anyone heard us!

I mix up the words vibrator and massager.  To me they both vibrate so I don’t understand all the fuss…So while sitting in the dining area of the hotel in Asheville, rubbing a sore area between my shoulders, I say to my sister-in-law, “Sure wish I had a vibrator!”  A man at another table started for a long time at me as I finished my breakfast.  And I thought he was flirting!  

Going to the farmer’s market is John and Lucyann’s past time.  I know why.  Not only can you get a bounty of wonderful food, but there is entertainment too.  It makes for a great way to start the day.  But I also discovered another reason.  The friendliness of the people in the south is a great experience.  Here is why I say that:  I am wearing what I fondly refer to as “my people attracter” pendant that my friend Flo made.  It is a beautiful piece of agate created into a necklace.  No matter how many times I wear it, someone comes out of the crowd and let’s me know how beautiful it is.  A nice way to start a conversation with a stranger.

So here I am at the bread maker’s stand when the young lady starts her flattering comments about my pendant.  Then her male partner starts in.  As we were chatting I catch out of the corner of my eye a man standing there staring at me, quietly mouthing the word beautiful…beautiful…over and over again.  Getting all flush I thank them all and let them know I may just never leave this place because they have made me feel so good!  And they did.  Once again I thank Flo for her creative conversation piece!

Another moment that put a smile on my face happened last night.  John and Lucyann went out to the back yard for their evening ritual, while I finished up some emails in their family room.  I suddenly heard two young men chatting outside and realized they were on the property.  Soon they came walking across the front of the two windows in the room.  I called out, “Can I help you?”  

The one young man took off running across the street.  I went to the door, opened it and asked what they wanted. 

 “I can’t find my cat,” he said.  

“What does your cat look like?”

“It has spots,” he replied all the while fidgeting. (I’m thinking, spots?  I never knew a cat to have spots.)

“So why did your friend run?” I asked.

“I don’t know, maybe he is scared.”

“Why would your friend be scared of looking for a cat?”

“I dunno,” he replied.

“So what is your name?”

“Billie Bob,” he answered.

“What is your last name?” I asked.

“Billie Jones.”

“Can I bet on that?” I asked.

“No ma’am,” he said as he took off down the road.

I don’t know what they were up to, but I loved his honesty!

Another lesson learned this week is that you can’t be too literal with some people.  A young mother, with her four year old son showed up at her sister’s house only to discover that her son forgot to put underwear on.  So she told him to grab a pair of his cousin’s underwear as they both were the same age and near the same size.  Dutifully he did, not seeming to be bothered that his cousin was a girl.  As the visit was coming to an end, she called him back into the house.  He came running, with his cousin beside him.  

“Take Annie’s underwear off.  We are leaving now,” she said.

“No, I don’t want to.”

“I said, take Annie’s underwear off now!  We are leaving.”

Whining now, he says, “but I don’t want to.”

“Look,” the mother begins to shout, “take off Annie’s underwear right now or I’ll spank your butt.”

With that he runs over to his cousin Annie, knocks her down and pulls off her underwear!

Yes, as this week comes to an end and I find myself back home again, I will miss the side splitting laughter that was experienced over and over during this trip.  But boy do I have a million reasons to smile!!!

THE DRESS

As I mentioned in the past, I am working on a project that is providing me with an opportunity to relive my life through the pictures I have collected over the years.  This has taken me on a journey that is both a reminder of events and people that are no longer with me, and also of times and events that have caused pain.

We all have had those moments in our life that have seared a dark spot in our soul.  Eventually it may recede, but when you see a reminder through a photo, that moment can arise that makes you carry the feelings, as you did, those many long years ago.

Such a moment happened when I saw the photo of me in the print dress.  I must tell you, that in high school, my self esteem was way below a “zero” as it is for many students.  Nothing unusual.  I can only say I was not one of the “cool kids”.  My parents were what I call “working poor”, so dressing us in new clothes for school was not a family tradition.  I worked since I was in 8th grade to buy what few clothes I owned.  If things got torn, I would pin them.  I remember a moment when my Dad was so upset with the pins in my clothes that he ripped the outfit off my body and told me to put something else on.  The problem was, there was not a lot of something else to wear.  

