How to be Happy at a Certain Age

How to Be Happy at a Certain Age

At what age are we allowed to stop listening to Tony Robbins?

After a lifetime of making decisions, bad and good don’t we earn the right to cover our ears when someone tells us how to have our best life?

Excuse me! Haven’t we already done that? And when we are at an age when we’ve pretty much become what we are or ever will be, how can these gurus help us now?

This morning my big dilemma was whether or not to get my haircut. Yes, I know it’s hardly anything to get into a quandary about. Still, it involved some long-range thinking about when I might go if not today and trying to fit it in between doctor appointments. So at what point would Wayne Dyer, Tony Robbins, Les Brown or anyone’s advice help me make this earth-shattering choice?

Since I’ve spent a lifetime hearing the adage, “Never put off until tomorrow etc. etc.” I now feel perfectly comfortable putting anything I want off until anytime I want.

I have firmly decided that the word ornery as it pertains to older people is in itself justified.

Are we ornery if we simply feel we deserve to make our own choices, plan our own days and see who we wish to see? Is this a flaw in an otherwise kindly and easy-going nature.

How many times have we heard the expression he or she is so stubborn now? I can’t get them to do anything anymore.

You bet you can’t. For why should we? After a life of living up to other’s expectations of how we should act, raise our children, dress, and think and feel a certain way, it’s okay to say no.

I believe it’s perfectly acceptable when our daughters tell us Mom that purple nail polish is too young for you, to nod and say okay and then wear it anyway.

When the lease from my car ran out it had fewer miles on it than a demo. So I decided to buy it instead of leasing again.

My son called and asked me if I had made up my mind this was the best thing to do.

I said yes, I love my car and I want to keep it.

“Okay Mom,” he said. “But are you certain this is the car you want to drive for the rest of your life?”

What am I 90 years old? How do I know? Perhaps in three years I’ll decide I want another car. But I didn’t say that. I knew he was thinking that soon he and his sister would be seriously considering taking away the car keys. Although I have no intention for quite a while.

So yes, now we have established that my kids think I’m 100 years old and have one foot out the door.

But I don’t and will not start to think that way for some time to come.

As poet Dylan Thomas wrote; Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Here, here to Dylan Thomas! But gentle may be the only way you can go when your arthritis is acting up.

Sadly, many of my friends admit their kids see them as old as well. But are we supposed to sit in the house and stop living just waiting around for old Grim Reaper to ring our doorbell?

I wouldn’t answer anyway. Let him think he has the wrong address for a while.

If there is one positive about aging it’s the feeling of freedom it brings. We are no longer constrained by societal norms. Nor are we limited by anything but our own tired aching bones.

As long as I am still winning arguments with my hips and able to scamper along, just call me Bambi.

Please understand I’m not saying that when we’re young and forging our path through life, these gurus can’t make a positive impact. But by my age one should know it’s all a state of mind.

Because others see us as old doesn’t mean we see ourselves that way. Our mirrors reflect a younger us.

Mind over matter is probably more important in old age because if we begin giving into our creaky bones, they get the upper hand.

If our gray hair is all we see, it’s over. If we face the fact our children have suddenly become what they perceive as the parents, we will feel as old as they see us.

I always gave into my children and still do, especially my grandchildren, but I also have cultivated a sense of amusement at it all.

Did Wayne Dyer ever talk about how to get through a day when you are in pain? Did he ever tell someone how to look in the mirror and refuse to see the wrinkles that suddenly popped up on their face?

No, I’m afraid that’s a life lesson one can only learn through experience.

What kind of person we are is formed throughout our life and when we reach the laugh-laugh golden years, we find ourselves falling back on old coping mechanisms. These life lessons help fend off the limitations we may face.

My choice is humor, others may choose golf, pickleball, cards, joining clubs, taking up art, travel or a new hobby.

I have decided grandchildren keep you young. So who needs gurus when you have those adorable little faces looking up at you? Not me, most definitely not me.

So if your kids look at you like you are the Crypt Keeper, if the world sees an old person as you pass by and if you can’t walk as fast as you once did at the mall, it’s all okay.

Even gurus get old and if any one of them has the answer of how to live forever, I’ll buy that book.

Laughing Into Old Age?

I often try to find humor in the whole aging process, and I imagine that’s still the best way to deal with all its challenges. Yet I must admit I sometimes find myself waxing philosophical about what this getting-old stuff truly means. It does take a bit of remembering on my part about the past. And an attempt to find some humor or irony in today’s reality.

I find it interesting that when you’re young you have so many plans. The years ahead seem to spread out like an endless tree-lined, sunny, winding road. Filled with possibilities and dreams that excite and delight you.

Summer seems light years away and school vacations can’t come soon enough. The time seems to drag on endlessly until your dreams are realized. And our dreams constantly changed. They went from a new bike or roller skates to a car, then college and grew into more lofty achievements.

And on it went. Agendas filled with adventures to explore, people to love, babies to have, trips to take, strangers to meet and goals to realize.

Each new day brought the possibility of another exciting wish to be achieved. Mornings were shiny, new and fresh with wonder.

Oh sure perhaps I’m remembering through rose colored glasses, but if that isn’t how we saw life, sadly we should have.

It’s so easy to look backward and say I didn’t know then, I never realized, I was so foolish.

And I imagine we all are when young. For that’s the caveat to life isn’t it? Wisdom can only be achieved through living and aging. Yet what happens when we age? When all that valuable wisdom becomes part of who and what we are?

I shall present an analogy I believe most will understand. Aging is like selling your house.

You don’t immediately put it up for sale, but most people go through a period of should we or shouldn’t we move. Sometimes it is a fast decision like a job transfer or health reasons. But when you begin to think about leaving your home something changes within your brain. You are no longer considering redoing the kitchen or adding that new deck. Perhaps it would be better to buy that new sofa for my next living room?

Your sense of permanence is gone and you are now in transit.

Between two worlds if you will.

Your goals change as well as your plans and so it is with aging.

In your sixties you still feel a sense of youth. After all you’re not in your seventies so although you are a bit older, you are content to believe sixty is the new fifty.

Nothing old about fifty. You still have time to do so many of those things you planned.

You continue to move forward organizing your life with a zest and determination to get things done.

Then suddenly you’re seventy and there is a shift. You tell yourself seventy is the new sixty and there is still plenty of time to travel, take up that hobby and remain active and busy. Optimism reigns supreme and you set out to move a bit more quickly toward realizing your dreams. After all people are living well into their nineties now.

And if physically you’re slowing down a bit, you don’t notice because mentally you are still young enough to keep going. You plow through determined to make it all work and enjoy every day.

Taking advantage of every minute becomes your new mantra and you are using each moment to the fullest.

Just before you enter your eighties you notice a slight shift. Your energy level is just a bit lower than it was when you began this trip through your seventies.

Still, you refuse to slow down and ignore any complaining from parts of your body that won’t get on board. Mentally you are still enthusiastic and refusing to admit to any slowdown in your ability to make the most of each day. There is a contentment in accepting things as they are.

Yet something is changing and you are feeling the pain of losing loved ones whose time is up. Family members, friends, acquaintances leave the party. You tell yourself that emptiness they left behind isn’t going to slow you down, but make you more determined to live every second to the fullest.

But every loss exacts a price and weighs on you whether you are aware of it or not.

Now you’ve reached eighty and suddenly you face a harsh reality. There is no way to sugar coat this age. You are simply not young anymore. But you keep moving forward. Now your goals have changed and you’ve shifted into a new phase. Suddenly those things you were so determined to accomplish don’t seem quite so urgent.

You play golf, though not as often. Feel a need to nap more often yet still plan trips, but now perhaps cruising would be a better idea.

You change your mind about buying new furniture for the living room and decide to put the money toward more travel. You really didn’t need that new living room chair. You’ve reached the point where you realize yes, you are moving and that new deck is no longer necessary. You ignore the fact you don’t make long-range plans. You refuse to stop but keep going despite that bad knee acting up regularly.

Your limitations come flooding over you like a broken pipe in a basement, and now fully understand the expression, “The spirit is willing but the flesh is weak.”

You talk with your friends a great deal about memories and constantly ask, where did the time go?

The world seems a much unfriendlier place and you see and hear things and people you never could’ve imagined would exist.

And although you are old, the world seems all new and different somehow.

So you embrace it and use your computer and cell phone, you jump into life with a renewed wonder of all that is now suddenly possible.

And you begin to realize it isn’t bad to grow old, even with its challenges you still feel lucky.

You live in a new state of gratitude at being able to enjoy your grandchildren and watch them grow.

Growing old becomes a good thing, a blessing and a gift. Sure we all wish we could stay young and vital, but would you really want to live it all over again? And no, we wouldn’t know then what we know now. That’s the cosmic joke played on us all.

But it’s okay because as long as we’re around to laugh at it, all is good!

Carpe Diem my friends, take a deep breath and soak in all the joy. There is still much more to come and many dreams to achieve.

Dressing Your Age is Like Dressing a Stuffed Turkey

Dressing Your Age is Like Dressing a Stuffed Turkey

Since spending more time on YouTube I’ve seen an abundance of women advising other women on how to dress.

How to look thinner, younger, taller, shorter, more modern, more stylish, more French and on and on. It’s like trying to figure out if you should stuff the Thanksgiving turkey or just bake the dressing in a casserole dish to let the poor bird breathe.

My first response to these self-proclaimed fashion experts is, funny you don’t look like Anna Wintour or Diana Vreeland.

And since they’re not top dog fashionistas, why should I take their advice? But I watch despite myself to see if there are any little stylish tidbits that have been hiding in the fashion bat cave.

I am usually taken by how ordinary their own fashions seem to be. I don’t remember once seeing their outfits and saying, “Wow I’d like to look like that.”

I’ve always believed fashion has to capture us and spark some type of excitement. A pair of jeans and a striped t-shirt may be standard fare and always acceptable, but sparking, not so much.

If I were taking advice on looking fabulous, I’d take it from Giorgio Armani or Ralph Lauren.

Help me Giorgio, Help Me!

I have come to the conclusion there is fashion and then there is dressing appropriately.

They are two different things.

I think we forget that fashion can be fun. In our need to fit in when we’re young we followed the crowd. Dressing with pizazz or creativity has always been the mark of a rebellious nature.

Yet runway shows are most often over-the-top clothing one would never wear in their daily life. Oh sure I’ve seen high school girls more topless than runway models, but that’s their mother’s problem.

So because you reach a certain age does that mean fun with fashion days are over?

Once it was unheard of for women to wear slacks. Now women in their nineties are wearing jeans. And if men’s ties are “in” why can’t we sport that look?

Yet as we age it seems we are less likely to take risks or push the envelope.

It suddenly becomes all about comfort. Speaking for myself I don’t have the patience to be constrained any longer.

Wearing tight jeans, trying to stuff myself into a pair of unforgiving slacks with a tight waist and belt seems ludicrous to me now. I no longer have any desire to lie down on the bed to zip my Calvins. Let’s face it, I might not have the strength to get up afterward.

Elastic waists are a gift that allow us to move about unencumbered by buttons and fabrics that refuse to budge an inch.

The addition of spandex has allowed us to wear pants with a waist and zipper, yet the give is forgiving and the comfort level is high. Although there are differing opinions about who actually created elastic, it was in the mid 1800s in England. So, I guess we should give the Brits a pass on Harry and Meghan since we owe them.

Yet how does one who loves style continue to show individuality in their choices?

Jewelry? Yes, but now some of the so-called fashion experts advise that big colorful necklaces are “out” and small delicate jewelry is in. Good luck finding a thin chain in the folds of your turkey neck.

So many women opt for necklaces instead of surgery and one that comes to mind is Candice Bergan. Her neck was always covered with a statement piece to hide the ravages of time. Now apparently these look heavy and outdated.

During the pandemic our wardrobe suddenly consisted of sweats, sweats, and sweats.

Who needed jeans and a belt to watch Netflix or take a walk around the block?

At first when we reentered the world it was fun to get dressed. I pulled my favorite outfits out of the closet and oops, yep there it was. It seems the pandemic created a bit of a problem. Many of us learned that sitting around on our keesters caused expansion. Our waistlines grew in proportion to all those new recipes we tested and people even stopped wearing pants on Zoom calls. Talk about comfort.

So we switched into comfort mode.

Living in California I soon learned that there is a very slim line between casual and after-six-style.

I’m not sure if it’s the weather or just that old California laid-back lifestyle that dictates fashion.

People here think nothing of wearing jogging suits to a restaurant or the market. Along with their Chanel bag and Cartier Love bracelet. Apparently, it’s some type of I’m-so-rich-I don’t-care Cali couture.

Dining with the ladies involves jeans and a sweater or shirt. Despite Beverly Hills’ reputation as so chic, residents think nothing of dressing down to lunch even in the poshest of eateries. I was at a semi-formal evening event recently and saw a man wearing jeans and a sports jacket.

So is it an age thing this comfort dressing, or are people just over it?

When I was in Paris many years ago, I was shocked by how Parisian women dressed.

High spike heels on those cobblestone streets, clacking as they walked. My feet ached every time I heard them take a step.

Scarfs loose and flowing behind them and coats with belts pulled in tightly to show off their slim waistlines. Don’t tell me you’re not throwing up those croissants, Bitch.

Now the only time I see women in the U.S. dressed to the nines in on TV shows about realtors. Apparently in real estate to sell a house you have to be a fashionista. They wear designer jewels and clothes with slits cut up to the tush and boobs hanging out of push-up bras. And what was your offer, Sir?

Us ordinary women seem content to don something comfortable to fulfill both a good look and great comfort.

If you’ve ever noticed a woman’s face walking in uncomfortable shoes it’s not a pretty sight.

Now happy feet seem to reign and it’s all about looking nice in relaxed luxury. Designer brands even offer athletic outfits and sneakers logoed up to the hilt.

The Doris Day, Pillow Talk look, that glamorous image women once sought to perfect seems a bit ancient today. Could you imagine Jackie Kennedy showing us around the White House in jogging shorts?

And although so many women give in to the desire to pull out a favorite piece of jewelry now and then, we all seem to succumb to those spandex-laden jeans, long skirts and comfy tops that allow us to move without pain.

So I suppose although one’s hearing may be failing as we age, listening to our inner fashionista is still possible. Nowadays it seems fun with fashion means being comfortable and happy in both our own skin and apparel.

Design is no longer the dictate of Vogue editors but our own bodies. And my waistline is loudly yelling “Hello! I need more room here. And did you really need that extra piece of pizza?”

Doing the 100-Meter Medical Dash

After my recent blog about how at a certain age one’s home turns into a make-shift pharmacy, many readers questioned why I had not mentioned the fact they spend most of their waking hours running from dentist to doctor to doctor. It’s called the 100-meter-medical-dash.

When once a conversation would start with, “So how was your golf game?” Now it begins, “I went to that new specialist and he kept me waiting an hour. I almost missed pickleball.”

I’ve never seen an office so busy in my life. It looked like the first day of a clearance sale at Lohmann’s.”

Believe it or not if you live in New York or LA this spending your day going from doctor to doctor can become quite expensive.

In La and NY doctors are in medical buildings. These building don’t charge by the hour, they charge by the minute and some by the second. The last time I went for an MRI it cost me thirty dollars to park my car. And if you think you can escape this fate by street parking, guess again. Most buildings are in areas where there is no parking except in the building lot. I’d bet if you are going for an MRI chances are good you can’t walk ten blocks to get there.

So when did our days of shopping, running errands and meeting friends for lunch become, “maybe I can meet you Monday, but I have to check my medical appointment calendar. I have physical therapy two days, doctor’s appointments two days and I need to go to the oral surgeon for an implant. No on this week, but maybe when things slow down. I’ve got January 11th, 2025 open. For sure let’s make a plan.

Of course we all know we’re making the rounds from cardiologist to orthopedic surgeon to gastro to stay healthy and alive. And please don’t tell me you haven’t noticed your doctors are all the same age as your grandchildren. So annoying.

Okay, moving on, but isn’t it also true that most of our time now involves dashing from doctor to doctor and procedure to procedure.

Where once we collected the names of good manicurists and hair dressers, we are now trading names of orthopedic surgeons, overnight nurses and rehab centers while collecting urine samples.

My left arm is substantially thinner from all the blood they’ve drawn. Forget the fact I’ve had so many X-rays Marvel Comics is making me a new superhero, Glow in the Dark Grammy. And she’s Bionic!

So our lives continue. And although we might walk less steady, down more meds and spend less time going out for dinners and movies, we all keep up the pace of running from office to office to stay alive and feel good. Oh well, at least it does count as daily steps.

If you’re still married your appointments and procedures are doubled.

My friend ran off a list of tests she would be taking the next day. From collecting urine, to X- rays to MRIs and it seemed endless.

We used to discuss new recipes, what we were cooking for dinner and how annoying our husbands could be. Or even the latest diet that landed out of the sky. Quite different nowadays.

I do feel very sorry for those who live in countries where health care is not so easily obtained. Where you have to wait so long for a medical test you die before you’re able to get it. So I’m not complaining. Still, can we all look in the mirror and honestly tell ourselves it’s all worth it? Yes, of course, because at a certain age staying alive becomes one’s priority.

I just think it’s so sad that we are all so preoccupied with health instead of spending all our time living and seizing the day. So how do we capture more me time that isn’t shared with our MDs.

Like we don’t have to see a doctor again until the street lights come on.

Healthier living and medical miracles have definitely allowed us to enjoy life with our friends and families longer.

What if there is a price to pay? Isn’t time the ultimate gift after all?

Running to specialists, giving up certain foods and lifestyle choices, opting for healthier ones are worth it to be with loved ones.

Yet despite greatly understanding and appreciating that this is a good thing, waking up each day and seeing a calendar filled with tests, doctors and dental appointments can dampen your mood a bit. No one looks forward to a colonoscopy.

So how do we make it all more palatable?

As you see while sitting in waiting rooms I’ve given some thought to this situation. I believe one way to take the edge off is to make a living plan. After all, now that we have a health strategy we need to balance it out with a fun formula.

Ah but how do we do that?

I guess it’s about time management. If we make our appointments early in the day we can plan a fun activity afterward.

Take in a movie, meet a friend for lunch. Shop for those new boots you’ve been wanting. Check out the sights in your hometown you’ve never visited.

Do something out of the ordinary. Go for high tea with a few friends, celebrate your birthday even when it isn’t. Drop by and see your grandchildren with a new game to play.

Force your daughter or son to have a special lunch with you and catch up without the kids around.

Surprise your better half with a quick weekend getaway somewhere close they’ve been wanting to see.

If it’s autumn go leaf peeping or pick apples and eat donuts hot out of the Cider Mill oven.

You’ll notice I didn’t recommend joining a gym. This is about fun stuff. But I’ve heard Yoga or Pilates can be fun if your bones still work.

Yes, I get it. All of this takes some planning, but so does making doctor appointments.

I guess it will take effort, but the reward will be worthwhile.

If nothing else you’ll have something to talk with friends about besides your new hip replacement.

Wishing you happy new adventures and carpe diem.

Redecorating My Home in Modern Pharmacy Decor

The other day as I was picking up my prescriptions at Walgreen’s and checking out the cane selection I suddenly stopped. Out of nowhere it occurred to me that I had accumulated more medical supplies than an Urgent Care.

The thought truly caused my head to spin with the knowledge how much of my home space was now covered in pills, pill holders, canes and a walker, which I hesitate to throw away in case my other knee refuses to work. My refrigerator is filled with gel-filled masks and under-eye patches, a freezer full of ice packs and bathroom drawers filled with pain patches, band aids, gauze, ace bandages to fit every part of my body, creams, lotions and gels for all and any ailment imaginable in the human condition.

And lest we forget the ready supply of heating pads, heating booties, around the neck microwavable heat pillows and anything that will warm and fit around all body parts. And heaven forbid we go to bed without our night guard to protect our fragile teeth.

Yet truly I’m healthy. Do people who are ill have to move into larger homes to accommodate all their medical supplies?

I never really noticed all this paraphernalia because unless you need it who pays attention?

But now that I’m paying attention, I’m asking myself, “What the Hell?”

Forget the cost of all this equipment, what stuns me is when did my life switch from English bone China, fabulous clothes, drooling over gorgeous jewelry and handbags to “Oh boy, there’s a two-for-one sale on Tums today?”

When did I stop shopping for relaxing spas and start filling my house with heartburn meds and probiotics?

When did my life change from Xbox to ex lax?

When does your husband switch from picking up flowers to picking up your prescriptions?

When did my stomach become less about Spanx and more about stool softeners?

So of course I had to take a beat to ponder about how much life had changed. How much the different stages of our lives can be sized up by simply glancing around one’s home and the items in abundance.

When you are single your closets are filled with high-heels, fabulous bags and the latest styles.

Now it’s about what shoes don’t kill your feet and a bag that won’t be too heavy to carry when filled.

In the children stage you had baby gear, then teen objects. Then when they left for college it was, oh boy room for more stuff now.

And what was the stuff? Tennis racquets, golf clubs, swimming gear, beachwear and lots of SPF creams. Suitcases for travel and brochures for Europe, cruises and proof of wanderlust.

Then came your grandchildren and your home was suddenly filled once again with toys, diapers and kid stuff.

It is apparent that there is a constant change of cycles occurring except for one sad fact.

The one where your house is suddenly a medical supply store won’t revert back to toys and travel brochures ever again.

You have become brutally aware that elasticity has nothing to do with your skin now, but something to wrap around a sore knee or elbow.

One of my kitchen counters now replicates my mother’s house and is filled with meds to take each day.

It happens so subtly we aren’t even aware it’s happening. Then boom, one day we’re wandering around CVS thinking, gosh I spend a lot of money here. And even sadder a lot of time.

So what are we to do to keep our age stuff from literally driving us out of our own home?

Would putting it in pretty containers hide its purpose? Would trying to limit it all to only a few select spaces in your home avoid having to see it as a constant reminder that the toys and high heel portion of life concluded while we weren’t looking?

Maybe there are some unique and clever ways to hide the “stuff” from our constant gaze. Perhaps we could make it look less intrusive and fill drawers instead.

Yet, just as when we were young so many of us had to keep stuff “just in case,” so it is now.

Sure, you don’t need that walker from your knee surgery, but what if you fall? You don’t need the drug store stash of stomach meds and wound healing equipment, but what if? I mean if you cut yourself are you going to run out and buy gauze at that moment? No, and that stuff was always in your home in case your kids scraped a knee, or you injured yourself cutting a bagel. Or that new pair of shoes was causing a blister on your heel.

Yet why does the, it’s just there in case, feel so unsettling when once it felt reassuring?

On the positive side all those meds we pop each day help us live longer and experience a higher quality of life. So why am I ranting about having it around?

I’m pretty sure it’s because it’s another reminder of Father Time crashing my party. I need a bouncer to throw his tired old ass out.

I know we need this stuff, but I guess I’d just feel a whole lot better if I didn’t have to see it everywhere.

Perhaps those pretty containers are actually a good idea. Might we feel younger leaning on a Prada cane or a Fendi walker?

Guess I’ll pull out some of the pretty dishes I’ve stowed away and find a new use for them. One must do what one can to feel young these days. All ideas are welcome here so if you can think of some please share.

While I’m at it I think I’ll smash the ten-times magnifying mirror. No good can ever come from looking into that evil invention!

Staying Relevant Isn’t Irrelevant Anymore

Staying Relevant Isn’t Irrelevant Anymore

Okay, so I had always believed as you age you gain wisdom. You get smarter and more savvy about the human condition and even stop making silly mistakes.

I am now extremely puzzled because it seems all those conclusions I had previously drawn, were sadly incorrect.

I now find myself in a constant state of puzzlement and confusion.

It turns out I’m not as smart as I’d hoped to become, and now instead I’m more befuddled than ever.

So many things I never thought I’d have to deal with and yet here they are. Mostly, how to stay relevant? I mean as we age it seems our lives change in extraordinary ways.

One day we’re speaking English to our grandchildren and the next they are speaking in tongues. Using words I can’t comprehend and the ones I do sort of recognize have taken on new meanings.

I guess it’s now a compliment among kids to say “you ate.” To them it means you did great or you blew it up. Another concept I always deemed rather negative. Blowing up something didn’t that used to mean buildings or something? And that’s good?

Also, if memory serves me saying, “you ate” would usually imply “wow you are looking bloated. I see you ate.”

Get my drift? Nothing positive there.

But now I’m supposed to be flattered when someone says I “ate.” It’s definitely a strange new world.

They say learning a new language is good for the brain at our age. Maybe learning teen speak will turn out to be a positive after all.

So besides understanding what your grandchildren are talking about how else can we stay relevant.

I have recently learned to play chess with my grandsons. Not too easy when you are trying to fight off a Queen with a King with arthritis and your brain screaming, “Hey take it easy I’m not as sharp as I used to be!”

Where I once watched cooking segments on You Tube my grandsons and I now watch a group of guys doing difficult sports shots and contests called Dude Perfect. They are super funny, but I never expected to be watching guys who throw balls out of an airplane trying to land on some target.

There is also someone called Mr. Beast on You Tube. I hear he’s richer than Rockefeller from blowing up Ferraris. Okay, I don’t get that one at all.

Trying to fight back I coerced my grandson into watching golf with me. I felt I had won one for the Gipper.

Of course I know that language and phrases change with each generation, but I don’t remember having to provide a translation book for my grandparents. From what I recall we pretty much spoke the same language and they were from Europe!

Or perhaps they didn’t understand what I was saying, but were hard of hearing so it didn’t matter anyway. Whatever the reason it just seems trying to stay part of the world today is a difficult task. Facebook, Instagram, Tik Tok, streaming channels? Who am I, Tesla?

I adamantly believe it is social changes that do make it somewhat easier to remain relevant today.

After all, few women worked outside the home. Ultimately, they went from housewife to grandmother to caregiver.

Now many women stay productive and active well into their seventies and eighties, some even nineties.

Men still play golf and play with their grandchildren. Although many now have found pickleball to be a viable alternative or addition to their activities.

Grandmas, if they are blessed with good health teach cooking classes. And believe it or not many men have discovered the fun of culinary endeavors. Seniors join wine clubs and even travel to Europe on wine excursions. All I ever knew about wine was it was sweet and syrupy and we had it on Friday nights and holidays.

My mother hit the beauty parlor once a week for her manicure and hairdo and drove to my house daily to ensure I was taking proper care of her grandchildren.

That was pretty much her schedule until she rediscovered Maj Jong.

My father went to my brother’s business every day, and tried to understand and comprehend the complexities of the new world and heights to which my brother had lifted his former business. Not always easy for the two of them as they were speaking a different language as well.

Yet my father tried to be a valuable sounding board and help my brother any way he could.

This was his way of staying relevant.

For me it’s always been super important to be busy and discovering new adventures and challenges.

One of the most difficult acknowledgements in this process is accepting the fact that you may now be faced with certain limitations. If not mental than certainly physical.

Despite some who age amazingly well, many others face limitations. They are faced with the inescapable fact that they will never be able to run a marathon, walk for miles, even stay up past midnight without a nap.

The spirit as they say may be quite willing, but the body can fight you like you’re going ten rounds with Tyson.

I envy my friends who play pickleball or have the stamina to play eighteen holes of golf. Even those able to stand in the kitchen all day prepping and cooking without the help of Motrin.

So, I choose to engage in less physical activities.

I have now embraced TikTok, and with the help and support of my grandsons have secured over 101,000 followers playing something called Roblox, which is pretty much an online XBox or Atari.

Yes, I am a nerd and now I wear it proudly. On Roblox and Tik Tok I am exploring new frontiers and spending more quality time with my boys.

I’d love to be like Iris Apfel who died at 102 as an active and reigning fashion icon. Or William Shatner still actively seeking new worlds.

I really believe everyone has to define their own way to stay relevant. Still, I’m certain if one searches, they will find some fun and unexpected new adventures await them, whatever their age.

How Chocolate Will Keep You From Aging Revealed

Sorry, that headline is a lie. Chocolate won’t keep you young, but it will keep you happy. Since the word old is often used in a negative sense, implying ancient, outdated and decrepit, we all need some happy.

I’m starting to think someone should add my name to that definition list.

It’s just of late I’ve started to really feel my age.

True, there is the possibility that I’ve previously used rationalizations like I didn’t sleep enough last night or the weather is making me so tired etc. etc. But I have come to accept that excuses simply don’t cut the mustard. And by the way what does that expression mean anyway? I can’t imagine how old and stale someone’s mustard must have been to need to cut it before serving. But I digress, also probably a part of getting old.

Thankfully I believe my mind is still a teenager, but my body seems to be channeling Methuselah in his later years.

So what can anyone do to postpone old age?

Is there any way to regain strength and vitality?

If, as some claim food plays a part in the aging process, is it time to forego the snacks I’ve eaten and enjoyed my entire life?

I shall begin with chocolate. If I give up sugar will I feel younger, or will it just seem like the days are longer without that Cadbury egg?

Does diet really change the dynamic of aging? I have no idea so I checked into it and I will save you the trouble of having to google all that crap.

According to Cleveland Clinic these are some of the side effects of sugar; weight gain, acne breakouts, reaching for multiple snacks, mood swings and irritability, lack of energy, craving more sugar and tossing and turning and tossing at night.

After checking out the list I have to say that at my age acne is not enough to make me consider giving up Godiva. If you want me to give up mother’s milk you have to do better than that.

