I GET GIDDY!

 There are no doctor appointments on my calendar for the next six weeks. Alarming. Truly alarming.

Does it frighten you when no doctor on your list of specialists has made a date to see you?

Frankly, I get giddy. Does this mean the aches; pains and surprises of aging have come to an end? Of course not. We all have arthritis, some in places we wish it wasn’t. But there is so much more to fear - if we allow fear into this doctor-free time. Fear of the unknown is powerful. I’ve considered several what-ifs.

What if I fall? A likely scenario even though my daughter removed every rug in my home that I could possibly stumble over. It’s very bare here. Trouble is I’ve been tripping over my own feet since I’ve been ten years old.

But falls are a number one concern according to the experts. One out of every four older adults will experience a fall according to the CDC. Falling once doubles your chances of falling again. Not happy stats!

Falls afflict twenty-five per cent of those sixty-five years and older. Age related muscle weakness, balance problems and sometimes medication side-effects are some of the reasons cited by the organizations that keep track of such statistics. (The afore mentioned CDC & the National Council on Aging.)

What if I catch a virus? I’m up to date on my vaccines, use Azelastine on a regular basis for my sinus allergies and have many mask back-ups left over from Covid pandemic. For two years I didn’t have any colds thanks to those masks! They’re as necessary for travel now as packing my bags.

I could get beamed by a hickory nut. These are hard-shelled lethal little bombs which fall willy-nilly from hickory trees during the fall. I’m thinking they could easily cause a concussion. Or you could break both ankles or worse by slipping on these tough nuts. However, the squirrels love them. They depend on hickory nuts to get them through the winter. (Keeping it positive here.)

Among the many what ifs that might happen? Well, I might throw my back out for the umpteenth time but this time in exercise class.

I could get hit by a bus or an impaired driver. But these accidental afflictions do not usually mean long-term setbacks.

On the other hand, dementia, cancer, long-term heart disease, stroke and lower respiratory disease are the chronic illnesses that may set in before our eighty-fifth birthday. By my count at this point I only have one of these and it does not hinder my daily life. Yet. Back to the stats - ninety-three per cent of us have at least one chronic condition and eighty per cent of us have two or more. (CDC, National Council on Aging sources.)

High blood pressure, arthritis and high cholesterol are the most common conditions seniors and super-agers suffer from and can usually be kept under control with medication. Kindness and empathy from our peers and family help us to endure many of these age related maladies.

Our number might not come up in the statistics but we need to practice kindness and grace with our friends who might be.

Lastly, I could have my internal organs shut down due to overuse…long years of use. (Passing, also known as by natural causes.)

So, yes, anything can happen during the dull lull between appointments, but I am a positive person and tell myself I deserve this little respite between doctors and medical surprises. I choose not live each day fearing some calamity will befall me at any moment. Instead, I’m sure it’s a time to crush as much good living as possible into each day.

And to remember at all times the old saying, Never regret growing old; it is a privilege denied many.

ANOTHER BIRTHDAY

 What do you do when another birthday is just days away? Do you cringe or celebrate? I’m a celebration type person but this time I’m not so sure. I’ve reached a very high number, one I never expected to reach. That alone is cringe-worthy. But then again I may just be a babe. These days you see or read of people aged 87, 95, 100 and more, enjoying life. It’s daunting, but there may be years ahead of me.

If so, I’d better get busy. These will be my top five concerns as I blow out the candles. The numerous candles.

 

1) A new bucket list. I’ve completed the first list andf aged out on some of my original goals. (No Machu Pichu for me. My lung situation is not that good anymore. But I am still breathing!) The new bucket list I’m creating focuses on mild activities like boat tours and train trips. Nothing where I might need to exert myself. And of course an adventure on the cheap side would be welcome.

2) Practicing frugality. Speaking of cheap, I need to cut back on my spending. Because I did not expect my nest egg to last this long…or longer, it’s quickly diminishing. Apparently, I need to eat less and wear my clothes longer. Unfortunately, I never met a budget that I liked. I’m not even sure I know what that means or how to do it.

3) Love and romance. Although I have a record of marriage and divorce, I may have given up on love too soon. A little companionship would be welcome for the next hundred years. I might have to get back in the game. Even if this means only for occasional company, the search requires standing appointments for nails, hair and a new and an awesome wardrobe. And there goes whatever budget I’ve been able to work out!

