I HATE SCAMS AND SCAMMERS!!!!

I HATE SCAMS AND SCAMMERS!  Did I say that loud enough?  I have done everything I can to stop these annoying calls.  I have signed up on the “Do Not Call” list more than once.  I have tried the “Stop the Robo” caller program…that has not stopped them.  I have ignored the calls with numbers I don’t recognize, but the annoyance of the consistent ringing drive me crazy. I began to take the call making sure it was indeed a non-legitimate caller then I would block the number.  In 3 days…yes, that is 3 days I filled my allotted number of calls I am allowed to block in my phone system.  One would think that having caller ID would help stop them, but they have even managed to get around identifying who they are with that.  Often when I have called the number back, I get that the number has been disconnected.  How can that be?  That number just rang my phone!!!

Over the years I have taken down all their information and then called my local government office…only to be told not to answer the call.  Then I called my local consumer advocate…only to be told to just hang up.  Once when I was so tied up caring for my dying husband, I called the police to see if I could get the Bucks County Police Association to stop calling and they told me,  “There was nothing they could do, and by the way, do not donate to them,” he said, “we get nothing from them.”  Great.

Why is it so hard to figure out what to do to stop them.  In one of my evil moments, I wished I had one of those loud piercing sound makers to blow into the phone once a real person gets online.  I figure if I take away their hearing they would give up calling!

Once I even gave them a bunch of phony information just to get rid of them. I told the foreign sounding voice on the other end of the line that my name was  Dumbia Scammershit.  

I have resorted to pretending I was deaf.  “Hello!”  They would try and say something, and I would interrupt with “Hello…are you there?”  “What?”  “Speak louder I cannot hear you.”  Eventually, with me screaming on the phone, they would hang up.

Another time when the caller would ask their question, I would answer with gibberish, making no sense and having nothing to do with their question.  They would eventually hang up also.

Once I startled a person with, “I am so glad you called.  You need to call the police.  I think I just killed an intruder who came into my house.  He looks familiar…similar to my husband,” I said…eventually they hung up too.

The scariest call I ever had was years ago when my husband left for his second shift job, I got a call asking if I was Mrs. Ford.  He then identified himself (this was before caller ID) as the State Police and that my husband was just involved in an auto accident and could I call someone over to my home while I head to the hospital.  Something told me to call the State Police to confirm the event, and that is when I found out that this was a scam call and the police would never call with that kind of information.  They would send an officer in person.  

Remember years ago when Olean Mills would call and offer up a free 8x10 family photo just for letting them send a photographer to the home to snap the series of photos to choose from?  We all knew the scam.  Take the photos then do a high-pressure pitch to get you to buy a very expensive package.  As a mother of four young children, I did not have the time for such nonsense.  I said no.  Then no again.  And no one more time.  After a bit, the caller asked, “Why Mrs. Ford would you not want a beautiful family photo to cherish the rest of your life?”  After a bit of a pause, I responded in a very serious tone with, “Because sir, you just don’t understand.  My children are so ugly I never take their pictures.  People would just laugh and stare.”  The dead silence at the other end of the phone told me all I needed to know and the calls stopped.

Lately, the “IRS” scammer calls and the “PECO” scammer calls are ringing me two to three times a day.  I let them know they are a scammer and for the most part, the IRS people just hang up.  But the PECO scammers have actually started arguing with me.  Today when they called, I asked them how they could live with themselves scamming people out of their hard-earned money and hung up.  Not that they care but I was hoping the “Mother’s Voice” I shot out there would get to them.  

I am not naive to think anyone could talk to these lowlife-scumbag-bastards into caring. I have decided that it is time to make a daily political call to plead with my congressmen to come up with a way to stop this.  Elderly people especially are so vulnerable to this kind of crap and sadly too many times are scammed out of their money, and it is sad that there is nothing that can be done about it.  

If any of you out there have any ideas, I am open to hearing them.  

“HELLO, WHAT DID YOU SAY?”  “I CAN’T HEAR YOU…SPEAK LOUDER PLEASE.”  “HELLO!”  “ARE YOU THERE?”

Oh I am sorry, I am practicing for my next scammer call.  

VICTIM NO LONGER

I’ve been uneasy lately.  Sometimes it takes me time to figure these things out within myself as to why.  Hearing the hate rhetoric of this political campaign I know is part of it, so I have taken to tuning it out and making myself busy doing more enlightened activities.  

But then the other day I happen to be listening to the radio when Trump was speaking.  He announced that when the election is over, he plans on suing all the women who have stood and said he sexually assaulted them and the crowd cheered.  Like a thousand shards of glass, I felt pain from every one of those who cheered him on.  

My life has not been without its bullies.  For 11 years I was a victim of childhood sexual abuse and rape.  I was the keeper of the secret because I was told if I told anyone what was happening, I would be the one to get into trouble.  What does a 5-year-old know when an adult says that to them?

It took me until I was 17 to find the courage to speak the truth out loud.  In the end, I found power in letting the truth out, but not before my family abandoned me with accusations of my being a slut, whore and out just to get the uncle’s money.  But for the fact that I met my husband who showed me a different way of life I wonder where I would be today?

In my work life, I ran into two more bullies.  A job I had in a local printing shop had a supervisor who made inappropriate comments to all the women in the plant when they went about doing their business.  Then one day when I was working in the office in the early evening, that same supervisor came in and as usual standing over me, making his crude comments suddenly slipped his hand inside my shirt top.   I did not hesitate to take the incident to my boss.  An investigation took place supporting my story, the supervisor retired early with a “secret” retirement party, and then began a year long ugly shop talk by the “good ole boys club” of the plant.  In fear when I left work at night in the dark, I would find graffiti on my car or a flat tire.  Stage whisper conversations would occur as I walked out into the plant, talking about me as if I could not hear.  Running to the HR people was not feasible…how could I complain about every time I was made to feel uncomfortable.  So I endured.  A year later I left that job for another.