Okay, so I continued and it says reaching for multiple snacks. But it doesn’t say that the snacks you are reaching for are necessarily Cheetos. What if you’re reaching for an apple? So that would be a good thing, right?

Weight gain? Oh Boo Hoo. I’ll never wear a bikini again? That possibility ended when I discovered that there wasn’t a strap strong enough to hold up my breasts.

Besides I haven’t worn a bikini since 1971.

Okay, I’m still waiting for that magic bullet that will scare me off the sacred cocoa bean.

Hmmm, mood swings and irritability.

I thought that occurs because I can’t remember why I walk into the bedroom to find something and can no longer remember what it is. Or because it now takes ten minutes to straighten up after sitting in a chair.

Sure there is irritability when I look into the mirror and see my mother’s wrinkled face staring back at me. Who the heck wouldn’t be irritable, so stop blaming it on chocolate.

It also says that if you consume sugar, you crave even more. Let’s see. Allow me to do the math. You have a package of Oreos with three sleeves of cookies and you eat one whole sleeve. What are the odds you will wake up the next day and want another sleeve?

I’d bet my last farthing it’s one million to one I’m downing that other sleeve for breakfast with a cold glass of milk as a healthy side.

And now we get to the big one. Loss of energy. Funny I always thought sugar gave you energy. Yes, I know the comedown from a sugar high can be pretty brutal. Still after I’ve come down it’s time for my afternoon nap, so it works out great. At least I had some yummy chocolate while I was awake.

So far I’m not convinced food is the answer and we can blame sugar for all those things.

According to one expert, and aren’t they all, genetic factors and lifestyle choices, such as smoking, diet and alcohol consumption, can also impact aging. However, the expert said bad sleep is the biggest impetus to faster aging.

Okay I promise I’ll be diligent about sneaking in a nap every day. When I think how I fought against sleep as a kid I laugh. Now I’m in my jammies and ready for beddy bye as soon as I come back from the early bird special.

Some say exercise is the magic bullet. Tell that to my aching hip when I try to simply stand in the kitchen and cut up a pineapple.

And I have to say if one more expert says it’s all about fiber, I will pour a box of Fiber One down his throat with a quart of almond milk. Let’s see how he likes spending all his remaining days in the bathroom?

It is also written on the all-knowing google that you have certain aging spurts at different times in your life. Apparently, the biological aging process isn’t steady and accelerates periodically, and wait for it—the greatest bursts come, on average at 34, 60 and 78.

Yep, I definitely noticed I was feeling much older at 34 than at 33. It’s coming back to me now how much harder it was to chase around two children at 34. At sixty I don’t remember much about how I felt except damn depressed about turning sixty.

Facing 78 soon I’m thinking maybe there is something to that age spurt thing because I’m noticing a bit more resistance on my body’s part. Like when I say, “okay let’s go to the mall, walk around and shop,” my body hides the car keys. So maybe there’s some truth to that one.

Despite just the experts’ opinions there is the fact my friends are saying they are feeling a bit older these days. They claim their stamina is now successfully hiding somewhere in Greenland or Australia, but I think I’ve solved the aging conundrum.

Since I do admit to a slight sense of foreboding a week or two before my birthdays akin to what the Japanese must have felt as the atom bomb started dropping, perhaps we are overlooking the obvious.

The real culprit here is depression; that’s what ages us.

And no, I don’t want to hear all that malarky about you should be so happy just to be getting older.

That’s like saying, “Aren’t crow’s feet great? They really add a new dimension to your face.”

I’m sure we’re all grateful to be getting older and actually I’m not certain I’d have the strength to do this whole exhausting ride over again. Yet there is a sadness about watching the years pass.

And as optimistic as we’d like to be, birthdays are bittersweet.

We all wish we had the ability to run after our grandchildren like we did our kids.

That our metabolism hadn’t passed away ten years ago, and our feet actually could touch the ground without pain again. And the big one, that the loved ones we’ve lost could still be with us.

But at the end of the day, we must play the hand we’re dealt. I guess the truth is some of us age better than others. Is it luck, lifestyle or genetics and does it matter?

Still, it’s true old age isn’t for sissies and we must roll with the punches.

The only difficulty with that solution is how long it takes to get up after all that rolling.

But the good news is: You will never be younger than you are today. So just open a box of Godiva and enjoy the ride. What the hell, you’ve already paid for your ticket.

Virtual Reality is Virtually All We Were Promised

There is an alternate universe now and I don’t mean on another planet. I have discovered virtual reality and I can’t even say enough good things about this world.

Baby Boomers at various times were promised certain amazing inventions awaiting us in the future.

Hover boards, Jet Packs, Beep Beep Rosie, and virtual reality were all wonders we could look forward to experiencing in our futures.

Somehow Beep Beep Rosie fell short when a little round thing that kept bumping into walls and held a teaspoon full of dirt appeared. Sorry, Rosie, but I’m still waiting.

Hover boards, well if they exist, I haven’t seen one and neither have most. And, of course at this age I’d probably fall off and break my hip anyway. So I guess the hover board thing is a non-starter now.

Jet packs, boy that’s a disappointment. That was the one I was super excited about. Can you imagine not having to fight traffic and just be able to hop into the sky like a bird and fly to the mall. Sign me up!

I suppose I have been rather let down by the technology that I expected and never showed up as promised.

Now artificial intelligence seems to be more of a threat than a promise, I feel like I’d like to register a complaint with my local high-tech geniuses. Excuse me, can you swear this thing won’t take over my life and do evil?

Somehow I’m thinking that would be a big no.

Don’t even get me started with the whole killer robot thing.

So what can please you, you ask as I complain?

I’m here to tell you I am a huge fan of virtual reality.

It’s even spread to gaming of which I am also a devotee and greatly enjoy.

I’ll begin with Roblox an online Atari or Nintendo that has more games than anyone can play. Within those games are many that allow you to create your own world. Homes and cities and anything within your own imagination. What a trip? Such fun to enter your own world after you’ve created it to your own specifications.

Still, I must admit above all I am a huge fan of virtual reality.

If you’ve never tried it, it’s a trip into any world you seek to visit.

You can travel to distant lands without leaving your home. See the wonders of the world close up and personal without hiking up mountains. Even climb Mt. Everest without breaking a sweat. The vistas and beauty is all there and you can enjoy each moment at your leisure.

Once you put the mask on your eyes you enter worlds beyond your expectations and see things you cannot ever see on this earth.

One game I play is a mini golf game with different courses including Atlantis, The Gardens of Babylon and even a trip to Venice, Italy.

The ability of the designers of these worlds to leave you breathless is incredible. You’re certain you’ve entered the past, a planet, a new galaxy or universes never imagined in a lifetime.

You find yourself lost in places so beautiful and serene you don’t want to leave. You can be underwater one moment and in outer space the next. This technology truly lives up to the hype. However, not everyone is so keen to travel through these methods. It is a bit freaky leaving the earth and I’m sure many resist the whole experience.

I however choose to embrace every moment and feel quite content sitting underwater in Atlantis and watching giant sea turtles swim by. Or gazing at the hanging gardens of Babylon with all its magnificent color and spectacle.

Then begs the questions is this virtual world a place to merely escape to or can it be just as real as the one in which we are living.

How easy is it to trade the insanity of our present times for the serenity and beauty of worlds we merely have to don a mask to enter.

No news filled with horrible stories. No awareness of all the hatred and evil around us. Just pure beauty and contentment as we sightsee in a virtual universe designed to take us on a great adventure.

Now of course I’m not inferring it is merely all perfect in this virtual reality. There are games so real you actually gasp when Darth Vader appears and draws his light saber to attack. Outer space is so dark and foreboding you are constantly afraid you’ll fall off the edge of the galaxy.

Yet the ability to fly and move about freely without even a jetpack is quite enticing.

Albeit it can throw you off balance at times if you soar too high.

All I know is I can golf like Arnold Palmer, fly like a bird and climb Machu Pichu without aching feet reveling in all these experiences.

So many of the great innovations in these times seem to be enjoyed and embraced by younger generations. Yet we dreamed of these inventions and because we created them in our minds, they actually came into existence.

Why should we not be able to avail ourselves of their wonders?

So you can’t golf one day because your arthritis is acting up. Don a VR mask and compete with the pros.

Had to postpone that trip to Italy? Ride the canals of Venice in a gondola and just soak in the scenery. Couldn’t afford the passage on that Virgin Galactic flight to the edge of the universe? No problem you can explore outer space in your pajamas.

Oh sure it isn’t the real thing of course, but when it’s a substitute you can enjoy, hey why not?

We’ve always escaped to the movies, into books and many other ways for years to create our own reality, this is merely another way to achieve that peaceful state.

Have fun touring Europe today, I’ll be playing golf on a galaxy far far away. Happy virtual reality, everyone. You dreamed it and you deserve to enjoy its wonders.

We Got This. Or Do We?

Has anyone has ever noticed a person’s face eating an ice cream cone? Pure bliss and happiness with each lick. Ice cream makes everyone happy, but there is something different about ice cream in a cone.

Whether or not one realizes it, eating an ice cream cone is a study in contradiction. Despite the enormous pleasure a good ice cream cone can bring, and I’ve yet to meet a bad one, it comes with certain challenges.

The greatest of these is to ensure the ice cream doesn’t fall out of the cone. It’s a balancing act of sorts but the prize is well worth the effort.

Even eating an Oreo cookie presents scrutiny. Should you eat both sides at once, break it open and lick the middle or eat both sides separately trying to balance the amount of filling on each half? Yes, I know everything I seem to relate to starts with food.

So how do we make certain our precious scoop or scoops are protected from landing on the curb? Or eat an Oreo?

Okay, here’s the real point I’m making…in every moment of pleasure there is risk. Most of the time we just “got this,” without focusing too much. Choices must be made to ensure the best reward.

Yet why is it that the risks these days seem out of balance with the rewards? Something is off kilter and we are walking sideways.

Even something as simple as licking an ice cream cone must be done with care to ensure against loss. While we’re enjoying our treat, we don’t realize we’re being challenged unless we look down and ice cream is covering our shoe. Yet now we are suddenly aware we are teetering with cones or cookies.

Are we really aware of this delicate balance as we live our lives each day? Often dwelling too long in the mundane tasks that fill up our moments and became a part of who and what we are.

The things we’ve come to depend on for consistency, but truly mean very little to our well-being.

Reading the morning paper, sorting through laundry, making a grocery list no one sticks to anyway or playing Wordle. These aren’t earth shattering events in our day, but they give us a sense of continuity and a certain harmony.

We aren’t aware how much we need these habits until we find our world disrupted. Perhaps this is where the true challenge for human beings takes on a life of its own.

Despite our feelings of security, we are not. Yet this is something we all have learned to tune out, to ignore and lock away. We must or our entire day would be spent in fear and anxiety.

We need to feel whole and in control. The fact that one little shift in gravity would mean the entire world being destroyed doesn’t enter our mind. We won’t allow that to happen because we have set up a perimeter and bad thoughts aren’t allowed inside. The crime tape border of our well-being.

We are so certain the earth will continue on an even keel the fact it could spin out of control is irrelevant because “we got this.”

Yet suddenly we humans are facing a new challenge. One that is not so easy to ignore and is making us a bit antsy. We are a bit off kilter these days and searching for our sense of equilibrium.

Oh we fight that feeling every day and tell ourselves, I’ve got this, but inside we’re feeling off somehow.

Where our usual grasp on life was steady and in double digits it seems to be slipping and something is there deep in the pit of our stomach where foreboding lives.

So how do we handle the fact our steps seem wobbly and not feeling as safe or sure on our feet?

How do we convince ourselves it will all turn out fine, so we can go back to reading our paper and sorting laundry as though it mattered?

We humans don’t do well when faced with danger or life is lopsided. We’re not hyenas galloping through the Serengeti Plains in Africa, unaware we are about to become a dinner entrée for some lion. We’re a higher life form, we have a brain, well most of us anyway. Despite having the brains, sadly we don’t always choose to use them.

It is precisely when intelligence and logic is lacking and absent from our lives that we feel the most off balance. Suddenly nothing makes sense any longer and a weird feeling in our gut registers, “Danger Will Robinson.” So if Robbie the Robot is warning us, what do we do?

Despite all of our best coping mechanisms a strange sensation remains and it’s left to us to discern the solution. We know something is off, we just feel it.

After all this mumbo jumbo have I brought you here to offer no help? No, but I can’t be totally certain it will work.

For perhaps the first time in our lives our fight or flight mechanism is triggered all the time.

Flight is no solution for there is nowhere to run.

Now fight is the only way to get our balance back.

Let’s face it; we’re extremely bothered by the state of our nation and our world. Although we are only one person, in this we share a single goal. To restore order to our lives. To face what is confronting us every day and restore calm and harmony. We know life isn’t right, or the way it should be and we feel it continually.

We need to open ourselves to the reality of our situation and understand what is to be done.

As any psychiatrist will tell you, the first step toward healing is admitting there is a problem.

Facing that fact will help us get our power back.

It will force us to look for answers, seek out others who feel as we do, take the risks we must to restore our equilibrium.

Abraham Lincoln famously said, “You can fool all of the people some of the time, and some of the people all of the time, but you cannot fool all the people all the time.”

We are not fooled by those who would disrupt and corrupt our world. We see them, we know them. How we stop them is the real question. We are only one person against a hostile world. How do we walk straight again? Sure, this time it’s trickier, but in the end it’s imperative that we got this. And we will!

Perhaps while you’re pondering the answer a double scoop ice cream cone might help you think.

Mel Brooks and the IDF The Greatest Jewish Weapons

Recent media would lead one to believe a Jewish man by the name of Oppenheimer created the most powerful weapon in the universe.

Okay, it was good or maybe not so good, but Jews have always had the most powerful weapon necessary to ensure their survival. A sense of humor.

Every family has an Uncle Saul who believes if he could get out of the family room and onto a stage in Las Vegas he’d surpass Shecky Green by miles. He always has the latest jokes, a comment about Aunt Rose’s brisket and he hides the afikomen so well no one has ever found it until the house was sold and the new owners remodeled.

It wasn’t important if you were laughing with Uncle Saul or at him, the point is there was laughter.

This has sustained the Jews and always will.

Just add the IDF to the equation and no one can defeat us.

In the Bible it is written that the army who carries the Ark of the Covenant before it is invincible.

I believe that along with the pieces of the Ten Commandments locked inside it, there is also Myron Cohen’s best Jew jokes from the Ed Sullivan years.

Now in a time of great pain and suffering for Jewish people and the risk of destruction coming from all continents on earth, is it possible to find humor in anything?

Can we laugh at the atrocities committed by Hamas who is now a big favorite with Jew haters all over the world?

Can we laugh at the fact our Jewish children are no longer safe in colleges and universities across this country?

Can laughter sustain us when we realize the country we have loved and supported our whole lives is now as welcoming to Jews as Nazi Germany?

Or the fact that one day soon we might all face a modern day Anatevka of our own?

So I suppose the question that has been on my mind is: “So where is Mel Brooks when we need him?” Is there a modern comedian today who can fill his shoes or even wants to?

Who has the guts to take on a Hitler, a Haman, a Hamas or a Torquemada?

Who is proud enough of being a Jew that they would sacrifice the ridicule from their antisemitic friends to stand up and make us laugh? Sadly some of these antisemites are actually Jewish.

World War II had weapons and even at the end one of mass destruction.

Nothing in history has been as great a weapon against the mustached lunatic than Springtime for Hitler. Dancing girls in Swastika formation marching and singing, every Jew laughed until he cried. And the tears were cathartic. Even now as we are trying to heal from these latest attacks on our people, we must not be afraid to laugh. Laugh so hard we cry and the crying cleanses us.

When Mel Brooks took an enemy down, he did it without mercy and he was our greatest general.

We need Mel now. We need him to take down Hamas and allow us to laugh at their insanity and evil.

Laughter and the IDF are the weapons that will ensure the Jewish people survive this latest horror and continue to prosper as a people.

Some may say it’s too soon, but is it ever? If laughter is one our greatest weapons, why would we hesitate to use its force against this new and imminent threat to our people.

I’m sure Mel would do a piece on the Hamas leader hold up in a five-star hotel in Qatar complaining about the room service not having any bacon for his cheeseburger. Perhaps he might have him flirting with the server and trying to convince her to join him for a costume party where he dresses up as Amal Clooney. Maybe Mel would have him posing in women’s clothing as a closet gay man playing with Barbie dolls and dressing them in Burqa bikinis while he tries on bras.

Or maybe he would have to move to a much larger hotel room to hide and store all the food and supplies he is stealing from the Gazans Israel is flying in to them.

I’m sure he would look like Dick Shawn in blue Jeans, a Campbell soup can around his neck and a flower behind his ear.

As ridiculous and stupid as any evil maniac should be portrayed, Mel could do this like no one else. I can’t even try to imagine how funny it would be. He could make us laugh at this monster and reduce him down to the size of a cockroach small enough to step on. And that is the point.

Jewish people must never get caught up in this new mentality that making fun of and with people is wrong. That laughing at ourselves is not a great way to deal with our flaws and that although the world is against us, laughter will still serve as our greatest weapon against evil.

It is the ideal way to point out the stupidity, horror and savagery of the malevolent among us and cut them down to size.

Evil has no sense of humor. Once someone exorcises jollity from their spirit, they align themselves with idealogues and maniacs that take existence and their own craziness too seriously. They can’t condone humor and only live to serve their own evil agendas.

Jewish people need laughter as well as the IDF. We need our comedians, even our Uncle Sauls who can put a bagel on his nose and sing a chorus of Hava Nagila without dropping it.

Humor is a gift meant to be opened when all else fails to work to keep us going. It’s the way Jews have survived the ages and will again.

I pray Mel Brooks comes to our rescue and if he is not able to do so, we must pray our new hilarious Jewish comics, and there are many out there, will be able to carry on. I’m certain Jerry Seinfeld or Larry David are up to the task and could fill Mel’s shoes.

And believe me those are some pretty giant shoes to fill.

I Have No Words

How many times have you repeated the expression, I have no words?

I seem to find myself using it more and more in so many situations. Far more than ever before.

It’s really a very versatile expression when you think of how much it covers.

It can be a compliment. After you’ve expressed every adjective in the book to describe how fabulous your grandchildren are, I have no words would cover whatever you’ve left out.

It can be used when one is surprised. “Oh you’re kidding. They ran away together. I never even thought they liked one another.” I have no words is the perfect follow up to express your shock.

Let us not forget how perfect I have no words becomes when you are disgusted and frustrated by politicians or some outrageous act by a government official.

Sadly, it also serves to cover your sorrow when a loved one or friend is suffering.

And this is my point. I seem to have run out of words lately. I suppose at my age that might be an age-related situation, but I can’t seem to find the right language anymore to cover how I feel about all the craziness I witness each day.

I wonder, is it me, or has the world seriously gone crazy and I’m left without the proper vocabulary to define this new insanity.

If that is the case, I imagine I can’t be blamed for a lack of language to describe the indescribable.

I’d like to believe my memory is as efficient as ever, although I know that may be a bit of wishful thinking on my part, but I do find myself at a loss for words more often.

Where once when a teen I looked forward each night at six o clock to hear Goodnight Chet, Goodnight David after the Huntley-Brinkley report on NBC News, now I recoil with fear at news reports.

There is no one to take their glasses off like Cronkite anymore. His way of letting me know he is about to tell me something I don’t want to hear.

I no longer want to hear any of it. But when Cronkite said it, at least I knew it to be true.

Knowing I wanted to be a reporter at a very early age, I became a news junkie before most of my generation. When I got home from school there was very little programming to watch so I watched the McCarthy Hearings or HUAC the House Un-American Activities Committee.

Now I’m not implying that at eight years old I fully understood what was happening or what a red scare was, but I sensed the importance of what I was watching. The seriousness of the tone, the accusatory nature, the senators leaning over and whispering led me to believe there was definitely something consequential going on there.

I imagine that’s when I began to find journalism so intriguing. Reporters were in the room, they were commenting afterward on the proceedings, they had a voice. I wanted that voice.

So now that I have a voice, I can no longer find the words. They elude me at a time when it’s most important I am able to use them.

Use them to say how frightening this world has become.

How sad I am for my children and grandchildren.

How guilty I feel for my generation not doing a better job creating a better world to leave behind.

How horrified I am by the atrocities evil performs against the innocent.

How clueless and immoral politicians are while the country burns and they seek only their own selfish agendas.

How upside down life has turned until it’s almost impossible to discern right from wrong or good from evil any longer.

How truth has been relegated to someone’s own point of view, whether it’s right or wrong.

Where do I find the words to speak the horror I feel because there are no words to cover today’s world.

It would be so easy to say it’s unspeakable, but for someone who has valued language their whole life, isn’t that a cop out?

Isn’t it too easy to simply throw one’s hands up in the air and in defeat say, I have no words?

Yet in truth I have to admit words can no longer express what we are living, feeling or seeking to escape.

If we could find the words or invent new ones, would that even change the state of affairs we are distraught about now?

What can you say to someone who has twisted and turned truth into a pretzel of wickedness?

How do you communicate with someone who can’t discern good from evil?

How do you speak intelligently to the stupid?

How can you have a conversation with a zombie mind that has been brainwashed and indoctrinated to absorb insane, intolerant and hateful ideas?

This is what words have come to…a useless flow of language out of one’s mouth without meaning or substance.

A futile effort to relate to others who have been brainwashed in malevolence.

Where have the words of kindness and tolerance been buried?

How have words of compassion and love for another human being been erased?

How will the twisted brains taught by the immoral be undone?

With my voice I can now only ask questions. Questions for which I have no answers.

I still believe the world should be made up of balance.

Question, answer, that is how it’s been done up to now. What can rational good people do to get the balance back?

Has language been so corrupted and twisted good people will ultimately find it impossible to undo the perversion?

Is the planet to continue spinning out of control on an axis of hatred and wickedness?

Would that I could find the language to solve these problems. To restore hope and optimism into a beleaguered world.

Tragically, I have no words.

In Dreams We Can Fly

An interesting thought occurred to me this morning as I awoke from a really crazy dream. Apparently as we grow older the only thing about us that doesn’t change is the ability to dream.

People interpret dreams in hopes of understanding their meaning. But does knowing what they mean change our lives, influence our choices or improve our ability to achieve our goals? Some believe it might. As far as I’m concerned the jury’s still out.

Of course there are the usuals and recurring episodes I and many others view nightly.

Ones like I’m late for my finals and can’t find the classroom. Or I haven’t read any of the assignments all year. These stress dreams as they’re called still awaken me in a state of “wow, that was scary” even after all these years.

Then of course we all have the powerful dreams where we are with those who’ve left us and awaken with a certain sadness at facing reality once more.

One of the things I find most puzzling about dreams is ones when I find myself in a place I’ve never been in my waking life. The setting is familiar, and I return to that place on a consistent basis. These are very inviting places I remember when I dream of being there again. These are dissimilar to other dreams I soon forget, but these places remain in my memories always.

For me it is a department in a store I’ve never seen. It recurs occasionally as though I’ve just been shopping there. But I haven’t because it only exists in my dreams.

A lake house where I enjoy spending time appears as well. I also see a modern cityscape where the view is futuristic like a movie about life on planet earth fifty years from now.

The only similarity about these locations is they all sport beautiful views to which I am partial. But the familiarity I feel when they appear in my dreams is palpable.

It’s almost as if these locations are movie sets I choose to use as a backdrop to whatever script I’ve written for that night’s episode.

Of course it begs the question…are they? Movie sets I mean. Are our dreams merely the motion pictures we write and produce each night based on real life stories we live each day. Are they the nightly wrap up our conscious mind memorializes in our subconscious to use at a later time?

It’s rather surprising how dreams can elicit so much emotion. We can awake sad, frightened, puzzled and any number of emotions from a night’s sleep. We even awaken from the creepy ones with hearts pounding. So it’s obvious dreams have a physical effect.

Many of our dreams we forget, but the ones that seem to stick in our minds bring a need to analyze them and determine what they were trying to tell us. Like a secret message from our subconscious we are compelled to decipher. If we fail to decrypt the secret could it have implications in our waking lives?

Is someone or our own mind trying to help us in some way to avoid a mistake we are about to make?

I think that’s a possibility. In my own life I have been faced with choices and dreamed about the decisions. Failing to understand who or what was warning me, they’ve turned out badly.

So how do we learn the language of our dreams? Shouldn’t we be able to understand our own minds?

Can they warn us if we don’t dismiss them so quickly?

Experts spend their lives studying the human brain. It’s truly a remarkable computer that stores, creates and functions as the clearing house and control center for our entire body.

Quite a little workhorse taking on so many tasks.

Yet I find myself feeling that dreams may be something very different. Are they merely movies we create each night out of the multiple choices in our catalog combined with experiences from our day?

Or are they a vehicle to allow messages inside our brain from parts unknown? Is our imagination busily at work each night writing and editing what we see?

Or is there something much more?

Because most people share the types of dreams they have, like the stress dreams they select when they are under duress, does our brain provide the elements from which to choose?

Why do so many people have the school dream, the falling dream and of course the flying dream?

I especially love the flying one because it is such a freeing sensation. Some meanings are obvious as in our desire to escape our earthly bounds and soar above.

Yet some experts suggest “dreams help us deal with emotions, solve problems or manage hidden desires. Others postulate that they clean up brain waste, make memories stronger or deduce the meaning of random brain activity.”

A new theory claims “nighttime dreams protect visual areas of the brain from being co-opted during sleep by other sensory functions, such as hearing or touch.” Experts also suggest that dreams help us process emotions and memories and can also inspire creativity and provide self-knowledge.”

One experts notes that “Even though the exact mechanisms and functions of dreams are still not fully understood, understanding their importance and interpreting them can enhance our quality of life.”

Perhaps all these things are true, but I can’t help finding dreams an interesting way to spend a night. I’ll continue create new blockbusters if my subconscious allows and add more flying to the mix. Perhaps I always secretly wanted to be Tinkerbell and all I really crave are some wings and a magic wand to be happy.

Now that wasn’t that hard to interpret, was it?

How Do We Get Our Happy Back?

Okay so today I was talking to my friend Ellyn and of course the conversation morphed into “What the hell is going on with this world?” It’s impossible to escape the absurdity looming around us like a giant cyclone of insanity.

Yet, as in any time of upheaval, sometimes it’s important to try and take some good from the situation, no matter how dire it all seems.

We agreed there was one positive upshot and it’s important to leap on and embrace it fully. The need to refocus on the little things has become imperative.

In these times of chaos when so many feel the world is imploding it’s impossible to feel in control of our own lives.

So what can someone do to recover some of the peace we so desperately need. In other words, how do we get our happy back?

How do we feel positive again and remain focused on optimism and hope? How do we ensure our little corner of the world is still ours and ours alone to do with as we please?

Can we find joy in the midst of chaos? Is there a way to take back our little corner of the world even for just a moment or two?

It ain’t easy. When our world is spinning it’s awfully hard not to get dizzy. To prevent ourselves from falling (which is difficult on any day, anyway) and restore our sanity.

Human beings need a safe haven in any storm. We aren’t designed to live in constant turmoil with our minds constantly running wild and no peaceful spot in which to recline, catch our breath and feel safe.

I believe that’s why there are flowers, gardens, meadows with singing birds, mountain tops and huge fluffy clouds drifting through an azure sky.

Our eyes need to see and hear peace to feel it within ourselves.

So what can we do to escape into our happy place?

I imagine we must first accept the fact that happy weeks, days or months are pretty much almost impossible to achieve. Once we understand that, we should be able to embrace and enjoy a smaller portion of joy time.

It may be hours or even minutes in our happy place. Yet if we understand time there is short, we will absorb more joy from each moment.

Finding peace is much easier because we all know with few exceptions what brings us joy. This is a question we needn’t ask because we have already been there.

Time with our grandchildren or family members.

A fun dinner with friends, old or new.

Perhaps a tour of a local museum we’ve put off too long or an art gallery in a beautiful spot.

Have you watched a favorite movie that made you laugh so hard you cried?

Or a comedian who left you with spasms of laughter? Most comics have their acts up on the Internet now. Instagram Reels seems to be overflowing with hysterical moments of laughter by some very funny comics. And please let’s not forget the adorable antics of kittens and puppies.

One of my happy places is escaping into a good book. It doesn’t matter what genre. A great mystery can keep you attentive indefinitely.

Sometimes when we feel that lack of control it’s good to call a friend. One who is feeling or has felt the same way. After venting it’s important to end the conversation on the positives and be left in a better place than before you spoke.

Okay, I’ll go there. Yes, a favorite food. I said it. This diet obsessed nut is one of many, many foodies that still find some solace in that perfect bite.

It doesn’t matter what the food is because even a good diet meal can taste great. I don’t think anyone is surprised to hear that for me the happiest place on earth isn’t Disneyland, but anywhere I’m biting into a piece of chocolate.

If the pandemic taught us anything, it’s that we must be content to find our own place to thrive in chaos. Most did, but many succumbed to the awfulness and lack of control.

Yet there were new hobbies, new interests, new accomplishments during that period that served to lead us through the darkness to the other side. Many discovered talents long hidden but now much enjoyed.

I don’t have any answers for the big questions confronting us today. Sadly, it seems leaders don’t either and that in itself is a reason to be afraid. We are all watching frightful events that once seemed unfathomable and so many are depressed about the lack of control and chaos.

Humans must be safe to feel safe and now it seems almost impossible to maneuver the craziness thrown at us each day.

