AGEFULLY AGING

Inspirational reflections on this and that.

Recent Posts

  • HERE’S TO INDEPENDENCE!!

         Today may be a celebration of our country’s independence, but fireworks on this night have always reminded me it’s Granny’s birthday.  She would have been 110 today.  I said “Good-bye” to her at 95 but the truth is she left me in body only.  Every hug, tear and piece of advice she ever gave me is still intact in my memory. 

          On this date in 1845, Thoreau moved to Walden and wrote the book which would define him.  He would remind us that man and nature are inextricably connected, so we must preserve it.  The same holds true of the invisible threads which bind us to each other.

          As I waved my youngest off to New York yesterday and reminded her to “drink plenty of water,” it was really Granny talking.  When I hugged my oldest at the gate en route to look at colleges in California and my tears began to fall, I remembered Granny doing the same when I left her.  My children are already navigating that long road that we all have walked— to independence.

          We repeat ourselves generation to generation.  We do it in different languages, under different skies and in different times but the pattern doesn’t change.  We’re born, make the same mistakes our parents did (or invent our own), have children, watch them grow as we age and then we die.  Some of us die fighting like those who won our independence.  Some of us have no fight at all.  Most of us lie somewhere in between.

          What all of us have is a teeny, tiny window of time to look out on the garden of Life.  “It will only be as beautiful as you make it,” Granny once said, “and it takes work.”   Someday, if my children remember me on my 110th birthday, I hope their gardens are as full of color and rich with possibilities as mine is.  I learned how to tend it from a woman born in 1900; the same one who also said, “Plant lots of seeds.  They won’t all take.”  (Helen Hudson is the author of, “Kissing Tomatoes,” a memoir of the years before and after her grandmother’s descent into Alzheimer’s.   http://www.helen-hudson.com).

  • SOWING SEEDS

         Three months ago I began this blog having no idea what I was doing or what to expect.  The first week there were about 20 or so readers.  What began as an adjunct to my book on Alzheimer’s, has become something more thanks to you, my readers.

         It reminds me of the parable in the Bible about sowing seeds; some fall on rocky ground, some are eaten by birds, some grow intermingled with weeds and others bear fruit.  It is a metaphor that also applies to the children we bear, the relationships we have and the jobs we do.  Only time will really tell.

          Writers are people who talk to themselves on paper, hoping others will eavesdrop.  Words evaporate in conversation, so I write to hold on to the thoughts.  But ultimately I write because I hope someone will read it.  And you are.  As of this morning, there have been 3,330 ‘hits.’   So, if it’s all right with you, as long as you’re listening, I’ll just keep talking to myself.   (Helen Hudson is the author of, “Kissing Tomatoes,” an Alzheimer’s memoir.  http://www.helen-hudson.com)  

  • KEEP YOUR EYES OPEN

         I saw my first dead body up close when I was 12.  It happened quite by accident.  I was walking home from school in New York City and happened to pass by a church.  There was a long line outside, and always curious, I stopped to find out what was going on.  “It’s a funeral,” someone said.  “But why is everyone lined up out here instead of going inside?” I asked.  “We’re waiting to view the body,” another added.

         That gave me pause.  “View the body.”  What exactly did that mean? How do you ‘view’ a dead body, with a special magnifying glass or something?  Was the person dressed?  Were they stuffed?  If they were already dead why would someone want to look at them?  All I could think of was that if I were dead I certainly would NOT want anyone “viewing” me.  That would be pretty embarrassing. 

            Now I was really curious.  I just had to see what this was all about.  Casually, I sauntered to the end of the line.  Since everyone else had on a serious face, I put mine on, too.  We moved soberly toward the front door of the church, then down the aisle towards a large, glossy, wooden box.  One by one, the mourners ahead of me stopped in front of the box, looked down briefly, crossed themselves and then left.  I was getting closer.  My heart was beating so fast that I could hear it in my ears. 

         There was a man in there!  He was all dressed up in a nice, new suit and really, shiny, leather shoes.  He looked perfectly fine with a nice haircut and everything, only his eyes were closed and he wasn’t breathing.  I know because I stood there long enough to be sure of that.  I had never seen anyone so completely still before.  Then I noticed his hands.  They had been placed on his chest in a way that I imagine he had never put them in real life.  His fingers were stiff and awkward as if they had been sculpted by a very, bad artist.  Indeed, they did not seem to belong to his hands at all! 