So when my Aunt Berniece gave me a brown and white print dress that fit me perfectly I was in heaven.  I wore it a lot.  Too much it turns out.  I wore it to school at least once a week.  I happened to wear it on the day we had our school pictures taken.  In the mean time our school was preparing for our homecoming.  

Homecoming at Grant Community High School was a big event.  We had a parade in town with the school clubs and each class participating.  It was followed by a bon fire on school property that the senior football members spent the day gathering wood for.  The football game would be followed by a homecoming dance.

Now I never thought I would ever be asked to go to Homecoming, so I volunteered to work at the dance.  To my surprise I did get an invitation from a young man in my class to attend the dance with him.  I said yes but with the caveat that I had already committed to work at the dance.  To make things worse he also invited me to join his brother and his date after the dance before having to head home.

“Oh that is okay,” I said, “I have my Dad coming to pick me up.”

Now I realized in school, that all the girls going to the dance were out buying new dresses for the dance.  But we could not afford to buy me a new dress, and I did not have a job at the time, so I had to turn to my closet…and you guessed it…I decided to wear the brown and white print dress that I felt so good in.  

The evening was a disaster.  The poor boy spent most of his time at the dance waiting for me to stop working, and the little time left to spend at the dance was awkward to say the least.  It was a night we both wanted to forget.  Not because of him, but because I was such a dope.

A couple of weeks later, while sitting in study hall, (wearing that same brown and white print dress) our school pictures were handed out.  There I was, sitting in study hall next to the boy who asked me to the dance, looking at my school pictures of me wearing the same dress I wore the day the pictures were taken, and the dance, and as it went, the moment I was looking at my school pictures….when I heard him ask, “Is that the only dress you own?”

I was so embarrassed, that when I went home that day, I put the dress in the burn barrel and burned it along with the evening trash.  

I relived that moment every time i looked at him in school and prayed he would forget in time that he even knew me.  

I can laugh about it today.  But to a young girl, whose wings were just beginning to spread, it was a devastating moment that had to be carried inside of me for the rest of the school year.  In fact, I never attended any other school dance, not even my prom.  

How odd, it is to me, that the first picture taken of Pat and I was a snapshot taken during our first dance on the first day we met, not realizing that it was the first day of the rest of our life!  Now that is cause to smile!

RECALCULATING

This is being repeated by special request...just for you dear friend.

As each day was lived as a young woman and then a wife, I grew in confidence in who I was and how I lived.  I was sure-footed, capable, and if doubt ever came to me it didn’t stay long because I had a cheerleader in the friend and love that I was married to.

One of the difficult adjustments to my new life as a single, is making decisions with the same confidence I remember from my past.  A fear fills me like I don’t recall before in my life.  I find myself thinking, “What if this is the wrong way to go?”  “What if I make a mistake?”

Then I thought about my GPS system.  Often, I’ll put in a destination on my GPS and then decide to take a detour without adding it to my trip.  As I head off to the detour point, my GPS recalculates the directions to my end point by announcing, “Recalculating.”

That is when it hit me.  Why can’t we deal with life like our GPS deals with our wrong turns.  No finger pointing.  No scolding.  No anger.  No fear.  Just recalculating.

So what if I decide to change course, and it turns out wrong?  I’ll just recalculate a new direction from where I stand.  If my choices turn out to be a mistake, I’ll just pick new choices.  If I decide to try something new and don’t like it, I’ll stop.  If I decide to go somewhere and I don’t enjoy it, I’ll turn around and pick some place else or return home.  Why does it have to be any more complicated than that? No experience is ever worthless, just the opposite.  All experiences have value in lessons of living.

So the next time I am faced with a choice, and it turns out wrong, I'll listen for that gentle voice in my head that will reset my compass with the words, recalculating.

RAMBLING THOUGHTS OF AN ELDERLY GAL!

Nothing like a good storm to energize you!

Nothing like having someone try to take advantage of me to lift me out of my funk.  I was so energized yesterday, that I was on a buzz all day.  I started the day by heading to the police and being directed to the post office with my fake money order.  Turns out this falls under the Federal Postal Inspector.  I turned everything in.  What bothers me the most about this whole process, was in finding a You Tube Video from 2011 with the same complaint and here it is 2014 and it is still happening.  This tells me that it is a daunting task trying to keep up with these jerks.

I just wonder, if they would put as much energy into legitimate work, wouldn’t it be better than running from the law every month or so?  Just saying!