In my last job, I worked one year for an interim assistant principal covering for my boss who moved over to the Principal’s seat while that person was on sabbatical.  For one year, he bullied and badgered and went out of his way to let me know how he felt about me by either what he did or didn’t do.  At the end of the year when I was called into the office to discuss the Mum that was left on my desk every Monday with an upbeat note of encouragement, i.e., “The sun will come up tomorrow!  Love Annie”.  An accusation was brought against me as if I were the one who instigated the gift of the motivating Mum every Monday.  When I fought back, I was told just to buck up, that the end of the year was coming and this would be behind me.

I started with nightmare dreams like I had in the early years before my voice had been heard about the abuse I was experiencing.  I was initially puzzled as to why my abuse issues were rising.  Then, one day, when the year was behind me, it came to me.  That sense of abandonment by my boss, who instead of standing up for me, asked me just to endure the moment and let it pass.  “Be a good soldier”, he said.

The more powerful the bully, the harder it is for a victim to step up.  No one steps up without consequences.  Loss of family.  Loss of friends.  A feeling of being alone and knowing the truth and nowhere to turn.   It can be a lonely walk.

Being a victim is not easy.  Being let down by those around you is worse.  It took me a long time to come to terms with that part of it.  As I watched the ladies who have been harmed by Bill Cosby and now Donald Trump, I find myself saying, “You go girl!  Stand up to the bully!”  

For that is what men like this are.  They believe they have the right and their money allows them to push back hard.  I have learned over my course of living, that finding the courage to speak the truth even when others do not want to hear it, frees me.  I can breathe again.  I can walk with my head high, even when my heart breaks at the crush of words that may come.  I know the truth, just as the women who find themselves standing up to these men do.  There is a journalist, Michele Goldberg of Slate Magazine, who offered women a chance to share their personal story of bullies in the workplace.  She was unprepared for the avalanche of response.  It is not a club that anyone has asked to join.  It is not an easy club to belong.  But speaking the truth not only shines for others looking to do so but frees ourselves up to live the life we are entitled to live.  I am proud to be a survivor.  To not have let the bullies ruin my life.  I am one of the lucky ones.

To all of you who cheer Donald Trump on when he says he plans on suing these woman when this election is over, I pray your daughter never has to experience this pain.  And to those who have a story to tell, email Michele Goldberg, she wants to hear your story.  michelle.goldberg@slate.com

And to those who need light…I share the following:

“Don't judge yourself by what others did to you.” 

― C. Kennedy, Ómorphi

“You can recognize survivors of abuse by their courage. When silence is so very inviting, they step forward and share their truth so others know they aren't alone.” 

― Jeanne McElvaney, Healing Insights: Effects of Abuse for Adults Abused as Children

“Survivors of abuse show us the strength of their personal spirit every time they smile.” 

― Jeanne McElvaney, Healing Insights: Effects of Abuse for Adults Abused as Children

TRANSITION

I follow a site called “Begin with Yes”…today the following posting showed up.  “The transition to evening reminds us that life is about transitions too. When we understand that this is just part of the natural unfolding, we resist less and become less fearful. Everything will be OK”

How many times have I written about my own personal transition from wife to widow to single and the challenges it has presented, yet feeling lucky to understand and accept the idea that everything will be OK.  That does not make the pain go away.  I know I sometimes have to wear a mask of “everything is ok” just to get through the day, and so do many other widows I meet and talk with.  

When I talk about my reactions to leaving a wonderful event with family or friends and sometimes find myself breaking into tears heading home alone in the car…they nod and understand…for them too, they tell me.  There is always that moment that you leave the group, get into your car and as I have said before when you close that door that sound of the door slams you into a reality of your aloneness. 

I gave a talk a while back and was in conversation with someone who said, “I pretend to be okay because everyone expects me to be.”  She went on to say, “In pretending, I can often get through the day, but it is not real.”  

How that struck me.  We all wear masks of sorts.  Most of us present to others that which we think they want to see and too often it leaves us wanting inside and nowhere to share the voice we really want to be heard.  

Yet, I know it is up to me at this stage to find my own way, to create a new life.  I often feel like I have each foot in a different world.  One where I want to run and explore and start over…even sometimes thinking it would be wonderful to run away and begin life over.  The other foot stays planted in a need to be around the family.  But I am experiencing more that the family is so busy, and their need for me, is gone, and due to time, distance and busy lives getting together is harder.  And it is not unique to me, it is a common theme.  In the community in which I live, the last census taken by the Homeowners Association showed 52% of the people living here are single-home dwellers.  The quiet that permeates this place sometimes kills the soul!

I remember when I first moved here the first thing I missed was the sound of kids playing on the street.  Halloween doorbells ringing with “trick or treat” sounds.  Noise.  Now don’t get me wrong…quiet is good.  But too much quiet is deafening to the spirit.  I need people.  I need life.  I need to move and dance and play and sing.  So I am preparing for a new transition.  I have decided to sell my home and with my daughter-in-law and son’s invitation am moving into a mother-in-law suite they are building into their home.  Privacy when I want it, yet family when I need it.  

This will allow me to have the funds I need to travel.  This will put me in a place where life is still being lived robustly, yet when I need to step in and be in quiet…it will be there (we are soundproofing the place!)  For the first time in a long while I am looking forward with joy in my heart.  This feels good.  I am lucky.  At 69 I am healthy, mobile, still have my wits about me, and have a few years to get in as much as I can before my time comes to leave this place and by damn I am going to give it all I got and see where it goes.  

The next challenge? Thinning out the “stuff”.

IT FEELS GOOD!!!

Looking in the mirror as we age can be a challenge.  When I see a photo of myself it is different in my eyes than when I look in the mirror, phenomena that we all experience.  I think of my sweet mother-in-law when she attended her 50th high school reunion at Trainers Restaurant.  She walked in past the ballroom where a crowd had gathered, stopped at the reception desk and asked where the 50th high school reunion was.  Pointing to the ballroom she just passed, he said, “Right in that room Ma’am.”   “Oh no,” she replied, “that can’t be, they are all old people in there.”  

I have a question.  When you run into someone who is your age, do you find yourself thinking, “I wonder if I look that old.”  Me too!