         I couldn’t get out of there fast enough.  I didn’t even stop to wait for my bus home and ran all 27 blocks.  As long as everything was still moving on me, I planned to keep moving it.  Gotta keep your eyes open as long as you can.  Someday, someone else will be closing them.  Until then, there’s always something around the next corner and it might just change your life.  (Helen Hudson is the author of, “Kissing Tomatoes.”  http://www.helen-hudson.com)           

  • GETTING THERE JUST HAPPENS

         I pretty much have an answer for everything and even when I don’t, I pretty much come up with something.  Every now and then, though, I get thrown.  Today, I was at a loss for words not once but twice.  A gal in her 80’s asked me what it was like, “to feel that young,” as I swam past her in the water.  What the heck did she mean by that?  I certainly don’t feel ‘young’ in any sense of the word.  I scrambled for a suitable reply,  “Well, about the same way it felt for you when you were my age, I guess.”  Not a great answer, I know.

          Later, my 13 year–old asked me, “Is it scary getting old?”  “Nope,” I replied quite honestly.  “Looking in the mirror and SEEING that you’re old can be scary but getting there just happens.”  She thought about this a moment and then asked:  “Well, is it scary dying?”  “Um,” I replied scrambling for words.  “I’m not sure that I can answer that one quite yet.”   (http://www.helen-hudson.com) 

     

     

  • EXTENDED PLAY (EP)

         His first name was Eldridge but that wasn’t the unusual part.  I was in Nashville, sitting in a large room packed with aspiring country songwriters.  They were a mixed bag; all ages from all walks of life.  Ponytailed men in dress slacks, a biker with more tattoos than skin, a teenager fresh off the cover of Taylor Swift’s last CD, a Dolly Parton wannabe, a guy with a crew cut who never stopped texting, a high school kid in flips flops and Hawaiian shirt, and a man who was clearly homeless. 

         What they all had in common—perhaps the ONLY thing they had in common–was their desire to impress the guest publisher that night with their self-penned songs.  The demos they brought ranged from tinny sounding, cat-like, wailing recordings done at home to professionally, produced records with string arrangements.  The publisher politely played the first verse and chorus of each and then went on to the next.  If he heard something he really liked, he kept it, garnering a round of applause. 

         Several hours into the evening he pushed the PLAY button for the umpteenth time.  As the demo began I was immediately intrigued.  The words were clear.  The form was good and the melody was catchy.  It was so good in fact, that I was already singing along as the 2nd chorus came around.  The title?  “I’m a Six-Pack Away From Loving You.”  This writer had a great sense of humor AND the audience loved it!!  However, the publisher suddenly clicked STOP and tossed the demo into the reject pile. 

         But I wanted to know WHO wrote that song, so asked that he be pointed out.  As the audience began to applaud, I strained to see where he was.  There, in the very back row, an older man with white hair shyly put up his hand.  Now ask yourself this:  how many people of an age long past retirement are not only writing songs but out there trying to pitch them?  Most people his age are dusting off their old trophies, not trying to earn new ones.  I was smitten and even scrawled a one-line fan note which said, “You are AWESOME!”  Now I’d tell you his last name.  It’s as unforgettable as his first and as memorable as his song.  But in deference to his seeming shyness I will merely say this:  his initials spell EP.  That’s right.  It’s the phrase in music meaning “extended play.”  And that is exactly what I hope he gets!!   (http://www.helen-hudson.com). 

  • FACE OFF ALZHEIMER’S WITH FACEBOOK

    Two years ago my 15 year-old suggested that I get a FACEBOOK.  I told her that was ‘the most ridiculous thing I ever heard of.’  I am eating my words.  In the last two years I have found not only old friends, teachers and ex-students, but have entered a cyberspace world that adds richness to my real one.  I can hear the music my kids are listening to, catch short videos of graduations & trips to Greece, and if I had no real life of my own, could simply watch the LIVE FEED scroll by and see what everyone else is doing in their little corner of the world. 

    However, it does come with a few shocks every now and then.  For example, a gal with a name I did not know asked to be my ‘friend.’  Looked at her picture.  Didn’t recognize that either.  Looked at her INFO, found she lived in Arkansas.  Didn’t know anyone there.  Who was this middle-aged, woman with the glasses?  I was stymied.  So, I checked her INTERESTS.  Nope.  Nothing in common.  It bothered me for days until I finally placed her by her maiden name.   Then, another friend request came in.  This gal was a knockout.  Unbelievably beautiful and coiffed right off the cover of Vogue.  Her smile alone could send Crest White Strips flying off the shelves.  Didn’t recognize the name.  Didn’t recognize her.  Eventually I uncovered the mystery girl, who while my age, now looks young enough to be my daughter.

