AGEFULLY AGING

Inspirational reflections on this and that.

Recent Posts

  • SPOTTED DICKS & FLICKS

    Lately, I’ve been brushing up on all things British so asked a friend from Rugby to catch me up on the lingo over lunch. Towards the end, she asked, “Oh! Have you ever had a spotted dick?” That caught me off-guard. What was that? A you-know-what with spots? Some kind of fish? A polka dot dickey? Took awhile for that penny to drop but honestly? For a moment, I felt a few sandwiches short of a picnic.

    “Oh, I know it means something different in the States,” she smiled.

    No kidding. A statement obvious to you can often send another reeling. So, lest you think I’m a nutter, pictured above is what a spotted dick looks like on store shelves. You’ll be chuffed to know I’ve even included the recipe!

    Since my readers often ask what I’m watching and reading, here goes: The series, “All Her Fault,” on Peacock stars Sarah Snook as a mother who sends her child off on a playdate during which he’s kidnapped. While this thriller is elaborately twisted, (and the ending embarrassingly satisfying), the real gem is Snook’s acting. Hit ‘pause’ on her face in any scene. She’s always spot-on.

    Another new show is, “Age of Attraction,” where singles date without asking/telling their age before committing to each other. While there are some heartfelt moments, you may find, as I did, that the real ace here is the casting director who somehow managed to find both 20 and 60 somethings who actually look 40! It’s a smidge like, “Love on the Spectrum,”—but honestly, isn’t ALL love on the spectrum?

    Finally, I listened to two books that were equally compelling for different reasons. “It’s Only Drowning,” by David Litt, is the real-life story of two political and polar opposite brothers-in-law, who forge a surprising friendship while surfing during COVID. This is the ONLY book I’ve ever read ever which made me laugh out loud throughout. Litt is a former speech writer for Obama.

    Finally, I was gobsmacked by British writer, Alice Feeney’s, “My Husband’s Wife.” Just when you think you know where she’s going, you’re suddenly somewhere else. Her cleverly clipped style builds like a mental game of Jenga, (also invented by a Britt.) This psychological thriller will soon be a TV series. Writers this bloody brilliant make me wonder why I even pick up a pen but then how else would I connect with YOU?

  • HOW YOU LOOK IS NOT HOW YOU ARE SEEN

    Last week, I was feeling particularly lovely and vibrant, so I took some selfies in the garden to share with my kids. However, when I put on my glasses to look at them, I was stunned. Surely that weathered face and wrinkles didn’t belong to me? I started to delete them, then stopped myself. Since our brains are biased towards negativity, it’s important to counter that. The best solution for me? A walk in nature.

    What captured my eye was this old saguaro at the end of the property. Impossibly high with curving arms, its beauty is subtle. At the top is a hole which holds a Great Horned owl who often hoots before daybreak. This giant cactus seemingly rises from rock with no nurture, yet nurtures all who visit. Saguaros don’t reach their full height or produce their first blooms until they’re 70, so immediately, I felt a bond.

    While I like being around people, I love being solitary more. Given my predilection for dancing in public, few believe this to be true, but it is. When I feel like retreating from the world of others—which is often—I play music, sing or write. Not everyone is fortunate to have so many resources. This is why I encourage my clients to try new things and stretch themselves, especially while they’re young.

    Why? Because everything is harder as you age. While the physical diminishments and difficulties are obvious, the hardest part is keeping your spirit up. It takes an energy beyond what many feel capable of revving. It also takes courage to put yourself ‘out there’ especially if no one wants you ‘there’ in the first place. But here is the reward if you do: someone will ‘see’ you and people who feel seen, SOAR.

    Some weeks ago, while doing taxes, I had thoughts of concluding this column. Considering the hours spent, it doesn’t make financial sense, and I often fret I’ll run out of ideas. Then, a note from a stranger dissuaded me. It reminded me that how you look is not how you are seen. Maya Angelou once wrote, “Try to be a rainbow in someone’s cloud,” This reader was mine. So, thank you, whoever, wherever you are.

  • YOU OLD PEOPLE!

    A couple times a week, I go to the gym to lift some light weights. (Apparently, bearing my own weight is not enough.) I do 3 sets, 8 reps each, on 5 machines. Each set takes about 30 seconds which means 15 minutes total, because I don’t dally. I’m alone in this endeavor, however. The vast majority here sit on their butts staring at their phones, (except the gal above).