I am discovering that losing weight at this time of my life is different too.  I am not doing this because I want to look “beautiful”.  The mirror tells me that every time I see the lines, the sag, the fact that I can slap you silly with my saggy breasts.  The mirror is not my friend at this stage of my life, but it has made me realize that it is what I am feeling that counts these days more than how I look.  

It also begs the question, if I can feel so good going down in weight, why does that leave us when we are going up.  Is it all in the head?  I am sure some of it is.  But when I can walk up a hill and not drag for breath, it feels good.  When I can stop eating before I hit the bloat stage…it feels good.  My spirit is lighter with each pound I have lost and not because I look young and beautiful but because I feel young and energetic.  

I am now ready for those road trips in life.  Those things I want to do are now possible because I can walk without pain, sleep without pain, be physical with pain…okay that last part may be pushing it, but I am once again realizing that I can do anything I want within reason.  Having a 69-year-old body does have its limitations!

My weight loss journey is still a journey I am embracing…it is working and I feel good.  At this writing I have entered a place I have not experienced in over 20 years.  For those who have inquired…I’ll keep you up to date on my journey…no matter where I end up.  For now, it just feels good and I want to hang on to that!!!

ALL OF US HAVE A STORY!

I just finished watching the final episode of this season of Finding Your Roots.  I love this show.  It confirms what I have always believed.  It is not enough to know just the names of your ancestor’s.  It is more fun and meaningful to know the story of your ancestors and this is why Memoir writing is important to me.  

When I was a young wife and mother-to-be I began to recognize how the impact of moving to Pennsylvania from Illinois would have on my children and their ability to know me through my own upbringing.  My husband’s family had already demonstrated to me that get-togethers were full of stories of past memories, filled with laughter and lots of love.  I recognized also at the time, that although I was running from my own childhood memories, I did turn out okay and there had to be a reason for that too, so while pregnant with my first child, I decided to collect the stories of my family and so began a life-long journey of learning through stories shared of who my family were.

It was the best gift I could have ever given to myself.  In asking questions of my grandmother, aunts, uncles, and cousins, I learned that all that I perceived through life was not as it was felt and, in the end, it became a healing experience.  For in searching for the stories of who my family were and how they lived I learned that what I was feeling from them had to do more with their own experiences than what I had done to experience a negative moment from them.

I have watched time and again the celebrities express a longing about why their own parents had not shared this or that piece of family history only to discover they may have suppressed the information to hide from their own pain.  Once the story is revealed to them the level of understanding that sweeps over them often fills them with a strong emotional reaction.  

All of us have a story to tell.  Decisions we make can leave a lasting impact on those we love for generations that follow.  When the truth behind those decisions is revealed it can change the impact left on those left to deal with the outcome of those decisions.  

Funny…how we keep things close to the heart on the pretense we don’t want to hurt anyone, but the truth is we are just unable to deal with the pain of some of that reality ourselves leaving the generations that follow to puzzle the why of things.  

As I watched Dustin Hoffman and Mia Farrow in this last episode all I could think was how the truth can set you free.

FATTY FATTY TWO BY FOUR...

There is nothing funny about Comedian Nicole Arbour.  She is getting a lot of attention these days for her “Fat Shaming” video by those who have the courage to produce their own video fighting back.  The truth is, fat shaming is not just what Nicole Arbour does, it is what many do.  I believe it is the accepted form of bullying.  When is the last time you heard anyone say to someone who makes fat crude jokes, that they should not.  I haven’t.  I would be interested to hear if you have.

I am going to lay it out there…I have never been thin.  NEVER!  In 5th grade, my report card shows that I was 1/2 inch off my adult height and weighed 155 pounds.  A weight I carried right up to my first pregnancy when I was 23 years old.  Each of my four pregnancies added some weight (reaching 175 lbs) until I became the long-term caretaker of my dying husband in which I gained my most weight…a weight I carry today.  No excuses…it’s just what happened.  I have been on many diets over my life time.  I would initially lose weight but eventually it came back to where I started.

Carrying weight above what society says should be, has taken its toll on my self-esteem and emotional well-being.  Starting in those elementary years right up through today, I can honestly say not a day passes that I don’t experience something by someone that lets me know I am fat.  

In my 8th grade class from Gavin Grade School, we had a tradition of signing autograph books as our class graduated elementary school heading off to high school.  Some of the boys in my class filled my book with poems reading, “Fatty, fatty, two by four, can’t get through the kitchen door….” sending me out with a life time of insecurities and self conscience and negative attitudes towards myself.  And in my case, this treatment was only the frosting on a cake that was already soured by a complicated childhood.  

I never had a safe place from “fat comments.”  Over the years, conversations with long distance relatives would often include a question, “lose any weight lately?”  It would sting, but I would brush it off the best I could.

Look, I get how weight can be a detriment towards good health, but at the same time I also recognize that sometimes weight is caused by more than poor choices.  My daughter suffers from Polycystic ovary syndrome, which showed up while she was in college.  One noticeable symptom of POS is weight gain.  It is heartbreaking to watch how differently someone you love is treated just because they carry more weight than what is “acceptable” by society standards.  

Yes, bullying comes in many forms.  And the video that Nicole Arbour produced is a form of bullying.  In a society where we celebrate those who call people who disagree with them “losers” and name call anyone different than themselves, I don’t know how to expect anything different.  I am filled with sadness when I see how we tolerate being cruel to one another.  I cannot change the world, but I can choose to be kind and accepting to those around me, no matter how different they are as compared to me.  

9/8/2015

AGING IS NO JOKE

Before I embark on any trip, I do a lot of research about the area I am going to visit, setting up road map information and laying things in chronological order to ease my stress on the trip.  Planning becomes so important in making it easy and stress-free.  

Too many times, I have watched people enter their aging process with no plans, only the attitude that “something will come along to take care of me.”  No worries.  No fears.  Just wing it.  For many of us, that is all we have to work with. When we wing it, too often we are asked to make these life changing decisions when we are least able.

I know many of us are not in a financial place to plan for the worst-case scenario, but I don’t see anything wrong in taking time to search what the system of aging offers so we can best understand what we will be faced with.  Other wise, tough decisions have to be made in your name, surrounded by a lot of kicking and screaming, 

Taking care of our seniors when they can’t live alone is an expensive proposition.  For those without long-term care insurance policies, we must rely on family and government programs and hope that family or room can be found to help with care.

