Back in the 70’s I purchased the “Visible Woman” for the girls in my high school English class. It was a see-thru plastic model of the human body. I figured that they should know what went where in their bodies. Little did I realize that 40 years later I would be proclaimed an INVISIBLE one.

At least that’s what the Huffington Post,, NY Times and everyone else says about women over 50.   Apparently, we have become such non-persons that young folks don’t even SEE us. So, here are some tips on how to make your self more VISIBLE:

  1. Wear bright colors. No, not just a colorful scarf. I’m talking, red shirt, green sunglasses and bold leggings.
  2. Talk to ANYONE younger than you. (At this point you have a large pool to draw from). This works particularly well at Starbucks. Find the youngest dodo head with earplugs in and say, “Hi. Whatcha listening to?” If it’s Radiohead, say something hip like, ‘They’re dope.’
  3. Have something current to say! Like, ‘Hey, did you know there is an ingredient in tree leaves that keep female mice from gaining weight—but it has NO effect whatsoever on male mice?
  4. Stand by the condiments. When someone sprinkles cinnamon on their latte, say, “Hey, did you know the FDA allows 22 rodent hairs and 400 insect parts in every 100 mg of that stuff you’re sprinkling on your latte?’
  5. Sit near a group of people talking and eavesdrop. Last week I learned what a “bot” is.
  6. At the grocery store, fill a cart with a few things, then find several yards of open space, get a running start and hop on. This will cause a few giggles.
  7. When you’re paying and the card reader says, “Is this amount correct?” Hit the “No” button. When the cashier freaks, calmly explain that in your day a loaf of bread, half-gallon of milk and carton of eggs could be had for $2, not $15.80.
  8. Head to the mall for a good, brisk walk. As you pass teenagers with too tight, or falling down jeans, begin singing, “My Favorite Things.” Make up your own lyrics like, “Girls in tight leggings with nose rings all jingling.”

Look. We have nothing left to prove! Pythagoras already did that. Be bold. Be brave. Be YOU! The best thing about aging is the FREEDOM to not care about the ‘impression’ you make. You’ve already made it!!





Today was horrible. An ice storm has laid waste the city and its’ streets. The bushes in my garden are a slumpy, frozen mess. It is so cold that the dog begins to limp in the frozen grass and must be carried to pee. I cannot get to the market or even to the gym because the city is a wasteland of deathly stillness. The few cars that venture out, swerve, slip and slam into ditches.

Oh, I long for warmth and sun–anything that takes me away from the frozen, barren sound of snapping branches and things dying. In the distance I hear an ambulance. Perhaps someone has had a heart attack? Weather like this kills the old in a heartbeat.

So I listen to my own, grateful to hear that familiar thump thump. Tomorrow I am supposed to go to the doctor—an appointment I have managed to put off for more than a year. However, the Mayor has closed the town! Now that doctor won’t be able to tell me all the things that are going wrong.

Because things only get worse the older you get. Nothing gets better. The dominoes of our spines tumble and crumble and compress. Our arteries harden, shrink or fail. Our skin sags, wrinkles or mottles. It’s an insidiously slow process you don’t see coming. It is just like the innocent, transparent raindrops that have fallen on the leaves in my garden. This one, cold freeze and they have become laden with an ice so heavy they are simply snapping from their branches in one, effortless breath.

But what’s this? My twelve, tall, bamboo-like Nandina have bent low and are about to break because they are so fully laden with bright, red, fat berries! Their crimson glow is the only color in my now, white garden. Ah, THAT is the way I want to go: quick, with a snap, but leaving a splash of rich color behind me on the frozen, white ground.




ignatius in fire zone

“Hey, you’re probably gonna get a ticket,” I said to the older gentleman sitting in the fire zone outside of Starbucks.

“It’s okay,” he replied with a cursory glance at the sign. “My middle name is, ‘Fire’.”

“Yeah, right,” I said, rolling my eyes.

“My middle name is, “Ignatius,” he calmly explained, “which in Latin means. . .”

“Ignite,” I hastily said, showing off my paltry command of the language.

“Exactly,” he said, somewhat pleased.

“Well, my name means ‘light’ in Greek,” I continued. “So if I stand next to you any longer, I will definitely ‘light your fire.’

Mistake. A few minutes later, he followed me into Starbucks where I was waiting in line. He leaned into my ear and whispered, “What would you say if I told you I could take 27 years off your life? That is the distance it takes to cross the Milky Way.”

“Well, I’d say you’re too late. I’ve already crossed it. Twice. But thanks for trying.”

He just smiled, and returned to his seat by the “No Parking,” zone.

Something about him intrigued me, so on my way out, I stopped to talk to him again.  Turns out he taught philosophy and metaphysics 40 years ago, “before it was so scientific,” he sighed.  “It was a time when people were encouraged to think and dream and imagine. . .now they just ‘Google.'”