Later, I joined some lady friends from my community for lunch.  Can I say how important they are to me?  This group was the first group of people that reached out to me after Pat died.  They pulled me back into the living and I will forever carry them in my heart for their act of kindness during that part of my life.  They get together now and then for lunch or dinner and they have a way to make me laugh.  Their attitude is spunky and they are full of funny stories.  

My life, like play dough, is always evolving and changing.  I am looking for volunteer possibilities to keep me engaged and help me make new friends.  

I started helping out at the Honey Hollow Audubon Society in Bucks County.  It is new to me, but already I find very interesting people.  I feed the birds, but honestly except for enjoying the entertainment they provide me while feasting at the feeders I am not an intense birder.  I love the property at Honey Hollow.  I volunteered this weekend at the Barn Tour, a fundraiser for the Bucks County Audubon Society.  I was assigned to Tyler Park at barn number 9.  I was a greeter at the entrance of the park out in the middle of nowhere directing attendees to go down a “do not enter” road to the barn.  

It was a bit lonely, and except for a couple who knew me and stopped to have a conversation, I was alone in the heat for the four hours.  I laugh at my thoughts when faced with these kind of moments.  I imagined what it must be like to be in a sweat box, with just the thoughts in my head…and there were some strange ones.  I was having a one on one with a squirrel trying to crack a nut.  He was not upset at my presence and he entertained me for a very long time.

Part time job or volunteer…which way to go?  I know I need the pull to keep me going, and I want to be with people and I especially need to have the purpose in my life.  In this world of widowhood, I am not afraid to step out of my comfort zone, and do things that fulfill my needs.  

Life, although challenging, is still an adventure to me.  I enjoy spontaneity.  I am filled with a desire to wander and explore.  I’ll keep moving, pushing and meeting new people.  I may be “elderly” according to some definitions, but I am young at heart and still ready to kick up some dust! If I have to do it alone, then so be it, but if I can find anyone to join me in my explorations, then that will be the frosting on my cake of life!  

BEWARE--THERE ARE SCAMS EVERYWHERE

I am writing this because I hate when people are taken advantage of. And especially at the age I am, it seems there are more people coming at me for crap I don't want or asked for.  Calls, letters, and emails all hold the potential for us to be taken.  I see it with my 88 year old friend who gets calls all the time even though she is on the do-not-call list and now this...

 On Doylestown Patch there was an ad that allowed for you to search for jobs, full time or part time.  You can plug in your zip code and career choices and it sends you a daily email with listings showing up in your area.  I had talked to a few people here in my community that use this to find part time jobs.

Thinking I would like a part time job,  I signed up.  I posted the work criteria I was looking for.  Except for my name, address and email there was not any personal information, only the skills I offered up for consideration.  

Three weeks after signing up I got an email from a Dr. Larry  Lawton, telling me I am one of the finalists be considered for a position with their company.  A part time position that I can do on my schedule and it was part time.  If I am selected as a finalist I would be contacted.

About two weeks later I got the following email:  

“Attention: Evaluation Officer

Kindly be informed that evaluation assignment has been provided to you to execute the consumer evaluation job.

These evaluation Payments with instructions sheet will be delivered to your address via postal mail service,

Monitor your Usps mailbox frequently. once package is received It is imperative you confirm the receipt of the package and follow the instructions sheet enclosed.

You are required to adhere to the instructions as stated on the Instructions sheet enclosed to complete your first task with the payment provided.

We do hope that you will be able to carry out your evaluation assignment immediately you receive it.

Please acknowledge the receipt of this email

Best Regards,

Dr Larry Lawton

Recruitment Manager

Mystery Shoppers, Inc”

I checked out the Mystery Shopper, Inc website:  http://www.mystery-shoppers.com.  It contained a section warning of scams and fraud.  I was not alarmed but I also believed there was no commitment or worry.  So I went about my business thinking if it comes okay if not…okay too.

Yesterday, in the mail I received an 8x11 brown envelope.  Inside was a letter and a US postal money order for $960.00 made out to me.

A FAKE MONEY ORDER
I blanked out my name and address.  The security strip on the
money order does not show well here...but trust me it is there.

I glanced over the letter, and looked at the money order.  Red flags began to rise within me immediately.  First, who sends out $960.00 to someone they have never talked with, have no personal information other than name, address and email?  No signed contract, no promise, no guarantee that I was even trustworthy.