People more knowledgeable than I have written volumes about what we face today when entering alternative living arrangements.  As I mentioned some posts ago, my friend, Martin Bayne, has been a long time advocate for better living situations in assisted living facilities.    His website, http://thevoiceofagingboomers.com/ is considered one of the best because he has been living in an assisted living facility for over 10 years.  In his 50’s, his body was in need of help, but not his mind.  He continues his work today, constantly challenging those who own and manage long-term care facilities to find better ways to create a home for our aging citizens.

One thing we can do to help those that will be our caretakers is prepare all the necessary paperwork, laying things out to make it easy to discover.

One site that I have been using to get my own personal things in order is called, “Get Your Shit Together”.   http://getyourshittogether.org/.   Yes, you read that right….Get Your Shit Together!

This is one of my favorite sites because it gives you a checklist of all the documents everyone should have in their files.  Not only does it provide a checklist, but it also provides forms that you can easily fill in and print out.  It’s easy-to-understand-explanations of what the documents mean help me understand the truth from the myths we think we know.  

Right after my Dad died, I decided to create an “IN CASE OF DEATH NOTEBOOK”.  I purchased a 3-ring binder, added some plastic sleeves, and began to gather the information necessary to deal with my end of life issues.  When Pat died, I discovered it to be a gift to myself.  I pulled out the book, opened a page, contacted who I needed to contact, making notes and filing the notes with the paperwork until the process was complete.  I did not have to search for anything as all the paperwork I needed was all in one place.  When the death certificates came in I placed them inside the book and used or made copies to file with all those institutions that needed them.  Leaving the balance in the book for when my time comes and in case the kids need them to finish off my estate.

The following is a sample of the items I had in my “IN CASE OF DEATH” notebook.

Obituary information:  This may sound silly to you, but what I found in my own family is that when sitting in front of an undertaker, still reeling with the shock of loss, you and your family members have a great deal of trouble remembering.  Having things written out simply helps simplify the moment.

MEDICAL POWER OF ATTORNEY DOCUMENT

MEDICAL LIVING WILL

POWER OF ATTORNEY:  Note most financial institutions will require their own, so don’t assume because you have a POA that it covers everything.

LIFE INSURANCE POLICIES

MEDICAL INSURANCE INFORMATION

COPY OF WILL COVER WITH A NOTE WHERE THE ORIGINAL IS LOCATED

Military information:  If you served in the military keep your DD214 (Discharge Papers) on file.  They will need it to provide all the military honors your are entitled to.  If, like my husband you are receiving disability payments from the VA, you also need this information to inform them of death.

Marriage and Birth records:  At least copies with notes on where you keep the originals.

Financial Accounts:  I update every quarter when the new statement comes in so that my family will have the last statement on record.  (A good practice is to always keep the first statement showing what you started with.

Bank Account Records:  I take December’s statement and keep a copy of it in my file to give information on bank and information needed to inform of my death.

List Assets:  For most of us this will include our home and car information.  A good habit is to make a copy of important information concerning both your home and car, along with a spare set of keys for each in these pockets.

A COPY OF YOUR UTILITY BILLS:  I found when dealing with these issues you need these for the account information and contact numbers.  I usually copy the last bill of the year and place in this pocket.

A LIST OF PASSWORDS FOR YOUR ACCOUNTS.  In today's world of online banking, doctor sites and other sites that are important to us, we find that we are overwhelmed with the need to collect our passwords.  Your caretaker needs to have these to carry out your wishes when the time comes.  I understand these have to be protected so a note where they can found is good to place here.

I share this with you to inspire you to make things easy for your future caretakers and like I discovered when my husband died, a gift to yourself.  

MORE CONVERSATION ON AGING

I lost another classmate this week.  I know at my age, this is to be expected.  We are approaching our 50th class reunion this September and John’s loss makes 25 known classmates that have left this earth.   In my own experience, I have come to believe the first person to die in a relationship is the lucky one.  Family intact, the healthy spouse becomes the built in care-taker, the medical advocate, insurance advocate, and family communicator.  Not an easy road being a caretaker, but it can be more scary facing aging alone.

Most of us do not plan for these times.  My own parents were a great example of this.  Living life, often pay check to pay check, not giving a thought about what the future holds as an “elderly person”, mostly because they didn’t have the resources to plan.   My Dad, who survived my mother by nine years, spent those nine years getting by, doing what most of us do when living life alone after losing a spouse, keeping busy to fight off the loneliness.

My Dad and I had a conversation shortly after my Mother died about his future.  I told him then, that I wanted him to be as independent for as long as he could and do as much as he wanted, but when the time came for him to face that moment where he knew he could no longer care for himself, to please consider moving in with Pat and I.  He did not respond and that was the entirety of our conversation.  As the oldest child and daughter, I took on the long distance role of calling him every day, morning and night (unless I knew he was traveling with his lady friend).  Over time, because of this intimacy in calls, I could hear the changes in his voice and tone, even though his words were, “I’m okay, “ often followed by his activities. 

A trip to North Carolina followed as soon as I sensed something was off with him to discover it was time for that decision.  I walked in, saw his condition and said, “Oh Pop, you know what this means?” as I saw how swollen his ankles were and how out of breath he was with any movement.  I was lucky in that he gave me no fight about moving him up North, and for the last 3 1/2 years of his life, the only thing he had to say about moving in with us was “If I had known I was going to live this long I would have waited longer before moving in with you all.”

That was the total conversation about any end of life arrangements.  I didn’t really understand it then, but now, as I stand alone after losing Patrick, I understand better what it means to face the rest of our life alone, hopefully, independent but still alone.  We don’t want to be a burden to our kids.  We don’t want to cost our kids any financial worries.  As we age, we tend to hang on to what ever we have harder…for those days when we will need it.