    Yesterday, my last stop was the leg machine. A big guy, about 40, was grunting through his 200 lb reps. He finished, noticed me waiting, pretended I wasn’t there, then casually scrolled through his TikTok. (I know because I have one.) After several minutes, he got up, placed his phone on the seat (so I couldn’t use it), and walked slowly around the gym before returning.

    “Hey,” I said, (quietly fuming but with a big smile on my face), “May I work in with you? It only takes me 30 seconds.”

    “You OLD people are so fucking impatient!” he barked. “You always want to ‘work in,’ then you just FUCKING TAKE OVER the machines!” His face burned bright vermillion red. (Was he having a heart attack? Would I have to use CPR? At least he wasn’t drowning, so mouth-to-mouth was out.)

    “Old people?” I repeated. “‘I said I only need 30 seconds. Does that sound like a takeover to you?”

    Begrudgingly, he let me use the machine. An older man nearby said, “Good for you for speaking up. They all do it here, you know. Unfortunately, I’ve given up.”

    Look, we “old people” are not impatient. We just can’t afford to waste our limited time. Besides, people matter more to us than phones and we’d never purposely keep someone waiting. Still, I seem to run into more than my share of grown-ass brats. Either I’m just paying attention or over sensitive but it feels wrong.

    This morning, I waited in line for gas. (I always leave some space between me and the folks filling up so they don’t have to breathe my fumes in the 100 degree heat.) Suddenly, the car in line behind me pulled out, squeezed to my left, then angled in sideways between me and the guy I was waiting for. The pump attendant was standing right there!

    “Did you see that?” I asked him incredulously.

    “Yeah,” he said.

    “Are you gonna do anything?”

    “No.”

    When a young woman gets out, I get out, too, and approach her.

    “Any reason your time is more important than mine?” I ask loudly.

    She turns her back as if to render me invisible. I almost say something snarky but she’s half my age and twice my size, (two, major intimidating factors) so I bite my tongue.

    Later, as I’m filling my tank, an older man on the other side of the pump confides, “I’m so glad you said something to her. That’s happened to me before.”

    Call me crazy, but isn’t compliance with bad behavior complicity? Isn’t that why we’re in an unwinnable war: because our pathetic government capitulates to every whim of a crude, chaotic, characterless and badly-behaved man? These capitulators aren’t worth the leather shoes they stand in. (Yes, MJ, JD, PB, PH, MR, RK, . . .if the shoe fits.) Speak up! If not for yourself, then at least for your neighbor.

    I’m all for the “No Kings” marches but charity does begin at home. Empower your friends and neighbors to stand up to bullies. Set the example! To paraphrase Teddy Roosevelt, ‘If you fail, at least fail while daring greatly so that your place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who neither know victory nor defeat.”

  • CRY BABY, CRY!

    I took this picture in my doctor’s waiting room because it made me sad. Even older people sit on their phones silently scrolling. We don’t talk to each other anymore. For someone who didn’t cry much as a kid, I’ve made up for it in adulthood. These days tears spill from my eyes, often over the littlest things, like the child’s animated movie, “The Boy, the Mole, the Fox and the Horse.”

    Yesterday, I happily sold my car for the asking price, but the second I handed the buyer my keys, tears began falling.

    “Are you okay?” she asked.

    Apparently, the prospect of never driving my Subaru again undid me. Who knew?

    Punch, a baby monkey at the Tokyo Zoo, was recently rejected by his mother. So, a zookeeper gave him a stuffie for company. Watching him cuddle something that can’t cuddle him back is heartbreaking. I figure if I don’t laugh, cry, feel anger or love every week, I’m not really living but rather inhabiting a zombie shell. We were born with a full range of emotions, and we should use them all. It’s healthy!

    Today at the drug store, I had a reverse surprise. As I checked out, the cashier had trouble entering my card. It took forever. There was only one woman behind me, but her arms were just full of items. I felt terrible for keeping her waiting. I kept looking back at her, so she knew I empathized with her predicament. Each time she just smiled. Finally, the cashier rang me up.

    “I’m so sorry you had to wait so long,” I said, clearing room for her on the counter.

    “That’s okay,” she said, “I’m not in a rush.”