4) Health care. Yes, my parts are rusty and wearing out but after a few health scares, at least I’m mobile. Self-care is important at any age but if not now, when?  I know I should exercise - something I’ve avoided for several, make that, many years now.

5) A tattoo. I may be the only person on the planet without one. So, I’ve been thinking of getting a sexy tattoo for this upcoming birthday. I think my grandgirls who were going to do it with me have opted out. (They are beautiful, they really don’t need body embellishment.) I may have to opt out as well. I can’t find a spot on my body, wrist or ankle that provides a smooth surface for the artist.

There is one more concern. This struggle is real.

A recent news report stated that anti-aging products are a two trillion dollar business. Two trillion! A variety of colorful tablets promise to put a halt to your body’s aging by months or even years. Mind you, none of these supplements are approved by the FDA. And there are absolutely no guarantees.

I’ve never taken any anti-aging products but now may be the time - what do I have to lose? Except money. And there goes the budget again!

 

SMALL BUT SCARY

 So, several weeks ago I suffered a small but scary stroke. I lost my words, my sight, my hearing, and all sensation. I lost me.

A writer without words.

I was not unconscious but I was not conscious. I spiraled in pitch black space until I woke up in the recovery room over thirty minutes later.

Fortunately, I was already in the hospital, recovering from an out-patient scheduled procedure when this happened. My daughter and I were talking, both fully expecting to be on our way home in an hour. She was driver that day. What ensued so suddenly frightened her too. She told me the emergency team came to the surgery floor and took me down to the emergency room. “Do you remember being in the elevator?”

No.

Although this episode was the direct result of the earlier out-patient procedure it doesn’t mean it’ll never happen again. High blood pressure can cause strokes. High blood pressure is an inherited condition for me and one that as yet is not under control.  

I spent the night in the hospital for observation and testing. The MRI of my brain showed no brain damage, although my brain had been deprived of blood for several minutes - that is one way stroke happens. (I know friends and maybe family may be of the opinion that brain damage happened to me some time ago!)

Now I have a new doctor, a neurologist, new medication and an appointment with the caring professionals at the stroke center.

After my release from the hospital I cancelled a writer’s conference I’d planned on attending. I lost my confidence during those lost minutes. I’m leery of traveling alone in case of another episode. My goal is to get over that fear.

I will never again lightly dismiss hearing about a TIA, transient ischemic attack no matter how long it lasts.

My psychological recovery is almost complete. To say I was shaken is an understatement. But I’m working on regaining my mojo and continuing my adventures in aging.

BAD HABITS

 Do folks over 65 have bad habits? No. We outgrow bad habits. They just fall away in time. Or at least we like to think so. Our senior citizen men and women (like me) are sweet. They are wise. They are not alcoholics.  Nor are they drug addicts.  

Except they might be.

Dependence on drugs happens innocuously…with good intentions, while we’re not looking.

“I’ll have a little red wine before dinner.”

“I’ve heard it’s good for the heart.”

“Blue Zone residents drink wine all the time.”

Beware of when a little wine before dinner becomes a little wine at lunch. And then maybe a celebration. “This whiskey is brewed in my home town…and besides it’s the Fourth of July.”

With enough celebratory beverages the imbiber no longer feels lonely, depressed or isolated. It’s uplifting. For a minute.

Bad habits may even start with doctors. I’ve had an appointment with a new doctor with the end result being a declaration. “Anxiety!” he proclaimed and ripped off a prescription from his pad for a drug I neither needed or wanted. That incident happened in this decade. And it explains how some super agers get hooked on drugs. Doctors. Innocent, well-meaning doctors. As well as innocent, well-meaning friends. Might even be your sister. The man or woman you love. Age is not shield. It doesn’t defend us against questionable thoughts or actions. If it did submachine guns would not be available to grandma.

In my infancy I worked at rock radio stations during the late 60’s and early 70’s. My positions were in Miami and Los Angeles. Drug gateways. Drugs to make a person feel good were easily attainable and many air personalities felt they owed their high ratings, and therefore their jobs, to being…well, yes, high. (I was not an air personality - also known as disc jockeys - but I required creativity to write. In the spirit of confession, I have walked into cloudy control rooms and I gave in to curiosity once and did inhale something that was handed to me at a radio party.)