But we do a disservice to ourselves and our children when we avoid sitting them down and having the “senior talk.”  I know my brother and I talked about those times long before we lost our Mother and our Dad was alone.  I know my own children have had the conversation since losing their Dad, although I sometimes believe they are throwing dice to see who the loser is that will have to deal with me.  (Kidding of course!)

Next, I’ll cover options…especially when moving in with a child is not one of them.

Next time…

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….

I’VE COME A LONG WAY

As I sit here this Saturday, not babysitting, or doing anything else for that matter, trying to recover from a short hospital visit, and a diagnosis of diverticulitis and another round of bladder infection, I realized how different this visit was as compared to the first time I went in after losing Pat.  

The first time I went in, I was more acutely aware of not having Pat, my comforter, with me.   I felt extremely vulnerable and alone.  Every question was loaded with reminders of my new station in life.  But this time the experience was totally different.

When the fever and pain told me this was something different and needed attention, I called the doctor’s office and got the direction to go to the ER.  I was calm through the whole thing…in pain…but calm.  I knew I could always call 911.  When a neighbor heard that I was having issues they offered to drive me, too.  I decided to call my daughter who worked nearby and let her know I was heading over to the ER  and she responded with, “I’ll be right there.”  

I let her come and off we went.  At the hospital, the questions no longer were slaps in the face…single married or widowed.  I am what I am. A widow.

I even sent my daughter home with an “I’ll call when they are ready to release me.  Go home and rest until I am ready to go.”  And, “don’t let your brother’s know until I know what is going on.  If they tell me I have the bunga-bunga disease and have a short time to live you can call and get their butts here.”  We laughed and said good-bye.  She would have stayed if I wanted her to.

That was enough for me.  Just knowing that if I really needed someone, there would be someone there.  I know in my heart, if I had called any of the kids, they would of come.

I realize, sitting here today, how far I have come in my journey of learning to live life as a single person.  I am strong, independent and find pleasure in answering only to me at times.  Oh, that does not mean that things are perfect yet.  I still find those moments when I wish I had that hug, those cuddle moments…but you know when you can’t…you have to let go.  This latest experience told me I am okay.  

NO MORE GAY MARRIAGE

No.  Today, it is simply—marriage—and all that it brings with it.  Just that simple.  People much more eloquent than I will write about the events that have taken place today.  But for me, today is the first time I believe that we have fulfilled our promise to ourselves, “that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness.”

Oh, I am aware of those around me who are filled with as much angst over this as those around me who are in celebration tonight. I hear what they are saying, but to be honest I don’t understand their inability to accept the idea that everyone deserves to be happy and to be treated equally.

I am today, thinking of those in my family, who, for the first time in their life, can be treated as normally as anyone else.  The decisions they make in life do not have to wear a cloak of defiance, for today they have won the right to reach for their own Life, Liberty and their own personal pursuit of Happiness.  

As I think of the children who suffer such pain wrestling with the idea of their differences that today, maybe, with compassion and love, the world will allow them—encourage them to grow and become great and wonderful people.

As I think on those in my family, who hid who they were from us, for fear we would not love them or accept them, because society made them believe they were evil…this day is for you.  I celebrate with you!  I and the family have always known what a wonderful person you are, and when you found the courage to share yourself with us, you gave us a chance to show you.  Thank you for trusting us with you!

I am not naive to think that this ruling wipes away prejudice.  Not by a long shot!  But I have lived long enough to see how with time, prejudice can be lessened and we can be open to those who are different than we are.  I dream. I hope. I believe in the goodness of mankind.

COMFORT ZONE TRYOUT NUMBER ONE

Okay, so yesterday I wrote about reaching outside my comfort zone and learning to fly solo with ease and comfort.  Can I say after tonight…I don’t know.  I mean I didn’t fly solo, but I went someplace definitely out of my comfort zone.  Here’s the story….

Joliene invited me to go with her and try someplace new.  She is after all my adventure girl!  She read about this place in Bucks County Taste, an online blog about dining out in the area.  A new up and coming place that use to be a biker bar, with plans of for expansion, a new chef and lots of enthusiasm for the future.  A local place.  In fact, they call it “Local”.  

Off we went.  A beautiful drive down Point Pleasant Pike toward the river.  Arriving, we found a beautiful old stone building with a sign out front near a door.  Walking up to the door, we found no handle.  Ummmm….how do we get in?  Walking to the side patio we spot another door.  Again, no handle and no entry.

Giggling, we started back toward the car when a women from across the street yells out that the entrance is around back.  I looked over toward her and asked, “How many times do you have to shout instructions to strangers?”

“More times than I care to say,” she shouts back.

Thanking her, we headed around to the door in the rear.  A lovely inset stone entrance, with a huge beautiful pot of flowers in full bloom welcoming us.  Opening the door, we walk into a well used bar, with pool table, dart board and about four tables and lots of seats at the bar.  A little dark and dingy looking but filled with character.  Or should I say characters.  The bartender/server was a very small, well-worn old man who was about the size of my right leg.  A squeaky voice that peppered his language so that he was constantly turning to us (the only two ladies in the bar) and saying sorry.  I got the feeling they weren’t use to having women in the place.

Standing there, trying to get our bearings as to what to do, a young man at the end of the bar says to us, that he will be able to judge us better when he hears what we plan on drinking.  Joliene, not shy or backing down chooses a beer.

“Where you ladies from?” he asks?

“New Hope.”

‘Oh this is not a New Hope place,” he says with a smile.

Oh know I say to myself, he thinks we are gay.  That thought didn’t even register with Joliene.

Another old man across the bar begins to share with us how wonderful the food is and how they use local food sources, and how much they make themselves, like the mozzarella balls are made right there…..

“And you know,” says the young man at the end of the bar, “you need to prick a hole in those to let the steam out because they are hot to bite into if you don’t!”

After listening to what sounds like a commentary from the food channel, I say to them, “You know the last time I walked into a place and asked about the food and heard that much positive response, I later found out they were all related to the owner.  You are not related to the owner are you?”

Laughing, he says, “No, I use to be a chef and I know good food.”  

“Nice to know.  Thank you.”

We glanced at the menu on the various walls.  While trying to decipher them, one man points out to us that having the menu on the walls is not really a good thing because if the place is full you can’t read the menu with everyone in front of it.