    Unlike me, she was a stellar example of pure and utter patience. I was in awe. When the cashier handed me my receipt, there was also a coupon for, “7$ off your next purchase,” attached. I immediately handed it to the woman.

    “Here, take this!”

    Wide-eyed, she looked at the coupon, then at the cashier.

    “Will this really work?” she asked astonished.

    “Of course,” replied the cashier.

    Her eyes welled up.

    “Thank you,” she said gratefully.

    Apparently, I’m not the only one who gets sappy when someone is kind. Call me a crybaby , but at least crying is good for me! So get out there and show your feelings while you still have them!

  • EN GARDE!

    These medieval fencers are a regular sight at my local park. Watching them thrust and parry reminds me of lovers quarreling. But here’s the difference: fencers wear protective gear. Lovers have no such protection. When they go at each other, they are often defenseless. And just because men have 25% thicker skin than women does not make them immune to hurt feelings.

    Years back, I counseled a middle-aged couple. Both were on their third marriage but had decided NOT to marry this time around. They had lived together for 10 years in her house. She worked but he fully maintained the house inside and out—even repairing the roof and cooking! Neither appeared to have other friends or interests. However, each time they argued, she demanded he, “Get out of my house!”

    During our third session, I asked her, “Who is your best friend?”

    “He is, I guess.”

    “Who has had your back for the last 10 years?”

    “Um, he has, I guess.”

    “Who maintains the house and cooks your meals?”

    “Well, obviously he does,” she said.

    “So, why would you constantly threaten the only person in your life who actually cares about you?”

    ‘Um, I don’t know,” she said sheepishly.

    “How do you think that makes him feel?”

    “Not good, I guess.”

    “You guess? He’s been devoted to you for 10 years, yet every time you get mad you threaten to throw him out.”

    I then offered this sage advice:

    “Now, you get out of the house and go buy some bubbles with a wand. Next time you’re tempted to tell him, ‘Get out of my house,’ blow them at him instead. Use up the whole damn bottle if you have to.” They laughed. . .and are still together.

    A little anger is healthy. It motivates you to take action but it can backfire. In 2017, Heather Heyer was protesting at a white supremacy movement in Charlottesville, Virginia. She had just posted this on her Facebook: “IF YOU’RE NOT ANGRY, YOU’RE NOT PAYING ATTENTION!” Within hours, she was run down by a car driven by a white supremacist. She was 32, white, and a paralegal. Her quote went mainstream.

    It’s OK to be ticked off, but it’s hard to recover from a stab through the heart. Put some distance between the vitriol and yourself. Remember that whatever is coming at you is not you. It’s them. Here are some other tools for keeping your cool when you get hot under the collar. Whatever you do, keep those bubbles handy. Sometimes I blow them at red lights to lighten the mood.

  • DON’T FENCE ME IN!

    From Paris to Poughkeepsie, this is a common sight: upheaval in sidewalks due to tree roots. Each time I stumble over one, I wonder why anyone would plant a tree in such a tiny spot, surrounded by cement. If you take something wild and confine it, expect problems. The same goes for people. If you put restraints on them, expect blowback. Even as a kid, hearing Roy Rogers sing, “Don’t Fence Me In,” made total sense to me.

    Recently, I was backstroking at the pool when my arm smacked something hard. I jerked to a stop. A woman had entered my lane without letting me know and swam straight right into me. When I asked her what she was doing, (and I wasn’t sweet about it), she said, “Well, I was going to say something to you, but you don’t swim all the way to the end.”

    I don’t go all the way to the end because it makes me feel caged. Instead, when I’m almost there, I start back. It gives me the illusion of being a mermaid in the ocean. Had she waited even 60 seconds, she would have seen that I backstroke every other length. But she didn’t. Sure, this is a small thing, but it says big things about the choices we make and why. So, let’s look closer:

    1. Because I didn’t conform to how she thought someone should swim a lap, she got in my lane without letting me know or even watching where she was going.

    2. She could have spoken up to get my attention or walked to the side I was facing.

    3. She could have asked to join any one of the other 6 lanes which had only one swimmer, but she didn’t.

    4. When the two of us collided, she said it was my fault because we have, ‘lane sharing.’ It didn’t occur to her that ‘sharing’ involves some mutual communication first.

    This kind of thinking shatters relationships and starts wars. (Indeed, I felt like smacking her, but of course, I already had.) Instead of waiting to give the other person the grace and space to be who they are, we try to micromanage or control them. If that fails, we simply run them over. (Think ICE, Venezuela & Iran.)