However, that was then and this is now. Motivations are different but stronger than we would like. Dealing in drugs is in the hope of feeling better, or feeling nothing at all. Drug users are no longer lonely, confused or seeking bliss. Or even youth. They need arthritis relief.

The thought there might be a drug even better than what’s been prescribed initiate experiments. If certain drugs prove to be illegal, well the old junkie rationalizes. ”I’m gonna die soon anyway. Might as well die happy.”  Or “Hey, if I get jail time I’ll at least have someone to talk to in the cell.”

Sneaky substance abuse. Without noticing you start needing and taking more. Age is not an excuse or a defense.

Drugs are drugs, including Alcohol. Folks often forget and ignore the fact they are ordering more or needing a bigger cart at the liquor store. “I’m having a party!”

And yes, a sure sign of big problems is the sign on your porch: It’s Five o’clock somewhere.

A 2023 national survey on drug use and health estimated that over two million people aged 65 and over met the criteria for an alcohol disorder.

Bad habits, i.e.drugs, can claim an older person anytime, anywhere.

Think about these stats. Baby boomers have the highest rate for use and abuse of drugs; drugs used as a coping mechanism for boredom and grief. A 2023 National survey on drug use and health estimated that 2.7 million people aged 65 and older met the criteria for an alcohol disorder. That means they are alcoholics. 

Heavy drinking according to the CDC means fifteen or more a week for men, eight drinks per week for women. Worse, as we age many of us develop increased sensitivity to alcohol, to those eight a week beverages, or even one a day.  One might feel like two in time.

Don’t let new bad habits happen to you. Remember the battle cry of Galaxy Quest…Never Surrender! Never Give-up!

 

 I missed a blog. Because I’ve been away on vacation. There is a common misconception if you are retired you don’t need a vacation. Let me just say, that is quite untrue. Sooo untrue.

Responsibilities continue and even grow during retirement.

I speak, or write, from experience. I am retired. And I work at, and worry about a great many life issues which unfortunately translate to daily stress. Stress that builds to a dire need for vacations.

Have I volunteered for the toy drive? Did I pay the power bill? Have I missed my uncle’s birthday? Is the rent overdue? Obviously, I can worry about these things from anywhere. But it’s so much more beneficial for my mental health to take a vacation. Otherwise known as a change of scenery with purpose.

A vacation for a retired person involves a change in scenery. And let’s be honest here, a change in scenery is the perfect reason to get up off the couch. To explore. To shop.

I love a good change in scenery as long as it’s not too expensive.

Whether you call it, a change of scenery or a vacation, a get-away can do a world of good even for just a few days. For instance, a weekend of being unable to see the terrifying news on television will do wonders. And there is no food shopping or cooking while enjoying a change of scenery. You make dining decisions from a menu.

Often a vacation will offer a new hobby. Just last week, I watched birds dive bombing into the Caribbean Sea. I have no idea what the name of these birds is, but I will by the end of the day. I will research. I may even become a birder.

Meeting new friends is especially wonderful. Like you, so many of my friends have left this good earth. I miss them and they cannot be replaced… but recently I met a woman who had an amazing amount of life in common with me. We laughed as we compared notes. I’m thinking we’ll remain friends and long distance pen pals at the very least.

As our bodies deteriorate bit by bit, we need a vacation from the doctor. Doctors. One doctor is not enough. We are passed from one specialist to another where a twenty minute appointment can - and often does - last a full day. (There’s travel time to account for on these visits.)

Yes, I’ve been away for a change of scenery. And I plainly forgot to schedule a blog in the blogspot. I didn’t mean to forget, forgetful just happens to me now.

My next vacation, er, change of scenery may take me to Europe. I am a fan of a football team scheduled to play in London. I’m also a fan of one of the NFL cheerleaders. I’ve been watching her dance since she was five years old. Ask me how many times I’ve seen her perform The Nutcracker in Miami’s Dade County Auditorium. And then ask me how delighted I’ll be to see her perform in London’s Wembley Stadium as she did last fall.

Retired or no, it may be time for you to plan a change in scenery and enjoy a vacation while still breathing and mobile. Let’s use our time joyfully!

 

Drifting Days

Does anyone know what day it is? 