I chuckled.  It was true.  The one menu was right across the bar with a whole row of seats in front.  If they had been filled we would not have been able to read the board.

We eventually decided on what to eat, ordered the food, got our drinks and sat at the table.  Soon another gentleman walked in with his dog.  A friendly type.  Conversation flowed when he strolled over to the jukebox inviting us to pick out some music on his dime, asking us if we were in town for the gay pride week?

It was everything I could do to keep from laughing.  I don’t know if it was Joliene’s plaid shirt or my short hair, combined with the fact that we said we were from New Hope, but they all had the impression we were gay, so I began to reference the fact that Joliene was my daughter to set them straight.  

The dog owner says, “Here I thought you two could be sisters!”  

Now I didn’t know how to feel at this moment.  Sorry for Joliene because she was hanging with an old women  or happy because someone thought I looked young!  Once we made it clear that we were mother and daughter, the conversation turned to them wanting to take us home!  Now there would be a story!!!!

The food finally came and I must say it was great food.  Everything the men said it would be.  

As we left the place, Joliene proceeded to tell me the rest of the review from the Bucks County Taste.  She said the women who reviewed the place said she found that someone forgot to tell the men in the bar that it was not a biker bar anymore because when she arrived to check the place out, there was a knife fight out in the parking lot.  She decided not to share that part of the review until we were leaving the place.  

I will say, the only gang this group of men belongs to was the over-the-hill gang.  They were worn hard, but harmless, friendly and very chatty.  The next time we go there, Joliene won’t be allowed to wear her plaid shirt and I’ll put hair extensions in, wear a fancy dress with long earrings, tons of makeup….oh wait…then we really would look out of place!

So much for leaving my comfort zone!  Next?

PS:  They really do have some great plans for the place.  Keep your eye out for the news.  They plan on bringing in music, building an outside deck and a second-floor dining area.  They already have a head start on the food!

WATER SOOTHS MY SOUL

Sea Isle City, New Jersey

Thanks to Eileen and her gift of sharing her shore house, I found myself walking barefoot along the winter beach of Sea Isle City, watching the sandpipers darting along the low tide searching for their morning meal and thinking to myself how lucky I am.

It was a spontaneous decision to head down to the shore and I love what being by water does for me.  Growing up in the Midwest, we lived for a time on a lake, in Ingleside, Illinois.  Living on Long Lake, was the happiest time in my childhood.  The mesmerizing effects of living by the water never got tiring for me, but I find the roar of the ocean is a different animal.

From the first moment Pat took me to Ocean City, I was in awe by the power and force of the waves.  My joy, early on, was to be chest high in the ocean riding the gentle waves up and down.  That is until one day while vacationing in Chincoteague, Virginia.  

We decided to spend as much time at the beach as we could before the projected storm rolled in.  Pat, sitting on the shore with the three younger ones playing in the sand, while Damian, my oldest son then age 10, and I rode the waves, were having that perfect family time together when suddenly Damian and I found ourselves in water deeper than we were tall and we could no longer land on our feet on the bottom when the waves went out.  

Not being able to swim stronger than a doggy paddle, we both began to panic when we realized our feet no longer touched bottom.  

“Mom,” Damian cried out, “I’m going to drown!”

Struggling myself to just stay afloat, I could say nothing, but only felt panic.  Pat noticed that we were in trouble but locked on shore with the three younger kids, was not in a position to do anything.  At the same time, the lifeguard noticed our predicament and began to run toward us, when suddenly, a huge wave picked Damian and I up and threw us to shore, face down.  Standing up, my swimsuit at my waist, chest bleeding from the scraping on the rocky bottom of the ocean floor, Damian and I were both glad to have our feet planted on the beach.  

We learned that day about undertow and carry a healthy respect for the power of the ocean.  

I still enjoy walking on the water’s edge, smelling the sea air, watching the sandpipers darting about for food, dipping my toes in and out of the moving shoreline all the while thinking how blessed I am to be experiencing another of Mother Nature’s beautiful gifts!

Thank you, Eileen for providing me another opportunity to experience another of my favorite things.  

LAKE WALLENPAUPACK MEMORIES

Wallenpaupack on a cloudy day in April

As I traveled the winding road along the Delaware River, heading up to Wallenpaupack to help a friend prepare for her husband’s memorial, I was surrounded by memories of a lifetime of visits to the area with Pat and the kids to fish and camp on the Lake.  

I found myself smiling as I remembered the time we camped in Wilsonville 150 campfires downwind, setting our tent on a rock which did not bode well for a good nights sleep and my son Aaron, who, during the night, upon hitting his head on the tent thought he was in the bathroom and proceeded to spray us all with his night time pee.  Pat jumped up, simultaneously, grabbing Aaron around his neck while unzipping the tent throwing him outside.  Aaron, who was still in a sleep state, woke up crying asking why we were throwing him out of the tent.  It may not have been funny at 3 a.m. but for years we got a great laugh at telling the story.  

Pat was serious about his fishing, yet carried the burden well of our different approaches.  My idea of fishing was putting a bobber at the end of the pole, reading a good book while glancing occasionally at the bobber looking for any sign of fish activity.  He on the other hand, worked very hard at the leisure art of fishing.  Before he put a foot in the boat, he knew the weather conditions, what color lure would/could be used to draw in the the fish, what temperature the water was, what the feeding pattern of the fish should be, how deep they should be and where they would be hiding by the contour of the waterways.  I was exhausted just waiting for him to finally get into the boat and make our way out in the water.  We did, just as the light of dawn filled the morning sky.

One time while he and I took our different approaches out to the lake, we motored along searching for the perfect cove to anchor the boat.  My job was to lower the anchor, bait my hook, drop it into the water, settle back, pick up my book and wait for the action.  While I did my part, Pat was at the other end of the boat tossing out his line, reeling it back in, tossing it out, reeling it back in….when at the moment I would finally settle in he would announce that he wanted to try a different spot.  So huffing, I would put down my book, reel in my line, pull up the anchor and settle back until we landed in the next “perfect” spot.

