Tag: Pickleball

Filling the Gaps in My Giddyup

The other day at Maj Jong, yes I said Maj Jong, a friend walked in to play. Another looked at me and said,” look at her feet.” I looked down and she was wearing two different shoes.

They were similar, but one was a darker shade and different texture.

I laughed out loud. Not to make fun of my friend, but from sheer relief knowing I wasn’t the only one.

Lately I’ve been thinking, well, that thinking is actually becoming a luxury. I find myself needing to focus on one thing to get it done right when I used to do at least three things at a time with little effort.

Those days are sadly gone. And I’m not referring to the times I walk into a room and forget why.

When leaving physical therapy the other day, a thought occurred to me…my body has now learned a new talent. Compensation. That’s right, even at my age I am still learning.

When I tore my rotator cuff the doctor strongly suggested I have surgery. I suggested just as strongly that I try PT first. I decided it was worth trying the least painful method before subjecting myself to an invasive procedure. So I took myself to PT determined to fix a broken and badly torn up shoulder.

My doctor was skeptical and assumed I’d be back and sign up for the procedure shortly. He was wrong. Never underestimate the cowardly.

What I noticed after beginning the work of forcing my muscles to do the work of the torn pieces of my shoulder, was that they were not exactly thrilled by the prospect.

But I wasn’t any more thrilled at the thought of having surgery so I persisted.

After a while they gave in. Oh sure the tear is still there, but my other muscles have compensated and I can use my arm.

I suppose that at a certain age it becomes all for one and one for all where our bodies and minds are concerned.

We become good at compensating for the parts that don’t work very well any longer, and we fall into patterns that will allow us to keep trudging along.

Much like an old car that needs repairs constantly to keep running.

And running is something my body wants no part of, compensation or not.

If it’s true that necessity is the mother of invention, our bodies are a real mother.

They somehow find a way to offset the parts of us that have slowed down. Or others that refuse to work at their previous at all some days.

Sometimes without even being aware it’s happening. Finding a way to continue with the activities we once took for granted can suddenly become a challenge. Yet there is no doubt we must battle to do so.

Much like hearing our whole lives that if one loses a sense, the other four become more acute.

It should be no surprise to us that our brain finds a way to continue using our bodies in the way to which we have become accustomed.  

The brain is the ultimate computer, yet like all electronics it becomes obsolete as new updates are installed.

My Iphone and computer stopped communicating so one had to go.

However, unlike manmade technology the brain has unlimited new circuits and programs one can install. It is a great manager and an untapped resource.

They say we only use a small part of our brain capacity. If so, our bodies should be able to adapt and form new wiring as needed.

The experts say AI will help us to achieve this. Perhaps, but in the interim we are on our own. Many say learning new things like a language opens new pathways in the brain. Pretty much I’ve found it just adds more stuff in there to forget.

Adapting and compensating for the things that don’t work as well as they once did is on us.

I guess we can help it along by being open to new ways of thinking, moving and caring for our bodies.

I suppose there are many ways to continue at a healthy pace. At least doctors and researchers say so.  Little things we do each day can either help us slow down aging or speed it up.

Despite the pep talks, we all seem to age differently. I have friends who play pickleball while I opt for retail cardio to exercise.

Some find themselves slowed down considerably mentally and physically, while others move about as though no time passed at all.

Is it luck? Is it genes? Or is it a result of past choices? Beats the hell out of me. Perhaps in the end it’s a combo of all of those.

Food, exercise, using our brain, staying in motion, yata yata yata is all supposed to play a part. I haven’t the nerve to tell my body parts that chocolate is on the endangered list. No way I’m going there.

Whatever the answer it’s a simple fact we all could do better in some ways. And should we always be grateful to still be here and schlepping along, peak performance or not? For sure. We definitely should. Life can be enjoyable in new ways and surprises we never expected, so moving forward optimistically is always the way to go.  

Whatever our limitations, hopefully ending up with matching shoes each morning should at least be within our reach. Boy these walking shoes all look alike now where is the mate to this…?

Choose to Stop Choosing

Am I the only one who has noticed the choices we make about our lives seem to be less crucial as we age?

It once seemed that every time I was faced with a decision the importance was magnified by the fact it may affect the course of my life. Which let’s face it, seemed long to us then.

Now making a choice seems kind of, I don’t know, simplistic.

I’m of course not speaking about the choices that seriously affect our health conditions or life and death. I’m talking about the little things that come up daily that seem so trivial now.

Picking a college, or a profession at that time was quite daunting. After all it could change the course of one’s destiny.

I have noticed today’s young people seem to agonize far less that we did. They are not as locked into forever as we were. They have a shorter attention span to all things.