My second pause came when I saw the company is from Tennessee but the money order was from a Jim Scott in Florida.  I   began to search on the internet to see if you can verify a money order is real.  I googled the company with the word scam behind it.  There was the information I was looking for.  it was a scam.  I was right to be alarmed.

Then I did a google search on Jim Scott’s name and address in Florida and up popped a You Tube video from back in 2011 showing a fake money order, a letter that looked very similar to the one I received, a label, similar to the one I received and a warning to people of the scam his wife had received.  Like me,  they caught it but decided to help warn others.  In the comments were a number of new people who, like me went searching before assuming, and were warned.  I’ve posted a picture of the money order so you can see how good of a fake it is.  I am planning on visiting the police department today to ask what if anything I should do with this, but I decided to share this with others so they too can be warned.

Charlatans have always been around, but let it be known, I hate scammers and the damage they do.

SOME DAYS ARE JUST HARD

As I read other stories of those who lost their partners in life, I see a common theme.  Adjusting to living alone and finding a new purpose in living.  I keep pushing to make both happen but there are days when it is just hard.  The following two poems just emptied out of me.  I have learned through my years if I allow expression to my feelings, the junk gets cleared and I can move on.  So I'm going for it!

RAMBLING THOUGHTS OF A WIDOWS HEART

Ears ring with silence

thoughts dance through my head

broken scrambled reaching longing

allowing thoughts to fill me

searching for purpose

for connection

for life

Being alone has its moments

creative energy flows

fills me

then the loneliness—no one to share things with

and the silence once again roars in my head

We are not meant to be alone 

to stand outside and look in

we are a tribe 

we need to belong

to feel

to touch

to hug

to be part of something

I walk along the river and watch others

stroll too

I see hands being held

and I think of you

we never took many steps 

without reaching out to each other

Connected

Loved

Accepted

Purpose

I long for these feelings to come to me again

but I wonder if ever.

Once again I keep moving

facing forks in the road.

fighting hard to not give up

working on enjoying the day

taking steps to go out and play 

I am…

I am what?  

I am…me.

**************

ONE IS A LONELY NUMBER

What am I…who am I…

An old women, whose life has been lived

yet days remain and what do I give?

I don’t want to intrude, to be a pest or a bore

I just want to belong

Nothing much…nothing more

If I have something to share

there is no one to call

no one who cares

just me and the wall

Do I shout to the world

hey look at me

do I stand meekly by

hoping you see.

I try hard to be helpful

I work to be kind

but in the end it is me

that lives alone in my mind

I don’t want to hide 

from the world I enjoy

I will just keep moving 

until someone I find

that will friend me and like me

and think of me as kind

I hope you’ll see through my mask

that I ‘m tender and loving

as we are on this journey—those of us who live alone

you would think we could find each other

and end this world of loneliness.

ACCEPTING CHANGE IS NOT ALWAYS EASY

Delaware River in New Hope

Accepting the change in my life is a lot harder at times than I let on.  Since my trip to the shore I have been feeling unsettled…that accepting change thing…the wanting to live with gusto but finding I am  having moments that throw me.  Today it hit me.  A common theme among those who have lost loved ones is the sense that everyone has left them.  We are forced to make new friends to fill the void of emptiness that we feel.  And that is when it struck me, that it is not a “man” I am looking for…it is a friend.  A real friend.  One like I had in Pat, because I realized this week in my quest to understand the depth of my being unsettled, that it is a real friend that I miss having in my life.  And I recognize why it is so difficult for me to find one like the one I have lost.

That answer is complicated.  First, in my youth, I didn’t have friends.  For many reasons it was just not so.  Part of it was because of my home life.  Home was not a welcome place to bring a friend into the house.  Second, is when you spend a childhood keeping a secret it is impossible to let anyone in.  I always wore a great mask, but it always hid what was going on inside my life.  During a recent conversation I had with someone from my past, we were discussing how we went through school.  He kicking and screaming, and then he said, “you trying to disappear.”  That resonated with me so hard I have been processing the thought of that ever since.  Once again, in my life the puzzle pieces come together.  In trying to understand the moment, I see through my past the why of what I am feeling.  I lost the one friend I had in life when I lost Pat.  No matter what he knew about me, no matter what I needed to share, I was an open book to him and he to me, and in that, a friendship grew like nothing I have ever experienced.  And that in the end is what I am missing most.  That someone who can accept me just as I am, and when I am out of line, gently and with love in their heart for who I am, nudge me back in place.  