Once again, I would lower the anchor, bait my line with a worm (yes I used the real thing while he used artificial), settle into my chair, pick up my book while at the front of the boat, Pat would be casting out, reeling in, casting out, reeling in and again, just as I was settling down to enjoy my surroundings he would announce he wanted to move.  HUFFING…I would once again, reverse my actions until I settled back and waited until we arrived at the next “perfect” spot he would choose and once again the same routine.

This went on for about five times before we landed in a spot where my patience was running out with all the doing and undoing going on, and Pat was losing his patience with my impatience.  I threw out my line, got a hit on my lure, pulled up the line and lost a very big fish.  “Damn”, I shouted while slamming my foot on the floor of the boat causing a vibration that rang through the water.  

“Are you kidding me?” Pat shouted with frustration.  “You just scared all the fish away!”  With that we pulled up everything and headed home for the day recognizing that for Pat, I was better off on the shoreline with my bobber, chair, and good book while he went about his work searching for the perfect fishing spot in the boat.

As I drove by Fairview Lake (which is right next to Lake Wallenpaupack), I remembered the time Pat and I went fishing and this time all I took was a book and a lounge chair, allowing him to do all the work.  Soon, the slapping sounds of the water along the boat, and the gentle rocking of the boat lured me to sleep.  Pat, busy with his fishing, didn’t notice that I had fallen asleep in the sun and just when the fishing started to get good, he turned and saw that I had developed what turned out to be the worse sunburn I ever had.  Torn between just one more throw and getting me to shore out of the the sun, we went in and headed home.  Always loving yet filled with disappointment because he knew it was just about to get good, our trips together always provided fodder for the storytelling that would follow for years!

Wandering the roads around the lakes reminded me of a life lived fully, lovingly, if not perfect…but always forgiving.  I am lucky for these memories.  They are what carry me when I feel lost or lonely in my day, as I am reminded that I once had it all, which is a lot more than I can say for many I know.  Because through it all, there was not one moment…not even in the anger and frustration of living and lost expectations, that I did not feel loved and for that I am forever grateful.

IT’S DOPPELGÄNGER SEASON!

It started a few weeks ago, when a neighbor who bowls in the same league I do, came up to me and asked me to sniff her neck.

Looking at me with that special glint in her eye, she says to me, “Go ahead, smell my neck.”

“Okay”, I said with surprise in my voice, “if you insist.”

“I smell like you,” she said with glee in her voice.

“No,” I slowly replied, “I don’t think so.”

Suddenly, with a look of shock, she steps back, starts laughing and says, “Oh my, you are not who I thought you were.”

“Okay”, I said and with that we both stepped away laughing and continued on with our bowling game.

A couple of weeks later another gal from our league came up to me and with a sweet look of satisfaction, placed a bag of yarn, with a sample of her handiwork included, in front of me with a look about her that told me I should know what this was all about.  I didn’t.  My puzzled face told her that I had no clue what she was doing this for.  

“You wanted to learn how to do this, didn’t you?” she asked.

“No,” I said.  “I have no idea what you are talking about.”

Then, she stepped back, looked me hard in the face and giggling with embarrassment, said, “Oh no, I thought you were someone else.”

We laughed together and went on about our business.

A couple of days later I went to the hospital for a blood test, and while sitting in the waiting room, an older women came up to me, grabbed me by my shoulders and with panic in her voice asked me what I was doing there.

“Getting blood work,” I replied.

“But why?  What is wrong?” she continued.

“Nothing I said,” I said, “Just routine.”

Then once again, this women stepped back and with a look of shock on her face said, “Oh my God, I thought you were my daughter. I swear  you look just like my daughter!”

With that, she asked if she could take a picture with me to show her family.  We had a good laugh about the whole thing and went on about our business.

My week ended with one more example of mistaken identity.  I was in New Hope getting ready to usher for the Bucks County Playhouse, when I decided to have dinner before the show.  Karla’s is one of my favorite eating establishment’s where the service is friendly and the customer’s can be fun in a chat.  My kind of place!   Sitting, enjoying a glass of wine while waiting for my salad to appear, a sweet gentlemen shows up at my table with a welcoming smile and said, “Hello, I didn’t know you come here to eat!  I hope you enjoy the meal?”

“Why yes, I come here often,” I said.  “I love it!”

“I am comping your wine,” he went on.  “Enjoy your dinner.”

“Thank you!”

And off he went.  When the waiter came by, I asked if he was the owner.  “No, he is the bartender”, he said.  

A few minutes later, a handwritten note came delivered by the waiter, letting me know he was “Ricky, the son of……”

I looked up and saw his huge smile, and I waved and he waved back.

Turning to the waiter I said, “I think he thinks I am someone else.”

After the meal, I went up to the bar and thanked him for making my day special, but that I believed he thinks I am someone else.

“Oh no, he said.  I just left you at my house.”

“No, I replied, it was not me.”

“You are not the nurse that was there caring for my ill mother?” he asked with surprise.

“No, I am not.”

With that, I offered to pay for my wine since it was a case of mistaken identity, but he declined, and we parted sharing a good laugh and a story to tell!

All of us have experienced this from both ends from time to time.  Either seeing someone who we thought we knew or being mistaken for someone else.  A phenomenon that we are fascinated by.  It is the number of incidences that are surprising me.  I believe I have entered the season of doppelgänger!  How else can all these incidences be explained in such a short span of time!  I just hope that my doppelgänger is out there having as much fun as I am!

CHILDHOOD FRIENDSHIPS NEVER DIE

Tom, Pat and a friend from work 1966

Most all of us have walked through our life carrying the memory of an old friend within us.  That someone who lived through a portion of our life, leaving an impact and burning that special soft spot in our heart.  I have not had the experience, but I lived it through my late husband, Pat.  He had three friends through his childhood that he carried in his heart with great affection until the moment he died.

John, Tom, and Joe were the first three friends of Pat’s that I met.  I loved to see them together. They had a history, a connection…something, that in my life could only be imagined, never experienced.  I often told Pat how lucky he was, because he could not travel up or down the 309 corridor without bumping into someone who knew him from his childhood.  