I haven’t known what day it us since I retired in September ’99 from my nine to five job. Actually, it was more like eight to four or seven til nine. The hours varied. Whatever it took to keep broadcasting - the show must go on, and all that, etc. on the air.

For instance, today is a mystery to me. I have no idea if it’s a Tuesday or Thursday despite having a calendar on my computer, my phone, and a black and white copy taped to the fridge.

The sun is up but without a regular weekly meeting or such to keep me on track it could be any day. Production meetings were on Monday in the morning - so easy to know until sunset. Then it got iffy.

When I was growing up it used to be that when our meals were served with baked beans, hot dogs and black bread, we knew it was Saturday. In Boston. I haven’t had canned black bread since I reached legal age.

Special days meant special food. Christmas Eve was oyster stew.

On St. Patrick’s day we ate New England boiled dinner… corned beef and cabbage (and carrots and potatoes). But this could be confusing. New England boiled dinner was eaten throughout the year so unless you had a calendar you couldn’t be certain what day it was.

The musical group Chicago had a great hit called Does anyone know what time it is? I think the song was written and became popular because the days meld together for so many people. One day just drifts into the next. 

Even “special” days don’t help when you’re retired. Birthdays sneak up or escape you altogether. I’m never sure of the Fourth of July, Mother’s Day, or Memorial Day, until I hear the fireworks.

And then life gets cruel.  I went to the store this morning and there was a big sign saying “Monday Pizza.” A man behind the counter was baking beautiful pepperoni pizza but…it’s Tuesday. I know it is. What’s a woman to do? I pretended it was Monday again and bought two slices.

Yes, it’s Groundhog Day all over again.

THE SOUNDS AND SPILLS of AGING

 There should have been alarm bells. But no. There were no five alarm warnings.

We were never warned about the sounds of aging. However the sounds of aging have become particularly worrisome to me. 

My grand and great grandchildren - plus an unfortunate number of movie makers - seem to think farting is funny. I find flatulence terribly embarrassing. Although it’s a common sound during the aging process, I just don’t find the humor in it. In my twisted mind, women especially, neither fart nor snore. Call me a prudish old fool but to be caught doing either is just plain humiliating. Thus I am often red-faced and mortified. A cough does not cover the body’s release. Loudly accusing the innocent dog of making the offending sound rarely works either.

Asleep, with no way of monitoring my snoring I make it a point to take a nap before venturing out to the theatre, movie, concert, any night time event where I may inadvertently snooze.

 No one cared if my old dog Bob snored but he did have a disturbing indigestion problem. The vet put him on a special restrictive diet. Still, Bob was a great mixed-carin rescue companion for many years who usually slept in my office while I wrote. In time I’d grown more or less immune to the sounds of his stomach gurgling and making all sorts of strange noises. One day, the noises were extraordinarily loud and seemingly non-stop. I looked to where I thought he was on his office bed to see if his noises were keeping him awake. But Bob was not in my office. I was alone. The strange noises were coming from me. Even alone my body grew hot with embarrassment. How does one stop the gurgling sounds that creep up without pain and therefore without warning? What if the stomach serenade happens during a dramatic pregnant pause during a theater scene?  A single cough just won’t cover unceasing sounds.

And don’t get me started on carbonated sounds. We used to burp; now we belch. The sound starts in our toes and gains momentum and power in the belly until a belch emerges, resembling the call of a wild moose or worse a fog horn.

Then there are the spills and ensuing stains. No matter how careful I intend to be, no matter how small the bites I take, I have never spilled as much of my meal as I do now. And usually the spill lands on a new and expensive blouse or pants that will be forever stained. It it’s red wine I spill, I cry.

In his later years my husband never wore a tee-shirt more than once. The spills never stopped. People always wondered why he wasn’t wearing silk shirts. He could afford them after all.

This free fall of food, drink, makeup and anything else I might be holding may be the result of less than acute eye-sight. But I do wear glasses and have my eyes regularly checked.  It’s not a case of cataracts; those were taken care of quickly and simply years ago. (Never fear cataracts!)

My hands were the source of my shaky problem. “A familial tremor,” the doctor pronounced. A sudden case of shaky in different body parts is a common complication among aging men and women. When my hands tremble, I smile and say, “Essential tremor” and shove the offensive body part into a pocket. (I always buy clothes with pockets and I don’t eat soup when dining out. It’s a rule.)  Shakes can be misinterpreted as signs of alcoholism - but not as much if you’re over 85.