    I once had a fortune cookie which said: “You do not have to know where you’re going to be headed in the right direction.” The same can be said for heading in the ‘wrong’ one. Just ask Trump as he merrily launches wars across the globe—boat strikes in Latin America, missile strikes in Nigeria, Somalia, Yemen, Syria and Iran—(am I going too fast?)—and listen to him sputter.

  • counterfeit counterintuitive

    “It’s easier to fool people than to convince them they’ve been fooled.” —Mark Twain

    And boy was I fooled. I had several hundred dollar bills to pay a local, moving man. At the last minute, I decided to cash one so that I would have some smaller bills to give him a tip. When I handed it to the cashier, she paused, gave me an odd look and said, “I’ll be right back.” In seconds, she returned with the manager.

    “I’m sorry,” he said, “but this is counterfeit.”

    “You’re kidding, right?” I laughed.

    Patiently, he pointed out all the irregularities which I hadn’t even noticed. Then he placed a real bill next to mine. I was shocked. They weren’t even close! How could I have thought mine was real? How did I get it in the first place? I apologized profusely on my way out of the store. The manager actually handed me back the counterfeit. (That is how obviously phony it was).

    It’s scary to realize that I can look straight at something—or someone—and be unequivocally fooled. When I handed that bill to the cashier, I was certain it was real. Of course, paper money is only a minor dupe. If you’ve been blindsided by people the trauma of that betrayal lasts far longer. Years ago, my girlfriend’s husband took her to Greece to celebrate their 40th. Upon their return, he handed her divorce papers, took a pre-packed suitcase from the hall closet and walked out.

    Science says that what we see is not just a function of ‘what is out there’, but by what is going on in our minds. I believed it was real, so my eyes saw it as real. It’s the same thing that occurs when people fall for scams, romantic or otherwise. I’ve had clients who want love so badly that they cling to abusive partners, often to their peril. You cannot convince them otherwise and it is futile to try.

    Sometimes we delude ourselves out of ignorance but most often it’s because our minds are fixed. So, how do we keep them open and flexible? Several friends have suggested I try shrooms, but unleashing the Grand Canyon into my cerebral cortex might prove harrowing. Perhaps the solution is to question everything or nothing at all. Heck, I’d have better odds playing poker. So, um, here’s my $100 for the ante.

  • LOVE LETTER TO OUTRAGE

    When I see injustice around me, my blood boils. A switch flips in my head and I go ballistic. Research says that we react most strongly to the things that personally affect us. Our immediate self-interest and personal relevance are the most powerful drivers of our emotional response. The premise is that since I was mistreated as a kid, I freak out when it happens to others.

    In my 20’s, I was at a grocery store when I heard a child scream. I stepped around the corner and witnessed a mother pulling her two-year old by the hair. She was literally dragging her down the aisle by her braid. When the child began to cry, the mother slapped her hard. I was livid.

    “How dare you use your strength against a helpless child!” I said in a voice that shocked even me.

    “Don’t you tell me how to treat my child,” she roared back. The little girl’s eyes went wide as if amazed that someone had taken her side.

    “I will,” I said. “And I’m telling the manager right now.”

    “You do that,” she said haughtily.

    I did tell the manager, but he said there was nothing he could do. That made me even madder. Despite the fact the mother was twice my size and age, I stood at the counter until she came up to pay. Then I glared at her and said, “Shame on you.” Not a year passes that I don’t wonder about that little girl. I’ve since learned a little outrage is actually healthy.

    Recently, a fellow at my pickleball club was shut out from a game not once, but twice! I was furious. He is on the spectrum and says, “I’m a 40-year-old man who acts like a grinning 12-year-old.” But here’s the kicker: He was a better player than the men who shut him out!! Outraged, I asked for his paddle, put it in the rack and said to the others, “He’s in your next game. Period!”

    Ironically, it has always been easier for me to stand up for a stranger than myself. As a child I learned surviving meant tolerating abuse and saying nothing. My best defense then was a big smile and zipped lips. I still have both. Perhaps that’s why I write. It’s my love letter to those who are reluctant to speak up.

    P. S. Share something that outrages you and why you think it does.

  • let there be light

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  • HAPPY BAD BUNNY SUPER BOWL SUNDAY

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