The go-with-the-flow mentality we always sought to cultivate has landed in our grandchildren’s generation.

They seem far less restricted by the fact they are locked into one path, but can select numerous options.

I have no idea why it was the case, but we had a far stronger attachment to permanence. While we believed you chose a life path and moved ahead never veering, they seem far less invested in forever.

I remember so well how things went then.

Certain life choices were serious and permanent. Well as far as we were concerned.

Things like marriage, how many children, profession, where to live, when to retire and where, were credible parts of our lives to consider and weigh.

It was very different for sure. There were expectations sprinkled with limitations for women.
Men were expected to go to college, get a profession or business degree. Women not so much.

Many women entered college with their parents urging them to pursue an Mrs. degree.

If a girl graduated with an engagement ring on her finger, to many parents that was a successful outcome.

Coming from a home where my father was a devout believer that women were to be cared for and know their place, I never felt I had many choices. However, blessed with a rebellious nature I opted to forego the oft designated and preferred teacher route. “The you’ll always have something to fall back on,” mantra that was drilled into girl’s minds back then.

I became a journalist, which for my time was a bit avant garde. It was a profession in which women were just beginning to feel their oats and a dream of mine since childhood.

Of course, women were expected to quit whatever job they held as soon as motherhood became imminent and be the caregiver in the family.

Most girls of my era never questioned or rebelled against that choice. We were very happy and satisfied in that role.

Still, many did feel there might be something more after child raising. Being more educated than our mothers we felt a slight twitching of discontent. I’m not saying everyone. Most of the women I knew were content to live happily as wives and mothers and make it their priority, as was I. Yet, some felt they wanted more choices for our lives. The Feminist Movement highlighted that need.

After all we’d gone to college, learned, secured professions and wanted to do something more than derive our self-esteem from how white we got our sheets and towels.

Believe me I’m not diminishing in any way the satisfaction of raising a family.  Seeing your children grow up happy, healthy and productive human beings is a job of which any women should be most proud. At least I am, and most mother’s I know.

However, we felt that after we raised our kids, new choices should be available to pursue.

And pursue we did.

So many women I knew left the nest they had built and made the choice to begin anew.

Some went back into their profession, some started businesses they had dreamed about and others pursued charity work.

These were important choices and women now seemed to have more of them.

After all the bra burnings, women’s movements and liberation inspiration it became clear the world had changed.

But not just for women. The choices women made now also changed the family dynamic. Men who had come to expect a certain paradigm in the home, were faced with new lifestyles.

Kids found it necessary to be more independent from their parents and learn skills they hadn’t ever thought necessary.

It didn’t happen overnight, but it all happened.

These were life changing choices.

Today what is really so important?

What day or where we play pickle ball? Which cruise to take, or should I let my hair go gray? Where is the best early bird special? Bra burning holds a far different meaning now. The act no longer symbolizes freedom. But the casting off of old worn-out clothing. Elastic can only stretch for so long before it must be tossed.

Figuring out which day of the week to do Physical Therapy isn’t the same as deciding on who you will marry.

The choices today seem to carry far less weight and carry far less consequences.

Yes, I’m aware any choice we make at any age can produce unexpected results, but it seems as you age don’t sweat the small stuff has finally kicked in.

I in no way intend to imply that Baby Boomers live inconsequential lives. No way. In fact so many have chosen to take risks and accomplish goals that are quite impactful and far reaching.

I can’t imagine a generation that marched against a war, for civil rights and witnessed assassinations could find satisfaction in irrelevance.

In the end, I wonder if we should acquiesce to the young of today. I’m looking around and not so sure they can do as good a job as we did. But I’m just too damn tired to fight the world anymore.

So, it’s tempting to play golf, maj jong, travel and choose which safari to experience.

Choice or no choice. I say what the hell, we’ve earned time off from tough choices. So why not just choose to enjoy every minute?

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.

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.

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…

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.

Bucket List Schmucket List

Bucket List Schmucket List?

Okay, so when I was young a few ions ago it seemed like although many of us would choose to watch that new-fangled invention television in lieu of outdoor activities, we had choices.

It didn’t matter where you lived there always seemed to be lots of fun whatever the season and it didn’t take much to convince us to go outside and play.

Even in the coldest winters back in Michigan we donned our seventeen layers of clothing and went outside to sled, build a snowman or have a good old fashioned snowball fight.

In the summer despite heat and humidity we nagged our parents until they blew up the rubber pool and we raced to leap in and pretend swim. As we grew older the number of round rubber pool sides increased in height. A pool with four layers that you could actually lie down in full length was the ultimate.

