AGEFULLY AGING

Inspirational reflections on this and that.

Recent Posts

  • THE MOST DANGEROUS YEAR OF YOUR LIFE!

    Recently, I came upon this article and realized that I’m less than decade away from the most dangerous year of my life! Who knew? And that cracked me up because we’re all only seconds away from danger from the moment we’re born. Frankly, it’s a wonder we get out of the womb in one piece.

    Yesterday, a van was travelling south, in the opposite lane from me. Suddenly, it swung out of the far-left lane, crossed the double yellow line, and made a U-turn smack in front of me! Had I not seen it and slammed on my brakes, I wouldn’t have written this blog. That’s the scary beauty of life. We never know what’s gonna happen next. Certainly, my father didn’t think he’d drop dead at 36. He was happily doing flips off the diving board the day before.

    I’ll tell you the REAL most dangerous year of your life. It’s any year in which your stress outweighs your joy. It’s the year you stay in a job you hate and do so only for the money. It’s the year you realize your partner really isn’t. It’s the year you’re just trying to get through until you get to the next one. Or the year you totally take for granted because there will be oh so many more, only there won’t be.

    Don’t get me wrong. I’m not taking any chances. I’m so careful getting out of the shower you’d think I was doing the walking zombie. No broken hips for me. Just yesterday, someone asked me if I ever think about getting a motorcycle again. You bet I do. All the time. That Kawasaki Ninja looks like a dream. Would I throw my leg over it? Not a prayer. I know firsthand what it feels like to have 300 lbs. land smack on top of me and I’m not talking sex.

    This year alone, I had a rattlesnake come after me in my garage, was knocked flat by my pickleball partner, and narrowly missed a few collisions simply driving. Other than a chipped tooth and a bent finger, I’ve lived to see another day. Lately, I’ve been hanging out at the local Goofy Golf. Sure, I’ve tripped over a few of the obstacles, but in the process I did manage a hole-in-one!! Carry on my friends!

  • OFFLOAD OFF ROAD

    Not long ago, I was driving my youngest to the airport. She was in a hurry as is oft the case, so I put on the GPS:

    “Hey Siri,” I said, “directions to the airport.” My daughter was aghast.

    “How long have you lived here?” she demanded.

    “8 years.”

    “And you still don’t know the way to the airport?”

    I thought about that. I do know the general direction and if I had lots of time, I would eventually get there. However, when I have a passenger, particularly one in a hurry, I get anxious and completely distracted, particularly if we get deep in conversation. I once drove to the next town over under that very circumstance. (Yes, I also turn down the radio if I’m in nerve-wracking, freeway traffic.)

    It could be age, the fact I don’t drive to the airport much or my sometimes-faulty sense of direction. But science says it’s actually a result of my ‘cognitive offloading.’ That is, my brain has grown used to offloading certain tasks to technology. While it can free one up to pursue more creative tasks, it can also make you kind of stupid if you’re not careful. I happily offload phone numbers to my iPhone. Why waste brain space for mere numbers?

    Whether or not I turn on the correct street does not affect my self-worth one iota. However, I would never ‘offload’ my writing to AI as it has yet to capture my voice and I take personal pride in my work. Also, I used to fret when I recognized someone but couldn’t recall their name. It was embarrassing. Not anymore. Turns out there’s nothing wrong with me. So, if you’re a name-forgetter like me, check this out!

    For the record, I rode in one, self-driving Waymo, once. (Yes, I kept my foot on the brake and gripped the door handle hard the whole ride.) I would have done so twice, but that second Waymo flew right past me because I was standing on the wrong side of the street. (It’s a bit short-sighted.) So, my friends, offload when you can and off-road if you dare. Just don’t turn the driving over to your pup—not quite yet.

  • STRAIGHTEN UP AND FLY RIGHT!

    When I was a kid, my grandmother often said, “Straighten up and fly right!” It meant pull your shoulders back and act proud to be who you are. When I was a teenager and she said it, I came up with this flippant reply: “People don’t fly. So, I don’t need to straighten up!” If only I had known how important posture would be as I aged. Truth is that how you hold yourself is how you see yourself.