Shaky just happens, usually at the least desirable time and that cannot be disguised by a cough either.

If, in some kind of mindless stupor, we raise our hands to our mouths we not only call attention to the tremor but display the raised veins, thin skin, liver spots and crepy wrinkles of our hands. Gloves offer a solution. But you can only successfully hide your hands in gloves on winter days or if you’re a debutant or performer who wears formal gowns with gloves that fit up to your armpits. But if you’re wearing gloves on a warm sunny day they also serve as a dead giveaway to advancing age.  (Forgive the use of the term dead. No one over seventy years of age likes to hear the term. But sometimes it’s the only word.) 

Back to my appreciation for clothes with pockets.

Apparently essential tremors can be the result of DNA. My paternal grandmother’s familial (or essential) tremor resulted in a shaky head. She didn’t worry about spills and she could eat soup in public. Her kindness and sweetness never faltered.

Grandmother knew what really mattered. So I choose to deal with the sounds and spills of aging and enjoy each breath of life!

WHAT'S NEXT?

 It feels rather like being the lone occupant on a huge slide. You’re sitting on the very top looking down and understanding the only way off is down.

But what’s waiting along the way down?

It’s the “what next” that disturbs seniors. I use the term seniors rather than writing "persons who have achieved a super advanced age." Everyone knows more or less what a senior is.

Seniors are young-old…from 65 to 74, middle-old is anywhere from 75 to 84 years old and then there is old-old, 85 years…’Till Further Notice.

The American Geriatric Society and the World Health Organization define oldest-old as an individual over eighty while the British geriatric Society uses eighty-five as the threshold for the oldest-old among us. Which I prefer.  Still, that particular designation doesn’t remove me from the top tier. Being very old. Older than I ever thought to be. But with the experience to write about…what’s next.

By the time we reach until further notice, we’ve kicked around a bit on the Golden Years Playground. (Whatever you do, stay away from the merry-go-round. Another spot you might not be able to readily jump off.)

During these so-called Golden Years, we’ve taken meds for very dry eye, body-aching arthritis, and sky-high hypertension.

The most popular topic of discussion at early bird dinners has become Health. Our health, our neighbor’s health and the person we met yesterday in the doctor’s waiting room. (Doctors are specialists so one is not enough anymore. We may be personally acquainted with four or five waiting rooms.)

“What’s next?” Is it a huge locomotive heading down the tracks right at us?  Or an ugly case of the shingles? Have you had the shingles vaccine? (Even if your memory isn’t all it used to be, we can never forget the vaccines!)

There’s a reason for having more than one glass of wine as the possibilities are explored.

I know because I’ve been to more of these dinners - and lunches - than I care to admit and heard the concerns. Maybe voiced a few myself. There comes a point in the aging process when it seems it’s just one thing after another - and usually not in a good way. Which leaves one thing to discuss: the state of your health. Or your neighbors, or your Uncle Stan’s.

As we age, our horizons aren’t as broad as they used to be. Most of us are retired, we’ve lost our professional identity, we don’t travel as much as we used to and we don’t attend parties and concerts any longer. Inevitably, these events begin about the time our day ends.

So where do our conversations  take us? Not to politics if we care about keeping our friends.

So, when it seems like one thing after another, we all wonder. Our bodies are on the decline. Our well-used parts are wearing out. We ask ourselves and anyone who will listen, what’s next?

It might be an all-to-common broken hip. (Don’t fall! Everyone will tell you that - like you would chose to fall willingly.) Or maybe what’s next is a months’ vacation on the French Riviera. Well, dreams happen.

A sense of humor on the Golden Years playground is the best way to deal with whatever comes next.

Who knows? What’s next might come as a delightful surprise.

Every adventure in aging depends on a little bit of laughter.

 

THE NEW AGE OF AGING

 I’ve been thinking about longevity more in the last few months than ever before. It’s worrying me.

According to the CDC, the average life span in the United States today is 77.5 years. Yet more and more people are living to 100 years and more. And what are we to do with the prediction that living to an active 125 years will soon be attainable? Good news if longevity is your goal.

Frankly, it’s not mine. I’m not ready to live 125 years or more. I am already 24 years passed my expected expiration date and often feel, well, tired. I’ve put two careers behind me and now it appears as if I’ll need a third. (Of course, once you reach a certain age you can’t plan too far in advance. A five year business plan might be out of the question.) Still.