As I left, he gave me the biggest smile and said that I must, “always seek out the sun, because it is vertical and grounds you.”

I promised him that I would.  So I will.

Here’s the thing. You MUST talk to strangers—particularly OLD ones. You just never know what’s on their minds. No matter how weird or far out they may seem, embrace them. Include them. They need to be heard and you need to hear them.





For some stupid reason, when I turned 50, I decided that I should get an official physical. Not only had I lived half a century, I felt super-duper! The doctor poked everywhere, made me pee in a cup and sucked the marrow of my veins with waspy-looking hypodermics. The nurse measured and weighed me. I was certain I’d be found the absolute picture of health.

Well, not exactly. Two hours later I was told I had, “advanced degenerative arthritis in both knees.” In addition, I had “scoliosis of the spine,” which, “could be corrected by surgery,” but there would be, “a risk of paralysis.” During the EKG, a heart murmur was discovered, along with “mitral valve regurgitation,” meaning the heart flap didn’t completely close with each beat. Oh, and my cholesterol was 281, with absolutely NO good cholesterol and lots of super bad. Finally, an echocardiogram determined that my left carotid artery was 60% blocked.

In all, a stellar report? Well, not so much. But know what ticked me off the most? My chart said that I was 5 foot 6 inches!!! THAT made me mad. I had been 5 foot 7 for as long as I could remember. In fact, I made the nurse measure me a second time just to be sure. “5’ 6”” she announced in a snippy, starched voice.

So, after the doctor droned on about what meds I needed to take and how I should consider surgery, all I could think about was, ‘Where did that INCH go?’ When he finally shut up, he asked: “Now, is there anything else I can do for you?”

“Yes,” I replied. “You need to measure me again. I think there is something wrong with your nurse’s eyesight. She said I was 5’ 6” and I know for a fact that I am 5’7.” He was not pleased. Reluctantly, he stood me on the scale and raised the metal bar. I stretched as high as I could with my physical body and then stretched even higher in my mind

“Five foot six,” he confirmed. “We get shorter as we age.”

So, here’s MY diagnosis as to where that inch went: work, travel, marriage, childbirth, mothering and a lifetime of memory-making. Know what?  I am a medical marvel!!:  Think of me as a 115-pound bundle of valuable assets: all 5’ 6” of them.


fountain of youth

I found the fountain of youth this week!  Nope, not in Florida.  Sorry Ponce de Leon.  Nope.  Not in my tube of Oil of Olay.  I found it right here in this cute, little head of mine.  It was there all along!  Who knew?  But that’s where it’s been the whole time, just waiting for me to enjoy the splash of its’ youthful waters.  It’s what I think.  Plain and simple.  My thoughts are me.  No getting around that.

My brain, paltry as it may sometimes appear is the source of all, good things.  If I think I am old, I am.  If I feel young and exuberant, I am that, too.  The trick is to keep it hopeful despite all outward appearances.  And trust me, the ‘outward appearances’ are failing.  Good news is:  so is my eyesight!  So, this morning, when I caught sight of myself in the locker room mirror at the gym, you may have noticed my sagging skin.  But what did I see?  A drop-dead, gorgeous, young thing with long hair in a bikini!!  Yup.

Illusion is everything.  Reality, not so much.  Ask any artist about the importance of illusion.  They’ll tell you it is in the ‘eye of the beholder.’  And YOUR eye is YOUR beholder.  So see what is beautiful and hopeful.  Think what is possible and wonderful and you, too, will enjoy this little fountain of youth with me.  We have only so much time to live. . . let alone think.  So, when you read this, close your eyes and think every good thing you can imagine.  It will make you smile.  And if you smile, that will make me feel even better. :)


torn up lawn


Okay, so I called the cops—but hey it was late and dark and I was alone in the house when I spotted an old, beat up van with tinted windows parked well into the grass at the edge of my lawn. At first I thought it might be the girl who had contacted me on Craig’s list to buy my fire pit. Surely, though, she would have come into the driveway and knocked on the door?

So, I leashed the dog and boldly walked out onto the lawn under a lone pool of light. I stared hard at the van but all was dark and quiet. I figured the car had run out of gas and been abandoned. As I turned back towards the house, though, there was the sudden rev of a motor. The van began to move forward, stalled, then stopped again. Quickly, I headed into the house and called the police. Four minutes later, a patrol car pulled up behind the van. He talked to the driver then headed towards me.

“This guy says he’s supposed to pick up a fire pit at your house. He was afraid to come in your driveway until his friend arrived. Unfortunately, he’s now stuck in your lawn and can’t get out.”

I felt like a dope. Turns out he was a doctoral student in biomedical engineering working in gene therapy. Just then his friend swung into my driveway.  She is studying pharmacology which treats mental illness.  They called AAA and were told there was ‘at least an hour and a half wait.’ Well, I couldn’t leave them outside in the cold that long, so I invited them in for dinner.  There was laughter and intelligent conversation at my table and I loved every minute.