    When a client enters my office it’s the first thing I notice. Older clients are often slumped and it’s not just time that has worn them down. They are so used to being ignored they ignore themselves. They do it in small steps. It starts with that slump–a drawing in to their shell–perhaps so they won’t be bumped and jostled by all those young people rushing past them. Even their voice gets softer, not just because it’s worn out, but because there’s no real reason to raise it anymore. Who’s listening?

    Recently, I’ve taken on many folks over 50. Most feel ignored and obsolete. Some complain about their kids forgetting them or losing their purpose or feeling invisible. As I encourage them to advocate for themselves and ‘stand tall’, it occurs to me that I’m older than all of my clients. Yes, ALL of them! Somehow, this fact hasn’t occurred to them. Perhaps because I’m invisible, too?

    At the market this morning, an old woman shuffled ahead of me. She had the slump. As she tentatively moved towards the heavy, glass door, she was estimating if she could pull that door open before a fellow coming towards her from the other side got there first. She hesitated. He flew straight through it and would have flattened her had she not paused. In fact, he didn’t even SEE her! Quickly, I grabbed the door. “Oh, thank you dear,” she smiled. As she continued, I noticed she was standing straighter.

    It reminded me to do the same. Often, I sing the words to “Straighten Up and Fly Right,” and snap my fingers when I lift my carriage. So, do yourself a favor this summer morning and enjoy Nat King Cole here. His singing harkens to a time long forgotten that will never come again.

  • “WATER, WATER EVERYWHERE AND NOT A DROP TO DRINK”–COLERIDGE

    Recently, a water pipe burst under my kitchen sink causing a flood. I discovered this when I got up to pee in the middle of the night and began treading water. I spent the next 4 1/2 hours sloshing it outside with mops, mats and rags. Yesterday, a restoration team arrived, knocking out baseboards and cabinetry. As they set up 16 plus industrial fans and heaters one guy said, “Okay, when we’re done, it’s gonna sound like a 747 is landing in your kitchen.” He was quite accurate.

    The following morning, I thought I smelled smoke. I ran to unzip the plastic covering and raced towards the 747s. The noise was deafening. The machines were giving off orange-colored glows but there was no fire. It was all in my head. Why? Perhaps it was a protective reaction: I’d just had one spontaneous disaster; there could always be another. Besides, my subconscious knew that using that much wattage COULD ignite something.

    Anxiety is common among my clients and the world itself is problematic. However, what stirs our anxiety has little to do with the outside world and everything to do with our inner experiences. Pay attention to your feelings. If you jump up at 2 AM thinking the house is on fire, it may well be. Roll with it. But if it’s not, you’ve satisfied your unconscious worry. So, go back to bed. Remember, even trees need some stress to survive.

    We have all of our feelings for a reason and that includes anxiety. When our antennae go up about something or someone, there is often a good reason for it. We are being warned that something is ‘off.’ So, before you reach for Prozac, embrace the anxiety and ask yourself: “Why am I having this thought?” Often, you’ll know why. If you don’t then ask, “Is this something I can fix?” If it is–fix it. If not, let it go. 

    Ancient Chinese philosopher, Lao Tzu, said: “If you are depressed, you are living in the past. If you are anxious, you are living in the future. If you are at peace, you are living in the present.” Psychologists suggest the “333 rule” for coping with anxiety by facing it. They warn that avoiding it FLOODS your brain with stress hormones and hijacks your critical thinking. So, look your nightmares in the eye until they… fade.

    P. S. Should this ever happen to you in the wee hours of darkness, don’t wait to call for help as I did. Contact a Restoration service ASAP, and they’ll be there within an hour and suck up all the water in seconds.

  • I’D RATHER BE LONELY ALONE

    The World Health Organization says we are presently experiencing a loneliness epidemic. Studies show that men spend seven hours in front of the TV for every hour they spend with someone outside their home. Women with pets spend more time caring for them than in face-to-face contact with companions of their own ilk. Teenagers have fewer ‘real’ friends than in previous generations and spend a third of their day staring at a screen.