Globally, the World Health Organization (WHO) predicts that, by 2050, the population aged 60 years or more will double, while those aged 80 years or more will number 400 million. This extension of the lifespan is looked upon mostly as a triumph of medical advances, stemming from access to better medical treatments as well as a focus on lifestyle and preventive therapies. 

So, I’m asking…is 80 fast becoming the new 70 in human years?

You’ll notice I have more questions than answers.

Longevity has been attributed to 1) DNA, 2) a positive attitude, 3) a Blue Zone lifestyle (which means physical labor, a plant based diet, red wine - and socialization.)

A study of super-agers showed they also may experience a metabolic slowdown, a slowdown of the aging process…which includes what’s happening in the brain. (Apparently just before he passed, Henry Kissinger at 100 years of age was still serving as a consultant to the government on foreign affairs.) But one size does not fit all. One book on how to live longer does not apply to everyone.

Are we interested in longevity because we fear the alternative?

We do know that heart disease and cancer are the two most common causes of death at any age. And both are subjects to ongoing research with increasing positive survival rates. Some scientists speculate specific targeting will eradicate cancer altogether in the near future. It’s already being done with varying degrees of success for different types of the disease. And of course early detection whether by chance or testing is the very best option. (I speak from experience.)

Genome editing, the art of changing the DNA of a cell or organism, holds great promise for eradicating cancer and a variety of other diseases. Like AI, however - which is proving helpful in medical issues - genome editing carries a multitude of ethical concerns.

The medical community has made great advancements in the skeletal department. We are fortunate to have an array of replacement parts…hip, knee, arms, elbows, etc. (And there are parts you can live quite nicely without, like the appendix.)

So many medical advancements have been made in the last 50 years; imagine what the next 50 will bring! A cure for the common cold?

And then if you’re feeling young and great, the next step is clear. Your appearance: a look reflecting how you’re feeling.

Cosmetic surgery can almost completely transform the human body, removing years of wear and tear. A boom for the anti-aging population - which are mostly women. To be clear, I’m not anti-aging but baffled to why 30 year old women are subjecting to Botox injections on a regular basis. I don’t understand the fillers, big lips, fish lips especially which rather resemble grouper lips. (Grouper is a popular Florida fish, a fish that sports unnaturally big lips. Ugly lips in my opinion.) But perhaps I’ll change my mind someday. And perhaps with whatever appearance procedures chosen, the cosmetic surgery prone individuals will look more like a 95 year old when they’re actually 125.

Is that a good thing?

When I did a small informal poll asking if folks would like to live to one 125 most said yes as long as they enjoyed a good quality of life. Quality of life is soo subjective. And chancy!

The eldest in many cultures are revered for their wisdom which is a good thing. But what if in this new age of aging, the information you possessed at 100 years became irrelevant by the time you were one 125? What then? A sense of humor will be more important than ever!

One of my friends once told me, “I’m not afraid to die. I just don’t want to miss anything.”

And there’s that.

 

 

THE SCOOCH

 I might have learned the following important information for anyone over sixty-five the easy way. The knowledge could have been gained perhaps as quickly and painlessly as watching a television news report or reading a book. Unfortunately, the easy way has never been my way. For that, I have no explanation or excuse.

When it comes to our aging bodies, more than anytime during the recent past, strength training is strongly advocated for women. Not the kind of strength we’re rightly known for, innate strength of mind and will. Instead, strength of the muscular variety is encouraged. But fear not! Strength training does not mean you will acquire muscles to rival those of the Rock. (Unless of course, that’s your goal.)

Now, I’ve never considered myself weak either in mind or body. And frankly never given either much thought. Recently that changed. While I recovered quickly and well from a surgical procedure I still had no idea of what was happening to my muscle mass or lack of during the process. I didn’t even know what muscle mas was.

Until the great Scooch Catasrophe.

I was in the supermarket when a receipt fell to the floor. Instead of bending down to retrieve it, I scooched. (A scooch is very much like a squat. Okay, let’s call it a squat.) And was stuck.

Stuck in a scooch - and I couldn’t get up.