    Now I have friends who won’t do FB because they’re afraid to put their picture on it.  They want to be remembered how they were not how they are.  But how we were IS how we are.  Even psychologists tell us that we don’t change much after age six.  So if you’re over 50, get yourself a Facebook and make some FRIENDS.  If you can’t stand the sight of your own mug, take a picture of your dog and put it on your PROFILE.  I promise the experience will be both humbling and uplifting.  Increasing your social connections delays Alzheimer’s.  If your own memory is going, someone out of the blue might just remind you that when you were 13 you used to “bend restaurant spoons.”  If my granny were alive today, she would have one and I would post “XOXOXO” on her WALL right now.  (Helen Hudson is the author of, “Kissing Tomatoes.”  http://www.helen-hudson.com    

  • PUT THE CART BEFORE THE HORSE

    Having fun over fifty involves a little more thought than it used to.  For example, I can’t just jump on my shopping cart and fly down the produce aisle willy nilly anymore.  First off, I can’t do wheelies—at least on purpose—because I DO NOT WANT TO FALL!  Something might break, or worse, fracture. 

          Thus, when attempting said maneuver I am now choosy about which cart to pick.  All four wheels must be oiled and turn well.  One bad wheel and you’re a goner.  Then, I must be sure I have some considerable weight in the basket first.  I have found that one watermelon, or a good 25 lb bag of organic carrots is terrific ballast.  Also, I must be wearing tennis shoes.  In the old days, sandals were fine, but it’s hard to get a good running start if one of them flops off and you roll over your bare, naked arthritic toes.  Also, I have to look to be sure the aisle ahead of me is clear.  There’s nothing worse than being in the middle of a great ride and having some idiot suddenly turn in front of you with cartons of eggs in their little front section. So, I try limiting myself a bit during Easter. 

         One good thing about getting older is that experience has long taught you what does NOT work.  Therefore, you should be able to completely ENJOY yourself without killing yourself.  It’s a fine balance–aging that is–using what little you’ve got left to your utmost ability.  I could just hang it up I suppose–forego the giggles from the store clerks, the eye rolls from teenagers, and the head shaking from little, old ladies.  I could push my cart leisurely down the aisle like everyone else my age.  But as long as I still have that little, inner desire to just GO, it seems kind of stupid to hit the PAUSE button.  I mean I’m not dead yet. 

         Granny used to say, ‘You can’t put the cart before the horse.’  In her day, that made sense, because the horse would start eating whatever was in the cart instead of pulling it.  In my case, I just want to ride it.  So, as long as there’s a little horsepower left in this chassis that’s exactly what I intend to do.  (Helen Hudson is the author of, “Kissing Tomatoes,” a memoir of her grandmother’s Alzheimer’s.  http://www.helen-hudson.com    

  • ‘TODAY IS JUST NOT A GOOD DAY’

        Really it was a picture perfect, blue sky above, day.  Hot, but in that dreamy summer kind of way with a slight breeze coming off the coast.   I was headed towards a refreshing swim in the beckoning saltwater when I first saw her.  She appeared to be about 65, with a trim figure and wispy, gray hair.  She looked hot, wearing a long-sleeved shirt pulled over mid-length, khaki pants, and sporting tennis shoes.  A cane was in her right hand, but she seemed almost not to need it.  As I strode past her  I noted that she stopped at the end of the boardwalk, gazed out towards the waves, then turned around and walked back.  

         About half an hour later, as I was leaving, I noticed that she was still pacing, so I stopped to talk to her.  She said that she’d had a stroke and was getting her ‘sealegs’ again.  I offered to help her walk the few yards to the water where she could at least cool off her feet.  “Oh, no,” she said.  “That is much too far.”  When I mentioned that she had already walked much further than that during her back and forth pacing, she said, “Well, it isn’t the distance, really.  It’s my ugly feet.  I have very short toes, you know.  It’s hereditary.  My mother had ugly feet.”  I told her that no one on the beach would care one whit about what her toes looked like, or likely even notice them.  “Besides, just imagine how good that cool water will feel.”  For a moment she seemed almost tempted, but no.  “I really can’t walk on the sand,” she continued.  “Because one of my legs is higher than the other.”  Still, I was persistent.  “Well.  You can walk out with me supporting you.  I’ll help you take off your shoes and we can walk a bit together in the cool water.”  Finally she paused and said, “That would be nice, dear.  But maybe another day.  Today is just not a good day.”  