Where can we hide, how do we duck quickly with arthritis filled knees, what can we do to make things better?

Only do what we can to help ourselves and our loved ones find their happy place.

I wish I were a Yogi and could meditate myself onto a higher plane, but right now I’m quite earthbound.

Perhaps it’s time for a little transcendental meditation, but I must ultimately return to this planet and the eye of the hurricane. And of course if all else fails retreat into denial.

For me it’s been a challenge to ignore the craziness and find ways to find that inner peace. However maybe in some ways it’s easier because now it’s so necessary we feel more compelled to seek it out.

At least we can all escape to our little moments of joy and find some calm and happiness there.

I wish that for you all until sanity is hopefully restored onto the world.

Living in a State of Gratitude. Is That Even Possible?

Lately an expression seems to be going around that is quickly getting overused and overworked. In California there is an overabundance of platitudes called upon far too frequently. Aside from hearing this newest addition ad nauseum, I am seriously wondering what it really means.

More and more there are those who wish to portray themselves as superior, virtuous beings by constantly expressing they are living in a state of gratitude.

My question is first and foremost, where is the state of gratitude? Is it in the USA? I don’t think so. We only have fifty states last time I heard. Although I read somewhere they are adding a fifty first, the State of Confusion. It would be the most populated state in America.

Is the state of gratitude in Europe? Highly doubtful. Maybe an island in the Caribbean or the Cayman’s where lots of Americans could join their money.

How would we find it? Is it on a map? Perhaps it’s hanging around under the water near Atlantis. The lost city of gratitude and only a fortunate few are lucky enough to have seen it.

Is it expensive to live there? How is the food? Should you rent or own?

What are the laws in the state of gratitude? Is there inflation and how are the interest rates there? What type of cuisine do they feature?

So after hearing people talk about this new locale now more visited than the Grand Canyon, I had to wonder: Do you live there all the time or can you leave and come back again? Do you need a passport?

It seems to me that no one could live there all day, every day and although most make it sound as though they do, I can’t imagine that is the case.

I mean you are driving along living in the state of gratitude and suddenly someone plows into your brand-new Mercedes.

Hmmm. Do you now leave the state of gratitude for a few moments to bitch and yell at the idiot who cut you off and smashed your new car?

Is your first response. Oh thank you. I’m so grateful you crashed into my new car and gave me a serious whiplash. Why am I doubting that is the case?

Pretty silly to walk around saying I live in a state of gratitude isn’t it? Simply because that would be impossible.

Those who are constantly preaching about their occupancy in that state, make it seem it’s like a total 100% existence.

We all have heard our whole lives that those who are thankful for both the little and big things in life are happiest, so all strive for that meaning.

We are grateful for the people we love and thankful they are well. We are happy when we get up in the morning, open our eyes and see another day.

Let’s be realistic here; life for most of us is a roller coaster of ups and downs. The human condition dictates we must face those challenges we are afflicted by daily.

Death, illness, a bad turn of events we didn’t expect, having to listen to the stupidity out of the mouths of politicians and all other means of unpleasantness to which flesh is heir.

So does living in a state of gratitude mean that when something horrible happens we are not allowed to be bummed? That we are not allowed to feel badly for someone who is suffering a loss or streak of misfortune?

I think it’s wonderful when one can say, even in the darkest of times they are grateful for all the good they have. Despite the negativity thrust upon them.

That is called optimism, thankfulness, gratitude or however you wish to identify the feeling, and it’s a good way to live.

Yet when one literally brags constantly about how grateful they are, it rings hallow. It feels as though someone is lecturing or bragging. Does it mean that when misfortune appears we are less of a person if at that moment of pain we don’t feel any gratitude at losing a loved one? Or for hearing the misfortunate of a friend or witnessing the horrors we see every day now in the world?

It almost makes one feel as though these people who constantly preach about their own sense of gratitude are somehow lording it over the rest of us.

That they know something we don’t and have discovered the answer to the riddle of the Sphinx.

I figured it all out and you’re all still in the dark.

Are they so enlightened they can stay in a state of gratitude even when the very nature of human existence is to feel sorrow, happiness, pain, remorse and empathy?

Shall we simply rise above every excruciating deed we witness and say I can’t feel this I’m in the state of gratitude. That’s my protection, so pass me a brownie, please. What type of gates can protect one from the emotions life delivers daily?

I must object to those who would tout their unfailing thankfulness when we merely see someone who is saying, I’m cool with everything and it’s great to be me. I have what I need to be happy, you need to get yours.

There will be times in every life when it’s almost impossible to be grateful. That isn’t the grand plan. Life throws us curveballs and even when we try to hit it out of the park, we sometimes fall short of the fence.

Although we as humans aspire to the highest ideals, it is a long-established fact on planet earth you won’t find perfection here.

It’s easy to be grateful for the great moments in life that come our way, but being grateful for the little things is a cultivated talent. Indeed, one for which we all should strive. But it’s hard to listen to those who speak about gratitude as a new dress or outfit they can don as easily as slipping it over their head.

We are grateful and should be. We just are not grateful for those who tell us when and how to feel thankful. I imagine that is between us and our maker, and holier-than-thous should just keep their platitudes to themselves.

P.S. I’m thankful for all my readers, so that’s one for me. Have a great day and be grateful for how easy it still is to find chocolate.

Birds Don’t Sing in Beverly Hills

The first sign of spring for most people in America is Robin Red Breast. Hearing his little tweets and songs make one feel the cold and darkness of winter is past and one can look forward to a warm spring and fun summer.

In my area of Beverly Hills one receives no such hope for the birth of the coming seasons. I’m not quite sure why it’s the case but it’s rare I’ve been hearing birds singing at all. Yes, I know you all think I’m going deaf.

However, that is not the case for while watching the Masters Tournament at Augusta the other day, I was taken by how vibrant the birds’ songs were when everyone quieted down to let the golfers take a shot. Yes, I heard the birds chirping and cheering on their favorite golfers loud and clear.

Even with a preponderance of trees everywhere in Beverly Hills it seems that the bird population chooses to remain closed mouth and simply exist on the down low. Why?

I of course have no scientific reasons to offer for this occurrence, but of course I have some suspicions about why the little winged and usually vocal creatures choose silence in this high-profile town.

First, I’d have to guess it is a result of their inability to sing for long periods of time and ingest the pollution. After a few coughs I’d imagine most would simply give up and stay silent.

Second it might be the fact they haven’t been able to secure an agent and it is for this reason they choose not to use their talents without any compensation. A bird deserves a worm or two for their efforts. And I assure you Beverly Hills is crawling with them. Worms I mean.

Third is the fact that perhaps because so few birds choose to sing, there is no peer pressure to do so. I mean if everyone is doing it than the other birds might feel left out by not joining in. It seems quiet breeds quiet and the lack of tweeting is not such a surprise after all.

Fourth I believe it’s possible the bird population here may be the most depressed in America. I only say this because if the vibe all around them is human beings walking around like zombies touting positive thinking and then hurrying off to their therapist, it could contribute to the negative, insecure vibes the birds are feeling.

Fifth may be that it’s difficult to be heard above the sirens horns honking and yelling obscenities out car windows one witnesses each day. This is not lost on the birds. It’s possible at one point they sought to sing but couldn’t raise their voices above the craziness going on below.

Sixth, maybe like so many others in this state most of the birds have left for Florida because it’s far too expensive to live here. Perhaps all the craziness entailed living in this insane asylum with palm trees has finally caused them to reach their breaking point. Then of course squatters may have inhabited their nests when they returned and they’re all in court trying to get their little homes back. Or could it be they are simply spending the day shopping?

As someone who always loved hearing birds sing, I find it a bit depressing to face the silence.

There was once a book by Rachel Carson called Silent Spring in which she warned of impending environmental issues.

Could we have reached the point that the birds are thus affected?

I don’t think so because my friends in Michigan claim there is a great deal of happy twilling from the birds there right now. And I do miss that.

So I suppose we must return to California. I can only speak for Beverly Hills, but I must say it is a quiet Spring around here.

Beverly Hills birds although we received an abundance of rain this year seem as yet unsatisfied with the bounty nature provided.

Everyone but me it seems held the attitude there was too much rain.

I however disagree wholeheartedly. Coming from Michigan where Spring and summer sported the colors of OZ with vibrant greens and colorful flowers everywhere, it has been a culture shock for me to see the brownish hue of the trees here.

The little bit of water they usually receive is not nearly enough to serve up lush gorgeous hues, but instead brownish dry looking semi green colors.

This year however after all the rain I’m finally seeing true rich, dark leaves brimming with life and vibrancy.

So I’ll side with nature on this issue and too bad for those who were inconvenienced by the rain.

I’ve tried calling to the birds and explaining my desire to hear their songs, but only a few even responded to my pleas.

It just doesn’t seem right to be sitting outdoors and hear nothing but cars and sirens without the melodic tweet of a nearby bird.

If I am disappointed, and perhaps even making too much of the lack of music available from our feathered friends, please forgive me. I imagine you could get an app for your phone of birdsongs. Not the same. Like buying a candle to get your favorite scent and realize they all smell like cheap perfume.

Living in Michigan we were blessed with four seasons. And each one was highly anticipated.

Still after a hard winter, and it seems they were colder and harder when I was a child, we eagerly awaited spring.

The end of cold snowy days and no more dark gloomy overcast mornings. Now one could look forward to sunshine, tulips and of course robins and their friends singing a chorus of beautiful melodies. Their songs announced that yes, once again Spring has come and the beauty of color and light reappears. They were not only the bearer of songs, but proof of rebirth, new hope and life continuing after winter’s darkness.

So now when I do occasionally hear that courageous little song bird here in Beverly Hills, chirping its little heart out to announce, “Hey everyone it’s Spring,” I stop, listen and hold their song inside my heart until I am once again blessed to hear another.

The Ouch Monster Strikes at Night

It’s what I call a phantom ouch monster that attacks our bodies as we sleep.

Yes, there is such a thing because I just made it up.

So many friends have told me stories about waking up in the morning with parts of their body wracked with pain.

Why I ask? What did you do? Did you run a marathon in the middle of the night?

“The frightening thing is they were working fine when we went to bed,” they all say.

So what happened during the night?

The answer is always “nothing, I just went to bed. Then of course there was the usual bathroom trips, but I didn’t fall or bump into anything. So why does my foot feel like it’s broken?”

As one who has watched Sherlock Holmes ad nauseum I feel qualified to take on this mystery and find a hasty conclusion.

I have a theory. I think many great detectives, Holmes, Poirot, Scooby Do, Marple, quickly get a handle on the evidence and where it might be leading. Or is it that the writers already know the ending? I’m not quite certain, but I shall propose an idea that popped into my head while I was searching the cupboard for a box of Girl Scout cookies I may have overlooked.

There is obviously a bone fairy that comes in the night and twists and turns our bodies in unmanageable ways while we’re sleeping. When we awake, we suddenly face a knee that’s not working, an elbow aching, or any number of body parts screaming, “ouch.”

Why you ask would a bone fairy attack someone? And what the heck is a bone fairy?

Aha, this is the part you have to wait until the end of the story for Holmes to reveal…it’s actually the tooth fairy’s evil twin. I didn’t want to make you wait.

Yes, like Glinda and the Wicked Witch of the West, related by birth, but oh so different.

There is no other explanation to these sudden body parts turning on us during the night.

Unless one chooses to believe the mattress is attacking.

I have awakened to painful toes, a shoulder than refuses to allow my arm to turn, and a neck that one can only call completely uncooperative.

Is it not bad enough that every day brings a new adventure in ouch-something-else-hurts land?

That the simple act of watching an athlete is depressing and trying to open a jar has become a task as Herculean as the Trojan Wars.

Where bending down to reach into a lower cupboard can seem like a guarantee of a shoulder injury. And forget leaning on a knee anymore!

I actually find it hard to believe I have friends that still go to spin classes and play pickleball.

Oh sure they have sore knees, but there is at least an explanation for their plight.

What can one say to justify an ace bandage on a knee when the cause was a pillow gone rogue?

I am aware of the whole twisting and turning thing at night, but to wake up unable to walk from it, this is new.

When young we literally twisted to music. We jump roped, ran races, roller skated on cement, and did cartwheels on the lawn.

Today if I unroll the toilet paper too fast I have to put a splint on my wrist.

So why does the ouch monster attack only at night while our guard is down?

While we are unaware that our bones or joints may be in imminent danger of being fodder for the evil Bone Fairy and no way of fighting back?

Can we protect ourselves from this evil and walk upright again?

I guess we could fool the fairy and sleep in a chair. Just like when you have knee or hip surgery and can’t get in or out of bed.

So when the Bone Fairy enters your bedroom at night to twist your knee into an unrecognizable part of your anatomy; surprise. You are comfortably ensconced in the living room La-Z- Boy, feet up and snoring happily away.

But can that evil ouch monster seek you out and hone in on a body part uncovered or unprotected?

I must admit that yes, it is true. While you sleep the forces of darkness are busily at work to create a vortex of pain to which you must awaken.

Suddenly there is an aching back, or unhappy elbow or pain that shoots down your hip into your lower leg.

Ah, the great challenge of a duel against an ouch monster attacking your unprotected body.

I have often asked myself why my body doesn’t fight back. Yell for help or scream a warning that your foe has entered the room.

At least you could awaken, jump out of bed and grab a heating pad or ice pack to defeat its evil purpose.

But alas, no. Your poor tired body sleeps away, totally unaware that when morning comes it will suffer the ravages of an enemy. One so sneaky it can enter during the night and attack without mercy.

Perhaps one day someone will invent a Bone Fairy trap. At night as you sleep it will awaken you at the first sign of something closing in on a bone or joint. Aha, and then you can do battle against this foe with no mercy!

Until that day we must do our best to stretch, ice and heat the bruises and pains from our invisible enemy.

Et tu Ouch Monster?

We Must Fight to Keep the Shopping Gene Alive

As the story goes men are hunters and gatherers and women are nurturers. Oh please don’t start with me about the whole woke stuff, my generation accepts the old ways. Sort of like the Jedi and the teachings of Yoda and Obi Wan. “Shopping do we must.”

It’s a well-known fact that men hunt, but it’s also true that women scavenge also. Just not in the forest. Our jungle is the mall.

We hunt for bargains in clothing and objects to buy that will bring us a sense of satisfaction.

I mean let’s be honest here, finding your favorite shoes 75% off is a rush that brings jubilation. There is even a certain shopping smile one can recognize on the face of a woman who comes home laden down with treasures after a day at the mall.

So the other day my friend Jan and I were shopping at a store in Beverly Hills. In a blissful state of excitement just to be in the midst of gorgeous clothing, handbags and of course shoes, we were shocked to find the number of salespeople far outnumbered customers.

Now it’s not that we need an army to shop alongside us of course. However, there is a certain shopping energy that women absorb when they are in hunting or as we know it shopping mode.

In language men can understand it’s as though there is one prize deer and every hunter in the forest is out to bag it. Yes, I know gross.

But that’s kind of the same energy a woman feels at the after Christmas sale at Bloomingdales as she seeks out the perfect sweater to go with her new slacks.

It’s not just that the shopping energy has waned but there is an innate fear amongst many of us that the stores and malls will completely fade away. I mean without Black Friday America would fall into instant decline.

Many malls have already closed and more and more people are shopping online.

You can shoot a canon through many stores these days and hit no one, and that is frightening. Oh the humanity!!!

Online shopping is fine for a certain purpose. I certainly wouldn’t badmouth Amazon. The truck pulls up to my door plenty, but when you are in a store and walking around you see things you can’t see online. A pair of shoes that call to your feet, a jacket with your name on it, a handbag you’ve been wanting for ages that is now on sale. The adrenalin rush to buy it before someone else spots your prize.

These things don’t happen online.

Online is a far more focused shopping experience. More targeted toward a specific item. Yes, that works fine for a special purchase, but sitting on your tush on the computer is not the same as being out in the forest of fabrics we desire. After all, how many women can sit on the computer all day and shop? Sure we’d love to, but let’s be realistic here.

Our shopping gene needs visual contact with the merchandise.

We need to spot it in the sea of blouses on the rack as we pass by. Then we must slowly creep up on it and eye it more closely. We touch the fabric and if it awakens our senses, we move through the sizes silently hoping ours will be there.

When we find what we are seeking, we head for the dressing room carrying our prey, occasionally to be stopped by a salesperson asking, would you care to try that on?

Lord talk about an obvious question. Of course, we do. Our eyes are glazed over with anticipation. Okay special exception here; if we are bloated, we would rather try it on at home after the water weight diminishes.

After we are led to the room, we slip the silky fabric onto our body and turn toward the mirror.

Our eyes are fixed on the fit. Perfect, just as we knew it would be.

We have done it. We’ve bagged a winner and there is still a mall filled with prey we can sleuth out and capture. Women have needs.

Yes, we are hunters and gatherers and we crave our shopping fix.

So what will happen if the stores close? How will we fulfill our need to satisfy the shopping gene? That desperate urge to possess fresh new items.

I worry it will disappear, like our tails. When they were no longer necessary evolution just eliminated them from our body structure.

I dread to think that when the malls and stores are gone our shopping gene will be lost to the ages.

Can you imagine years from now women reading about a shopping gene they once possessed, but has gone forever.

Two future teenagers look up from their computers and one texts the other?

What’s a shopping gene? Puzzled emoji.

The other texts back, I don’t know, look it up online. Annoyed emoji.

Shopping gene: A genetic predisposition by women to enter stores and seek out clothing shoes and other items. This was accomplished traveling in pairs, groups or alone. It was done in a place called a store, either standing alone or in a mall.

She texts back what’s a mall? Question mark emoji.

Look it up I’m on reels here. Annoyed emoji annoyed emoji.

A mall: a place where people shopped that contained stores and restaurants.

She texts…that sounds cool, why don’t we have them anymore? Smiling emoji.

No one cares, we don’t shop now, we just take what is sent to us. It works fine. Are you complaining? Scary emoji.

No, no I’m fine with it, I have no desire to drag around in stores looking for stuff to buy. Laughing emoji.

Good then let’s get back to our computer staring. Who cares about ancient history? Disgusted emoji.

Wow, the other one texts. Did you know that America was a country that used to have restaurants where you could eat inside? Surprised emoji.

No but that would be kind of awful because you’d have to actually sit and talk to people face to face. Yucky emoji.

I know, boy those people were primitive! Shocked emoji.

LOLOL emoji sent back.

And that my fellow mall seekers is how the shopping gene will disappear. So girls it’s imperative we shop as much as possible to avoid losing vital parts of us we desperately need.

However, if I could just do something about losing that chocolate-craving gene I’d be so fine with that. Sad emoji. Fat emoji.

Hey! Boomers Exercise, Too

Someone asked the other day if I exercise at all. I indignantly responded that it depends on what type of exercise one means?

I must admit my exercise is age related. In other words, appropriate for someone in their laugh laugh, golden years to be doing.

They looked at me quizzically and I said I suppose one could say that yes, I actually get a great deal of exercise. Just not the same as one might be doing in their forties.

For example, when young you might do a series of yoga poses like cobra, lotus, downward dog, happy baby, etc. All very effective and good for the body and soul. Whereas I might do another type of yoga pose like say snoring dog, where I fall asleep on the floor while watching television with one leg up on the ottoman and the other on the floor. Good for the inner thigh muscles.

Or instead of cobra pose I might fall on my stomach and reach for my phone for an hour while I try to slither forward to retrieve it. I call that one the Apple worm slide pose. Same idea just a different name, but great for stretching.

Of course, the most exercise I get each day is moving the heating pad from one part of my body to another. You’d be shocked at how much exercise is entailed in picking up the heating pad and adjusting and shifting it into a new position. Wait, shouldn’t walking to the wall to plug it in count for something? And how about all the steps to take the heatable neck roll to the microwave? And the balance it takes to keep it around your neck?

I am very well aware of movement and I must say I get plenty each day.

First there is the number of steps to take my meds in a timely fashion. Each glass of water I ingest with my pills equals at least three trips to the bathroom. All cardio is welcome here.

I counted and most of my steps are a result of bathroom trips and I also count the ones to the bathroom during the night. I’m just not sure if the ones after midnight should count in the previous day or current day’s step total.

There is a great deal of hand exercise that goes on each day punching the phone to make doctor appointments. Keeps your fingers agile. Sometimes it might take as many as four or five calls to get through to a human being.

I am adamant that putting on spanks should be counted as weight training. Does anyone have any idea how much muscle it takes to pull those damn things over your hips? Who needs dumbbells when you’re lifting your whole lower body weight?

I don’t discount how much energy is expelled when bringing in the grocery bags from Amazon and putting the food away. I refer to that particular exercise as the Amazon cardio/muscle building combination.

Does it count as resistance training if you stop yourself from eating a second sleeve of Oreos?

Recently I have been the recipient of comments from numerous people that my eyelids look anorexic and very wrinkled.

This is obviously the result of constantly closing them to avoid watching politicians when they appear on the news. I do also count bending and ducking their constant bullcrap whenever they speak for those newly lost inches on my waistline.

I am always working my upper torso by what I call the no-no-no workout. This entails raising my arms to tear my hair out over the crazy lies that come out of Washington. Who says politics aren’t healthy?

A great Cardio workout is easily accomplished just trying to find a salesperson in a mall. I only spend half the time traveling from store to store these days, because just walking through Macys to find some help can add up to a thousand steps.

One must not forget the health advantages to preparing meals. I mean walking to the freezer, removing the Lean Cuisine, walking it to the microwave, waiting for it to cook, placing it on a plate, opening a drawer to take out a fork and then walking into the dining room can provide all the steps you need in a day. I’m tired just thinking of it.

I’m not certain, but I believe it’s fair to count head shakes when my daughter asks me if I’m getting enough exercise.

The up and down movement of yes, I am, counts for something, I think. I mean it helps the back and neck muscles, right?

There are some lesser exercises and after all each step counts.

Things like answering the door for the cleaning service.

Never valeting my car in LA, which I count as quite a commitment to my fitness regime.

Dressing and undressing for every MRI, CT Scan, X Ray and doctor’s appointment surely must increase that activity level.

I’m not sure; does moving your eyes back and forth when you read a book count as facial exercise?

Many of my friends tell me they get great upper body breathing exercise from screaming at their husbands to get up and get their own damn diet coke out of the fridge.

There have been many studies proving it’s easier for Baby Boomers to get back into shape than today’s children to get into it. This is due to muscle memory from our active childhood lifestyle.

This sounds great in theory, but one must keep in mind at our age one cannot be certain our muscles still remember any better than we do.

Oh yes, I know how important it is to move your body each day so I make a conscious effort. There is of course a problem when you are intent on getting in as many steps as possible, and your body is intent on stopping you from doing just that.

But I have learned that with a constant supply of ice packs, heating pads and Motrin on hand, I shall prevail.

So take that Gluteus Maximus because Baby Boomers never quit!

Hmmm, how many calories do you think I just burned typing this blog?

Can You Cut the Line at the Pearly Gates?

Many religions include after death scenarios in their tenets. I’d think if one got to the pearly gates and there were lines with signs, most people today would definitely head for the enter heaven line.

I mean let’s just say there were big screen televisions at the gates portraying scenes of earth. While waiting in line you were watching what’s going on below as you pondered where you might want to spend the next portion of your soul’s existence.

At first you may be adamant you want to return to earth.

It may sound appealing, especially if you’ve been a good person and you’re moving up the ladder.

Sort of like spending your life caring for the sick and then you learn because of your good deeds on earth you have the option of returning looking like Heidi Klum with a metabolism faster than Mario Andretti.

Some believe it’s a choice to come back or move on to whatever is available for souls.

Of course this got me to thinking about whether or not most people today would return, or stay the heck away from all this craziness.

I can’t say for certain what happens or where we go after we have shuffled off this mortal coil as the Bard so eloquently wrote, but I’d have to believe the state of earth would impact anyone’s decision.

But is this actually the reason for current world problems?

Can you blame spirits for not wanting to return and is that a factor in the insanity we are dealing with?

If good people are all in the line that says heaven to your right and Hamas is in the line that says, return to earth to keep trying to be a human, maybe that’s an issue here.

After all terrorists aren’t known for allowing positive information into their brains. If that’s the case evil terrorists may have to keep being reborn to learn their lessons and stop repeating horrific behavior.

So if all the good people are in the line that says Heavenly condos this way, beachfront or city views form a line here, and all the evil souls are shoved over to the no-way- you’ve-got-a-long-way-to-go line, what does that say about the element that’s returning to earth? One might even assume it’s a valid explanation for why every way we turn today we see some pretty scary stuff.

I mean when you have to lock up toothpaste that’s pretty sad.

Excuse me, could someone unlock the Colgate please? And while they’re at it could they also grab me a Revlon eyeliner?

I guess unless you have the entire day to wait around the drug store, securing a Snickers bar would be out of the question.

So if I’m in line and have my choice of a condo overlooking the Adriatic sea, being able to eat anything I want and not gain weight and have a chocolate fountain running 24 hours a day. Or returning to a crime ridden insane asylum with palm trees like California, mouthwash locked up, smash and grabs and politicians who have lower IQs than the temperature in Buffalo, New York in the middle of January, how long do you think I’d have to ponder that one?

And that could be the problem in a nutshell, excuse the pun. If good people are opting for heaven and all the crazies and evildoers have to come back and keep repeating life until they get it right, how can we expect any balance on earth?

Oh sure there are still beautiful places here, but if we do come back we don’t know we did anyway so no wonder the line for chilling in heaven is getting larger every day.

Especially if you know the people you love will only be a few doors away and you can sleep at night without an alarm, isn’t the choice rather obvious?

I’m not sure that anyone is up at the gates doing a head count, but I’m willing to bet if they did, they would see the numbers are rising for those who opt for heaven. Therefore, the amount of undesirables who are dropping back to earth are higher than the number of pounds Hollywood is shedding on Ozempic.

Aging highlights the ironies of life. As we get older we see things far more clearly, especially after cataract surgery.

That is a sad state of affairs because at a time when one feels entitled to peace and harmony after a lifetime of challenges and struggles, we are faced with a heightened awareness of the grasp evil has taken on the world.

As a Baby Boomer, and how sad when that term is retired, most of us now embrace tranquility and seek the goodness in human nature. Yet most of my friends admit they can no longer even watch the news.

In a world where experience should have exposed lines never to be crossed, people are stepping further and further over them each day. Where optimism is becoming as scarce as a politician who can’t even spell morality yet alone exhibit any. Where the desire for peace has become as elusive as salespeople in retail stores why choose this chaos over blissful peace?

It’s no wonder those lines in heaven are filling up with hoards of souls saying, “No thanks I did my time on planet earth and please make sure my condo has no phone or Internet. Ignorance is a great reward after a lifetime of awareness.”

How to Live Without Guilt?

How To Live Without Guilt?

The other day as I was erasing old emails and clearing more room on my iphone memory, I thought about how easy it was just to sweep away the past. With a simple swipe of my finger old emails, phone calls and messages disappeared into the ether to be lost forever in some nether world of clouds. To remain forever somewhere with no permanent way to simply clear out the storage or turn off the whole damn computer.

Suddenly I realized how much better life would be if we could simply swipe left and erase the memories that fill our minds with sad and unresolved messages from the past.

Experts (whoever they are) claim that a major portion of our decisions in life are actually made by our subconscious mind.

In other words, we think we are making our choices, but surprise, surprise we’re not.

That little container of all hurts and negativity from the past has stored away all the memories guaranteed to sabotage even our most diligent efforts to cast off the bad.

As long as that storage memory is the keeper of such power we can only make what we believe are our conscious decisions. But are they? Did we really choose that chocolate ice cream or did the choice come from somewhere deep inside the recesses of our mind. Selected for us from a childhood trauma in second grade when there was only vanilla left, but you wanted the chocolate and now you’re compensating and…

Wow that’s a pretty scary scenario I’d say. It kind of tells me that no choice is ever without some link to the then.

In our memory bank the storage is never full and we can’t find a way to empty out the old clutter and input new and fresh ideas. So even if our attitudes and our thought processes have evolved, the little storage bank in our brain has a strangle hold on our creative minds. Too deep?

Okay let’s make this a whole lot easier for those of us who haven’t had our morning coffee yet, that sucker called the unconscious mind is out to get us and we really have no way to fight the bugger off.

Clear now? Yep, and seems even more scary after our coffee.

Our brains are truly only computers that begin accumulating information when we are born. At least that’s the popular notion. I know there are others that may disagree, but for our purposes I’m going with the computer thing here.

So whatever is inputted into our brains goes immediately to a storage locker titled our subconscious that locks it away and it alone possesses the key.

Thus we simply go through life making choices based on information we believe we can clearly see and know. Wrong, it’s that evil sabotaging sucker up there in our brains, dancing around a fire with a key that gives it control.

So how do we defeat the little bastard? It’s not easy I can tell you as someone who has gone more rounds with my subconscious than Ali or Fraser.

So many times in the past I’ve believed decisions I’d made were perfectly rational and well founded. Think again.

At the end of the day a part of me had reverted back to old patterns I thought had long been forgotten and eliminated from my psyche.

So what the hell can any of us do to change the old and bring only the new forward?

Some experts say we can reprogram our mind through deep meditation or a voice talking to us while we’re sleeping.

My subconscious just laughed. No, I actually heard it daring me to even try.

Wow this is pretty heavy so let’s lighten it up. Disguise it as advice which my you-know-who won’t pay any attention to anyway.

I have some suggestions for eliminating the power our subconscious mind wields over us.