John and Pat were close like brothers.  Their love and acceptance of each other was a beautiful thing to watch.  Of course it helped that John married Pat’s sister, but even so, they always carried each other close to the heart and being with John and Lucyann was always such a happy time.  Even distance did not put a wedge in their relationship.  

But Joe and Tom eventually drifted away physically, yet never in Pat’s memory, thoughts or feelings.  Right before he died he made me promise to try and find the two of them and give the message to them that they were never forgotten and how he carried them in his heart always as his best friends and with great affection. It was important to him that they all knew that he loved them.   I promised I would try.

I first found what happened to Joe.  Joe was the Best Man at our wedding.  We quickly bonded as a couple as he too was married.  Through the first four years of our marriage, we spent most all our social time hanging out with Joe and his wife.  Sometime after my first pregnancy, Joe and his wife separated and divorced and our friendship drifted apart.  Life, family and work filled the time available for both Joe and Pat.  Over the years we did get in contact with him once, but Joe was embarrassed about how his wife left him (he was a man of great pride) and we did not stay in contact.  But that did not mean he was forgotten by Pat.  As I went on a hunt for him I decided to search the obituaries and I was saddened to discover he died in 2004.  I called John to share the news of my discovery and you could hear the breath leave him for a moment as he processed the news.

I first met Tom thru Pat at the Navy Hospital at the Great Lakes Navy Base where I worked.  Tom and Pat went into the Navy during the Viet Nam days on the buddy system.  Pat never cared what he did as long as he could do it with Tom.  In boot camp where they filled in their dream sheet of what they wanted to do in the Navy, Pat chose to put down what Tom wanted to do…dental tech.  In the end, Pat was the one who was selected to go to A school for Dental Tech, while Tom ended up in Corp school to become a Medic and eventually off to Viet Nam.  Pat never made it to his school because on the obstacle course he broke his foot which left him unfit for duty and back home to await discharge.  Tom’s schooling was at Great Lakes which allowed for me to get to know Tom through Pat while Pat was in the hospital awaiting orders to return home.  Tom went off to Viet Nam, returned home, attended college and went off to live his life.  Our first born son carries Thomas as part of his name in honor of the love Pat held for Tom.  

I was recently lucky to have come in contact with a cousin of Tom’s who shared contact information for him allowing me to fulfill that last wish for Pat.  When I called John to share the good news of finding Tom, he too was overjoyed, as he had spent part of last year searching for Tom without success.  

We promised to meet up soon and catch up on the life lived between visits…and when we do, I know Pat will be there too with a big smile on his face.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY AARON!

HAPPY BIRTHDAY AARON

Thirty-nine years ago, on February 25th, it was 80 degrees and Pat and I were trying to push along labour by walking around looking at boats, dreaming of the coming Spring and all the time we will be spending by the shore line of any body of water….him fishing and me chasing kids.  Later that day, my 9 pound, 1 ounce boy was born…our third son, fourth child, making our family complete.  Damian (age 4), Justin (age 2 1/2), Joliene (age 1 1/2) and now Aaron would fill my life in unimaginable ways. 

How is it possible that I have a child who is turning 39 when I am only 39? In my head that is!!!!  This year I will have my oldest turn 45, my second turn 43, and my third turn 41.  This cannot be! I remember living those ages.  Where does time go?  Why does it fly by so fast?  

I was glad that I recognized those moments that filled me with as much happiness as is allowed. I always wanted to freeze frame the time period as it was happening.  I had many of them when my kids were younger…although I must admit there were also those moments where I wanted to give them away to the first person that passed by.  Parenting is never just one emotion.  Ever! Being a parent is the extreme of everything you can feel….Joy…Fear…Love…Hate…Happy…Sad.  You cannot be a parent without recognizing that at any given moment you can be taken on the wild ride of your life.  I remember there were also times at night that I was glad to have put my head on the pillow and not have killed a kid that day.

Ah yes, parenting was tough, but oh what I would give to be standing there in that place again.  

Wait. I do when I visit any of my children’s families and see, feel and hear the craziness that fills each of their homes.  Kids, making noise, with sounds of “Mom….Mom…Mom” filling the air and I am reminded of how tough it really is to be a parent, and me going home to the quiet is good.

I am glad for all of you.  Your choices in spouses, the grandchildren you have blessed me with, and the lives you are all living, fill me with more happiness that you can ever imagine.  Thank you….thank you….thank you!

And Happy Birthday Aaron!

WHAT ARE YOUR VALENTINE'S DAY PLANS?

"Embracing my singleness" was an answer option by AARP, who sent out a questionnaire asking what my plans are for Valentine’s day.  The question options were typical of what you would expect from such a questionnaire.  Sweets for the sweetheart or dinner for two, etc.  One answer was “Will embrace my singleness.”  After filling in my answer, AARP sent a follow-up message giving you the total answers to date.  I was struck when it showed that the number one answer was “Will embrace my singleness.”  Boy, there are a lot of us singles out there!

Valentine’s Day, along with New Year’s Eve remains the two hardest days to get through since Pat passed away.  Oh what we take for granted when we have it and what is missed when we don’t.  

What fills me during these times, is the reality of how much I miss the tenderness of touch.  I can close my eyes and still remember the moments, but it only succeeds in making me yearn for that long hug and warm embrace even more.  I don’t know if I will ever be able to say that to be without intimacy is okay, but I have to find ways to get beyond the ache.  

With so many single men and women out there, one would think some places would do something to create a welcome to those without partners.  

I have kept one promise to myself.  I have begun to invite friends in.  Oh not a big party kind of invite, but small, intimate groups so conversation and laughter can occupy the time.  I remembered, with my last invitation, how much I loved preparing the meal and planning for friends.  And when they came, the joy of conversation and the hugs hello and good-bye felt wonderful! 

I haven’t figured out what I will do on Valentine's Day, but I will do something…go to the movies, attend a show, have some friends over….something.  I refuse to sit home and endure the commercials on TV that remind me how alone in life I am.  So if you see me knocking on your door, remember it is just me looking for a little TLC.

Happy Valentine’s Day to all of you!

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!