There were also public pools if your mother had a car and could drive you there, but you were perfectly content to lie in your rubber paradise, toes perched on the rubber pool side, reclining in the sun catching those evil UV rays. What did we know or care about wrinkles? We only knew we loved to feel the heat on our faces as we luxuriated in our mini pretend ocean.

We loved the outdoors despite the mosquitoes, bees, wasps and various bugs, spiders not so much, we were forced to include in our summer world. We even had real grass.

At lunchtime you would grudgingly pull yourself out of the pool and eat the tuna or peanut butter and jelly sandwich with chips and Kool Aid your mother placed on the picnic table. You hurriedly downed your lunch while the pool awaited your return and you didn’t even have to wait an hour.

We’d go to sleep at night exhausted without worrying whether or not we’d accomplished anything that day. We just knew we couldn’t wait to get up again the next morning and begin again. It was a time of innocence, appreciation for the small things in life and pure joy at just being a kid.

In Autumn you eagerly anticipated your father raking the leaves into piles so you could jump and crunch them under your feet before he burned them at the curb. That smell of smoking leaves was heaven to every kid who knew Halloween was imminent.

Life was easier, kinder and lacking in confusion. We knew as kids where our boundaries lie and if not, our parents would gladly remind us. We loved to hang out and read comic books, and getting a quarter from your Dad for the new Archie Annual was nirvana. Life was an Andy Hardy movie.

We ate sunflower seeds without realizing they were healthy and Jello molds laden with fresh fruit. We had no additives in our food and we spent so much time walking to school and playing outside we definitely didn’t need a Fitbit to tell us if we took enough steps each day.

There were double features at the movies on Saturdays and a box of Junior Mints or Dots. Popcorn and a drink were a popular option and we sat quietly throughout the show enjoying being on our own in an air-conditioned theatre.

Fast forward to today. I spend most of the morning deciding if it’s worth it to shower, dress and put on makeup to run a few errands. If I do more than four things in a day I need a nap and I can’t wait to strip off my clothes and jump into bed at night.

Why this huge shift in my world? Why the need to plan an agenda when all I have to do is exactly what I’d like?

After your kids are grown and out of the house and you have all the time in the world it seems you’re confronted with a problem…what do I do with all this time? I’m determined to fill my days with interesting activities, not just pass the time. Yet the time does pass, quite on its own without any consideration for you or your goals.

So I grab my bucket list, everyone should have one, and I start to check off items.

1. See Big Ben. Hmmm, this entails travel…have you seen those damn airports? And what if I’m stuck on a plane for hours in 104-degree heat like those people last week?

2. Learn pickleball. Right okay, I guess I’ll need to go shopping for a comfortable pair of, shoes. That’s a maybe so I’ll put a star there. Right  Norma, who are you kidding?

3. Clean out the drawers and get bags ready for charity. Okay I can do that. I’ll take a bag into the closet and leave it there to start filling. That’s easy so I’ll underline that one.

Wait what about last week when I did that stuff for the firemen but it wasn’t on my bucket list. I’ll just write that down and check it off. It’s only fair I get credit for finishing an activity.

4. Learn Spanish and Italian. Then figure out why I need to.

5. Okay now. let’s see, oh yes, send the book proposal out to another agent. Maybe this one will have a sense of humor and be able to read. Two qualities I’ve been having difficulty finding in an agent.

6. Wait, I have to call and plan a brunch with the girls. I’ll get on that today.

Oh, I just love being so busy.

7. Let’s see now. Machu Pichu…nope too much walking.

8. White Water Rafting…yeah right! Cross that sucker off.

9. Visit the rain forest…nah too humid.

10. Wait here’s one I actually did, see the Sistine Chapel. Goody, I love checking stuff off.

11. See the Northern lights. I guess that’s still doable.

12. Galapagos. Nope seasick.

13. Ride the Orient Express. Okay that’s a keeper.

14. Swim with the sharks. Nope that was pre-Jaws; why is that even still on here?

15. Mountain climbing. Good luck dragging my ass up a mountain.

16. Glamping. Damn I must have been high when I added that one.

17. Finish my proposal for the TV show. That’s a priority so I’ll get that done today. Or at least start it.

18. Just a second, I still want to try that new Keto recipe and see if it works. If it’s yummy I’ll add it to the blog. I better make up a shopping list.

19. I have to decide about the headboard for my bedroom redo. I should call the upholsterer.

20. Binge watch Succession. That’s an easy one.

Heavens there are so many things on this list I still have to get to. Go on a Safari, take up golf, let’s see that charity is a no go, the city didn’t like it Safari, and wait I can try to …oops wait a minute the phone is ringing.

Hey girlfriend, sure I have plenty of time to talk. What’s going on? No shit, tell me and don’t miss a detail. No, I’m not busy at all.

Lord, I miss that rubber pool.