One: eat more chocolate. I believe we’re all aware, especially chocoholics that a giant dose of cocoa beans will completely take our brains into another world. Coat them with a haze rendering them weak and spaced out. Thus, the subconscious will be buried under a sea of Oreo cookie residue and unable to exert any power.

Second: get into a food coma. I highly recommend this be done at Italian restaurants. I have nothing against Asian, Mexican, Greek or any other ethnic offering, but hey let’s remember our history here. A couple of bowls of pasta and a slice of pizza and Brutus was all about the knife in Caesar’s back.

A good Italian food coma does wonders to cloud our brains. Besides even the worst pizza is better than any other food on earth. So while that thing in our heads is sleeping it off we have the power to make our own choices.

Trick it: Yes, that’s what I said. Trick your unconscious mind into thinking it’s making the decision, but use reverse psychology.

For example, a jerk asks you out on a date. He’s the same type of slimeball you’ve always been attracted to until it’s too late. So, this time you say out loud “he’s such a saint.”

Phone a friend and sing his praises about the work he’s done with orphans in Africa and how kind and thoughtful he is. Your saboteur will be listening carefully to this conversation and the very fact he is everything you have never been attracted to will make him extremely desirable to the little evil bully in your head. So if you convince your brain he is perfect, your mind will instantly reject him on all levels and you will saved from yet another bad choice. Brilliant huh?

But why do we have to go to such lengths to trick ourselves into making smart choices? Who instilled us with the bad habits we have embraced?

Damned if I know. Who am I Freud? I mean it doesn’t take much to see if a guy’s a jerk, yet our brains seem to overlook the obvious. Or do they?

Are we aware we are actually making bad decisions? Don’t we know that when we’re on a diet that double chocolate brownies are not allowed, but we stuff them into our mouths anyway?

So why do we give up control to you-know-who, he who shall not be named?

I say it’s because it’s easier than fighting.

Yep, just give in. Then you can just blame that evil little monster in your mind for all your bad choices.

Otherwise, we’d have to blame ourselves and that guilt would force us to make more bad decisions.

Perhaps the subconscious mind is simply a great deal stronger than us, especially as we age. Seriously how would you fare in a tug of war right now without help from Conan the Barbarian?

I’d be mud bound in two seconds.

Your brain has given you a great excuse to make stupid choices. I say accept the gift and be grateful! Go ahead, embrace your subconscious, love the sabotage and shovel that Godiva in with no guilt. After all you’re not responsible. It’s you-know-who.

Sorry, I Don’t Recall Does the Glove Fit?

I haven’t had this much fun watching a courtroom happening since the OJ. Trial. I cannot take my eyes off the trial in Georgia with the DA and her boyfriend. It has reminded me how slippery lawyers can be. I know of course no one can ever be Perry Mason. I’m not foolish enough to believe that anyone like Perry actually could exist, but not since I heard the words “if it doesn’t fit you must acquit” have I so enjoyed watching slimy lawyers at work.

Of all the take aways so far, my favorite is how many times one of the lawyer witnesses has spoken the words, I don’t recall. He also relied on the all-time favorite “Could you repeat the question?”

I have decided that, “I don’t recall,” even when he is faced with actual written documents that contradict his testimony, proves this guy must have developed dementia.

Can you imagine how great it would be if we could use the words, “I don’t recall” every day in real life?

Although I think this lawyer has probably used up all the “I don’t recalls” available to humans on the planet, I still feel there may be a few more hanging about. You might find a few lying around a federal court building.

So just to be clear “I don’t recall” is actually another way of saying “I’m lying, but I don’t want to be charged with perjury.” Or in everyday lawyer speak, “I lie like a rug.”

So how can we all make use of these words to our advantage in everyday life?

Let’s say that someone asks you, how do you like my new hairdo? You see that it actually looks like they just stuck their head into a blender, but don’t want to hurt them.

“Can you repeat the question?”

“Do you like my new haircut?”

“I don’t recall your old haircut.”

“It was longer and pulled back.”

“I don’t recall.”

“I just want to know if you like it.”

“I’m sorry, can you please repeat the question?”

“My hair, is it better than my old style?”

“Not that I recall.”

“Oh just forget it!”

They may be frustrated with you, but at least you didn’t have to lie.

Or just perhaps if we tried it on a policeman who just pulled you over.

“Do you know how fast you were driving?”

“I’m sorry, Officer, I don’t recall.”

“You don’t know you were driving twenty miles over the speed limit?”

“Could you please repeat the question?”

“Do you even look at your speedometer?”

“I don’t recall.”
“Recall what?”

“Recall how fast I was driving.”

“I asked you if you looked at your speedometer.”

“Could you please repeat the question, Officer?”

“Which question?”

“How fast I was driving.”

“So you knew you were speeding, but don’t recall how fast you were going?”

“I’m sorry could you repeat your original question?”

“Which question?”

“I don’t recall.”

“Are you on any medication?”

“I don’t recall, Officer.”

“You don’t recall taking drugs this morning?”

“What was the question?”

“This is the name of a psychiatrist here in the city we work with. Maybe you should go and see him.”

“See him about what?”

“Your memory lapses.”

“I don’t recall any memory lapses. Did I forget something?”

“Drive slower or next time I’ll give you a ticket.”

‘Is that why you stopped me, Officer?”

“I don’t recall. Now drive safely.”

I think I’m on a roll and discovered something great here.

I’m going to try it on the next man I date that keeps bugging me after I move on.

“Hello, is this Norma. When did you change your phone number?”

“I don’t recall.”

“I had to call your friend to get the new number. Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Could you please repeat the question?”

“I was asking when you changed your number.”

“I don’t recall that. Are you sure?”

“Yes, I tried calling the old one and a recording came on.”

“Could you repeat that, please?”

“I called the old number you changed.”

“I don’t recall.”

“Recall what?” He asked.

“My old number.”

I’m hearing confusion in his voice now. It’s working.

“I didn’t ask you about your old number.”

“Well, could you repeat the question?”

“I was asking why you didn’t tell me.”

“Tell you what?”

“That you changed your number?”

“I did, I’m sorry I don’t recall.”

“Recall the number or that I asked you?”

“Oh my, you’re confusing me. Could you repeat the question again?”

His voice is getting louder now.

“I’m asking why you never told me you changed your number.”

“I said I don’t recall.”

“Recall what?” He was shouting now,

“What you were asking me. Maybe you should repeat the question.”

“Maybe I should just lose both your numbers, the old one and the new one. Would you like that?”

“Could you please repeat the question?”

“Maybe you’d prefer if I never called you again. Maybe that’s why you never gave me your new number.”

“I’m sorry, I don’t recall, but if you’re going to shout at me please lose my number.”

Slam.

Well if he’s that touchy I’m glad I didn’t give him my number.

Gosh, I hope he’s the one I don’t like and not the guy I do.

Oops, I can’t seem to recall. Dang!

I’m Innocent I swear it; You’ll Thank Me Later

I’m writing this blog from my jail cell in Beverly Hills. I’m not complaining, the service is great and the food is from five-star restaurants. Even the police in BH understand that it’s all about fine dining. They also provide Ugg slippers and the silkiest Frette sheets in here.

I think everyone should get arrested in Beverly Hills. It’s better than most people live.

But as usual I digress. By now you’re all wondering what I did to deserve all this opulence.

Well, you see it was actually all very innocent, and I still don’t know why they’re making such a fuss.

Apparently, something about me being made an example or some such tripe. But I’m guiltless and justified, and I know that everyone on a jury will absolutely see things my way. I believe they’ll not only set me free, but award me a medal to boot!

It all started the other night at three in the morning. I was once again peacefully sleeping after my two-thirty a.m. bathroom run when it began.

I knew immediately when I heard the sound there was going to be trouble. I also knew from experience there was no denying I’d have to do something quickly before all hell broke loose.

I pulled the blankets aside and walked to the closet where I keep my weapon and then crept very slowly.

I had to be stealth because for some reason it likes to toy with its victims.

I waited. Chirp…a few minutes went by and again, chirp. Then it began coming faster. Now the chirps were louder and a minute apart.

Chirp, chirp. Defying me, goading me into a fight. Another few minutes of this torture and I would lose my mind and jump out a window.

The offender was smirking knowing it had the edge against this short person now looking up at its evil face.

Ha ha it thought. You can do nothing, nothing to stop me now.

I held the broom handle firmly and lifted it over my head.

“Chirp, chirp, chirp” it barked defiantly.

I aimed and with all my strength I banged it.

Chirp, chirp, chirp, chirp it responded. Laughing that evil laugh it then started chirping faster and faster.

I lifted my weapon again and started to beat it until the battery flew out and it was silent. Michael Jackson must have written Beat It while he was killing a smoke alarm.

I waited, nothing. All was quiet. Still attached to the ceiling bent and broken I

I picked up the battery and gave my nemesis the proverbial na na na na na.

Then after calming down with a few mediation breaths, I peacefully fell back asleep.

I knew I had to get someone to replace its vile battery, and I honestly planned to do it in the morning, but before I could even get my make up on, the bell rang.

“Who is it?”

“First Alarm. We’re here to see you about casualty 7360042.”

“Huh?”

“We need to see you immediately about 7360042.”

“Is this those television guys who play pranks on people?”

“No. Madam. We’re from First Alarm and we need to see you. Please open the door and let us in. We believe we have a victim in there.”

“A victim?”

“Yes, number 7360042.”

I dialed the Beverly Hills police and told them someone was trying to break into my place.

“Just a minute,” I called out. “I’m not dressed.”

“Well please hurry, we may still be able to save it.”

“Okey, dokey, sure,” I answered.

The police were still on the phone with me and asked if the robber had entered yet.

“No, they are still outside the door and I’m sure they are insane.”

“The officers are pulling up now, they’ll be in shortly. Just stay on the phone with me.”

I heard the door open and footsteps in the hall. There was talking and then I suddenly heard a knock at the door.

Beverly Hills police, please open the door.

It’s so nice that they said please.

So anyway, I opened the door and the policeman said, “I understand there is a victim in here, may we look around?”

“Huh?”

“Is there a dead body in here?”

“Of course not, look around,” I stammered.

The guy from First Alarm walked into the hall and pointed at the ceiling. “There, Officer, there it is, number 7360042.”

“Are you going to press charges?” the Officer asked.

“Absolutely, I want this murderer arrested. Do you understand this alarm could save your life? And this is how you reward its caring, comforting nature?” He asked me.

“Or it could drive me into a psycho ward,” I countered.

The policeman shrugged and placed the cuffs on me. By the way those bracelets hurt and they are definitely not from Cartier.

I went into a state of shock and didn’t recover until they put me in front of a camera for a mug shot. I begged to at least put on some lipstick after they refused my glam squad request.

They did let me fix up a bit because after all this is Beverly Hills and we’re civilized here.

So now I’m sitting in the cell watching my flat screen TV and waiting for my unbelievably expensive Beverly Hills lawyer to bail me out.

I see him enter and a policeman open the door.

“What the hell?” he asks smiling broadly.

“I’m so happy I amuse you, but I know these people are crazy. It’s a damn smoke alarm,” I whimpered.

“I think I can make it go away. There is a new law that protects you from nuisances, including annoying chirping in your home. I’ll use that and have you out soon. Although you look pretty cozy in here.”

Ten minutes later he was back and the policeman let me out of the cell.

I will definitely miss those Frette sheets.

I was shocked when I left the station and there was a crowd outside carrying signs.

CHIRP and DIE. Free the Victims of First Alarm. Someone had Beat It playing on their iphone. Kill the beast! Norma for Governor. Someone held a newspaper headline reading Newsom Claims Smoke Alarm Chirping Speeds Hair Growth.

People were snapping pictures and I was grateful I’d worn black and applied lipstick.

So now I’m at the Beverly Hills City Council meeting. Can you believe this? They are giving me the key to the City.

I guess most of them have had the same experience with that annoying thing and that’s why they passed the new law.

It’s called the anti-chirp amendment and I understand Congress is thinking of enacting it nationally. Lord knows those Bozos have nothing else to do.

So anyway, now I’m some kind of local hero. Geez, all I did was smack the life out of an evil smoke alarm designed to run out of battery power after midnight.

I guess it’s in its DNA.

But I feel vindicated because First Alarm now has a new product that has a ten-year battery. At least I won’t have to hear the damn chirping for another ten years. But don’t worry, I’ve got my broom ready just in case.

Tripping The Light Not So Fantastic

I imagine we all remember how slowly time passed when we were young. It always seemed like summer vacation was a lifetime away.

I also remember how we all rushed through our lives. We couldn’t wait to turn sixteen so we could drive, or twenty-one so we could drink.

As we grew older we thought, wow, pretty soon I’ll get a senior discount.

How stupid do I feel? If I knew then what I know now, I’d say, screw the driver’s license I’m good just walking.

And to be excited about a senior discount? What the hell? Were the drugs we did in the sixties finally kicking in?

In our rush to speed through life and get to the next milestone faster than an LA blond chases a rich, old fool, we forgot one important thing…aging is a bitch!

We also were too foolish to realize that the road we hurried to travel was one way and return tickets don’t exist.

About getting older there is something upon which we can all agree…it sucks.

My life now is made up of doctor’s appointments, remortgaging the house to afford trips to the dentist, and an inability to live without an ice pack or heating pad attached somewhere to my body.

I travel frequently now. Only my trips aren’t to Europe, Asia or Bora Bora. They are trips over the rug, the curb, or the sidewalk that lifted up from a tree root. Hard to love trees after you kiss the pavement at twenty miles an hour.

I can even go to bed at night and wake up with a pain somewhere I didn’t possess the night before. It’s like the tooth fairy has been replaced by the pain fairy.

I find myself tripping and not in the way Timothy Leary proposed, but over any object that’s within two inches of my feet.

I swear sometimes I have seen a rug actually move closer to get under my foot and send me flying.

Someone should invent trip-free shoes or slippers that yell a warning when they see an object coming to get in our way. Now there’s a Nobel Prize I could sanction.

Speaking of trips, the bathroom is a place I frequent often at night without the need for a passport. Good luck getting back to sleep again. My bladder used to be the size of a lentil now it’s shrunken to a raisin.

Don’t for one minute think I’m alone in this clumsiness convention here. I’m always receiving calls from friends, and the minute I hear their voices I know immediately.

I start the conversation with, “Okay so where did you fall?”

If you think for one minute that after you heal there won’t be another adventure in pain awaiting you, I have a bridge in Brooklyn to sell you. If you can get across it these days.

Black ice, the enemy of the aging is the reason people move to Florida and Arizona. Even people who are old and senile are smart enough to know not to move to California for warmer weather. The danger of catching stupidity and insanity in this state can be fatal.

So, life has pretty much become, okay, on to the next thing. Or my favorite mantra, this too shall pass.

Of course, I haven’t even mentioned the really bad stuff that’s harder to fix than using ice packs or heating pads. There’s that to contend with as well.

So you’re probably thinking, “I know people who are old and live amazing and active lives.” That’s so rare Netflix does specials on them. Did you notice they all seem to live in clusters in a place that probably has no throw rugs, black ice or uplifted curbs.

I’m certain everyone over the age of sixty-five has a list of places they’ve fallen and every doctor or dentist they frequent is on speed dial on their phone.

My new favorite is going to lunch with friends. While we once used to actually peruse the menu for our favorite dishes, we now check for foods we are allowed to eat.

A typical friend’s lunch these days sounds like this…

“Oh I love their ravioli, but last time I ate it I was sick for a week.”

“I know, it gives me terrible heartburn. I’ll just have a salad.”

“I can’t eat salad, the ruffage gets to me.”

“They say you shouldn’t eat certain vegetables if you have acid reflux.”

“No green pepper please. I’ll be burping it for days.”

“I can’t live without my Tums. They literally save me.”

“Let’s order quickly cause if it gets too late I can’t eat a complete meal.”

“Waiter, can you please ask them to go easy on the garlic and make the marinara sauce with cream? Otherwise it’s too acidic.”

“I’ll just have half an order of the spaghetti please. If I eat too much, I can’t sleep all night and easy on the salt, I bloat.”

‘I was going to have a face lift but I decided to have my bladder lifted instead.”

“You’re smart to do that. Who can handle wearing those diapers?”

“Oh, and waiter, be careful not to trip over my cane, I’m still recovering from a fall.”

Lunch nowadays sounds more like a medical convention than a meal.

Then there’s the balance issue. I used to have such great balance that seals with balls on their nose envied me. Now I have to hold onto walls when I’m attempting to exercise.

Yet on a positive note, I do have friends who stay active especially the ones I call the pickleball posse. They seem to be able to do the things so many of us only dream of doing now.

Forget pickleball, I’m thrilled if I can just eat a pickle without heartburn.

Walking downstairs used to take a minute, but now it takes half the day. Instead of one foot after another, it’s one foot then put the other foot on the same step and then move on to the next one.

And heaven forbid there is no railing.

I have so many bars in my shower and tub now it looks like saloon row in Las Vegas after dark.

I guess if we weren’t all talking about our aches and pains we’d have to discuss the horrible things we now call reality. So maybe a fall or two is worth avoiding the bad trip that is the news today. Let’s face it, hanging in there is still the real goal.

I guess being a klutz is a good thing after all. It does prove we’re still here and kicking. Well maybe not kicking…

Cleaning Experts Can Kiss My Glass

Cleaning Experts Can Kiss My Glass

So, the latest thing on Instagram and Reels is the abundance of cleaning experts or as they are called now, influencers.

There must be thousands of them talking about how to empty your refrigerator or make room under the sink for the millions of products you need.

Here’s one I love; take the stuff off the shelves of your refrigerator door that are spoiled or you aren’t using anymore.

Let’s examine this piece of sage advice.

I’ll try to simplfy this confusing element of cleaning expertise. On the refrigerator door there are shelves with bunches of bottles, cans and packs of food stuff. The expert never said the products were nonfood. In other words, beauty products, cold creams or dead raccoons.

So if one opens a jar of mustard and the top looks like a green fur coat, I’m guessing she’s advising you to throw it out.

Or if there is a jar of pickle relish from 1999 one might want to reexamine placing it back on a shelf. Wow I never would have thought of that. Genius. Has someone nominated this chick for the Nobel Prize yet?

One cleaning influencer had 291,546 likes showing her cleaning the shower with a brush.

Well slap my forehead and call me stupid. I always thought you were supposed to lick the dirt off the floor. Thank goodness I saw this and know I need a brush. I bet my shower will be much cleaner now.

How stupid are people? I can’t believe 291,546 people bothered to like this reel. I’m excited if 500 people read my blog.

Maybe I’m doing this all wrong. I should be including the obvious in every one of my blogs. Let’s see.

My advice for this post is when it’s twenty degrees below zero outside you should definitely wear a coat.

I’ll bet my readership triples by just offering genius tidbits like that one.

Or can you imagine how many people would read my blog if I actually wrote, if your hair is so dirty you can’t get a brush through, it’s time to wash it and probably shampoo twice.

I’d probably break the Internet with that piece of wisdom.

One expert had 857,302 likes on her post about using racks to dry clothes in the laundry room.

Well, that changed my life. I thought you just throw everything on the floor helter skelter and wait for it to dry. Wow, what a revelation.

I do have to admit I have seen some products on these posts I wasn’t aware existed, but I’m too lazy to buy them anyway so no matter. Here’s a great hint. Stop cluttering your house with cleaning crap you’ll eventually wind up throwing away.

I mean why don’t these influencers or experts or whatever they are offer important cleaning advice?

Like if if there’s so much mold on your tomatoes they’ve turned back to green, maybe you should toss them.

Or after you get out of the shower and the floor is wet, step on a towel and move it across the floor carefully with one foot, Viola clean!

Or if you run out of room in the pantry throw away the stuff from ten years ago. I find that’s the best way to make more room.

Or if there are two packages of Oreos in the microwave, which I use for storage, I usually just finish shoveling in the one with the least cookies. Or if you don’t want to eat them, and of course that boggles the mind since I can’t imagine not wanting an Oreo, combine them into one bag. Genius stuff, right?

Also, if you have Ready Whip cans on the refrigerator door and you’re not having pumpkin pie, just squirt it directly into your mouth and then throw away the can. There you go! More shelf room just like that. No muss, no fuss and yummy to boot.

Damn, I bet I’d get millions of likes on my cleaning and food tips.

Here’s one of my favorites: eat standing up and all the calories will drop right to your feet.

Did I not tell you I’m a natural. Forget the blog, I’m going to start giving out advice and I’ll become the number one influencer.

If a sponge has stuff crawling on it perhaps it’s time to replace it for a clean one. Sage advice indeed is it not?

Or to keep your floors clean after you walk through a construction site and your boots are caked with mud, take them off outside the house.

When I walk into someone’s home and everything is in perfect order, I get an attack of PTSD. This is because my mother wrapped her white kitchen cupboards in Saran Wrap every week to keep them clean.

Once a date came over, walked into the kitchen and asked, “Wow, did you just move in, the cupboards are still wrapped?”
“No,” I said. “My mother likes to keep them from getting dirty.”

Needless to say, I never saw him again.

So forgive me if a house that looks like no one lives there scares me a bit.

It seems to me that as far as all cleaning influencers are concerned baking soda, vinegar and some lemon juice can cure all life’s ills. silly me I thought it was chocolate.

I’ll leave you with one great piece of advice I learned the hard way. If your refrigerator smells like a cow died, your milk is probably spoiled.

So as all the influencers say, likes are appreciated and more great tips to come.

Peace Love and Rock ‘n’ Roll and a Piece of Apple Pie

Peace Love and Rock ‘n’ Roll and a

Piece of Apple Pie

The world is too much with us; late and soon,

Getting and spending, we lay waste our powers;—

Little we see in Nature that is ours;…William Wordsworth

I watched a news report on AI, (Artificial Intelligence) the other day and ran for a bag of Oreos.

I always assumed artificial intelligence was how one described Congress, but apparently it isn’t. It’s actually really smart so boy was I off by miles.

Since I’m determined to reverse the tone for this piece and turn it into a happier read, I’m struggling to find a way to help myself and others achieve a sense of peace and acceptance over those things in life over which we have no control.

I’m no expert on how to live a great life, but I imagine there are some obvious problems we might tackle head on before the robot armies attack.

We need to reject those decisions that are made when we are, so to speak, out of the room and into which we have no input.

This whole AI and robot thing is kind of scarier than I thought it would be even when HAL took over the ship in 2001: A Space Odyssey. I always thought robots would be fun and helpful like my favorite of all time, Beep Beep Rosie. Boy could she swing a vacuum cleaner.

How do we cope and why is it important we must?

Well on a human level and to add some humor to this discussion, we need to cope because otherwise I’ll be five hundred pounds and the bakeries will run out of cookies and the pizza joints cheese.

I don’t give a damn about calories at all when I can justify eating day or night to mask fear.

Yes, I know I’m only adding to my problems, but one isn’t as bad as the other so I’ll keep eating for now.

Some people exhibit an innate ability to “deal” with crap life throws at us.

I’m not talking only about death, but the numerous other awful challenges we face as humans each day.

Somehow it seems life had more balance when we were younger. Although it’s true we lived through our share of craziness and horror. Viet Nam, the Chicago ’68 convention, cities burning, Kent State, riots, new Coke, Yoko Ono and polyester; yet life seemed more balanced.

There were more parties, more laughter, more gatherings with family and friends back before the gloomy times.

When bad left, good came until our next go round with the dark forces.

Yet today it seems we must actively seek out ways to restore the balance. That negativity is winning the day.

Finding joy is like seeking out a truffle in the midst of a thousand pigs, when it used to seem more plentiful and easily available. Is it the times and is joy more elusive today?

So how do we restore order to the universe without bothering Yoda?

How do we awaken and dismiss the bad news, the insanity and have a good day despite turmoil?

I ask friends and it seems the answers are the same. Stop watching the news, find a new hobby, visit your grandchildren, volunteer, stop watching the news, visit your grandchildren, see a concert, take a trip and yes, see the grandchildren.

But we all know our children and grandkids have their own lives. We need to find a way to fill our days with more joy, less time to dredge up memories and ways to feel happy and upbeat.

Are you a lousy painter? Good, take up painting. Ever think about pottery? Why not? Make a vase to keep some beautiful flowers in and grow them yourself. If it’s lopsided who cares? Say it was intentional.

Swim, play bridge, canasta, maj jong, and go to classes at your local library.

I would love to apply for my dream job of shusher in the Sistine Chapel, where you only have to work every twenty minutes, but I doubt they’ll let a Jewish woman do that job.

We need to laugh more, be together more, have more tea parties, those little sandwiches and cakes are the best thing the British ever invented.

More than anything we need to love.

Life is a challenge today, at least as I see it. It’s a concerted effort to find harmony through tranquil endeavors.

To eliminate stress by avoiding stressful situations and a desire to restore peace, love and rock n roll to the world.

We could plan a Woodstock for the Baby Boomers and hear any bands still alive play? We could pass out hearing aids, or take them off, and paint old VW vans. We’d wear flowers in our thinning hair and talk about how Gerry Rubin died a Republican and Abbie Hoffman killed himself. And Tom Hayden suffered a worse fate… he married Jane Fonda.

I guess it doesn’t matter how we achieve Nirvana as long as we do. And perhaps it’s not the achieving that will do the trick, but the actual seeking we need.

William Wordswoth wrote… “the world is too much with us”…I have never agreed more.

Now we must decide what life we want for ourselves. What world we wish to exist within. We have allowed others to choose for us and create a universe we’d rather not accept. They bully us into living within the walls of their insane reality. Even an artificial one.

Sure we all love our computers, and there are new technologies that are super cool, but this AI and robot thing, I don’t know…

We need to make the universe a better place ourselves, because I’m here to tell you the people we’re allowing to run this world are doing a piss poor job.

Gut the house and rebuild and I guarantee future generations will thank us. Send AI marching into oblivion and honor humanity and its gifts.

Excuse me, I have an apple pie in the oven and I’m churning the ice cream to go with it. Let’s see AI roll out the perfect pie crust.

Some Promises Kept. But Where is My Beep Beep Rosie?

Promises Promises! Where is my Beep Beep Rosie?

If anyone has tried the new wonder called Virtual Reality you will feel as cheated as I do.

Where was our virtual reality when we were young?

Okay, I admit childhood today requires the ability to escape the craziness, but hey, we did too when we were teens. But I guess we should be grateful that we have our grandchildren to guide us through this strange new world.

So how does it feel?

Well for those of you who haven’t been fortunate enough to try VR yet, let me tell you, it’s amazing.

I can fly, without leaving the ground. Although I do get a bit nauseous. It is really scary when you’re standing on a cliff and it seems so real you’re afraid any second you’ll fall off the earth.

That’s how authentic this thing is. I actual sometimes feel like if I move one step I’ll drop into an abyss. I really love this whole able to leap tall buildings in a single bound thing.

The technology, and it was promised for a very long time, does not disappoint.

I remember hearing about all of these gadgets when we were kids. I’m still waiting for Beep Beep Rosie. But at least with VR I can watch a virtual Beep Beep Rosie cleaning my house.

Jetpacks, now that’s something I could really get behind. Beam me up Scotty.

The ability to strap on a backpack and fly to the store. Wow, just think about it. No gas stations, no charging EVs, it’s just up we go. What fun and so easy.

Baby Boomers can really appreciate what it means to escape into virtual reality. How great it is to get out of Dodge? Or any of these new fangled inventions like cell phones. Remember party lines and when you got your own phone line?

But young people have no idea. So, what is the benefit of this VR? Is it merely a cool way to spend time, taking a video game to another level or is it something more? Is it not really a toy, but a glimpse into a future divorced from real life.

Perhaps it’s the new reality, a parallel universe where one can go to fly, see beautiful places, travel to other lands, even walk with dinosaurs. Play games with avatars so lifelike it could freak you out.

For my part I would love to have a virtual reality where I could sit down and have lunch with Moses and ask him about schlepping through the desert.

Or maybe spend some time with JFK or ask Marilyn how he was in bed. Wouldn’t it be amazing to chat with Jack Ruby and find out why he killed Lee Harvey Oswald?

I do find that the more time I spend in that ether world of VR the more I want to. But my mind usually says this is too much, let’s sit down for a while.

It’s so real it’s difficult to grasp and I wind up with a headache.

But is it worth it? You bet. Seeing the world without running through an airport.

Climbing Machu Picchu without sore feet. Standing on top of Mt. Everest and looking down at the world, visiting the North Pole without a coat. Jumping into the Grand Canyon without breaking your neck. How could this possibly not be the coolest thing ever?

Kids today can’t truly appreciate the significance of an invention this amazing because they didn’t have to wait for it an entire lifetime.

I’m saying that unless you’ve seen Howdy Doody’s strings or had to watch television with aluminum foil on the rabbit ears and stand in a certain place to get reception, it’s difficult to really grasp the wonders of VR.

How amazing it is putting on a mask and leaving the planet to fly through space. Or go deep-sea diving at the Coral Reef without any sharks, or eat at five-star restaurants in Italy without ingesting a single calorie.

Many might poo poo the wonders of this new technology, but as someone who has been impatiently awaiting the inventions we read about as kids, I have no intention of taking any of this for granted.

I can golf like Jack Nicklaus, fight Darth Vader and travel to the top of the Eiffel Tower without leaving the room.

At a time in my life where I feel so unable to be daring and over the top courageous (my kids would enrobe me in bubble wrap and lock me in the house) I can be anything or go anywhere I want with Virtual Reality.