    As an only child, I spent lots of time alone. There were only four channels on Granny’s black and white TV, and the highlight of my week was going to the library. At home, I mostly entertained myself with a Yo-Yo, a skateboard and a transistor radio. It never once occurred to me that I was lonely. However, I’m concerned for the future of many today who didn’t get my fortunate start.

    In this world of constant distraction, sitting with oneself in solitude is difficult. Many of my clients desperately seek connection–and often to their peril. One in his 50s recently moved into his own apartment after spending 16 years in a ‘toxic relationship.’ “It’s so nice not to be disrespected 24/7,” he confides. “Every time I think about going back to her, I’m not sure I want to.” And then? He went back.

    My younger clients are equally conflicted. “I should be married by now; all my friends are. What if I never have kids?” Well, so what? If you want kids, there’s adoption, sperm donors and IVF. Marriage is merely a piece of paper pledging your intentions. So be careful what circuits you plug yourself into. Some will give you light and others only a shock. Over time, intentions can change radically.

    So, if you fear being alone and feel desperate to connect, try this: Take yourself out for dinner once a week—no phone—until dining alone is second nature not a self-conscious endeavor. This is much harder than it seems and few accomplish the task. Once you’re more comfortable with yourself, you may find the desperation vanishes. Thoreau said, “I find it wholesome to be alone the greater part of the time.” Indeed.

  • GET OUT OF THE GOLDILOCKS ZONE!

    Recently, a woman emailed me saying she loved my book about Alzheimer’s, but thought it needed ‘more attention.’ She said she was a marketer and had a 6-step plan that would boost “Kissing Tomatoes” in the ratings. She even quoted passages from the book along with snippets of actual reviews from my readers. I was flattered and blown away by her attention to detail. Too good to be true? You bet.

    After exchanging a few emails, my soi-disant marketer said her services would cost $600. Considering what she promised, that seemed reasonable, but something felt ‘off.’ Her highly detailed responses were a little too perfect. For every point I raised, she immediately offered several replies. My head spun. Finally, I sent one to my daughter to get her take. “Oh, Mom,” she wrote back, “She’s definitely AI.” She was right.

    In the old days, you only had to worry about real people scamming you. Now you have to watch out for phony bots. No wonder folks fall in love with their robots. AI is immensely compelling and infinitely persistent. Even after I stopped corresponding, she followed up with three more emails to convince me she was real! However, when she said she ‘didn’t have time’ to FaceTime, I knew she also didn’t have a face.

    Yesterday, I received an ad from WisprFlow. The pitch? “Turn your voice into clean, professional text you can send the moment you stop talking. (Clearly, they don’t know me too well.) “Speak the way you think. Change your mind mid-sentence. Flow strips the filler, fixes the grammar and gives you text that reads like you spent five minutes writing it.” Five minutes? I spend hours getting words right.

    In “Goldilocks and the Three Bears,” everything had to be just so but any fool who believes that’s possible is deluded. Earth is known as the ‘Goldilocks Zone’ in the Universe because it has the right amount of water and light for human life, but the operative word is ‘human.’ Perfection is neither real nor human. Ask any artist. It’s the smudges, inconsistencies and space that give a canvas character and beauty.

    The same holds true for your face. Whether you have a big nose, floppy ears, or a chipped tooth, it’s perfect as is. Mine is riddled with freckles and wrinkles, but that’s who I am: someone who’s lived an exuberant life outdoors. I don’t want to look like some puffed-up balloon or sound like Tolstoy. I want to look and sound like ME! Do you think giraffes fret over having too many spots? AI might mimic perfect but don’t fall for it. Stand up for flaws and fault lines, and you won’t be fooled by flattery or fakery.

  • THANKS MOM

    It is hard to believe that the young woman in this photo, a Smith College graduate, would spend the last decades of her life pushing a shopping cart filled with junk and sleeping in a baseball dugout. Such was the journey of my mother pictured above. It is only now I realize that the greatest gift she gave me wasn’t my talents but my ability to find beauty in the worst of circumstances and value in broken souls.