Without the necessary muscle mass it’s impossible to get up from a scooch. Or just about any other position. Apparently, we women start to lose muscle mass around the age of thirty and the loss accelerates around age sixty-five. (Approximately seventy years of age for men.)  Fortunately, the scooching incident left me with no injuries…except for my bruised ego. (I felt very embarrassed to be stuck in the check-out lane in a squat…or scooch.) Kind customers rescued me and the rest continued their check-outs. Once on my feet again, all was well. Except that now I understood why building and/or retaining muscle mass is so essential.

The loss of muscle mass results in a reduction of energy and the daily activities we take for granted become difficult. Which, in turn, risk a plethora of injuries. What exactly is muscle mass?

Muscle mass is the amount of muscle in your body, skeletal and smooth which make-up the combined weight of your muscles.

Several months before when coincidentally one of my friends asked if I was doing strengthening exercises, I blithely smiled and said no, while my inner voice replied, because I don’t need them. Obviously, I did.

In medical terms this lack of muscle mass and ensuring weakness is known as sarcopenia, which is a natural aging process. In addition to weight-bearing exercises, eating thirty grams of high protein meals daily are recommended per meal. By the by, the new high protein shakes on your supermarket shelves are not your grandmother’s shakes. They’re available in several thirty gram flavors and are mostly delicious. My favorite is the café latte.

It’s never too late to start weight strengthening. Take it from a woman with experience, you don’t want to have a scooching incident when you are least prepared.

 

 

MORE ADVENTURES TO COME

 Not long ago I wrote a blog about the wonderful world we live in and how the medical community can supply us with new body parts. (Any part used every day for eighty, ninety, one hundred years is destined to wear out at some point.) In that same blog, I explained my feeling about my body…liking it to an old car, a little bit rusty in places complete with tires that are almost bald and an AM radio that is mostly static. And did I mention that almost everything under the hood is out of warranty? Yes, I’ve known for several years that the conveyance that gets me around is a rinky-dink older model that isn’t manufactured any more, a model that someday might need a new part.

That day has come and gone.

Luckily for me, an abundance of replacement parts are available and a young (you know doctors are all young nowadays) surgeon with amazing credentials gave me a new hip. He said the surgery would take him an hour and a half to two hours. (Most of my naps are longer than that.)

We truly are living in an era that should working parts go bad we can order new ones. It’s an era when hip replacements are common. We might even ask, who doesn’t have one?

I’ve discovered when a hip goes wonky that just walking can be dangerous. I’ve been known to lose my balance…but have not fallen thank goodness - I can still answer those wellness tests, “No fall. Ever.”

Several weeks ago, in order to circumvent any minor tragedy,  I started carrying a cane to keep me upright and on track. Frankly, my drugstore cane made me feel old. I’m convinced that if you feel old you will look old and worse, you will act old. (You will understand the feeling when you buy your first package of butterscotch candies.) I depend more on my sleek Jaguar-head cane, (I am a Jacksonville Jaguars fan) a gift from my daughter-in-law. 

So while reflecting on how I shall live in this New Year, I decided to only write one blog a week, this month you’re reading what may be the only blog. Taking my new hip for a spin as often as possible will be my priority. When time becomes precious - which it should for anyone my age or more, setting the proper priorities is vital. I went from walker to cane in three days, from cane to look-no-hands in two days. 

In the process I discovered I have sarcopenia - age related loss of muscle mass. Instead of bending down I scooched in the grocery store the other day and my body froze. You know the old, “I can’t get up” story. That was me. Sooo embarrassed. Kind shoppers came to my rescue and I soon became ambulatory again. (Once on my feet again, held on to the grocery cart for dear life!) 

I no longer scooch and I have a new topic to blog. Watch for - sarcopenia, body-building over eighty.

Sharing my adventures in aging with you will continue to be one of my top priorities. So, scooch or no, weekly or monthly, I’ll be back. The best way to age is to do it together!

 

 

NEW YEAR...NEW ME!

 I’m getting a new hip the day after tomorrow. I’ll be dancing soon! Not really. I’ve never been a Fox-Troty or Waltzing Matilda type of dancer. Years ago my grandmother gave me ballet lessons in the hope I would become graceful and my skip, trip and shuffle way of ambulating would become a thing of the past. Um. No. It didn’t happen. Still clumsy. But because I am a positive person I’m confident I will be walking totally upright in a matter of weeks.