I know this will surprise some who know me, but I struggle today in finding a friend.  The foundation of my youth was spent in hiding, and the 45 years I had with Pat, in living but I realize today that once he pulled me into the living it was something I took for granted because he made it so easy.  I always knew no matter what happened in life, I could go home to the safety net of his friendship and love.  And today, walking this stage of my life alone, I am in a struggle to gain that confidence in being me and alone while also being at peace with the idea of it all.  The difference in being lonely and being alone is a wide gully for me.  I don’t have trouble with eating out alone, doing things alone, traveling alone.  The truth is, there is zen in being alone.  But the lonely comes because I have not found that friend, and it is not because I don’t want her/him, it is that old sense of “fear” that comes from being afraid that if I am “me” it will not be enough.  It seems I have some work to do…and at this age, I am learning you never stop growing or learning.  As the old saying goes, “it ain’t over til it’s over.”

OH CHINCOTEAGUE, HOW YOU CHANGED ME

As I sit here excitedly anticipating spending the week down at the shore with my whole gang, I find myself recalling the times we visited the shore as a young family. We would travel to the shore, leaving by 5 in the morning, having breakfast, spend the day on the beach, use the public showers to clean the sand off our bodies, walk the board walk, have dinner and return home by late evening.  

I loved the ocean.  The smell would put a smile on my face as we entered the causeways when the sea air would fill the car.  Growing up in the midwest with small lakes at our feet and Lake Michigan at our door, was not unloveable, but the ocean, oh that ocean.  The power, the smell…the sand.

I loved it until one summer during the Pony Penning at Chincoteague, Virginia.  The ocean had become my favorite vacation spot, (although my husband could of easily given up the sand part).  Friends of ours had a cabin on the bay side in Chincoteague and the only time they did not want to be there was during the Pony Penning so they shared it with us.  It was a memorable trip with stories that we share over and over again, even today.

The first discovery was the mosquito.  They were so thick I believed they could carry us away.  Getting into the cottage was a delicate dance of run for your life while protecting the sanctity of the inner cottage.  Pat went into the cottage, making sure he was in the right position to open the door at just the right moment, not allowing for any mosquitoes to come into the cottage.  I would stay in the van, giving last minute instructions of how to run for your life into the house without getting bit.  On your mark…..get set….go!  Open the door, push a kid out, slam the door, watch kid run to the house, Pat open the door, grab the kid while slamming the door.  Take a deep breath.

Okay, kid number two!  Same routine.  On your mark…get set…go!  Open the door, push the kid out, slam the door, watch kid run to the house, Pat open the door, grab the kid while slamming the door.  Take a deep breath.

Four times doing this before all were safe into the sanctity of the cottage.  We checked around for any mosquito that may have found it’s way in and then inhaled.  We are safe!

In the sunshine we were okay.  Apparently mosquitoes didn’t like sun, but under a shade tree?  Look out!

We discovered at Chincoteague that our younger son had a sleep walking problem.  The cottage was tiny.  A small kitchen, a living room with a pull out bed, and a front porch.  It was located beside the bay in a residential community.  Except for a bar down the street it was very quiet.  We put the kids to sleep in the living room and Pat and I made a bed out on the front porch.  Locking the doors and settling in we believed nothing could go wrong.  

About 12:30 a.m. my husband jumped up suddenly (I didn’t hear anything so his movement startled me), and he went around the house checking things out.  Coming back through the living area where the kids were sleeping he counted heads.  One was missing.  Suddenly he called out Aaron’s name.  No response.  I jumped up and joined in the chorus of yelling out for Aaron.

Outside panic gripped me further as we walked around shouting out his name realizing how close we were to the bay.  

“Aaron!!”, we shouted.

Nothing…silence.

“Aaron!!” once again with more panic filling the name with each call.

Nothing.

“A A R O N”, I shouted as loud and long as I could.

From off in a distance I heard a soft muffled voice come back to me, “What?”

“A A R O N”, I screamed not sure if what I heard was anything.

“What?” came once again.