I guess by now you’ve figured out what a fan I am of this new invention.

Some things we wait for in life are sadly a bit disappointing when they finally appear. VR is not. It is actually far more phenomenal than I anticipated.

It’s a video game on steroids.

It’s Pac Man in IMAX, it’s a trip to Hershey Pennsylvania, it’s staring at the Sistine Chapel without winding up with a sore neck. It’s wandering through the streets of Rome or Spain without being robbed or ripped off and flying over London like Marley’s ghost. Someday soon you’ll probably enjoy the biggest hits on Broadway without paying a scalper for tickets.

All will be possible and you merely have to don a mask to enter all these new worlds.

There is no limit to what VR will ultimately deliver and the universes it will open.

I for one am excited about how much more it will do in the future, because as of now it’s far more than even I ever dreamed.

Perhaps that’s the answer to aging. VR make me sixteen again. Damn, I look good and no plastic surgery. You mean my turn is over? I have to take off the mask? Boo hoo, just as I was about to chat with Cleopatra about make up tips. Yep, I think Grammy definitely needs her own headset.

When it’s my turn again I’m going to hang out with Winston Churchill. I sure hope you can’t smell his damn cigars.

My Heating Pad Myself

My Heating Pad Myself

There are certain perks to getting older. Senior discounts, the inability to see close up in the mirror and no more pap smears.

However as with everything in life there is that darned old yin and yang thing, and growing older is no different.

What I’ve noticed is how many of my friends have been tripping. And no I’m not talking about LSD or cruises to Europe. I’m referring to standing up straight and walking without landing on the ground.

I’m not sure why it happens and if there is anything to be done to prevent it. I’m saying that only to alleviate the guilt I feel for every time I stupidly fell after failing to look ahead or watch where the hell I was going.

Yes, I suppose many of us should be doing a better job of focusing our eyes, but I don’t think it’s because of talking on our phones or texting.

It seems many of us fall in or near our homes.

Silly things like missing a step, or slipping on the floor, or tripping over an area rug or your dog. Or sadder yet our own feet. Yes, it happens. Then of course there are those dreaded steps.

Even friends who are in what I consider good shape, or as I like to call them the pickleball posse, find themselves sprawled out on a floor wondering what the hell is happening?

After a few falls you are determined to be super careful and you are for a while. That is until slam bam a piece of ice, a lifted sidewalk or a turn of your head at the wrong time. Now boom, you and the cement are sharing a passionate embrace.

If you are really lucky you won’t fall on your fake knee, new hip or break anything necessary. But even if you sprain or bruise something welcome to the ouch, ouch, ouch, I can’t get out of bed bunch.

The next day you find yourself in agony over the moans and screams from every bone in your body and the mental anguish at hating yourself for being such a damn klutz.

Parts of your body hurt you didn’t even fall on. Like sympathy pains for that thigh now turning a bright shade of blue.

So why do people fall and is this restricted to us more mature and sophisticated fallers?

Nope, yet it seems that it is somehow expected as you age.

So many myths about why. Your balance is off as you age, isn’t that why God invented Yoga? Your eyesight isn’t as good, hello Cataract or Lasik surgery. Or maybe your bones are weaker and on and on.

I disagree. And I agree.

When I fell when I was young and believe me I did, it seemed I bounced back sooner. Like one of those bob em-toys you punch and it stands back up for another punch in the face. Nice toy, I just realized there’s something really masochistic about that smiling evil sucker. But I digress.

When you fall past sixty it’s not just the bruises that come out to play, but the achy bones and gigantic ouches with each step.

Some of us who have a large amount of martyr in us choose to hide our latest fall from our children.

Oh yes, we know what we’ll hear. My son would like to encase me in bubble wrap and keep me in the house for as many years as I have left.

My daughter will shake her head and ask, why are you always falling? You need to look where you’re going. And despite my attempts to hide a fall from her one false move when we’re on the phone and I scream ouch and give the whole shebang away.

I have a friend who will cover herself from head to toe with clothing even in the hottest days of summer to hide her bruises from her kids.

So how to cope with all this tripping, falling and bruising.

Ice. I spend a great deal of time with ice and I’m not even a skater.

I have seven ice bags and I have been known to use them all simultaneously.

I think the best thing they could invent would be a giant ice pack that you could just crawl inside of until the bruising goes down.

Then of course many say after the ice should come the heat.

I’m not a doctor and I don’t even play one on TV, but I definitely believe in the heating pad.

If there was one that covered my entire body head to toe, I would wear it constantly. Crawl inside it for hours.

As it is I can’t exist without the heating pad.

It’s funny I remember my mother always lying in bed with the heating pad on some part of her body.

Okay, I’m a little better than that, at least I sit on the couch with it covering me, but now I understand why my mother was addicted.

The minute I pick it up my aching bones start dancing and singing, “Happy Days Are Here Again.”

It’s like a party.

“Hey guys, the heating pad’s here. Put on the music and we’ll dance.”

I swear I can almost hear them sipping champagne and eating little quiches.

It’s like I get happy in an oh-my-goodness-that-feels-so-good kinda way.

My back relaxes and my bruises start to purr.

Damn if I know what that heating pad does, but I know that when you’re past sixty it’s like a best friend.

I come in the house and I run to it.

I can’t wait to plug it in and snuggle underneath. I swear you fall into your old people’s nap at least ten times faster when it’s on.

I have a friend who has already worn out one of those ten-pound hot blankets and is on his second one.

I had one, but I couldn’t lift the darn thing.

If there was a fire, they’d have found me lying underneath it struggling to get out.

But they do feel really good if they don’t crush you to death.

So is falling and self-heating something we all have to look forward to down the line.

That seems to be how it lays out.

I hate falling, yet no matter how careful we are stuff happens.

My friend was in school teaching and a student ran into her and broke her hip.

She was in rehab for one year.

Of course, I love to joke, but falling is no joke, people get seriously injured or worse, yet it seems to be a frequent occurrence these days.

So, I guess all one can do is ice and crawl under the heating pad. Or reach for the bubble wrap coat. Perhaps Ralph Lauren will add a few to his Spring collection.

I Saw Goody Proctor Consorting With a Tomato Worm

I saw Goody Proctor Consorting with a Tomato Worm

So I believe by now we can all agree the world in which we are living is definitely unrelated to the world in which we were born. That coocoo for cocoa puffs no longer solely applies to breakfast cereal.

But I digress.

I have no idea what life was like in colonial times in America.

I know they ate turkey on Thanksgiving so I imagine they left the table stuffed and sick like the rest of us. I guess some things never change.

I know there were no modern conveniences and women had to wash clothes in the creek and in tubs and hang it all on the line. I get exhausted just unloading the dryer.

I know there were no microwaves, computers or commercials about Cadbury eggs, and I imagine most women worked off their calorie intake just doing their “chores.”

So I’m guessing spinning classes weren’t a necessity.

I know they gossiped like crazy, “I saw Goody Proctor consorting with the devil.” As I said, some things never change.

When we’re born we grow up with the new-fangled notions and inventions already there.

If something new comes down the pike we kind of take it in stride, Oh look, a color television!

Yet, as I get older I’m finding the rapid pace of today’s world is not often easy to navigate.

Okay, I’m down with computers, not so much with this AI stuff. I’m not sure I’ll ever wrap my head around having something or someone out there that can make me say or do whatever I want without me even knowing about it. I guess we have no choice.

So it’s adapt or go the way of the dinosaurs. I’m doing my best to adapt cause whichever way the dinosaurs went I want to go the opposite.

Trying to adapt I’m remembering things that I never really was okay with throughout my life, yet I still managed to get through and make it to wrinkle city despite the things I disliked.

Of course I’m not alone in having to navigate a sea of stuff we hate and would rather not know was there.

Each person has their own pet peeves.

I have no idea why they are called pet when a pet is actually something we embrace, so I guess that’s really an oxymoron.

In the spirit of total transparency, I don’t care how old I get I will never understand tomato worms.

UGH! Not only are they ugly and disgusting, I still can’t figure out where the hell they come from.

Okay I’ve asked and people tell me they are in the soil. Oh are they?

I can understand why they might be in the soil in one’s backyard garden. After all they can travel from house to house showing their ugly faces. That is reasonable to me.

However, and here’s the big question…if one plants a rooftop garden in a high rise on Fifth Avenue in New York, how the hell do tomato worms show up there?

Do they take the elevator or do they fly in on tomato worm drones? Oops, next morning there’s suddenly these hideous creatures in your plants. Do they jump onto the cuff of your pants and hide out until you hit the roof again.

I mean what’s up with these things? I guess that’s why they freak me out so much. I feel like they fly around in special red tomato worm UFOs looking for rooftop gardens to land on.

Yes I know I need help, but let’s face it, we all have things which we find it difficult to accept and stomach.

Yet, we are told human beings are quite adaptable.

But are we? Does this new world demand a new set of rules? Can we just stay away from the bad stuff and keep busy elsewhere?

Or does reality have a way of creeping into our lives like a tomato worm to the fiftieth floor?

Do we all have to make a conscious effort to live with new challenges far scarier than ever before?

Technology we can’t even understand.

A world that’s difficult to fathom despite us being adept at understanding what is right and what is wrong yet somehow things are upside down?

I have no answers, but I imagine because my generation is older it’s more difficult to go with the new flow.

Now it’s more important than ever to find new ways to escape all the unpleasantness around us and just focus on fun things.

We need more lightness, more Christmas, more chocolate, more pickleball to get through the day.

We need to shop, do lunch, try new kinds of pizza and burn our scales in effigy.

“I saw my bathroom scale consorting with the devil.” Or is it really the devil itself?

I don’t know how to sort through all the craziness thrown at us every day. There is really no shield big enough to stop that flow, but if we need to learn anything at this age, it’s how to become the most effective Cleopatras of all time and be total queens of denial.

Some things never change, some change all the time and some are difficult to understand. Perhaps we should form Baby Boomer support groups where we can sit around and talk about the good old days when the world made sense.

When drone meant someone who never shut up and AI stood for Al who lived down the street.

When gas was nineteen cents a gallon and Trix were for kids.

When Rod Serling could scare us and there was actually something called penny candy.

If I am waxing nostalgic it’s because I miss my wax lips and when a hot summer day was called delightful and not global warming.

Maybe we could have stopped the flow of insanity and maybe not, but we all have to live in it now.

Holy Moly, there’s an invasion of tomato worms at the Plaza Rooftop in New York. I warned them but they wouldn’t listen. Home grown tomatoes my grandmother’s bustle.

How Could I Know I’m Such a Wuss?

How Could I Know I’m Such a Wuss?

I have been without electricity all day. Now you’re thinking…and so, what’s the big deal?

Okay I can see why you’d think it’s no big whoop. After all once there was no electricity and oil lamps and wood fireplaces lit and warmed the home.

Yes, but that’s the point. Unless we have oil burning lamps I’m not aware of in this building and a fireplace filled with wood and kindling, it is rather hard to make it work.

And by it I mean your computer, your phone, your refrigerator, your oven, your lights and pretty much your life.

I have never been one of those people who believe they are totally dependent on modern conveniences to survive. I pictured myself as a rugged pioneer type who could cope with hard work to get things done. Me come from strong stock!

Able to cut firewood and pump the water from the well. Carrying the milk in from the barn after milking the cows. Having cows!

Boy was I wrong. I now truly believe I can’t exist without the tech junk. And Lord, what a wuss I am.

Tomorrow I shall go to Costco and buy a slew of battery-operated candles to hide away for another day when heaven forbid there is no power.

Can’t open the fridge, can’t phone a friend because I didn’t charge my back up charger, and no television. Oh my! I keep staring at the TV waiting for Netflix to appear.

Talk about desperate, I was sitting in the dark garage with my car on charging my phone.

How on earth did I get so darned reliant on power?

Yesterday sitting on the couch, I felt an earthquake. Nothing huge, but enough of a shaking to make me hold my breath waiting for the other shoe to drop, literally.

Yet today, although I was prewarned about the power outage, I found myself unprepared to deal at all.

Can’t find the batteries for the flashlights because it’s dark in the closet where they’re kept.

Ran out of matches years ago and use the gas stove to light anything. Too bad my gas stove needs electricity to work.

No news programs and what if there is actually some good news for a change? Okay, I can still dream can’t I?

My grandsons and I can’t play our usual Roblox games on facetime because, that’s right…no phone or computer.

I have decided that if the power doesn’t come back on soon and it gets really dark in here, I may have to go to my daughter’s house.

I’m sorry but I prefer my SUV to a covered wagon. I can tough it out for only so long before this whole frontier crap gets old.

And it’s getting old fast.

It’s cold in here and I’m under a blanket wondering if there will ever be heat again. I’m actually eyeing that old chair I want to replace thinking it would make great firewood.

So where did she go? That frontier, pioneer Norma I had anticipated would rise to the occasion. I don’t see her anywhere, probably because it’s getting so damn dark in here I can’t see anything.

So am I shocked that I am such a lily-livered-spoiled-tech dependent-modern convenience-needy person? Damn right I am.

The fact I can’t seem to find enough to keep me busy one crummy afternoon without the stuff I’m used to having and the habits I’m so used to living makes me sad. Hashtag/books on Kindle.

We all have a routine and I guess I have seen firsthand how difficult it is when that routine is interrupted.

Should I be more flexible, more able to roll with the punches?

I mean what would happen if a UFO landed and took out the grid in LA? Oops, we’d all be toast here. How would Gavin Newson buy his hair gel?

What do you mean my latte isn’t ready?

Hello Door Dash are you there? Door Dash please answer.

It is unbelievable how spoiled we are.

Good luck to my neighbors with EVs.

So who is responsible for this bunch of cowering weaklings?

Modern science that’s who.

The aliens must be watching and laughing their gray asses off, if they have any, at how easy it will be to defeat us.

“Just turn out the lights and all we have to do is wait.”

Wow, I forgot, Rod Serling wrote that show 60 years ago for The Twilight Zone and he called it The Monsters Are Due on Maple Street. Yep, he predicted it all didn’t he?

Well, I’d love to watch it right now, but you see I can’t because I have no damn power!

I guess I could go for a walk, I hear there is an outdoors with sidewalks and grass and a sky, but it’s cold. In LA anything under 60 is too bitter to endure and I’m too lazy to bundle up.

Lord I’m a helpless, lazy boob.

I guess I should invest in a generator as I now understand those things are worth their weight in gold.

I’d check on Amazon and buy one, but I have no damn Internet!

As I stare at the cable box waiting for signs of life like a child watching chocolate chip cookies bake in the oven, I’m tempted to open the windows and let the stench of the candles clear out of here. But it’s too cold and there’s no heat so at this point I have to choose between darkness and freezing.

All my favorite programs won’t have been taped because the cable was out so I’ll miss them when the TV comes back on, if it ever does.

Boy I can’t get over what a whiny, weak, crybaby I am. Wah wah wah my cable box is off. How will I survive?

I’d order pizza for dinner, but I have no phone.

By tomorrow they’ll find me frozen and starved in here hugging my cell phone in a fetal position.

I’m forcing myself to be positive and believe the lights will go back on soon. That the furnace will suddenly return to life and begin blowing forced warm air through the ducts. That the cable box will glow and blink with blue numbers reading 12:00 and the fridge will click on and begin refreezing the Hagan Daz.

Of course there is an upside to all this. I was about to clean the make-up drawers in my bathroom and throw away stuff from 1994, but it’s so dark I have to put it off.

I also have been afraid to open the freezer and eat a pint of stress ice cream because I don’t want to thaw the food, so saving calories is also good.

My eyes are kind of happy because staring at a computer all day does tire them out.

I’m trying to be positive here so help me out.

The workpeople are already a half hour later than they said they’d be finished, but it is the cable company after all.

I guess it’s good to be divorced from all the tech for a day.

I’d check and see if any studies have been done on that subject, but I can’t Google right now!

At least the music on my computer works and Ella Fitzgerald sounds really good.

Music sooths and all that. Wait, I saw a flicker, gotta go, can’t talk now there’s some Hagan Daz soup with my name on it.

What is Heaven and Am I Going?

What is Heaven and Am I Going?

So, there is a commercial on television now with some guy asking me if I’m going to heaven. How do you answer that question?

I guess I’d have an easier time if I knew for sure there actually is a heaven. Or what heaven is if it does exist.

How do I know if I want to go there if I don’t know what I’m signing up for? Didn’t your mother teach you to read everything before signing?

Cause now that we are watching this insane world you have to wonder; what is everyone’s version of heaven and whose do you want to go to?

I mean I have certain criteria here for how I’d like to spend the afterlife. I don’t mean to be snobby about this, but if I’m going to be in a place for all eternity, I’m not spending my days listening to politicians.

I definitely don’t want to have to watch award programs and listen to hosts doing unfunny monologues and see Robert De Niro’s pissed off looks when Robert Downey Jr. wins instead of him.

Can you imagine having to spend eternity listening to Oprah talk about her weight loss issues, car salesmen saying let me check with my manager and see if I can make that deal or watching Nancy Pelosi getting more Botox injections?

I want to go someplace where refrigerators are always fully stocked with unhealthy foods, your stomach is always empty and fat cells don’t exist.

Can someone promise me I won’t have to make a bed, wash a floor or clean a toilet?

A place where there is no traffic, the only newscasters are Huntley and Brinkley and Walter Cronkite and John Kennedy will actually tell me how many bullets really did kill him.

Where all the property is on the water, there are no UV rays and you can walk halfway across the ocean and find a sandbar to sunbathe on. Oh, and the fish are all no longer than 10 inches and in neon colors.

Where pina coladas flow all day and no one gets drunk, where children can play outside anywhere, anytime and no one would ever hurt them and you can pull apart monkey bread without getting your hands sticky.

A place where everything for sale that you want is always equal to the amount of money you’re carrying, chocolate chip cookies are always warm and coming out of the oven next to fresh cold milk, and you can have Thanksgiving any or every day you want with only the relatives you can stand.

Where Santa delivers 24/7 and the temperature is always a perfect 72 degrees with no rain or snow in sight. And the chocolate fountains on every corner are always flowing.

Where your cell phone never runs out of juice, and old Mickey Mouse Club shows and Bugs Bunny, Road Runner and Tweety and Sylvester cartoons are always playing, and Clarabell can talk.

A place where no one says anything nasty or mean to anyone else, where people say thank you and excuse me, and Harry and Meagan are not allowed to write books about how terrible life is in the palace.

A place where babies never cry because their needs are instantly met, where no one is judged by their skin color or religion and anyone who threatens to take over the world has to go back down and live in it again.

There must be a sign at the gates of my heaven that reads, no politicians or members of Congress, assholes, or haters allowed and there is a no tolerance policy for those who mistreat others.

If a heaven exists with those features, I might be enticed to buy a ticket.

However, since everyone has their own idea of what heaven or hell entails, I don’t want to get on the wrong train and wind up in the hell where Hamas gets its 72 virgins.

I imagine my heaven train would be in a special station like the one to Hogwarts, where you have to go to a certain wall and push your stuff through or oops, no entrance for you.

So, in answer to the question, are you going to heaven, I’d have to say I’m not rushing to sign up like it’s a time share opportunity in Cabo.

When I’m sure what I’m in for, I’ll sign on the dotted line. Until then I’m still down here on earth, hell or whatever the name for this place is now.
Maybe the question this guy on TV should be asking is; “Are you ready to turn earth into heaven by living like you’re already there?”

Now that’s a question I could easily answer?

Too Soon?

Too soon?

Most comedians are familiar with a question they ask frequently of an audience when doing topical humor.

Current events may not always be fodder for comedy, but a comedian’s job is to investigate how far to go when delivering jokes about news of a very tragic nature and how far to push the envelope.

It is always a dance between a comic and the listeners to arrive at a place of comfort when making light of what may only be called wretched and horrifying.

One of the greatest humorists Mel Brooks found a way to do this without making anyone uncomfortable. I of course can’t speak for the entire human race when I say his movies about Hitler and the Inquisition didn’t offend anyone, as I’m sure many found it reprehensible to joke about such horrific events.

However, the enormous success of his efforts speak volumes about the way the world feels the need to laugh and release the tension that comes with evil deeds.

At least after a time.

And so the question “too soon?” enters the discussion.

When is it “too soon” to try and find humor in the most heinous crimes and malevolence perpetrated against mankind?

How long before the world could laugh at Adolph Hitler and by doing so make him an object of ridicule and a joke?

And why do we seem to need to?

It wasn’t long at all with old Adolph as Charlie Chaplin took him on immediately in his classic movie The Great Dictator which still lives to this day as an example of how derision and mockery about evil can cut it down to size.

Yet not everyone feels humor is justified when speaking of the horrors of some of the world’s most outrageous wickedness.

Are some acts just too vile to joke about or attempt to find any humor in at all?

And has human nature decided that laughter is no longer a proper coping mechanism and doesn’t serve the same purpose it once did?

As someone who has often written about the need for absurdity to overcome the pain and suffering of malicious deeds against humanity, I find myself suddenly questioning whether enough time will ever pass to find any humor in the horrors of October 7^th committed against the Jewish people. Despite the fact I’ve always advocated that satire can help heal the wounds and pain of such evil, I can’t seem to convince myself that in this case a joke will help at all.

That wittiness will ever ease the pain of knowing Jewish students are no longer safe on school campuses, that Israel is being called out for trying to defend its children and survive another planned holocaust, that even after babies were cooked in ovens while their mothers were forced to watch and hear their screams the Jewish people are being told, “Hey take it easy, it wasn’t so bad.”

The world once again has decided that the Jewish people should sit back and take whatever is foisted upon them no matter how heinous without overreacting.

But is there an over-reaction to a dead baby? Can you find any funny to lessen the anguish of human beings being slaughtered and the world poo pooing their pain and determination to survive.

That they are being told to be careful and back off of their attackers.

Where does one find humor in such callous disregard for fellow human beings?

Can any response be too great after acts of such uncivilized barbarism have been perpetrated? Would any amount of compassion Israel may show be enough to satisfy the haters?

Or is it once again a case of, “Oh well it’s just the Jews and they had it coming?”

As someone who has used comedy her entire life to cope with the injustices and pain living delivers, I’m now afraid I must change my opinion on this matter.

I’m sorry to say, yes, it’s too soon. In fact, it will always be too soon to laugh at this new level of malevolence that has infected the civilized world.

This is sadly not a time for laughter to lighten our load for this load must be carried until we restore humanity to power once again. It will not take wittiness, jokes or satire to fix the world now. Not when a world that should stand fast against such crimes chooses instead to condone them.

So as a member of the audience and former comedian I must say, “Yes, it is indeed too soon.”

Perhaps if the day comes when laughter is restored to the world Mel Brooks will grace us all with his genius at cutting Hamas down to size. Or perhaps just cutting them down will suffice.

Are Dark Waters The Greatest Source of Light?

Are Dark Waters The Greatest Source of Light?
“When you look at a beautiful view from a window, the beautiful view also looks at you from the same window! But the window looks at both you and the view! Wise man is the window itself; he looks at everywhere!…” Mehmet Murat ildan

I have often wondered why a specific view can become so important to one’s life.

People are willing to pay enormous amounts of money to gaze through their window and enjoy city lights, mountains or my favorite, twinkling lights across a body of dark water.

The New York skyline has always been a source of comfort for many. There is something so Zen about looking through huge windows at the sea of lights below. In LA many times I have watched planes stacked up over LAX waiting to land.

But does something always have to be spectacular to deserve your attention?

I love watching the Las Vegas strip slowly reaching its ultimate glow against the purple haze of twilight covering the mountains surrounding the city.

I know it’s hard to find anything about Las Vegas spiritual, but at just that moment of twilight when the landscape comes alive with thousands of flashing lights from the Strip there is something so otherworldly about the scene. I’ve always found it so calming to sit there and watch until the purple haze morphs into darkness and the entire city is ablaze with light.

What is it about a view of radiance twinkling in the distance that seems to calm the human spirit? It can make you feel, embrace you and inspire creativity.

The other day I was watching a movie that portrayed a scene of New York from across the Hudson River. The dark water filled the middle between two twinkling land masses and illuminated its movements. So why am I so intrigued with dark water and luminosity and is there something mysterious about the way it can grab and hold your attention?

Many years ago my family vacationed in Miami Beach. My room faced the ocean with a wall of glass. Before falling asleep I loved to watch the dark abyss that seemed to spread forever before my eyes. One night I noticed a large ocean liner on one side of the window and began to watch its journey across the sea. It seemed to take forever to cross from one side of my window to the other before it was out of sight.

I stared hypnotized as the ship slowly moved across the black ocean. The length from one side of the window wasn’t that large and yet the journey took an hour.

Why stare at a ship crawling along a dark body of water? Why sit mesmerized as the sun sets leaving behind a purple haze as mountains slowly become illuminated by lights?

I imagine it’s because somewhere deep inside we identify with the journey from darkness into light. To become part of that view and become one with its beauty and serenity.

Can it really be that simple? Perhaps on a conscious level it may seem so, but somewhere deep inside all of us yearn to attain the other side of pain and bewilderment into clarity.

Why pay fortunes of money to sit affixed before a window sporting a New York or LA skyline, the impressive span of the Golden Gate Bridge or the flaming colors of the trees in Autumn?

What is the allure? What is so captivating about a particular view to so many?

I have thought about why a beautiful vista can so lift one’s spirits and come to the conclusion there are actually many reasons why it may so entice us on a conscious level.

Perhaps it is the symbolism of dark waters terminating in a blaze of lights with which we can identify.

There is radiance, then darkness, then it is bright once again.

Can this be a metaphor for life? Pretty obvious.

Is the opaque water just a representation of the way light can morph into blackness and then once again become aglow? Hope that under the blackness something brilliant is hiding to underearth our brightness once more?

It is especially true of the ocean about which we know so little. What hides beneath is so frightening and mysterious as to ignite our imaginations with a rapturous longing for answers. Answers that elude and confuse one.

Am I making too much of a simple thing like a view?

Yes, I imagine so if one doesn’t consider how everything in life comes back to your point of view.

How we look at things colors our existence in untold ways just as what we see effects our opinions and beliefs. How we see others and allow them into our lives deeply affects our view of the world.

Our perspective is through not just our eyes, but our mind and heart’s eye as well.

A view sparks memories, makes us feel warm wrapped in the intensity of the glow, gives us proof that light returns after darkness.

Or is it the mystery of what lies beneath the surface? Human nature is conditioned to peer inside the depths and unearth secrets.

Dark waters cover so much from our sight we can’t help but wonder and speculate. Is it perhaps the heights we feel we have climbed when staring down at the sea, twinkling city lights or across at a mountain filled with crags and shapes only revealed as the sun sets.

As humans we need to believe illumination follows darkness and that although sometimes surrounded by mountains of pain or immersed in the depths brilliance will return.

Views remind us on many levels of this truth and spark our need for reassurance. There is beauty in observing nature from up close, but perhaps it is our need to see things from afar that brings more clarity. Seeing things from a distance changes the perspective and allows us to take in all the facets of the picture before us.

It is of course obvious not everyone can afford a million-dollar view, but mountain tops are free and a seat on the sand is always available.

So if you need a bit of perspective right now perhaps looking at things away from the distortion of the flashing lights and chaos will allow the light of truth to shine through. Or just simply a need to be a part of a universe more expansive and unlimited.

In these times when moral clarity is distorted and hidden from view, we must create a perspective that sees with our heart, mind and eyes to truly understand what is there.

When Will They Ever Learn? And Why Didn’t We?

“Where Have all the Young Men Gone, long time passing… where have all the soldiers gone, long time ago…When will they ever learn when will they ever learn?” Where Have all the Flowers Gone? by Pete Seeger and Joe Hickerson.

I used to think being crazy was a bad thing. Now I thank God every day I am. I seriously doubt at this moment in time anyone who is perfectly normal can find a way to cope with the insanity around us.

So how crazy do you have to be to exist in a world that has become so totally insane it is impossible to envision a corner of the planet where calm and peace any longer exist?

A place where flowers grow and deer prance around in green lush woods. Where children play happily on white sandy beaches.

Oh sure I forgot the Garden of Eden which supposedly exists somewhere in the middle east or Africa. Forgive me if I find that scenario to be in any way believable or realistic.

So let’s get back to this whole being crazy thing.

When I was young, back in prehistoric times we had an expression “peace, love and rock n roll.”

Now that has turned to “chaos, murder and hatred.”

What happened to the flower children who lived on communes and painted Volkswagen busses while espousing love for everyone and peace on earth?

Hmmm, well I wonder that perhaps it wasn’t us peaceniks that are responsible for what has become of that dream.

The Baby Boomer generation was entrusted with a sacred task, to spread peace and love across the world in a time when it had been littered with death and hatred.

We did it well, but perhaps too well.

Were we naïve about man’s capacity to truly love one another, to accept other’s flaws, opinions and lifestyles. Even when they conflicted with our own?

Did we assume that our message despite the war in Viet Nam was being taken seriously by the powers that be and that the military industrial complex would ultimately simply expunge their weapons and “the lion would lie down with the lamb?”

There is an argument to be made that we were cavalier about those dreams we created for a better world. That while we got busy living our lives, accumulating our fortunes and raising our children we lost sight of a responsibility that needed tending.

Did we believe that peace would come without sacrifice? That love would simply spread like a virus throughout the world?

That rock n roll was a solution to the problems of a species that was only a few decades out of the caves and could at any moment revert to their uncivilized behavior?

We never saw it coming.