    The last time we were face-to-face, was in a Long Island diner. Mother sat across from me with her thinning hair and big-faced grin. She had just found several, pink sponge hair curlers in the dumpster and was downright giddy. In between bites of a sloppy sub, she babbled on about her ‘friends,’ from the homeless to street cops, speaking of each as if they were movie stars. Hers was a rarefied air. Yes, it was delusional, but it spoke volumes about her ability to find joy everywhere it wasn’t.

    I never fully appreciated her until giving birth myself. Looking into my daughter’s eyes and knowing she had come from my own body was astonishing. That sense of wonder has not left me still. It is not just the breath of life a mother breathes into you. It is also the breaths you take from her; the ones she held as you took your first steps, or used up giving advice and encouragement, those you knocked out of her when you stumbled and those she continues to hold as you navigate your own life.

    Mothers endure as steadfastly as Jackie, the bald eagle I’ve followed on the Internet. Through rain and snowstorms, she has hovered over her eggs until first one and then the other hatched. As each emerged from its shell, she carried the broken pieces far away to fool predators. For ceaseless hours, she has remained, wings spread over their tiny, downy bodies to keep them warm, even as she shivers.

    Jackie’s brood

    Once any child is born, a mother’s life is never again just hers. She is tied like a mast to the ships of her children. Beyond all hope, she wants those ships to sail, just as the eagle wants her young to fly. So, on this Mother’s Day, remember: the most joyous sound to her ears will be your voice. The loveliest sight will be your face and the greatest gift you can give her is a life well and honorably lived.

  • ACT YOUR AGE-NOT YOUR IQ

    Look closely, and you’ll see that my friend, Raven, is shoeless, even while playing pickleball in 100-degree heat! He says it keeps him grounded and it must work because he’s a phenom on the court. His reckless abandon reminds me of the kid I saw at the grocery store who tossed grapes into the produce weighing scale from his moms’ shopping cart. “Act your age!” she scolded. “He is,” I assured her.

    At six, Mozart was giving piano concerts, and Shirley Temple was making movies. Pocahontas saved Captain James Smith when she was only 12. Anne Frank began her famous diary at 13. Ralph Waldo Emerson enrolled at Harvard when he was 14. At 17, Joan of Arc led her troops against the English and Marco Polo began his exploration of Asia. Were they acting their age?

    Growing up doesn’t mean we have to stop having fun and not much stops me from creating my own. At the Starbucks window, when the intercom voice asks, “What can I get you today?” I say weird stuff as fast as I can like, “a kumquat cafe with flipped fleas.” There’s often a pause. “I’m sorry,” the voice says, “I didn’t understand you.” “A non-fat latte, with whip please,” I reply succinctly, trying not to giggle. (Sometimes I simply meow or do bird calls.)

    When my girls were little, we once visited a fancy gift store. There were signs posted everywhere indicating: NO DOGS! The sour, old woman at the register looked mean and scary. As we neared the rear of the store, I couldn’t resist any longer and barked twice. (Mine can stir up an entire dog park.) Suddenly the woman appeared at the end of our aisle, then the next and the next looking for the non-existent dog! Still makes me smile.

    If everyone acted their age, life would be dull. So save your stiff upper lip for your prison mug shot and get in touch with your inner child. Take off your shoes. Pitch grapes into the weighing scale. Bark like a dog. Shake up the status quo. When my grandmother was 83, she was still doing yoga on the front lawn in her orange tights. She never once told me to act my age just as I would never tell the barefoot boy to put on his shoes. Joy is fleeting as it is. Why stifle someone else’s?

    “Happiness depends more on the internal frame of a person’s mind—than on the externals of the world.”—George Washington

  • master of your fate?

    “The first 12 years of retirement should be the richest, fullest, most intentional years of your life. Not the most cautious. Not the most careful. The most alive.” That’s Dan Haylett’s advice in, “Your 12 good years.” If only that worked for everyone. 

    Today, as I push my cart towards the automatic doors at the market, I notice a man about my age just ahead of me. He is distinguished, freshly shaven and wears a bright, yellow sweater. When the automatic doors open, however, he doesn’t budge.

    “Waiting for the light to change, huh?” I tease, noting his hesitation.