I ran to the front of the cottage and there 1 1/2 blocks down the street was my younger son, walking in the black of night in just his underwear.  We soon learned that he often would sleep walk if he had to go to the bathroom.  From that night on we barricaded the back kitchen door as if we were under attack.

The next day, with all our little chicks in tact, we decided before going to the beach to take them to the gift shop to pick up a little something they might like.  Spending time in there with the kids was fun and we had some very silly times.  Getting back into the van, heading on down the road, each kid called out for their present not wanting to wait until we got back to the cottage.  I should say all of them called out but one.  You guessed it.  Aaron.  Turns out he was not in the van, so we quickly turned around and drove the longest mile I have ever driven.  When we pulled into the parking lot, there he was standing in the door way with his hand on his hips.  

“Oh Aaron, were you scared when you couldn't find us?” I cried as I scooped him up into my arms.  

“No,” he said calmly, “I knew you’d be back to get me!”

OMG, this trip was turning out to be one of either we were very lucky or there was a message we were not paying attention to.  But the worst was yet to come.

On the beach the final day at Chincoteague, we were all enjoying the day.  Pat was sitting at the shore line with the little ones while Damian, my oldest and I were out to our waist floating up and then down with each incoming wave.  We were having a great time as long as my feet would touch bottom once the wave passed.

Then it happened.  The wave came in and took Damian and me out.  Our feet could not touch bottom and we both suddenly found ourselves doggy paddling to nowhere.  Pat noticed that something was not right but was stuck on shore with the welfare of the little ones in his hands.  The life guard noticed us about the same time and started to grab his floater and run toward us when suddenly the water drew from the beach, lifted Damian and I up higher and threw us to the shore.  Swallowing water and eating sand we made it back to the shore but as I pulled myself out of the water the top of my bathing suit was at my waist and I was bleeding on my chest where it had scraped against the bottom.

From this moment on, Damian and I have a great deal of respect for the power of the ocean.  Today I won’t go in past my shins.  It does not stop me from enjoying the sounds and the smell and those early morning walks along the waters edge before the world gets up and starts their day all over again.  

I know this coming week with my children and grandchildren will charge up my lonely tanks so life won’t feel so empty enabling me to float through the rest of the summer knowing I have a wonderful, loving family.

RANDOM THOUGHTS OF AN OLD PERSON

Sitting outdoors with the morning song of birds, the sparkle of rain and dew on the bushes from last nights rain, and random thoughts racing through my head, I decided to write them down and see where they take me.  Some will refer to this as “string of consciousness writing.”  One does this when you have lots of time on your hands.  Today, I at least have this morning and it is beautiful.  I can feel the humidity building so I know this breeze and comfort will be fleeting at best…just as in life the good moments come and go.

A person cannot reach my age and not carry a fair amount of pain and sorrow on their shoulders.  I look around at the faces of those in my community, some who have twenty years on me, and watch them carefully as I look to get a clue on how to live beyond those painful moments.  

What makes some in life carry the ability to just throw off those moments and move on, while others will carry them every day, every hour, every second into their living, forever being a victim.  There must be comfort there but for the life of me I cannot figure out what it is.  Pain is not something I want to deal with every day.  

I love to surround myself by those who laugh, love, and live with gusto.  

Someone I know, commented on something I wrote and said they believed it showed that I have a controlling personality.  I can only conclude it is that they do not know me well, because if there is something I’m not, it is controlling.  In this time of my life I feel a freedom to live in ways I have not had before.  I am lucky enough to still have my health, and my ability is still there to fill me with a desire to explore this world and what it still has to offer me.

I have one daughter, who a friend once described,”is you Marlene, unleashed.”  I have come to believe that more and more as she is temporarily with me.  Oh she is smarter than me…she is smarter than a lot of people I know.  But our spirit is the same.  She carries that gusto for life and no matter what it has thrown at her, she pushes onward.  She, like me, will take some time to process the hurt, but she like me, does not enjoy the dwelling at the place of pain, so she will reach up and out.

We decided to go on a spontaneous adventure together.  She has an abundant of flyer miles, so we are taking a quick trip to the Grand Canyon.  Two nights and three days…a whirlwind of a trip I know, but I like the spontaneity of it.  I will tell you that I will enjoy the whole journey and the sights of the Grand Canyon will be the frosting on the cake!!

I love spontaneous moments.  You don’t have to spend energy planning for something that may or may not work out.  You just pick up and step out and move forward.  Whatever happens, happens…you didn’t plan on anything anyway.  