By the time AAA arrived and hauled his van off our lawn, there was a 15-foot trench of mud where grass used to be. It did not bother me one bit. What’s a little grass loss compared to the company of two spectacular, young people? As they left, the young man said again, “I am so, so sorry about your lawn.” I replied: “And I am so, so thankful you happened by.” He looked surprised. “You see, what you are sorry for at your age is something that I am grateful for at mine.” Someday, he will know exactly what I meant.





When I looked in the mirror this morning I could not believe that I actually looked older than I thought I looked last night when I went to bed. So much for 8 hours of “Beauty Sleep.” However, there are still a few upsides to this graying chapter of life as I discovered a few hours later.

I arrived at the gym in a torrential downpour. (Of course, my umbrella was still drying by the front door from yesterday’s rain). Unfortunately, all the “senior” spots were taken so I had to park farther away. By the time I walked by the “senior” parking, completely soaked, a 20-something guy casually hopped out of his white, Toyota Camry, right in front of me.

“Young, man,” I barked. “You certainly don’t look like a ‘senior’ to me, unless you thought this spot was for college students.”

He froze. Looked at the sign then said sheepishly, “Well, I didn’t wanna get wet.”

“Neither did this senior,” I replied continuing on.

“Oh! I’ll move my car right now,” he said moving back towards it.

“Don’t you dare!” I commanded. “We’re already parked, already sopped and that’s that. Moving it would just be a waste of gas.”

“Are you sure?” he continued, still lagging behind my quick, don’t-want-to-get-wetter pace.

“Yup. The way I look at it, I let you borrow my spot today because I certainly wouldn’t want you to get those biceps wet. However, if I had a cane and was limping I might well whack you with it.”

As we walked in together, I asked him what his workout would be today.

“Well, I’m going to do my quads then focus on my lower back,” he replied.

“Oh,” I replied. “Well what about the rest of you?”

“I did my upper body yesterday,” he said as if to reassure me he had not neglected a single, body part. “You know, lats, biceps, flys and stuff. What about you?”

“Oh, me? Well… I’m working on my Esther Williams, while I swim back and forth to nowhere.’ For some reason, he thought this was hilarious and chuckled all the way to his weight machine. (But I’ll bet you a hundred bucks he has no clue who she is).

As I left the gym, I noticed his car was gone. Nope. That rascal came back out and re-parked his Toyota… smack next to me!


old woman praying

Dear God, here and everywhere

Thank you for this meal we’ll share.

In this house that’s toasty warm

Although the roof leaks every storm.

I’m grateful that I still can eat

With all of my original teeth.

Although I bite most on the left

Because the right’s been chewed to death.

I’m grateful that I still can hear

Although it’s less in this one ear.

I strain to catch each grown kid’s tale…

So far, not one has gone to jail!

I’m thankful for their energy

How come they now have more than me?

The boy I wed is right here, too

My failing eyes still think he’s cute.

Guess what? I have the body parts

You gave me at the very start.

Although there’s been some wear and tear

And many less strands in my hair,

I’m grateful all my friends aren’t dead

And hope I have some years ahead

But should I grow both deaf and blind

I hope you’ll let me keep my mind.

So I can say this thankful grace

With friends & family ‘round the place.

Oh, one more thing before we sup,

Lord, thank you for my little pup!




Noted neurologist, Oliver Sacks, says that music “utilizes more parts of the brain,” than any other activity we engage in. In the documentary, “Alive Inside,” he also notes that music is “one of the last things” to leave a memory destroyed by Alzheimer’s.

After watching the film myself, I decided to put together my own playlist on my iPod. I wanted songs that I liked to sing along with, like Don Henly’s, “The Boys of Summer.” I also wanted songs I listened to on my transistor radio when I was a kid, like Del Shannon’s, “Runaround Sue.” Then I added songs that make me nostalgic, like Karla Bonoff’s, “Wild Heart of the Young.” Couldn’t forget my husband’s and my dating song, Roger Voudoris’s, “Get Used To It.” I threw in some Barbra Streisand and lots of Chopin for good measure. No play list is complete without “In a Gada da Vida,” by Led Zeplin, which I added simply so I could impress the other nursing home residents with my mastery of the drum solo. Lastly, I added lots of Michael Jackson songs, because he just makes me want to dance!

Guess you could say I’m prepared. Now, I might be lucky and never lose my memory, but if I do? I hope someone puts those headphones on me and pushes, “PLAY.” Then look out, because in all modesty, I still do a pretty darn good, “moonwalk.” Just ask the passengers on that Southwest flight from San Francisco to Nashville last week. Oh yeah…. And if you have any song ideas of your own that I should add, post them here. I’m still a work in progress.