While we were driving our BMWs, shopping in giant new malls and seeking bigger and better neighborhoods and schools for our offspring we assumed someone was on the wall and watching the gate.

But they weren’t. No one was.

The cold war turned hot, new wars arose and countries with no regard for human life sprung up like weeds to populate what we believed was a green and lush topography. China flourished with our help to become a rabid dog intent on destroying the hand that fed him.

So are we at fault for dropping the ball?

When we marched at our colleges for peace how did we never envision future generations that would march to excuse evil?

Are we at fault for universities that encourage hatred, violence and dare I say it, sheer stupidity? Should we blame those who blindly donated to their alma maters without first investigating their policies and attitudes? Perhaps that is a big part of our current problems.

Or was there ever really a ball to be dropped.

Were we simply too high on weed to come down to earth long enough to understand our folly?

To realize after World War II evil not only still existed in our world, but in just a few generations this would become a truly evil world.

A place where good gets shouted down and cowers under the loud voice of the wicked. Where the moral compass of the world would go mahoola and twist and turn into unreadable directions.

That man would more than ever be a lost soul wandering about in a malicious society.

That the red flags were waving and we never noticed. We lost sight of our goals and assumed our message would continue to resonate with others down through time.

We were foolish.

When I say we I also mean me.

I forgot that “good will ultimately triumph over evil” is the grand design, yet before evil is defeated it takes many good people down.

That evil will never be satiated without first tasting the blood of the innocent and that leaders who are fools are no match for those who are malevolent. That evil never sleeps and good naps constantly.

Now I look at what we have allowed the world to become and I feel guilt and sorrow for the mess our children and grandchildren must attempt to clean.

There are no flowers, kumbaya or peace love and rock n roll on the horizon for them.

Only a world filled with the ashes of peace, brotherhood and goodness.

I have always been intrigued by the tale of the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse and found it difficult to believe that only four could determine man’s fate.

Yet now I have come to realize a group of madmen with homemade bombs can harness that power and engage a world into a battle for the soul of humanity.

It doesn’t take a genius to understand that it is in many ways simple math. The world population has exploded and with it has come more good people but many many more evil ones.

Society has found a way to condone crime in its cities, destroy law and order and create a chaotic existence for all people good and bad.

Was this the dream? Was this our goal as we sang kumbaya and just assumed all mankind was in agreement with our philosophy?

How could we have been so naïve as to think evil wouldn’t take advantage of our foolishness and plunge the world into darkness?

Now the war is here and it has come down to basics. Good versus evil once more. We have been here before, but the question now is, how many innocents will die before evil is defeated once again?

As the Peter Paul and Mary song asked, “When will they ever learn?” I may be crazy, but I know an inciteful song lyric when I hear one. Sadly, I just don’t know the answer.

Everyone Please Stop With the Rush to Rush The Seasons

Anyone who enters a store in this country is usually surprised to see merchandise for sale that is applicable four months in the future.

The other day at Costco I couldn’t believe all the Christmas stuff and it was only the beginning of September. What is the rush to sell plastic Santas when we haven’t even pigged out on Halloween candy or roasted our turkeys yet?

Is it done for financial reasons? If so why would it make any difference if people bought their synthetic Christmas tree in September or in December? It’s not going to spoil and the price isn’t going to change in a few months.

I’m sure Halloween candy is already marked half off and we haven’t even hit October first. It seems to me it’s better to wait and get fresher candy, but obviously I’m missing something here. Besides if you buy your candy earlier you eat it all and have to rebuy it anyway. Ah, so maybe that’s their plan.

Trick or Treat hasn’t changed its meaning since I last looked. I mean kids are still coming to the door hoping for extra-large candy bars and avoiding the houses that give out the healthy crap.

Then why the rush to move time forward? Who the heck is so anxious to get older? I thought the goal here is to stay younger and all the plastic surgeries, procedures and health nutty things we do are supposed to accomplish that goal.

I would think in this day and age when turning on the news is far scarier than Halloween could ever hope to be, people would embrace and savor the fun and binging on sugar that holiday provides. Why hurry it along when you can enjoy every moment and every candy bar?

Who is making the decisions to speed through the holidays instead of enjoying them like a homemade chocolate chip cookie warm from the oven or a mornay sauce prepared by a Michelin Chef? What’s the hurry here and why?

So I have been thinking about this on many levels and I’ve come to a few conclusions.

Individually these holidays that come in the later part of the year have their own distinct flavor and personalities.

I’ll start with Halloween because that is one of my favorites since it involves begging for free chocolate and no one handing it to you and saying, “Aren’t you afraid you’ll gain weight?” And besides one can always disguise themselves to look like an Oompa Loompa and no one cares what you weigh. I’m just assuming someone could do that, I wouldn’t know firsthand or anything.

But I digress, so we were talking about the differences of each holiday.

Halloween is about dressing up in funny costumes and wish fulfillment on many levels.

The desire for sugar goodies and oddly enough the desire to create a new identity for oneself.

Choosing a costume we can evolve into our favorite super hero, movie star, supernatural creature or anyone or anything we choose. Damn you could even be a Reese’s Peanut Butter Cup if you want, but back to the point here.

It’s quite fun actually to be something or someone other than us one day a year. A fantasy moment that’s safe, uplifting and hurts no one.

Halloween has always been an enigma to me. The fun is interlaced with scary and spooky. I find it quite interesting how so many supposedly normal people are so fascinated with the macabre. It must be the fun of that adrenalin rush of fear combined with the sugar rush that creates an unbeatable high. Again, I’m just guessing here.

Let’s face it, there is a serious curiosity about Satan and his friends. Who hasn’t wondered if the devil truly exists only to watch someone like Charles Manson and be horrified by the reality that yes, indeed he does.

So why are devils, ghosts, goblins and witches still such a part of Halloween and won’t they still be there in October when it’s closer to the actual holiday? Isn’t real life scary enough for everyone these days? Why rush fear?

Must we begin to explore our inner desire to be Casper the Ghost in August when October is two months away? If it’s a retail decision isn’t the same money spent in August still good in October?

I understand the whole Fall theme that evolves as soon as Labor Day comes. Summer pastels are replaced with autumn colors. Homes and stores are filled with the smells of cinnamon and spices promising cool crisp days, cider and apples and fun hayrides through the apple orchards.

Believe me I’m not arguing that Fall is an enticing season. It’s my favorite and the mild weather and beautiful colors are alluring, so that may be why everyone is so anxious to start the journey as early as possible. I get that, but what’s with the plastic Santas before we even think about how many pounds the turkey should be?

Is this some sort of slight against turkeys? Has America’s favorite holiday fallen into disfavor or something? As far as I know Macy’s is still planning their parade, Football will be playing on every big screen TV in the country, the Detroit Lions will probably lose, and homes in America will be filled with the same smells that have whetted appetites for over two-hundred years.

Birds will be basted, marshmallows will be melted on top of yams, stuffing will be overflowing from Turkeys covered with herbs and the pumpkin pies will sit cooling on kitchen counters. Yes, it’s the best time of year when families come together to celebrate their favorite meal and spend the day eating until they are sick, bloated and fall asleep during half time. Gotta love America.

Okay, so I see why people, especially today are in a hurry to celebrate something.

But isn’t rushing Christmas kind of sad? I’ve noticed as I grow older the Christmas Chanukah season seems rushed. It’s as though everyone is kind of over stuffing their faces and shopping, and Christmas is the last stop before New Year’s Eve. So maybe we’re speeding through instead of luxuriating in the moment?

I know everyone is full to the brim and burned out from the Black Friday sales, but ending the year with Santa and those greasy Latkes is rather special.

Even Hallmark has started showing the Christmas movies earlier. I love how in their winter movies there’s fake snow on the ground and summer flowers blooming right across the street. But I digress.

Perhaps that’s the problem after all. By the time we get to the holiday we’re just over it. We’ve shopped, planned, gathered and cleaned and by the time it arrives it’s almost anti climatic.

Maybe if there wasn’t so much lead time we’d enjoy everything more.

Last minute Christmas shopping used to be a thing. It kept the adrenalin going and created excitement. Stores and malls were filled with shoppers rushing about, carrying bags and checking their phones to ensure that sweater they bought for Uncle Albert is the right size.

No offense to Amazon, which by the way I couldn’t live without now either. Yet rushing through the mall, stopping to meet a friend for lunch and talking about an updated version of a favorite recipe is all part of the joy.

I guess what I’m feeling here is that hurrying the seasons diminishes our ability to enjoy what should be the happiness of living in the moment.

Let’s face it, in today’s world we are bombarded with not-so-great stuff, so if we can hang onto joy a bit longer why not? We probably all need a little Christmas right now.

Perhaps that’s the secret retailers have discovered. By stretching out the holidays, they are actually making all the happy last a bit longer.

I guess that’s their holiday gift to us.

Here’s my delicious recipe that combines Chanukah and Christmas in each bite.

White Chocolate Peppermint Mandelcotti

(Okay, so I made up the word)

A mandel bread/biscotti Christmas and Chanukah recipe

1 cup canola oil

1 cup sugar

3 1/4 cups flour

3 eggs

1 heaping teaspoon baking powder

½ teaspoon salt

1 teaspoon vanilla

1 teaspoon of peppermint extract

1 cup white chocolate

½ cup very finely chopped peppermint candy for inside recipe

¼ to ½ cup finely chopped peppermint for the topping

1 cup melted white chocolate for drizzling on top of cookies

Place oil and sugar in mixing bowl and mix well. Add eggs and mix until well until incorporated. Add extracts and mix.

Add baking powder and salt to flour and mix through

Add flour to wet ingredients in ¼ cups until done. Check for consistency. If dough is too wet add small amounts of flour until the dough has some body and isn’t loose.

Add white chocolate and peppermint and mix through.

Divide dough into four parts and form them into long rolls and place them on parchment paper.

Bake in 350-degree oven for approximately 20 minutes and check for doneness. Don’t overbake because you will have to toast them.

They will probably crack and be light brown on edges when done

Lower oven to 200 degrees

Let cookies sit for five minutes and cut into slanted slices. Separate them and place on baking sheet and bake until they are toasty to the touch, the longer in the oven the crunchier they will be so it’s a matter of taste. I like them to have a bit of softness left inside.

Let cool and melt chocolate.

Drizzle over cookies and then top with crushed peppermint while chocolate is still melty.

To give it a more holiday feel you can alternate the crushed peppermint on the top and use both green and red peppermint for a more Christmassy look.

So I Got This Text From my Liver: Stop Sending Me These Damn Pills

In elementary school they offered a class in home economics which taught us the art of loading a dishwasher, how to stuff a date and how to sew a waistband. Okay, so none of these things truly prepared me for life as a whole, but at least they tried.

I feel entitled to bitch because I am so tired of getting a senior discount without even having to ask for it.

Now I’m wondering why no one prepares you for the greatest challenge in life…growing older.

Sure, people write books about how to live forever, how to age gracefully and how to stay healthy, but by the time you need these books you can already write one yourself.

So, what is the secret of learning to grow old gracefully and dealing with all aging entails?

Wrinkles, loss of mobility, forgetting things, wrinkles, loneliness, health issues, did I mention wrinkles cause I forgot, and of course appetite, medical and pain issues.

If one is lucky enough to live into the laugh laugh golden years you are on your own as to how to deal with the constant craziness that inflicts your existence each day.

Men find it impossible to get through a night without a dozen trips to the bathroom, where women can usually get through with only two or three. No one tells you your bladder retires to Boca years before your actual body and you’re left with only the memory of a functioning bladder to get you through the day. And night.

Is there a solution here besides Depends, prostrate surgery and if that’s an option good luck to you?

Your body seems to take on a mind of its own which is a good thing since your mind is usually out to lunch. Now most of the exercise I get is from walking into a room, forgetting what I came for and walking back out. Then two minutes later I remember and walk back in again. Hey, it ain’t Dancing to the Oldies with Richard Simmons, but it is a form of exercise, sort of.

Who ya gonna call when you look in the mirror and see your parents staring back at you? Is that my mother’s ghost or me? Either way it’s scary as hell!

Nothing raises a red flag to signal you’ve crossed into an ancient zipcode than your body telling you it’s time for dinner at 4:30 in the afternoon.

How many times have you heard your friends say,” I can’t eat any later than six o clock or I’m up all night?”

I had spare ribs for lunch on Sunday and I was still tasting them at Monday night’s dinner. I used to love a great spare rib, now the only rib I can handle is when my grandson’s tease me about getting old.

I also wish someone would tell the truth about reducing inflammation. Can I help my arthritis if I stop eating dairy, meat, drinking wine or liquor, (just when you start to need it most) fried foods, bread, chocolate, sugar and wait a minute what the hell is left? And no, I don’t think you could make an argument that eating only Kale could be considered a quality-of-life diet.

I just found out I have arthritis in my jaw. Guess we know why that is because if any part of my body is degenerating from overuse it would definitely be my mouth! Isn’t it bad enough that we have to watch our once full and luxurious locks disappear down the drain every time we wash our hair? Now I have to consider eating and talking a luxury.

Or that we have to see the stretch marks once on our hips start drifting downward to our thighs?

Can someone teach a course in how to see the numbers on your cell phone? Or how to spot a spam call about social security or where to get the strength to get off the couch?

Of course there are older people that have enormous energy and are tech savvy. I have many friends who play pickleball, whatever the hell that is, and some are even still working.

So what’s the big secret everyone has to write a book to share?

Many say it’s attitude. I suppose an argument could be made that mind over matter is a component, but I’ve known many people with great attitudes who are six feet under right now and didn’t make it to old age.

I guess there is not one magic bullet that can keep us young. In fact, I don’t think there’s a whole gun store full of bullets that can accomplish turning back the clock. And this whole schtick about age brings wisdom is a crock because wisdom is meaningless if you can’t remember it.

“Yes, grandson so when I was young I used to believe that, but now as I’ve aged I learned…”

“Learned what Grammy?”

“What I just told you. The bit of wisdom I just imparted to you about that thing. You need to remember these gems of wisdom I tell you.”

“What gems?”
“About the thing we were talking about.”

“But you didn’t tell me anything.”
“I just told you what I learned.”

“Okay, Grammy, sure and thanks for sharing your wisdom with me.”

You watch your grandson walk away shaking his head and believing he’ll never get old and forget like you; but we all do, we all do.

Is it possible to exert any control over these “things” that happen to you? To change the direction your mind and body are taking and reverse the trend?

Hell if I know. I think we all make an attempt to do what we believe will help slow the process.

I’m learning a new language because I’ve heard it helps your brain. How can you actually measure if it works or not? If it doesn’t I won’t remember I even learned that language anyway.

I’ve heard exercise helps. Well that’s something I can’t verify since my arthritis has decided the days of running and leaping are far behind me. And yes I realize there are also chair aerobics and low impact choices, but I’ve never pretended to like exercise except for retail cardio and I won’t now. Besides, I count changing my sheets as exercise and I’m not the only one.

So what about eating? Okay moving on here since the thought of living without ice cream or chocolate sends a chill down my spine only equal to the shower scene in Psycho.

Is it fair that having spent my entire life being too short for my weight I’ve now shrunk and need to lose more weight to keep up?

Is it stress? Hello, it’s stressful getting older. How can you feel calm when every time you pick up the phone or check out Instagram you hear someone else you know has just died?

Is it helpful that they can’t make a hearing aid that creates such a loud buzzing you can’t hear anything?

Good luck living stress free in the golden years. One shooting pain in the “good” knee elicits a “damn-not-another-knee-replacement-stress reaction.”

Ah let’s get to the supplements. I have friends that spend about an hour a day just trying to ingest all the pills. Between the prescription drugs you need to stay alive and the vitamins, minerals and strange sounding supplements the average liver is spending all day just trying to sort and send to the proper organs throughout the body, there’s little time for the fun stuff.

I can hear my liver bitching now…

”Let’s see now, the E is for the heart, the C for immune, D for what was it? How many letters are in the damn alphabet? What the hell is SAM E? Where should I send all this crap? I’m shutting down and going on strike here and no, don’t dare send me any supplements to boost or cleanse me!”

At a time of life where minutes are so precious, I refuse to spend most of my day swallowing pills!

Begs the question; is there a fix for old age? Sure, death. I guess that’s the only way to stop the aging process. As long as we’re here and breathing our bodies are slowing down.

When I was a kid Jack LaLanne was the symbol for exercise and a healthy lifestyle. He died at the age of 96, but so did my mother and she never met a salad or a healthy meal in her life.

The only exercise my mother got was running after my father to yell at him. Actually, that did provide her with a lot of steps every day and she must have worked off a ton of calories screaming.

If there is an answer and I’m not sure there is, we can only do the best we can. Sometimes I’m better than others. Some days my diet is atrocious and some healthy.

Some days are stress filled and others Zen.

At times I walk a great deal and other days my ass is attached to the sofa cushion.

There are so many variables involved in how one ages I could spend days trying to name them all.

I still believe it’s a cocktail of genetics, luck, lifestyle, environment and attitude.

I also believe it’s silly to worry because eventually something’s gonna get you. None of us lives forever, so as long as we make an attempt to enjoy the minutes we have; what the hell, maybe that’s all we can do. If you agree just yell yes! Oh forget it, I probably couldn’t hear you anyway.

A Little Sunshine, a Lot of Rain Makes My Fig Tree Happy Again

Makes My Fig Tree Happy Again

I don’t know why but human beings need a lot. Sometimes when I’m ordering from Amazon for the fifth time in a day I think, why the hell do I need all this stuff to function?

But we do. Sad really that humans have put themselves into a position where we perpetually demand…stuff.

Stuff.

Lots and lots of stuff.

Toothpaste, soap, food, towels, cable television, air fryers, band aids the list is endless.

If you think I’m exaggerating try going to the drugstore sometime and walking out with only one thing.

Or check out Costco. Baskets filled with giant sizes of products that could feed a family for weeks.

Humans demand a great deal to function.

We not only need things, but we need emotional stuff too.

Love, caring, support, kindness and all the other bits and pieces that make us feel wanted and loved. It’s in our DNA.

Cut to my tree.

I have a fig tree outside my window. The gardeners have chopped him up numerous times with no mercy. I’ve been devastated at times when I look out and see what they’ve done to this poor little green leafy object trying to survive.

He’s looked sick for months and then something miraculous happens. Rain and sunshine and suddenly he’s standing strong again. He’s taller and fuller and his leaves are green and shapely.

His little figs return and he’s off to the races.

All because of some rain and sunshine.

How many people do you know who can survive on rain and sunshine?

How many people do you know who can survive without constant attention or a great car or Starbuck’s?

I don’t pretend to know why humans are created as we are, but I suspect long before there was an eight-dollar cup of coffee we were able to get through a day.

Think back to cave times when it was only about the basic needs?

Today no one could even survive on basic cable.

Humans needed food and shelter. There were no designer loin cloths and of course fur skins came cheap and they didn’t buy them at Dennis Basso.

So we actually survived without Netflix, toilet paper or organic kale. I guess everything was organic back then and they didn’t even have to pay Erewhon prices.

So evidently we don’t need as much to survive…or do we?

Is there any doubt we could never continue to live in this world without all the “things” we have?

So of course I realize we’re not plants and need more than water and sunshine to flourish, but actually we need both of those as well, yet plants are very content to make do with just that. When did we decide we couldn’t?

How did we evolve into a planet full of hoarders?

Even homeless people push shopping carts filled with their possessions from place to place. We all seem to need things.

What if we gave everything up and went back to living simply without streaming channels, cars, pressed juices, and uber?

Once we were happy with nothing, but it would be impossible for us to function as human beings in this world now without all our stuff.

We’d survive, but we wouldn’t know what to do with ourselves.

How would we pass the time?

We could take long walks. Yes but we’d need good walking shoes on the concrete. After all our feet aren’t used to long walks without proper footwear.

Oh and we’d need clothes cause people get arrested for going around in public naked unless you’re in San Francisco.

There’s that word need again, did you notice?

What am I trying to say?

I guess I’m a little jealous of my Fig tree. To thrive and be so happy with just water and sunshine.

Those things make me happy too, well of course the water has to be filtered, and I’d need sunscreen.

It just seems to me we’re all so addicted to stuff now. The things we need to need to get through a day.

All these “articles” make life so much more complicated. Not for what they are, but for the fact we need money to buy them.

And there’s the rub as Hamlet said, money.

Trees don’t need money to be happy yet as humans we’ve set up a system where we can’t live without it.

And not just a little…a whole lotta money especially these days.

With each dollar we need we move farther and farther away from the basics of life.

Yes, I seem to be channeling my inner sixties mentality when fifteen people lived in a VW van painted with colorful flowers.

When communes were all the rage until people outgrew them and went out into the world to become millionaires.

Jerry Rubin one of the Chicago Seven went to work on Wall Street.

So is there any way we can actually live a quiet uncluttered life if we choose to?

Well the hippy in me would like to think so. But the Yuppy in me hears the voice of Gordon Gekko, don’t be stupid… “Greed is Good.”

I guess we can never go backwards now when we’ve all been acclimated to need and want.

Let’s face it, we enjoy our nice cars, our good restaurants, our organic foods, our pretty clothes and our cornucopia of Apple products that get us through each day.

I suppose it’s the grand design after all that we grow and prosper. Constantly moving like a shark in the water and never standing still.

It’s just that my fig tree looks so damn happy and content out there soaking up the sun and he doesn’t even need sun block. Maybe more time in the sun might do us all some good, I’m sure it couldn’t hurt. I just have to go on Amazon and order some new trainers and I still have the last season of Succession to finish. Oh well, I can always soak up some sun tomorrow.

Coconut Sunshine Chicken Tenders

1 cut up chicken. Use thighs, breasts or drummettes

1 cup coconut

½ cup almond flour

½ cup panko

½ cup flour

2 eggs beaten

canola oil deep enough to deep fry

salt and pepper

Cut chicken into pieces as desired may be strips or chunks

Combine dry ingredients

salt and pepper chicken and almond flour, panko and coconut breading mixture

Dip chicken into flour, then egg and finally into all three dry ingredients combined.

Drop gently away from you into the 350 degree oil.

Fry until chicken is cooked on both sides, approximately 5 minutes.

Drain and serve with pineapple sauce.

Pineapple sauce

1 cup crushed pineapple

1 tablespoon apricot preserves

1 teaspoon ketchup

Mix together in blender or food processor until combined but still chunkyish.

What Do You Do When There’s Nothing to Do?

What Do You Do

When There’s Nothing to Do?

“We are always the same age inside…” Gertrude Stein

There are way too many new realities to accept when you are talking about the laugh laugh golden years. One of these is that once you stop working and raising your children life changes.

So what do you do with all the extra time?

Despite claims otherwise ageism is the last and most accepted form of ism in America.

There doesn’t seem to be any downside to businesses or corporations that pass on hiring “older” people. No one would actually ever admit they weren’t hiring you for age reasons, but there are always red flags.

Years ago I interviewed for a newspaper job in Los Angeles with a business newspaper.

The editor was someone I had known and was very familiar with my work.

During the interview he asked, “would you feel out of place working among all young people?”

Hello, red flag warning and surprise of course I didn’t get that job.

I have a friend who is far past the retirement age for teachers. Due to tenure her job is secure and she can work up until the time she can no longer find her way to the school. I have no doubt that even after the state says she can no longer drive she will be Ubering to work every day.

I totally understand because she is absolutely someone who would be lost unless she had somewhere to go every day.

However not everyone is a teacher with tenure, so what does a person who is perfectly capable of continuing to contribute to society do to keep functioning?

I always think about Iris Apfel who now in her nineties and still running a successful design business.

Let’s face it, it’s easier when you’re in the arts and a creative person to keep rolling on, but of course you needn’t be Picasso to enjoy taking art classes.

I’ve thought about ageing a great deal and have spoken about it many times so obviously it’s bugging me plenty. I guess I get extra whiny on this subject.

Here’s why. When I was a kid in Florida visiting my grandparents, I’d see older people sitting on the porches of the hotels across from the ocean, rocking and talking and I never thought that could happen to me, but maybe deep down I did. And I’m not judging. If someone is happy sitting and relaxing it’s all good.

Yet I must ask…what can you do when you have nothing to do?

If the pandemic taught us anything it’s that one can fill their days and let’s face it we were shoved into our homes to face and fill 24-hours.

Still we all found ways to be productive and even enjoy the down time away from the hustle and bustle of daily life.

Eventually we all figured out ways to POD with our families, work streaming TV and find places from which to order toilet paper.

I’m reminded of how much our lives became reminiscent of when our children were young and a snow or rainy day came along.

As parents we often had to round up our kids and find fun and interesting things to do to fill those hours.

So now suddenly at this age we have become our own parent and we are the kids with nothing to do.

I guess we could bring out the arts and crafts boxes and cut snowflakes.

Paint T-shirts maybe?

After the pandemic I can’t even look at another jigsaw puzzle.

Cooking? Oh right, my cardiologist would be thrilled that I was in the kitchen finding new ways to fill my face.

Exercise? If I hated it when I was young why would I want to do that now?

I have friends who play pickleball and God bless them for it, but my feet start bitching the moment I step out of bed in the morning.

Of course there’s the tried and true older person fall back fun stuff like Bridge, Maj Jong, Canasta and anything that involves sitting at a table and intermittently reaching for the nearby bowl of M&Ms or nuts.

In a new world one would think there are tons of new options available for golden yearers. Is all we can hope for the same old same old and videos of us dancing with our grandchildren on Instagram Reels?

Despite the fact a majority of seniors avail themselves of the new technology playing scrabble online can’t fill a day.

I am fortunate in that I play Roblox, whatever that is, with my grandsons online. I have no idea what I’m doing but as long as it’s with my boys I’m happy.

But what about the rest of the hours in a day?

Can we still find ways to feel relevant and in control?

Time to shift gears to optimistic here.

I say yes.

I truly believe there are more opportunities now than ever before.

I have been able to do things and achieve goals now I couldn’t before because of my age. So from a certain perspective there is definitely an upside to this aging thing.

I needn’t list the enormous variety of options available to fill our days, but a new one is definitely leaf peeping and yes that’s a real thing.

I guess the list is endless actually, but it does take a certain amount of commitment.

It’s great to have a group of friends who will inspire and force you to make plans and join in the fun.

I don’t pretend any ideas are new or revolutionary and haven’t been used for ages. It does seem though that there should be some new ones out there and that’s just it, there doesn’t seem to be any.

The options for filling our days are pretty much set in stone and in this exciting and scary new world, one would like to think there are new places to visit and new adventures to be had.

Space travel which I believed would be an option by now is unavailable, so I don’t think I’ll be joining Flash Gordon on Mars anytime soon.

Like most of us I thought it would be different this whole aging thing, but life is pretty much as expected.

Youth, careers, kids, grandkids, and arthritis.

Nothing much new there.

So is life actually predestined? If we reach a certain age can we hope for nothing more than our parents or grandparents were able to experience? Costco, walks in the mall, various activities and of course constant doctor visits. Even if you’re well.

What did I expect? I thought new and exciting times would exist for us, but nope, pretty much the same.

We do live longer and feel better now than our parents, so being able to fill our days with fun things to do should be easier.

When I look at life it’s pretty obvious we can be as busy or as idle as we choose and it’s up to us to decide.

I don’t know what I was expecting, but when once our problem was how to find any free time now it’s about finding ways to stay busy. Kinda upside down so maybe that’s why I feel discombobulated. I imagine the important take away is it doesn’t matter what we choose to do with our time, as long as we enjoy what we’re doing. But that’s really what it’s all about at any age, isn’t it?

Crunchy Apple Pork Chops in Cream Sauce

6 pork chop tenderloins or chops with bone in can also be used, but cooking time will increase.

2 apples (your choice) peeled, cored and sliced

¼ cup apple cider vinegar

2 cups heavy cream

1 cup flour seasoned with salt and pepper

1 ½ cups panko crumbs

1 ½ cups dried apple chips ground up well

1 tbsp butter

1 tablespoon of oil

Salt and pepper to taste

Season pork slices with salt and pepper and set aside

Put apple chips in the food processer and ground up well, but not too fine. Combine with panko crumbs.

Melt butter and oil in frying pan and dip pork into flour and pat off excess. Dip chops into beaten egg then into panko/apple mixture.

Add to frying pan and sear until golden brown. Remove from pan and place in oven at 350 degrees until internal temperature of 150 degrees is reached.

Add apples and cider to frying pan and sauté apples until fork tender and then add cream. Heat over low heat until cream reduces by one third. Taste sauce and add salt and pepper if necessary.

Add back pork into frying pan and cover with cream sauce and heat through two more minutes until all is combined and warm.

Serve over any pasta or rice or with a mashed potato.

Mirror Mirror on the Wall Father Time You’ve Got Some Gall!

Mirror Mirror on the Wall

Father Time You’ve Got Some Gall

Who loves mirrors? Raise your hands if you think mirrors are your friends?

Funny I think we’re divided down age lines on that one.

When I was young during the American Revolution, I saw the mirror as a necessary evil. One needed to use it to make up, do your hair and ensure that mountainous blemish has succumbed to the clearasil.

As I aged I realized mirrors were slowly becoming a foe. So I was happy that my close up vision allowed for some degree of blurriness while putting on lipstick or eye make up and disguising a bit of the wrinkling that was attacking my skin.

However, as any woman knows it’s impossible to allow the blurry make up thing to continue unless you don’t mind looking like Gloria Swanson in Sunset Blvd. And no I was definitely not ready for my closeup. So we all must admit that sooner or later the old magnifying mirror must enter our life.