Now if I could just find a way to deal with that deepest of human needs…to be loved and wanted…then I could truly find a way to enjoy completely what these twilight days of my life bring me.  Until then, I’ll take those moments that put a smile on my face and enjoy them to the best of my ability.

Time to put some music on and dance!

WONDERING ABOUT WANDERING

I have a high school classmate of mine that is traveling the four corners of the US on motorcycle by himself.  I am impressed by his journey and the people he has met.  He has stopped to visit family, friends, and old classmates like myself along the way.  

It has me thinking, about how I would enjoy a driving trip across the US.  I have not seen the Rocky Mountains, the Grand Canyon, the North West or New England, places I very much want to experience firsthand.  The problem is traveling alone.  My kids have shared concerns about the idea of me being alone on the road.  I read my classmates blog (http://www.john-lomax.blogspot.com/?m=1) and wonder about the differences between a man and a woman in their spirit of adventure.

I mean, he would of liked to have had travel partners, but did not stop when he realized it was only going to be him.  So I ask, why does it appear more comfortable for a man than a woman to travel alone?  

I have checked out travel sites for women traveling alone, but they are women, signing up for a tour group and that is not the same thing as being out there all by yourself, following your nose.

One of the greatest pleasures I had as a young women, was my three day vacations when I worked for the Navy.  I would get up on a Friday, using a spinner, spin to pick out a direction, and then plan a trip heading out to wherever eight hours of driving would take me.  I then found a place to stay, and the next day would explore the area and return home that Sunday.  It was the some of the best experiences of my life!

My last blog brought out a suggestion from a distinct cousin’s of my husband, that I think about an RV.  He said he and his wife have been doing this for four years now and have met some great people and made friends with many of them.

Now there is an adventure…blogging my way across America as an old person!  Ummm…thinking. 

MAYBE A DOG WILL DO!

Just over a year after Pat died, a friend of mine signed me up on one of those online dating sites.  I have not written about that experience but as life is settling down and I find I am having thoughts about how nice it would be to have a “friend” to do things with, I am thinking about the dating site again.  I mean how else does one meet anyone these days?

But going on a dating site is an adventure in pure craziness.  First how is one suppose to feel about having a line-up of over 100 men look at your profile and just pass you by.  I mean really, 100 men and not one is interested in me?  Boy that is not good for an ego.  I keep thinking of the conversation I had with my doctor when he asked if I was dating yet?  

“I think about it,” I said, “but when I see myself naked in the mirror I think—not yet.”  

“Have you checked out the guy sitting across the table from you?” he asked.  “He is no better.”

True, but that even makes the fact that so many can pass me by without an inquiry even worse.

Then I get excited because I finally get a message from an “admirer” and get told by him before two messages pass between us that he is in love with me and cannot wait to meet me but he is out of the country on business.  I immediately smell a rat.  I know my writing may at times seem interesting but how can you fall in love with “Hi, my name is…” is just a sign of pure desperation or a scam.  Neither is welcome!

I have seen three different men since Pat died.  The first acquaintance was short because I felt like I was cheating.  A sure sign I was not ready for the dating scene.

The second was too young.  Period.

The third man I saw, was very nice and felt very comfortable but I soon realized I was not ready to give up the freedom to do what I wanted when I wanted and he was very vocal about wanting more from me than that.  Carrying for a sick husband for 13 years will do that to you….the freedom to come and go still tastes sweet.  

I am asking myself what is it that I am really looking for?  Truth?  I have no idea. It would be nice to find that someone who would enjoy a show now and then.  It would be fun to have a travel partner.  I have a desire to drive back roads to somewhere just for shits and giggles…going alone at my age is not smart these days.  Have not found a lady friend with that kind of spirit for adventure so I am open to anyone!  Umm....I wonder if a large dog would be good?  

Gee, now that I think about it a large dog would be good…he would gladly go where I wanted to go and not complain.  He would be thrilled to see me whenever I was with him and not complain if I was gone too long—okay he may pee on the floor but that is what paper towels and disinfectant are for.  He would protect me if I was in danger.  I wouldn’t have to cook because he would eat prepared food once a day.  And in the winter when it is cold, he would let me stick my cold feet under his warm belly and he would not complain.  Yep—maybe a dog would do.