    “Nope. Waiting for my wife. Apparently, I’m not allowed to drive anymore.” The loss of independence sits heavy in his eyes.

    “It was just a little fender bender,” he explains. “The guy ahead of me stopped too fast.”

    His son took away his car keys. Now he must be driven everywhere like a schoolboy. He’s mad but mostly he’s sad. I would be, too. No more jumping in the car on a moment’s whim and letting the world swirl past your windows. From now on, he’ll just be a passenger. I imagine him raising that son; the one who took his first steps as he looked on with pride. Now that boy will watch him take his last ones.

    Having seen my share of elderly drivers motor through 4-way stop signs or poke along at speeds below 30, I get it. Presently, there are one million licensed drivers over the age of 80! And while one could say the same for teens: drivers over 85 have four times the fatality rate of teenage motorists. Still, losing your independence on any level is soul-crushing.

    At 17, I drove the California coastline alone in an old, Chevy Nova with a stick shift. I still remember the hairpin turns approaching Big Sur, and the scary cliffs where mammoth waves crashed on the rocks below. It was a thrilling and heady ride, and I was the master of my fate. Years later, when Don Henley sang, “The Boys of Summer,” I was in my VW convertible, “with the top pulled down and the radio on!” 

    Life imitates life— until it can’t anymore. We are so much younger in our heads than we are in our bodies and that dichotomy can get us into trouble. Recently, some young boys cajoled me into climbing a tree. I’m 73. (The oldest was 12. That should’ve been a clue.) 

    “Come on, Helen,” they implored. “You can do it.”

    Of course I could. A few boughs up, I realized my error. Getting down would be trouble. Thankfully, a strong friend came to my rescue and retrieved me from the limbs before I broke a few of my own.

    F. Scott Fitzgerald wrote, “we beat on, boats against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the past.” No wonder. That’s where all our wild and free memories first ignited in us; the ones we thought would last forever. Someday, I would like to be that one percent still cruising in their 90‘s with the top down. If not, I’ll just have to put on my Wayfarers and call an Uber.

    P. S. Here is a simple test to see if you/your loved one needs to turn in the keys.

  • FINDING THE SWEET SPOT

    Recently, a player saw this paddle and said, “Wow, that guy sure hits the sweet spot.” I checked out my own and realized it’s not nearly as defined. Finding the ‘sweet spot’ (“The optimal point that produces the best possible result.”) takes focus, practice, consistency and a relaxed approach. You can’t just hit one great ball, smack the next 50 into the net and call yourself a player. (Though folks do.)

    Lately, I’ve been trying to find the ‘sweet spot’ in everything I do, including driving. You know, getting where I need to go without cursing or flipping someone off. Also, most days I swim a half mile in a chlorine-filled pool. Confined to the chemical torture of a cement tub may be good for the joints but the cap rips my hair, and the goggles leave raccoon marks around my eyes. Still I’m finding the serenity in it.

    Today there was a little boy in the lane next to me. He casually paddled while floating on a Styrofoam noodle. Every now and then, he would lean back and gaze peacefully at the sky. Even the waves I made doing the butterfly didn’t disturb the joy he found in simply floating. ‘Just wait till he’s older,’ I thought. ‘He’ll be huffing and puffing just like me to stay in shape.’ Intrigued by his seeming bliss, I finally stopped.

    “No school today, huh?” I asked.

    “Nope,” he said with a smile.

    “How old are you?”

    “Six,” he replied proudly.

    “Oh,” I said slightly surprised. “I figured you were at least seven.”

    His blue eyes widened.

    “Well, I will be seven on Saturday.”

    “You mean to tell me that in two days you will be seven? Most kids would have said, ‘I’m almost seven!’

    “Oh,” he smiled. “Well, right now, I’m just happy being six.”

    That’s the sweet spot: finding joy at six or sixty. My grandmother focused on the now like a Zen master. Her sense of peace eluded me. She didn’t fret the future or bemoan the past and her lack of ambition drove me crazy because I had plans. Still do. The secret that she, the fellow above, and the little boy know is this: You paddle, then drift. Wherever you end up is just fine because you’re still there. It’s a thing.

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