And there it stands on the bathroom counter, defying me and showing no mercy. Determined to bring home the reality of what’s going on around my eyes, the puppet lines that are suddenly giving me the appearance of Howdy Doody and a forehead that cries out for Botox.

I often wonder where and who was the first woman to look into a mirror. I did some checking and according to Google, or as I refer to it, my default brain, the earliest known manufactured mirrors, approximately 8000 years old were found in Anatolia in south central modern Turkey. They were made from obsidian (volcanic glass), had a convex surface and with remarkably good optical quality. Is that where the phrase turkey neck was coined?

The mirrors we use today are from Germany 200 years ago. Google says that in 1835, German chemist Justus von Liebig developed a process for applying a thin layer of metallic silver to one side of a pane of clear glass.

I will refrain from any obvious comments about the evil of Germany here.

So is it the mirror’s fault that a close up of my face is showing more crags than the Rocky Mountains?

Shall I blame a magnifying mirror for the ravages of time?

Yes, I definitely feel that’s the way to go here.

I mean who can I blame, Father Time? Sure, if I could find the old coot I’d kick him in the ass for rushing the years and showing no mercy. But where is he? Where does he hide out? If anyone knows please let me know? In the meantime I feel perfectly comfortable blaming the damn magnifying mirror for my shortcomings.

I didn’t invent the ten times magnification. I could never be that cruel. To enhance a face and make every wrinkle look like the Grand Canyon, who could possibly think this was a good idea? I believe his name is Satan, although he goes by other names.

Ever since my childhood mirrors have gotten a bad rap.

After all everyone knows that the wicked queen used her trusty mirror to verify Snow White’s beauty and the mirror was her ally.

Oops, so the mirror was aligned with evil. Hmmm?

So from the time we are old enough to hear fairy tales we are taught that mirrors aren’t so up and up and can be used to evoke evil intentions.

Still we go through childhood believing they are there to ensure the lipstick falls between our lip line, our hair looks okay in the front and back and our eye make-up is actually placed around our eyes.

We use mirrors constantly, looking and primping and then suddenly the day comes when we are squinting to see. The mirror is suddenly blurry and we can no longer tell if our lipstick is on our lips or heading toward our ears leaving a pink highway along our cheek.

So we are faced with a dilemma. Should we ignore the obvious and simply begin looking like we got dressed in the dark? Or should we put on our big girl pants and go out and buy a magnifying mirror?

At first we start with low magnification like, four or six or seven times. But little by little we are forced to up the ante until we reach the dreaded ten times when suddenly there it all is. Right before our eyes in gigantic proportions.

Suddenly our face looks like a linen skirt we’ve been sitting on in ninety-degree weather for hours.

We tell ourselves it’s the mirror and it’s overblown. Our face doesn’t look like this. Where once my face looked like the Sea of Tranquility it now looks like a crater where a meteor landed.

So suddenly mirrors present an existential crisis. Do we stop looking in mirrors altogether?

I guess one could live that way. Just make sure if you have spinach for dinner you make someone check your teeth afterward.

Or we could look into a regular mirror and risk putting our eyeshadow on our lips by accident.

Or we could bite the bullet and buy a magnifying mirror. I suppose, the size would depend on how big a masochist one is.

The ten would have to be for those who wish to truly punish themselves.

Maybe a four-times or so might work to at least ensure your make up actually lands on your face.

I have nothing against mirrors, well I kinda do, but it’s not their fault.

I need to go mano a mano with that creep Father Time. I have a feeling he’s hiding inside some women’s wrinkles who avoids mirrors on purpose.

Just wait, you old evil creep till I get my hands on you. I‘ll do such a job on your face, you’ll never be able to look into a mirror again. And then maybe you’ll know how we feel.

Easy Southwestern Salad

This is an easy salad to make and incredibly filling and tasty. It also makes enough to feed a family and most ingredients are already in your pantry or fridge. Enjoy!

I head of lettuce cut up or torn

I tomato cut up

2 fresh avocados

4 strips of bacon cooked and then cut up

3 hard boiled eggs

1 cup of sweet corn

2 radishes sliced thin

1 heaping cup of shredded Mexican Cheese

tortilla chips or garlic croutons

taco seasoning

salt and pepper to taste

1 /2 cup of mayo

14/ cup of sour cream,

½ teaspoon of cilantro

one lime freshly squeezed or 1 teaspoon of lime juice

Lime Dressing

In a bowl add sour cream, mayo and lime juice with a ½ teaspoon of cilantro and a light sprinkling of salt. Mix until smooth and everything is incorporated. Refrigerate until salad is done.

Salad

Hard boil the eggs and peel and let cool then slice. Cook bacon until crispy and then cut up the lettuce and tomato.

Place everything but the avocado and tortilla chips or garlic croutons into a large salad bowl and season to taste. Taste as you go as this should be a salad that highlights the fresh ingredients not the seasonings.

Toss lightly with salad dressing then peel and cut up avocados and add to salad. Add chips or croutons just before serving so they remain crispy.

This salad can be adjusted to taste every easily. If you like salsa you can add it to the dressing it will taste great. If you want to add shrimp or chicken or steak go for it!

You’d Better Set Your Watch in Chicago Or Else!

You’d Better Set Your Watch in Chicago

As you, my readers know I stay clear of politics. Probably because nausea sets in whenever I am forced to deal with the insanity that has now become normal in this country. However, sometimes I can’t resist making fun of the stupidity of politicians who are so pathetic and inept the comedy material simply writes itself. Every so often the comedian in me just can’t be held down.

On the news today I heard that in Chicago the city is asking gang members to limit their shooting and killing to certain hours. I believe the bullets can fly from 9 P.M. until 9 A.M. I assume this is because innocent little children are constantly getting caught in the crossfire.

Upon hearing this I immediately realized how vital it is for those who live in or visit Chicago to know the correct time.

I mean if your watch broke or is even off by one minute you could find yourself caught in a gang war in the midst of a hail of bullets.

I mean what if Gramps is sitting on his porch on a summer night and he’s a bit hard of hearing? His wife yells, “Grandpa, it’s one minute to nine. Come on in the house.”

“What’s that, Dear? I can’t hear you.”

“I said it’s almost time to come into the house, it’s almost nine.”

“Huh, I can’t hear you. Did you say…”

“Grandpa, Grandpa…?”

If Grandpa’s hearing aid were working he’d be here to celebrate Christmas this year.

So, I was thinking maybe the city of Chicago should open up hearing aid centers and watch repair shops on every corner. Like Kiosks in a mall you could even have them chasing people down the street.

“Hey would you like me to check your watch, Mister. I’ve got a beauty here on sale guaranteed to work to the second. Gunshot proof.” And here’s a free sample of hand cream.”

It could be a great way to bring businesses back to the areas of Chicago people are afraid to step foot into anymore. I can see the businesses cropping up all over. ABC hearing aids or Save-a-life watch repair. My goodness the opportunities are endless for out of work Chicagoans.

People could go door to door selling watches and hearing aids like aluminum siding. There is definitely money to be made here.

Gang members would have to clock in at nine P.M. and out at nine A.M. to ensure they were following the rules. That would mean setting up time clocks everywhere. If a gang member is killed someone else could punch his time card. More business for time clock manufacturers. This could be a windfall.

If Paul Revere had had to ride through Chicago yelling the “Gangs are Coming!” we’d still be under British rule today.

Of course, parents would have to teach children to tell time before they could walk. Instead of learning their ABCs they would need to learn how to read a watch. In the cribs they could have teddy bears that sing and teach time. Maybe to the tune of Allan Sherman’s camp song, Hello Muddah Hello Fadduh.

“Hello baby, it is nine now. Run like hell out of the ghetto. Get to safety and speed your rolls. Cause Chicago politicians are big assholes. So hightail it far away. If you want to live to see another birthday. Your parents voted for a loser. So until he’s gone we’ll pray that you see two, Sir.”

So what’s your solution, Norma you ask? Rightfully so and I do have one. I think the Mayor should be forced to walk alone through the crime-ridden neighborhoods every night without any weapons or body guards. Oh, and without a watch so he’ll know what little kids are dealing with.

Odds are they’d have to get a new mayor more often, but eventually maybe they’d actually elect one that believed murdering children was a bad thing. A refreshing change of pace for that city.

Being from Detroit I saw a city die and fifty-six years later just begin to become safe and livable again. I never thought it would happen to Chicago.

We used to visit the windy city a great deal when my kids were young. It was close by and easy to access by car. The hotels, shopping and food was always great.

Strangely enough it’s close enough to Motown for them to have seen firsthand what happened when crime overtook cars as Detroit’s biggest export.

I made light of the horrible circumstances of that toddling town as Sinatra called it, in this blog. But hearing about children dying as they walk to school, play in their houses or on their front porches is more than any human being can bear. I just couldn’t stay silent any longer.

Maybe one day the people of Chicago will wake up and elect politicians who care about the lives of young people, but until then asking gangs to kill each other at odd hours just doesn’t seem like a very good plan. At least without checking your watches. So ironic that a city that boasts its lake wind is the Hawk is actually too chicken to protect its own kids.

I guess all we can do is eat, so here is my keto Chicago Hot Dog recipe I enjoy greatly and is easy to make. If you live in Chi-town, you can definitely get it finished cooking before nine.

Chicago Style Hot Dog Keto Style

One all beef hot dog

Chopped tomato about ¼ cup or sliced tomato

a spear or two of dill pickle

a hot pepper cut up

celery salt

mustard

a keto friendly tortilla shell, keto bun or romaine. lettuce for a wrap.

Prepare all and enjoy!

A New Woof Woof Job for Grandma

A New Woof Woof Job for Grandma

It’s nice to be needed by our children. We are both saddened and a bit relieved when our kids say, “Mom we’re all grown up now, we can take care of ourselves.” Mixed feelings there, at least for me. Like watching a politician being led away in handcuffs, exhilarating to see, but sad.

You love your children to need you, but a sense of freedom is a welcome change from all the years of being at everyone’s beck and call.

Yet now I’ve been seeing a new phenom, a new job or should I say new need I never expected; babysitting with my grand dog.

And I’m not the only one.

I have many friends that have been tasked with the new moniker of caregiver for their children’s dogs. And the rules are strict. Helicopter pets must be fed at a certain time. They’re on a tight schedule. The only animal I’ve ever seen with a stop watch is the White Rabbit who was always late anyway. Today’s dog’s get a report card from their doggy hotels. They are judged on how well they play with others, eat their meals, brush their teeth, bathe, go to bed on time, socialize or isolate and the potential for developing a Ted Bundy personality. If the report card is substandard do the pets have their television privileges revoked? Is there on-call psychiatric care for dogs who have separation anxiety?

I have a friend who forgot and left one of her grand dogs outside for a couple of hours in the yard when she left her son’s house and is still on puppy-care probation.

So I must ask myself, why do dogs today need a baby sitter when their family leaves ?

We always had pets when I was growing up, dogs, cats, bunnies. Our dog Lamb Chop seemed fine when we left home.

In fact, I sometimes wondered if he was having friends over for a party. Not that I could read his mind, well sort of, it was as though he was saying, Hey guys hurry up and leave, I’ve got my buddies coming.

Our cat Pywacket would look over as we walked out the door, yawn and think, thank goodness they’re gone now so I can get some real shut eye.

Well, it seems those days are over now. I don’t know why or how it changed, but suddenly when I’m dog sitting, my grand dog Blu jumps up and begins howling if I even leave the room to use the bathroom.

And he’s not the only one. I’ve heard from other friends their grand dogs have taken to howling when left alone for even a short time.

I’ve never been good at life. At understanding the whys or wherefores of this contract we sign to enter this planet and become a part of its energy. So explaining the unexplainable is not my forte. So much craziness, especially lately, I am beyond understanding how this all works when so much is upside down.

So if you ask me why dogs suddenly need baby sitters when their owners leave the house for a few hours well you are barking up the wrong tree for an answer.

I have tried to think of reasons dogs may be afraid to stay home alone these days. Are there roving gangs of dogs doing smash and grabs in all the neighborhoods? Oops nope, that’s humans.

Wait are they afraid they’ll be kidnapped in the streets while on a walk? Sorry, forgot that’s just English Bull Dogs.

Are dogs breaking into houses and stealing kibble?

Oops, people too.

Wait, maybe it’s a fear of having to listen to the dreaded news channel when you’re alone? Sorry, that’s a human thing too.

I know, it’s because someone told them they have to go back into work one day a week. Yeah, sorry, that’s a people thing too.

So what could be plaguing dogs and creating such fear responses?

Could it be a paranoia they are absorbing from their human counterparts? Are owners so stressed they’ve become babbling idiots with all the insanity one must deal with today and pets have caught the crazy bug?

Or is it because during the pandemic owners never left the house and pets saw how good it was to have their human with them all the time?

After all dogs weren’t watching when Dr. Fauci declared COVID over.

Are our animals merely a reflection of the fact humans are staying home more now? That people don’t want to go back to work, out to a mall or wander far from their base unit any longer?

Perhaps the answer is not in our dogs, but in ourselves.

It’s no secret pets have taken their cues from their owners since time began so why should anyone be surprised at this new dependance?

Dog Sitting? I guess it’s like when my grandson asked me the other day, Grammy what was it like living with the dinosaurs? All I could say was, you had to be really careful not to stand behind them when you took them out to do their business.

Most humans love animals and animals respond in kind by being loving and protective. Why be surprised when in this crazy world pets need the same in return just a little more than they once did. After all, don’t we?

Snoozle Puffs

Two sheets of puff pastry

3 ½ cups mashed potatoes

½ cup peas fresh or frozen

1 cup ground beef or turkey

Add peas and beef or turkey to mashed potatoes

Spread evenly on puff pastry sheet

Roll over once and cut Roll over again and cut and repeat the process until all cut.

Place in well buttered muffin tins and brush with egg wash.

You can also bake them in mini muffin pan for an hors d’oeuvre or appetizer

Bake at 375 for 25 to 30 minutes until puff pastry is cooked through. Check mini ones periodically as not to overcook.

Can the Rest of Your Life Be the Best of Your Life?

Can the Rest of Your Life

Be the Best of Your Life?

I have spoken many times about the limitations inherent in the whole getting-old thing. Few escape the fun surprises of old age and the many sad days remembering those who have left the party before you.

So what can one do to lift their spirits during this whole aging process?

Let’s face it, most aren’t capable of beginning to train for a marathon or mountain climbing. Still, many can. Of course, it’s possible to do numerous things as we age despite the fact there are some physical limits to what we can accomplish. Yet, and go with me here…the wisdom we’ve gleaned over so the years can help to achieve goals that may have been out of our reach in our youth.

Wisdom doesn’t require exercise. It doesn’t need a 20-year-old body.

As we age and our presence seems to diminish, we grow less and less relevant and our footprint grows lighter and smaller.

So what is the alternative to this inevitability?

Women have known for years we don’t need an invisibility cloak after the age of fifty. It used to be forty but Botox has added a few years to our presence.

Most women are aware that as the years pass so does their ability to attract attention and many have accepted this fate.

However, with the advent of social media, seniors have raised their profile and possess numerous ways to remain in the game.

Coolness is no longer predicated on age or sex. So many have found fun and lucrative ways to add years to their social lives by starting businesses, becoming politically active and checking off items from their bucket list.

So is it boring to just want to live the days quietly and unadventurously? Visiting grandchildren and walking through the park? Baking our children’s favorite recipes and delivering them? Meeting a friend for lunch and living a serene life? Should we feel guilty that we aren’t still out in the world making a difference or leaving our mark on humanity? Is it a sign of laziness to want to enjoy a bowl of popcorn and a Mel Brooks movie festival on a rainy day?

Are we entitled to choose our path and is it a shame to opt for the quiet one? Does the quality of our life depend on how much we do with it? How exciting we make every day? Does it seem like simply living is actually waiting to leave life? Well you sure ask a lot of questions for someone from Detroit, Norma.

So I’ve asked myself many times, what should I be doing with the rest of my life? Is this a time I could be using to live out old dreams, accomplish never-achieved goals or perhaps set a new agenda?

There is that old saw after all about Grandma Moses beginning to paint at 78 years old.

Colonel Harland Sanders was 65 when he started Kentucky Fried Chicken and Laura Ingalls Wilder was 65 when she began writing the highly successful Little House on the Prairie series.

I’m thinking that since 50 is the new 40 that 75 is the new 65. With that in mind is there any reason not to jump in and swim to the shore marked unfulfilled dreams?

The new wave in education toward home schooling has led to a new thing called PODS where parents form their own group and hire a teacher. Sort of home schooling on steroids.

Now a teacher can even continue teaching in a new and different way if they choose.

There are so many more opportunities today.

Online work and businesses, influencers, and of course the tried-and-true activities.

Classes in art, painting. sculpting, wine, cooking, Maj Jong or Bridge and so much more to fill the days.

That being said there is a fly in the ointment; COVID slowed us down. Instead of making us race into new endeavors, so many I know have discovered they are content to be at home and puttering about the house or garden just enjoying a quiet life.

Taking into account the options are numerous and more than ever before is there anything wrong with simply choosing to do nothing? Is any guilt attached to slowing your roll and taking life easy? Is carpe diem reserved for those who feel they must fill up every minute of each day with another activity?

After living a life of running here and there, caring for your children and out and about constantly isn’t it perfectly acceptable for one to feel content in solitude? Simply enjoying sitting and remembering or arranging flowers from your own garden in a beautiful vase?

Do we have to be writing a book or is reading one we’ve put off for years enough? For some yes, for others the answer is obviously a big no.

I believe that’s the beauty of growing older, the choices are endless and entirely up to you.

No one judges whether or not you used your laugh, laugh golden years to seek a cure for cancer or you merely took a walk on the beach or in the woods picking berries and baking them into a pie.

Enjoying the crisp air and the beautiful colors of autumn is a right one has earned by virtue of a life lived in fullness and now the choice is ours. Should we do one thing or perhaps both. Do unlived dreams have a right to be brought to fruition just because they lie on our hearts?

Should we be mindful of the ultimate responsibility to ourselves to live life to the fullest? Yet isn’t that degree of fullness up to us to determine?

I suppose I’m addressing my own guilt feeling remiss to achieve what hasn’t been done. Or are some dreams simply meant to be just that…dreams? Not every wish can come true nor should we feel less than for replacing old ambitions with new ones?

I haven’t quite figured it all out yet but I do know I enjoy the quiet days as much as the productive ones so maybe it’s possible to do both. If one feels a desire to do more, they easily can.

Maybe you feel the same or have managed to come to terms with how you choose to carpe diem your life. If you have, I hope every moment is proving to be a happy one.

Here is my recipe for an easy yummy Thanksgiving dessert albeit a bit early.

Pumpkin Blueberry Mousse

With Pumpkin Candy Crunch Topping

1 cup pumpkin

1 cup fresh blueberries

7 ounces of cream cheese

1 ½ cups whipped cream

1 cup powdered sugar

1/8/ tsp cloves

1/8 tsp ginger

1/8 tsp nutmeg

1 tsp cinnamon

Mix sugar and cream cheese until whipped nicely.

Add pumpkin and seasonings

Mix well. Set aside and hip cream until peaked.

Fold all but 1½ into pumpkin mixture. Set aside rest of whipped cream for topping.

Fold in blueberries and pour into parfait glasses or martini glasses. Top with whipped cream.

Place in fridge to set.

Pumpkin Seed Candy Crunch.

Place two tablespoons butter and 2 tablespoons packed brown sugar in non-stick frying pan.

When melted and combined add ½ cup of pumpkin seeds (Not roasted or salted)

Saute on low heat (watch carefully so they don’t burn) for about five minutes until seeds are nicely coated.

Remove from burner and place in fridge to harden.

When set and butter is hardened remove crunch from pan and chop up into pieces. Not too small but small enough to fit on top of mousse.

Bring mousses back out and top crunchies.

Enjoy!!!

Do You Need to Feel it to Heal it

Do You Need to Feel it to Heal it?

“Grief is the price we pay for love…” Queen Elizabeth II

I have no earthly idea where I came up with the phrase you need to feel it to heal it but it’s stuck in my head. Like a flying shard of glass that catches you just behind the ear and you can’t see it to pull it out.

Anyway, so it got me to thinking about what this means in terms of how we come back from the bad places we’re forced to enter in life.

Lately I’ve watched while people close to me including myself have struggled to come back from a painful loss.

Begs the question, what is the best way to cope and is there really any foolproof way to deal with grief?

Does one magic bullet exist for everyone or does each person require a unique method of moving forward toward healing? It also made me wonder, what is healing? How do we know we’ve achieved it without the signs of a visible scar we can actually see?

I like to think I can cope with pain on my own and don’t require any medication to mask the effects.

I imagine myself strong, adept and able to cope without outside help. Then I’m reminded of that box of Godiva I keep reaching for at odd times during the day that seems to calm me with each bite. So, who am I kidding here? Because it doesn’t come in a bottle with a prescription attached is it any less medicinal?

Okay, I admit it, chocolate is my Zanax.

Others need an actual drug to quiet them enough to function. Without help masking the pain and its effects some are lethargic and unable to function in life.

I’ve witnessed this and it can be incredibly debilitating.

The question I’ve asked is how long is long enough to stay medicated until one can face life alone again?

How much Godiva will it take until I can get through a day and go through my normal routine without popping a few caramels and am I simply fueling my addiction to chocolate?

Is my need for sugar better than a Zanax or two to get through the day and isn’t it just as addictive?

Honestly, I don’t know. I like to think because eventually I’ll stop masking the pain with pralines it’s the better option. Yet whether it’s drugs or chocolate it’s still a crutch one uses to cope.

Returning to my original question, does one need to feel it to heal it?

Haven’t you heard people say that we must acknowledge and embrace our feelings to change them? That ignoring the pain merely adds time to its effects and we must go through the pain to get to the other side.

If we ignore pain can’t it burrow deeper into our soul until it’s almost impossible to find? Does it morph into a deep and festering wound that we are unaware exists and manifests itself in ways we don’t understand?

Is feeling and recognizing the hurt a way to battle it on our turf, like a home court advantage?

Know thy enemy is a phrase that never goes away and if we refuse to see what is attacking us can we rise to conquer an unseen enemy?

Sun Tzu said “Know the enemy and know yourself in a hundred battles you will never be in peril. When you are ignorant of the enemy but know yourself, your chances of winning or losing are equal. If ignorant both of your enemy and of yourself, you are certain in every battle to be in peril.”

So we need to know the enemy and know ourselves as well to achieve victory.

What does this mean to someone battling to avoid the pain of loss?

I imagine we must know ourself what weapons will be successful fighting our individual war.

We know sorrow, but how well do we know what it takes to defeat it?

Is it as many believe that time heals all wounds and we need merely to wait it out?

Is it simply medicating ourself and hoping the effects of the drugs will delay the enemy until we are armed and ready to face it again?

Does waiting actually weaken our resolve and the masking create less will and ability to deal with and defeat our aggressor?

Or does time, no matter what we do step in to do battle for us and eventually close the wound naturally?

Can it be a combination of all these; or perhaps none?

Do certain wounds never heal but remain to be opened and felt again, like a battlefield where there is no resolution?

Do some wars never truly end and exist in a state of semi-peaceful coexistence?

I truly believe that grief is fluid. We may go through times when we are coping well and then suddenly a memory attacks from behind and you are caught off guard.

Many spiritual leaders believe feeling the hurt and acknowledging a broken heart is the path to true awakening. To function in the midst of chaos without panic is the right path.

Looking forward to future nicer times can for the moment give you a sense that there can be happiness ahead. This is one way to restore hope life will eventually reach some new normal state.

Does staying connected to loved ones through pictures, memories, birthdays and so many other reminders help and deflect from the loss.

Maybe there is no one way to feel the pain and get past it that works for everyone. If needed some should reach out for help as part of their journey back to wellness.

In the end we all fight our own war, grieve our own way and slay the monster with the weapons we find most useful.

Hearts break and time heals to some extent, or so they say. Just how much it heals is not universal and differs within us all and we know wounds can reopen.

So if you need to feel it to heal it and get past it, arm yourself for battle and slay that dragon. And if you need to call in your army of loved ones and friends to help you do battle, that may be a huge help as well.

UFO They Told Us So!

UFO They Told Us So!

“I would not spend one further moment on the subject of UFOs if I didn’t seriously feel that the UFO phenomenon is real and that efforts to investigate and understand it, and eventually to solve it, could have a profound effect‑perhaps even be the springboard to mankind’s outlook on the universe.”

J. Allen Hynek, UFO investigator Project Bluebook.

I have no fireplace. This seems truly unimportant since so many homeowners I know have opted to cover or hide theirs. This is something I’ve always had trouble understanding.

As I sit here writing I have on what I call my faux fireplace which is actually a video of a roaring fire on my television screen. I wonder that I’m so satisfied with believing I have a fireplace and willing to settle for a pretend one.

Okay, so it’s not ideal but it gives me the illusion. And speaking of illusion and perhaps delusion…

Watching the Congressional hearings on UFOs the other day I had numerous mixed emotions, delusion being one I might mention.

I believe my reactions began with What a shock, the government has been lying to us, for a change. It quickly moved on to, I’ve always had a feeling the millions who’d seen UFOs weren’t crazy, especially since they weren’t all from California. I might have had more suspicions had more of them been from the you-should-excuse-the-expression, golden state.

Then came the wow, there really was a Roswell and area 51 and somehow my emotions ended with, wait a minute why are they telling us this now? What are they up to?

I apologize but I haven’t trusted a thing the government says since Watergate. But I digress.

I remember in 1961 Betty and Barney Hill of New Hampshire had claimed to have been abducted by aliens. They blacked out while driving home from their honeymoon and woke up in their car somewhere farther down the road. After being plagued by nightmares they went under hypnosis and corroborated one another’s stories.

It is understandable that in an era when airplanes were still a new commodity that most were skeptical flying saucers were visiting earth, but the incident is still a popular search item to this day.

Now of course these new revelations lend far more credibility to the Hill’s story, but it also initiates many more questions.

I have often wondered with all the sightings documented across the world how many sighters chose to keep their personal experience secret.

After all who could blame someone for not wanting to be called crazy when they may have risked a prestigious job or place in the community?

So what will happen now? Will many who have been afraid to tell, now recant their own close encounter?

One must wonder why the government chose to keep the truth from us. Still, it’s obvious that human beings are not able to deal with their brethren on earth let alone aliens from worlds light years away.

On Halloween October 30, 1938 Orson Welles War of the Worlds was broadcast on radio depicting the H.G. Wells story of an alien invasion.

Since Welles portrayed it as a newscast many listeners were convinced what they were hearing was real and some became terrified and hysterical. Of course, was before Rod Serling and ET.

Odd that fast forward 85 years later and when Congress is briefed about the USA hiding alien ships and their little green men, who are probably robots, the world barely took notice.

This can only mean one of two things; either no one believed these experts because no one trusts anything anyone in government says anymore or perhaps the world simply yawned and said, “What else is new? Pass the Reese’s Pieces, please.”

I’m not quite certain which is scarier, the fact that Washington has zero credibility or that humans are so jaded even testimony that verifies alien visitors is ho hummed.

By the way, I’m not recanting my own what-the-hell-is-that encounter moment here out of fear no one will ever read my blog again; and my children will rush me into a nursing home.

Assuming aliens are here I must ask why? If they have been watching us all these years, shouldn’t they be high tailing it out of Dodge?

Honestly anyone who has observed human behavior in the last few years has to be convinced there is something off here in the gray cell department.

So why would the Greys want to be here on earth with a bunch of crazies?

Is it as someone has laughingly opined, they are here to make sure we can’t get off this planet and do damage somewhere else?

Let’s face it, humans are a scary bunch.

I can’t even count the ways I shake my head constantly at the insanity I witness from what now passes as civilized members of the species. Believing in little grey or green or whatever color men is the least of our worries on Planet Earth.

I am certain that the creatures are far advanced than us by virtue of the fact they have traveled light years to get here. And although those who deny the existence of life on other planets are incredibly egocentric thinking that out of billions of stars we were somehow chosen to be “The One,” facing our own vulnerability is indeed frightening. Yet one wonders if the Greys have ever watched The Avengers movies and that has helped keep them at bay. A few of the people at the theatre for End Game didn’t look so human to me.

If it’s all true than we’ve had company for many years who’ve chosen to remain on the down low.

I can however happily report this visitation confirmation does answer many questions with which I’ve wrestled.

Like the success of the Kardashians, where were they actually born?

Kanye West, so that’s what it is.

Gavin Newsom’s hair.

Madonna’s new face. Or is it really her…?

Prince Harry wanting to interview the Pope about fatherhood. Aha, now it all makes sense.

Donald Trump’s approval numbers and Joe Biden’s actual visits to another planet in the middle of his sentences.

I’m beginning to see more clearly now so I suppose it’s true that as Shakespeare writes in Julius Caesar “The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars, but in ourselves, that we are underlings.”

Or actually perhaps from somewhere among the stars.

Hey, what the hell is that spaceship doing on Rodeo Drive? Maybe they’re actually mystery shoppers. Wait, you can’t park there!

Can Being Nice to You Be a Bad Thing?

Can Being Nice to You be a Bad Thing?

Getting old has certain perks upon which we can all agree. One that I especially embrace is the freedom to say and do the things I want and not give a damn. Others attitudes toward us seem to matter less now and we can feel confident in our ability to choose our own lifestyle and opinions.