         And as I left her, it occurred to me how we all make excuses for NOT doing things.  After years, we get better and better at making them until finally those excuses simply become a part of who we are.  Well, today may not be a ‘good’ day, but tomorrow may be your last one.  Don’t make excuses.  Plan adventures!   (Hudson is the author of, “Kissing Tomatoes.”  http://www.helen-hudson.com.)  P. S.  Later, I also realize that she is about Carole King’s age, who is on a world tour right now with James Taylor.  Now THAT is an adventure!    

  • “GRAY IS THE NEW BLONDE”

         That’s exactly what the receptionist said to me this afternoon as I was paying a doctor’s bill.  I had just made fun of their new office sign which said:  Settle Your Encounters Here.  “Encounters?  Good grief.  Why don’t you just say, ‘Bills?’  Are we going back to the 70’s or something?”    The young receptionist, (who reminded me of Tina Turner back in the day), just laughed.  “Well, No,” she replied.  “It just sounds nicer.”  “Yeah,” I replied.  “But let’s call a spade a spade.  Here is my Visa to pay the BILL and THIS I said pointing to my hair is GRAY HAIR.”  “Oh , No,” she hurriedly said.  “Gray is the New Blonde.” 

          If only that were really true, hair colorists wouldn’t be making a veritable fortune off the Baby Boomers right now.  But not me.  I’m keeping every lovely strand of the stuff right where it belongs–on my head.  Back in the 60’s, my grandmother tried combing her hair with some dark, sticky goop from a bottle.  Kind of looked like shoe polish really.  Guess as the oldest high school counselor she felt she shouldn’t look quite so old.  But she gave it up after a while.  It stained her shirts and she was a practical woman.  She played Bridge with some ladies who actually had blue hair.  For years, I thought my own hair would turn that color when I got old.*  But it didn’t.  Apparently, I am the “new blonde,” in this present euphemism.  I can live with that.  Tina Turner is 70.  Makes me feel downright young come to think of it.  (*Excerpt from, “Kissing Tomatoes,” by Helen Hudson.  http://www.helen-hudson.com.)   

  • HONK IF YOU LOVE SENIOR CITIZENS

         Really, all I wanted to do this afternoon was fly into the ATM, grab some quick cash, fill the car up with gas, get some milk and fly back to pick up my high schooler from her last exam.  If everything went smoothly, I would have JUST enough time.  There was only one car ahead of me in the ATM drive-thru.  So far so good.  I remembered my password–even better.  Grabbed the cash, pulled out and slammed on my brake for a landscaping truck which whirred past. 

         As I paused, a loud, honking, car alarm began going off.  Looked for where it was coming from.  Smack in front of me, stood a little, old lady pointing her keys at the door of her loudly, honking car.  She was clearly distressed and confused.  The alarm kept BEEP, BEEP BEEPING.  I paused.  ‘Nope.  Can’t stop,’ I said to myself, ‘Don’t have time.’  As I started to drive past her, I noticed that the parking space next to her car was open.  I hesitated.  Meanwhile, the guys piled out of that landscaping truck one space over.  ‘Maybe they’ll help her,’ I thought.  Nope.  They glanced at the old lady and moved fast towards the bank.  I was going to keep going, too, when a little voice in my head said, “Now, listen.  You write a blog about how much you love old people.  How will this look to your readers?” 

         I pulled in that space next to her.  The same thing had happened to me several years before.  When AAA finally arrived after a full 1/2 hour of the deafening honking, the guy said this:  “Just stick the key in the ignition and keep turning it ON until the horn goes OFF.  It’s kind of like shutting down a computer.  You have to click START first.”  So, that’s what we did, the little old lady and I.  At first she was terrified to open the door and just as hesitant to put the key in the ignition.  But, I walked her through it and finally–mercifully, the honking stopped.  “I don’t know what I would have done if you hadn’t come along,” she said with a smile.  Suffice it to say I never did get the milk.  I got something better–and it wasn’t this column.  (Helen Hudson is the author of, “Kissing Tomatoes.”   http://www.helen-hudson.com.)    

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