Another good thing about being older is now at this age I can actually focus more on myself. Aside from spending much of my time worrying about my children and grandchildren, I realize that it’s actually possible to be nice to myself and at times feel less guilt about being “all about me.” To do the things I’ve always wanted to do, go where I want and just cross off items on my proverbial bucket list.

Each day and especially since the pandemic I try to do something that will make me happy. I really began this practice during COVID when we all were locked down and became best friends with Netflix and our refrigerator.

I discovered that certain activities would lift me up and shift my focus to something good while forgetting the insanity around me. I honed it into a skill and now I live each day knowing that even the smallest thing can bring joy into my life. Yes, Hershey kisses are small but they pack a lot of punch!

But isn’t this the way we’re supposed to feel at every age and stage of life? Should we feel guilty about caring about ourselves and trying to do the things that will make us happy?

Aren’t the words for that instinct self-absorbed?

I’ve always believed we must put others first.

How many books have been written about placing others first and that one who refuses to accept this philosophy deeply harms those around him?

Narcissism is a word that connotes selfishness and manipulation and carries a negative connotation.

But have we perhaps lost the ability to balance the instinct to be nice to oneself and the deep desire to protect and give to those we love?

Where does that balance lie and how can we possibly know if we are leaning too far on one side or another? Can we give too much?

So how nice is nice enough to ourselves and how much sacrifice is necessary to fulfill our promise to love unconditionally? And is self-sacrifice an inherent part of love?

As a mother I would of course say there is no line or balance when it comes to my children and. grandchildren. That no amount of sacrifice could ever be too much and I have never even questioned this belief. But is there a point when one can indulge others too much until it becomes harmful? Ignoring what we need to be happy isn’t serving any positive purpose for anyone.

So an obvious question would be what does this sacrifice entail? And isn’t it different for every person?

Protecting those you love with your very life need go unsaid and isn’t any mother prepared to give up everything for her children and grandchildren? To starve if there isn’t enough food to go around, and to put her needs last so they can have what’s necessary to keep them well and safe?

Do many parents go too far in sacrificing and in doing so actually go to extremes? Do only rich parents indulge their children or are the poor just as or more guilty of providing too much of the wrong kind of love?

After food and shelter and the basic needs of existence is depriving oneself actually love or merely an ego driven attempt to over indulge and spoil children?

Does a closet full of expensive clothes, toys and electronics in a child’s room signify love or merely indulgence?

How much is too much to and how can one establish a line? Do too many believe material things can equate with happiness?

If one lives in an affluent area doesn’t a parent often find it necessary to indulge their children to keep up with friends and fellow students. Many parents want their children to have the things that can equate them to their peers.

But is that really what it means to sacrifice? Are the “things” you offer your children depleting from your joy and sending harmful messages?

What is happiness in life really and can it come from buying more or having as much? And is it possible to live without expensive material goods like technology in today’s world?

When are you being good to yourself and when bad? When are you nice enough to you and avoiding narcissism? And do the material things in life bring joy? Can buying something compare with enjoying a picnic on a summer’s afternoon. Or jumping through a pile of leaves on a crisp, autumn day? Or calling an old friend and spending hours catching up?

I imagine each person must look inside and determine what makes them happy.

Is it nicer clothes or a bigger house and do “things” in any way make anyone happier at the end of the day?

So, what do I mean when I ask, are you being nice to yourself? Treating “you” right is doing what makes you happy, healthy and successful. Taking time for you and your needs can’t be a bad thing; or is it?

What brings you joy?

For a parent I think it is knowing your children are receiving what they need. This isn’t merely done materially but with love, guidance and providing self-esteem.

Isn’t seeing your children achieve a great source of happiness?

Isn’t ensuring they receive the best care as well?

Is spending quality time with loved ones a rich gift to impart since your time is the greatest gift you can actually give?

Making someone you love happy is true happiness.

There is an expression, “You can only be as happy as your unhappiest child.”

Yet taking care of yourself, doing things to fulfill your needs is also important, because if one is unhappy can they effectively spread happiness to others?

I guess the balance is actually treating everyone well, including you, as a key to ensuring the best for others.

Caring about the well-being of your family must begin with your own care and nurturing. After that whatever moments you share can be filled with joy and creating wonderful memories to last a lifetime and beyond.

Contented people can make others happy; misery loves company, as they say.

In the words of Jimmy Durante, “make someone happy, just one someone happy and you will be happy too.” And don’t forget about you.

How Do I Know Which Way to Go?

How Do I Know Which Way to Go?

Life is always nothing if not confusing, but when quotes from the Bible begin to make you wonder which way to go and what to do, it really makes me ponder the meaning of so many things.

For instance, we have often heard the quote, “God helps those who help themselves.” Okay, so I always took that to mean we must do for ourselves and then God will reach out and help us cross the finish line.

Seemed reasonable to me. I always tried very hard when seeking to accomplish any goal so that God would appreciate my efforts and drag me across the finish line to success.

Fast forward to many years of living and many life lessons when my best efforts didn’t achieve the desired results and the phrase “Let Go and Let God” became my new mantra.

Perhaps I tried too hard and God saw my efforts as arrogance, so as many say we must trust in the fact God knows what’s in your heart. If he looks inside it now he will see I’m totally confused.

So, what to do? Should I try harder or should I give up and let go and let God? I could be in trouble either way. Or is there a middle ground where there is a certain amount of effort required before the let go can happen? But how do I know how much is enough either way?

Does the effort depend on the power of the dream? How many dreams do we get and what about the ones that we didn’t dream but happen on their own?

Now you see why I’m so confused.

We all know that opportunities may come out of nowhere without any recognizable work on our part. It’s also true that many times previous work done on another dream can land us in a place never on our radar. It isn’t always or perhaps ever possible to know what leads us somewhere or what we might do to open a door we never anticipated might even be there.

Should we feel guilty when something just happens that we didn’t work for or is that the perfect example of the “Let Go and Let God” mentality? Something that happens in our life that we didn’t seek or fight for but shows up and surprises us.

If that is the case then we shouldn’t be disappointed when a plan doesn’t come to fruition even after we’ve fought hard to achieve the goal. That very energy may have gone toward a plan that we never dreamed but exceeds our expectations.

I’m still confused.

Begs the question, is effort ever wasted. And can something hard-fought for many years result in a goal achieved years later on another path?

In the end maybe that’s a part of the solution. Hard work and luck meeting down the line to achieve a dream you may never have known you possessed.

But what about the ones you do know? How much work is involved before one can throw up their hands and say, I’m done trying?

Is the fact we didn’t continue fighting long enough the reason a dream fails, or did we work too hard and too long and should have given that dream up to fate earlier?

I have no idea and there is where my confusion lies.

I realize now that many dreams may not see the light of day because they are not meant to, but is relying on destiny and blaming fate for failures just a cop out?

How hard do we fight? How much do we sacrifice before it is enough to make a goal happen?

Should we feel badly or resign ourself to the fact perhaps we don’t have as much control as we believed. That sometimes we must just throw our hands heavenward and rely on the fates to move us forward to wherever we’re meant to be.

Do we all wind up exactly where we think and if not perhaps somewhere better?

Is it a simple matter of some knowing instinctively where they should be headed when others jump on the wrong road and must be guided onto a different one.

No one can disregard the outside forces that may affect one’s chances for success. Society may say you’re too old or not enough of this or that or in the wrong place to achieve your dreams, but that cannot stop destiny from granting you success. So, what is the answer? If true energy attracts energy working toward your goal or any goal will increase the chances for achievement, even if not where you might expect.

So perhaps trying is the key and a bit of faith can’t hurt as well. If combined one’s dreams have a chance of seeing the light of day no matter how the outcome may surprise us in the end. And from personal experience those unexpected outcomes are usually much more than we ever dreamed.

How Many People Am I?

How Many People Am I?

So many times in life we will hear someone mentioned and there is little agreement about their character.

Begs the question can someone be more than one person and how can one’s personality change so much from one relationship to another?

The older I become the more I realize how complex we humans can be.

I have always believed I am myself, and behave with everyone in the same manner.

But do we? And if not why not?

I imagine with all the craziness humans have been subjected to in the past few years, self-examination hasn’t been terribly high on the priority list. Yet if that’s the case why are so many people depressed and out of sorts?

Perhaps it’s because we’ve spent so much time with ourselves alone that we have been forced to meet sides of us we never knew existed, bad and good.

I am certain the obvious has occurred to us all.

You will meet someone who is divorced from part of a couple you know and they have quite a diverse opinion about one of those people than you have observed. Is it possible they could be talking about the same man you’ve observed to be a fabulous mate to your best friend when his ex paints a picture of pure evil?

So why do we react so differently with some people than others?

What is it about some people that brings out the better parts of our nature and others the worst?

We would all like to think we are good people and do our best to be good with everyone, but is that possible? What forces in the universe are at play that determine our behavior?

I have always found it puzzling that certain people can rub you the wrong way within seconds of meeting them. Although I try to give everyone the benefit of the doubt, that first encounter seems to be the lasting impression and plays out as time goes by.

So how can we be so intuitive about someone we’ve barely met? Doesn’t it take time to know and establish who and what one is as an individual?

It’s true there are some people you like instantly. They just seem to have a great vibe around them and you are instantly attracted and usually remain so. Others can radiate a negative aura from across a room before you’re even within five feet of them.

There must be some reason we respond differently, but why?

We all know people who may be a friend of a friend and we find them repugnant and yet our friend thinks the world of them? Can we be seeing another person entirely? Why are they nasty with us and so kind to our friend? What is there in the human personality that makes us change around certain people.

Why do some bring out the best in us while others know exactly what buttons to push to elicit our hidden demons?

I have always felt that if I have a negative response to someone it is my duty to right the relationship. I seem to absorb blame like a sponge and go out of my way to prove myself wrong about someone, no matter how awful they may come across to me.

Of course this stems from my own issues and our insecurities are forged in fire when we’re young. It took me almost a lifetime to understand other people’s behavior bad or good is not my fault and jerks exist in the world not because of or for me.

Yet it is still a fact that some bring out the best in us and some not.

There could be numerous reasons for this phenomenon.

Let’s start with reincarnation. If it’s true as many religions believe we come back in many lives, it would make sense we may have encountered a soul in another existence that did us harm or vice versa. Therefore our meeting in this life is predetermined to be uncomfortable at best.

Or perhaps it’s just as simple as someone seems to possess a characteristic you are missing and they fill that need.

But let’s say that is not the case. Perhaps the instant dislike or negative behavior stems from this life. From growing up with your parents, and relatives that have positively and negatively impacted your existence. A certain person may remind you of past unhappiness and if you meet someone that reminds you of an aunt that was always mean and cranky wouldn’t it make sense you’d have a negative response?

Ah, so then that would of course mean it is your fault for casting past bad energy onto someone who may not deserve such a fate.

And there goes that blame thing again.

No, let’s assume people sometimes just don’t mesh. If everyone has an aura then auras can clash and no one is really at fault.

I am certain some would disagree with me when I say life changes us all. For the better or for the worst. Some people age and grow in more positive ways. They become more accepting, less judgmental and far more patient with the foibles of themselves and others.

And then there are others that grow bitter and angry. That find fault with their stars and anyone who enters their sphere.

Our personality becomes more formed and mature the older we become. When younger we are often surprised by the way relationships develop and turn out in the end. And many do end.

So are we one person or can others truly change us in unexpected ways. Do some bring out characteristics we hadn’t known we possess good or bad? And if we are aware of this effect can we control the outcome?

I suppose it’s a matter of the wisdom that comes with passing time. The ability to instantly know whether someone will play a good or bad part in our lives. If they will enhance or diminish our existence and if we should open the gates to our souls and allow them inside?

Time becomes very limited as we age and we have less ability to offer precious moments to those who clearly don’t deserve a seat at our table.

So if someone comes into my life that doesn’t seem a good fit, I don’t try to push that square peg into my roundness. I accept there are many people on this earth and it’s just a fact not all of them are meant to be a part of me. I’ve realized that by accepting the wrong people into my life I’m closing the space for good people to enter. With time growing more limited I choose to surround myself with only those who bring good and kindness in their wake. I pray I glean the wisdom to recognize the difference.

My Get Up and Go Got Up and Left

My Get Up and Go Got Up and Left

Life seems to be filled with questions. When we’re young we ask our parents, why is the sky blue, how do cows make chocolate milk and do I have to eat my spinach?

As we age the questions multiply, how many calories are in this chocolate cake, why do bad things happen to good people and will I ever get into those size six pants I’ve had hanging in my closet for two years now?

It’s true as we get older we also come to terms with the fact most of our questions pertaining to the important things in life will never be answered. We are doomed to wander ahead toward the inevitable knowing far less than we did when we were young. Probably because when we’re young we actually think we know all the answers, and well you know the rest of that statement.

I could make a list of questions every day that I am certain will never be sufficiently answered, but why bother? Certain things in life are best unknown and probably one of our greatest gifts is not knowing much pertaining to our existence.

However, I am especially annoyed when I seek the answer to a simple question. One that should be easy. Not world shattering like is my next-door neighbor a space alien or will there ever be an honest politician or where the hell did that thing on my arm come from?

No, I’m simply asking about energy, strength, endurance and where did mine go? My get up and go got up and left without a clue or a forwarding address.

I would have chased it when it stormed out shouting, “I’m done you’re on your own I’m moving on,” but I didn’t have the strength to run after it and beg it to stay. Look, it’s no secret my body and I have been at odds for years, but as long as I had some vigor I could do battle.

I could fight the wrinkles and the weight gain and those weird things showing up on my body but without energy body wins and suddenly before you’re even aware of what happened, there you are. Sitting in a pile of what-the-hell-happened-to-me without so much as an ounce of stamina to put on the boxing gloves and go a couple more rounds with Father Time.

I have no idea which direction it went so I have no clue what area to look in.

Not even Colombo or Sherlock Holmes can solve this mystery.

Yes, I watch those news stories too. The ones about the 85-year-old grandmother who ran the Boston Marathon. Or the grandfather who took up jogging at the age of ninety. Or how Ali Baba opened the cave door by just chanting Open sesame.

Clap if you believe in fairies.

There are many people that reach an older age in great shape. They can walk an entire golf course without losing a stroke, or having one, and many climb mountains or still keep up with their grandchildren. So yes, it’s possible, but what makes the difference?

Is it because they have always been fitness oriented, is it genetic or is it those nature’s pills they sell on tv with veggies in them?

I have no idea, but I assume it’s a bit of both combined with gigantic amounts of luck.

My mother slept most of the day and spent most of her life in a nightgown. Yet, my Dad, despite aches and pains golfed and still enjoyed going into work into his nineties.

Aging like most things in life is predicated on how you’ve taken care of your body; or is it?

I know many who lived healthy lifestyles and suddenly were afflicted with a fall or an illness that changed it all for them. That robbed them of their ability to run, move about and enjoy life as they once had. So, is it really providence, as so much in life is that determines how we age?

I refuse to listen to those who say there is no luck and you make your good fortune. Really, then tell that to anyone who was born a Rockefeller or Prince William.

I imagine the search for my strength will come to naught since I don’t even know where to look, so I’ve resigned myself to the fact that I won’t be running a marathon, or climbing mountains. I will however be incredibly happy keeping up with my grandsons or a few hours of retail cardio at the mall. Although tempted to sit more, I fight the urge and force myself to move. When my body screams, “what the hell sit your tush back down,” I rather impolitely tell it to shut the F up.

Getting older is a mixed bag for sure. We want to age, but we want to do it on our own terms, or feeling the way we did when young.

I guess it doesn’t always work that way.

A friend of mine who was a doctor used to say, “If you wake up over the age of forty and you don’t hurt somewhere, you’re dead.”

Perhaps today it might be fifty, but the older I become the more I realize the key words in that sentence are “wake up.”

No matter where my get up and go got up and went, I hope it’s happy there. As for me I will continue to schlep myself out of bed every morning, moaning and bitching, and ignoring my aches and pains. And to whomever has my energy, I’ve upped the return reward to 500 dollars no questions asked. Hope springs eternal.

Is Nostalgia Really Just Giving Up?

Is Nostalgia Really Just Giving Up?

I seem to spend a great deal of time since my brother died focusing on the past.

Constantly seeking to return to places and experiences that were happy and fun, I dwell in the land of memories.

So, what does this say about me? What does this constant need to go backwards toward places that remind me of better times mean to my present life?

Yet this need to ride the reminiscence train is not a new phenomenon for those who have reached the so-called golden years, yet I find more and more it’s become an accepted and even organized practice.

There are entire pages on Facebook now dedicated to the past. Websites one can visit to look up old haunts and old friends and the desire to share childhood experiences with friends that lived within your world.

As the world gets smaller one may feel overwhelmed with the crowding of our lives. Where once we could imagine vast spaces in which to travel and explore, now one only need turn on the computer to walk through the streets of London or Paris and experience the sites.

We’ve become accustomed to a different type of satisfaction that comes with going from the exciting and unknown to the I saw it on tv the other day.

The world has lost its mystery and now the familiar no longer seems to appeal as much.

That may be one reason we choose to travel backward and reexplore the adventures of our youth that brought us so much joy and wonder.

A need to recapture wonder is a byproduct of the familiarity of this world now fraught with negativity and danger. So why wouldn’t we want to trade it for one where we looked at the stars and saw a Milky Way instead of a potential war zone between rival nations?

When we see pictures of our hometown and the streets and stores we once populated it brings back feelings we can never get from watching cities now burning and overrun with crime.

Is it any wonder we choose to climb aboard the DeLorean with Doc Brown?

I know not everyone is frozen in time, but as an age group we all enjoy sharing stories about childhood as if these tales will transform us back to simpler times and also back with loved ones now gone.

It seems very reasonable we’d be tempted to spend time in the past, enjoying nostalgia and embracing old memories. It feels calming and comfortable. A sentiment it’s almost impossible to capture in today’s world.

So I, as most of my contemporaries find myself time traveling more and more, like a drug that begs addiction.

Yet, for some reason today I suddenly realized this need is really a way of giving up on life. Saying to oneself that all the good memories are in the past and the future holds nothing for me any longer. This desire to return to past places that hold happy memories for me is it a positive or negative move?

I saw a study today that said most Americans actually believe the best times for our country are behind us so is it surprising I feel this way?

I get it, I understand very well the temptation to dwell in the past. To talk to friends and family about the wonderful times we shared. About how the best years of our lives were spent raising our children instead of watching the news and wanting to dig a tunnel and hide from the negativity and evil surrounding us.

So, I guess we have a choice, past or present which is it?

If I continue down this path am I actually saying, I give up, there is nothing to look forward to so I must look only backward for joy?

Am I selecting a future for myself that is laden with old memories instead of creating new ones?

Do I feel that it’s too late to make happy times count for anything and the past is my only option?

Should I not appreciate a new Indiana Jones movie because Harrison is no longer young and agile? Or should I be happy that one of my favorite movie franchises continues to delight and provide great entertainment?

Are the moments I’m creating really for me now? Or are they actually for my children and grandchildren to enjoy when I no longer can?

Isn’t it selfish to avoid new quests and give up on the excitement of what lies ahead?

There is no doubt the world we knew was safer and more inspiring than the world we now inhabit, but this is where we are.

Yes, it may be a bit more difficult to capture the excitement and mystery we once felt when embarking on new experiences, but more than ever we must try.

We are all becoming too complacent in our avoidance of living due not only to our age, but the pandemic that held us captors far distant from the world.

As life flies by we need to explore more aggressively new chapters and travels that will fill our days with the seeds of new recollections and use our time to best advantage.

Only by living can we fully fill our lives with happy hours.

It’s a battle Baby Boomers must fight and ultimately win to fulfill our destiny as the generation that touted peace, love and rock ‘n’ roll. Have we forgotten the immortal words of Jiminy Cricket when he sang “When you wish upon a star…your dreams come true?”

As the great philosopher Jerry Seinfeld once said, “To me, if life boils down to one thing, it’s movement. To live is to keep moving.”

Okay now I’m going to try and stand up from the couch. Moving? Right! Now where is that damn heating pad?

My Body is Like Driving an Old Ford

My Body is Like Driving an Old Ford

Ford Motor Company has always bragged, “We build our cars, Ford tough.”

Although I’d like to think that’s the case I must ponder the phrase Ford tough’s true meaning. Sure if you’re a truck or SUV, but what if you need body work of another kind?

I’ve suddenly turned into an old Ford needing increased maintenance and new parts every time I turn around.

Where one might think it economical to drive an older car, especially with car prices today, replacing every part has become quite a hassle and quite expensive.

It seems every time I fix something on my body, something else breaks.

Don’t even start me on the whole look of the paint job. Even Earl Scheib couldn’t replace the showroom new shine on my face.

You replace a flat tire and bang the brakes go. You put in a new transmission and boom the ignition breaks.

No different with this old tired body here.

You replace a knee and bang the hip goes.

You inject the Botox and boom the neck falls four feet.

The maintenance is constant.

I wonder if there’s enough duct tape to hold up all the parts of my body that have just thrown up their hands and said, “screw it, gravity you win.”

Aging is no fun and although most of us admit we still feel young inside, an old Ford can never look as good as a new Mustang leaving the showroom.

There are those that love to restore old cars. In Detroit there is a yearly ritual called the Woodward Dream Cruise.

Every summer those who have restored the amazing old cars from the fifties and sixties and perhaps older, including the muscle cars, like the GTO and Chevelle, Corvettes and others that looked new and shiny parade them down Woodward Avenue. Amazing what some spare parts can do.

Over one million attend the one-day happening on the third Saturday of August and it is the largest automotive event in the country.

So obviously there is a penchant to restore the old?

Well if that’s the case why not make it easier for us oldies to get replacement parts?

Auto parts stores are everywhere and you can even get the hard to find old pieces in junkyards and places that carry just that sort of thing?

But an old broad like me must search high and low to restore this face and body.

I would like to open a special warehouse for replacement parts for baby boomers.

Need a new knee, aisle three. New hips on special, two for one on aisle six and the Botox drive through is open as you exit the parking lot.

Duct tape for butt and boob lifts two for one on four and laser lifts just past the organic groceries and vitamins near the cash registers.

Blue light special on aisle one for wigs and toupees and Spanx 50% off sale in the rear.

Wow what a time saver this would be. One stop shopping for all your body needs.

A regular Costco with samples and demos to teach you how to walk without pain, pick out the perfect arch supports and don’t forget the all important tooth whitener for your implants. Oh and implants on aisle eight where all the painful screaming is coming from.

Yep, after a trip to the body parts store you’ll come out shiny as new with your hood ornament gleaming.

Now if Detroit could come up with this and build all the parts Ford tough, I’m all in.

Sadly, it takes more than duct tape to lift your butt or your boobs. Baby boomers are definitely in a conundrum because we all feel so young inside but the outside despite creams and lotions and a healthier lifestyle than our parents can only do so much.

Laser treatments and Botox are not terribly invasive options, but costly just the same.

Plastic surgery prices have gone through the roof and despite how much we’d like to remain uncut, it’s hard not to envy that shiny new wrinkle free neck on your sister on law.

Especially when your chin is now resting on your boobs.

In the end when we pass a mirror we want to match the person we are inside, 21 years old. It’s not so much about vanity as it is about wanting all of our parts to be in sync.

I don’t care how great an attitude you possess about aging, it’s hard for one’s spirits not to sag a bit when there are ten-pound Hefty bags under your eyes and you hardly recognize yourself. Wow, I really look a lot about my grandmother now!

I truly don’t believe it’s about wanting to look ridiculously young, but about wanting to see us as your our self; vibrant and youthful, not old and decrepit.

Hard to get happy when the number of wrinkles is almost equal to your blood pressure reading.

So we must trudge forward because if we’re lucky we’ll get older and continue to be part of the world. To enjoy our family, travel, work, indulge our hobbies and interests and socialize with others of like minds.

So I’m signing up for that new spare parts membership warehouse and filling my basket with all new fun stuff at big-box prices.

And remember; if you can’t fix it, duct it!

Lox and Bagel Bites

2 cucumbers

1 tub pareve cream cheese, whipped or regular

1 tablespoon finely chopped sweet onion

4 ounces approximately of nova lox cut up

Bagel chips

1 hardboiled egg optional

Fresh dill

Caviar

Cut cucumbers in inch thick circles

Hollow out seeds and pat dry and set aside

Mix together lox onions and cream cheese and lightly salt and pepper. Remember lox can be salty so go slow with the seasoning

With a teaspoon or a pastry bag fill cucumber rounds with cream cheese mixture.

Garnish with pieces of bagel chips and a sprig of fresh dill, and if so desired grate some hardboiled egg on top. Add a ¼ teaspoon of caviar for an extra zing.

Is it me or Has Everyone on Planet Earth Lost Their Mind?

Is it me or Has Everyone on Planet Earth Lost Their Mind?

It’s pretty well accepted we are born into one world and leave another.

Although this has always been the case, I believe Baby Boomers are leaving the strangest world yet.

It’s truly amazing that anyone born shortly after World War II spends a great deal of time talking about how different life was back then and it’s been my experience my generation is quite confused by the insanity which we have suddenly found ourselves a part.

This planet is bats..t crazy.

After the war America was suddenly in a new world position. We were the cowboys in the white hats that had swept in and saved the planet from the bad guys. We were Gary Cooper and John Wayne combined and had cleaned up Dodge City.

The evil axis had been destroyed and now life was moving forward with a whole new attitude except…

Yep, even as a child I remember there were problems to deal with.

Russia and China. Okay, sounds familiar right?

I guess some things never change. We took cover in the school basements to protect from atom bombs. Heard tests of air raid sirens and watched as neighbors dug holes in their back yards to build fallout shelters.

To say I was terrified of Red China would be an understatement. But I’m twice as scared now.

Politics aside and that’s where they should stay, childhood was an amazing time in America.

The fifties were filled with exciting new inventions like television and telephones in every home, and all kinds of new gadgets.

I remember my first HiFi. Wow, and even those little red record center fillers for 45s seemed high tech to us.

We thought the world was a really cool place. Between the Mickey Mouse Club and American Bandstand we felt such a part of everything.

We played outside until the streetlights came on, walked to the corner to purchase penny candy like licorice records and wax lips and the latest comic books; my friends and I just lived for those Archie Annuals. Then we would carry our treasured comics home in a bag with our sunflower seeds and candy to read and share the rest of the day.

Life was so simple and so amazing. Of course we were kids so there was no real awareness of problems that plagued our parents; and that’s the point isn’t it. Our parents tried to keep us unaware of the difficult issues of the times. Unaware that polio was sweeping the nation even as we happened to pass the TV and see a picture of a scary iron lung that might have given us nightmares.

We didn’t pay any attention to politics, which is why we grew up healthy and normal.

When politics finally entered the picture so did protests, drugs, death and confusion.

We played games like jump rope, hopscotch, monopoly and Mr. Potato Head, and of course Operation.

My friends and I cut movie star pictures out of magazines like Photoplay and Modern Screen and then traded them like baseball cards.

We chewed the bubble gum and saved the baseball cards and boy do I wish I still had some of those cards today.

We rode our bikes everywhere and after school the neighborhood kids played baseball or football in the street. We spent the day roller-skating up and down the block with our skate key around our neck on a ribbon. Then happily ran inside to get our money when we heard the Good Humor truck ring its bell.

We knew our neighbors and we acted respectfully toward everyone.

In the winter we put on our snowsuits, boots, scarves and gloves and braved the walk to school, then home again for lunch, then back again, then finally home to sit in front of the TV watching the few channels playing our favorite shows. We were terrified of our teachers and being sent to the principal’s office was tantamount to as bad as it gets.

We walked to the movie theatre on Saturdays to watch a double feature or a matinee of fun flicks like The Blob, I was a Teenage Werewolf or Gidget.

We ate Oreos for an after school snack with a large glass of cold milk and at dinnertime we all sat together at the kitchen table, eating and discussing the day.

Bedtime was bedtime and we couldn’t stay up except on Tuesday night when I got to stay up later to watch Milton Berle, probably the first drag queen before we ever knew what a drag queen was. Most nights I would listen to my cool, new clock radio until I fell asleep.

Our fathers pushed the lawn mower around the grass on Sundays after a brunch filled with favorite foods.

To shop on Saturdays we hopped on a bus and went downtown to big department stores. We felt so grown up when we got to eat lunch in the dining room where stores like Hudson’s featured kids meals.

We could hang out at the record store for hours, then go home and play a new favorite singing and dancing around the living room practicing the newest steps.

We knew the names of everyone on Bandstand, what Soupy Sales was having for lunch the next day and that Hi Yo Silver meant a guy in a black mask and his faithful companion Tonto would soon be riding in to clean up the town. We watched Sky King and Fury on Saturdays and never noticed that the scenery on Star Trek was made up of Christmas lights.

We were incredibly innocent and Lord do I wish I still were.

I feel badly that children today are being subjected to politics and brainwashing and sadly losing their youth to political agendas.

There is a lot to be said for being protected from the hardships of life unless and until one is forced to face them.

It was different times and Baby Boomers shared a bond those programs provided. To this day “Yo Rinty” is a call to which every one our age responds.

Sure, some might say I’m coloring the past with an overly optimistic brush. Perhaps, but from the reaction of my friends when I wax nostalgic and they jump in with their own fond memories, I think not.

I look around this strange, insane world and am reminded someone once said ignorance is bliss; I choose to believe it’s actually a blessing.

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