Not long ago I wrote a blog about the wonderful world we live in and how it can supply us with new body parts. (Any part used every day for eighty, ninety, one hundred years is destined to wear out at some point.) In that same blog, I explained my feeling about my body…as if it were an old car, a little bit rusty in places with tires that are almost bald and a radio that is mostly static - and everything under the hood is out of warranty. I always have known my beloved car is a rinky-dink older model that isn’t manufactured any more, a model that someday might need a new part.

That day has come.

It’s almost like I have clairvoyance. Yes, one of my parts has gone bad and given out. Fortunately, it’s not my engine or the transmission. It’s my left hip. (Not to be confused with My Left Foot!)

Luckily for me, an abundance of replacement parts are available and a handsome surgeon with amazing credentials is going to give me a new hip. He says the surgery will take him an hour and a half to two hours. (Most of my naps are longer than that.)

We truly are living in an era that should working parts go bad we can order new ones. It’s an era when hip replacements are common. We might even ask who doesn’t have one?

I’ve discovered when your hip goes wonky that just walking can be dangerous. I’ve been known to lose my balance…but have not fallen thank goodness - I can still answer those wellness tests, “No fall. Ever.”

However, I have lurched and lunged, winced and bit my lip a bit.

Several weeks ago in order to circumvent any minor tragedy I started carrying a cane to keep me upright and on track. Frankly, my drugstore cane makes me feel old. I need to retire it as soon as possible. I’m convinced that if you feel old you will look old and worse, you will act old. (You will know when you buy your first package of butterscotch candies.)

So while reflecting on how I shall live in this New Year, I decided to only write one blog a week, this month you’re reading what may be the only blog. Taking my new hip for a spin as often as possible will be my priority. When time becomes precious - which it should for anyone my age or more, setting the proper priorities is vital.

Sharing my adventures in aging with you will always be one of my top priorities. So, come what may, I’ll be back in this same spot with another blog shortly. The best way to age is to do it together!

AGING COACH

 An Aging Coach?

Whaaat?

I’m aging just fine by myself, thank you. 

I had no idea that I needed an Aging Coach. Did you?

But just think of all the famous game coaches who have helped refine athletic talents. Coach Madden, Bobby Bowden, Nick Saban, Sparky Anderson, Andrew Bailey, Phil Jackson and the never to be forgotten, Ted Lasso.  (Just kidding about Lasso.)

Yes, there are football coaches, baseball coaches, swim coaches, soccer coaches and just about any kind of coach you can think of, and yet now there’s a new coach in town. An Aging Coach.  A man or woman who guides senior plus citizens and helps them (us) identify and achieve our aging needs and goals. (If we have or need goals)

Transitions can be difficult - especially the transitions we encounter as we age. How many times have you looked in the mirror, screamed and shouted, “Yikes! Who is that person?”

And talk about challenges! We older-but-better people have challenges we never dreamed of having. Let’s face it, help is always appreciated.

Thinking that this new Aging Coach occupation might be another career for me, (I am very old with 80 plus years of experience and I have the chin hairs to prove it.) I have researched the qualifications to become an Aging Coach. And here’s what I found.

There are none.

An Aging Coach is not required to have earned a certificate stating his or her qualifications and there are no regulations to meet. However, if you are truly dedicated to becoming an Aging Coach you’ll find several online courses and advanced education courses that can be yours, usually for under a thousand dollars. If you earn a certificate through one of these courses, you at least have something, a professional appearing piece of paper to frame. (Or you could computer create one.)

Your goal as an Aging Coach will be to offer guidance on the path to longevity and support a sense of well-being. If you wish, you can charge for your aging expertise…whatever price you believe is fair. There is no set price. And it could be a part-time job.

Additionally, you won’t require the overhead of an office. If you have a computer, and know how to use it, you’re in business!

There are similarities in aging that all of us encounter for instance - our parts give out, need a hip replacement? Another opinion and always appreciated - help finding the right surgeon for cosmetic surgery, especially those professionals specializing in lifts for face, butt and boobs.

An Aging Coach can help deal with hearing loss or the dimming of eyesight. You as coach may even help with those coming to grips entering a slower life pace (this can be especially challenging for former Type A personalities.)

The most difficult part of aging might be loss…losing lifelong friends, family and loved ones. In these cases an Aging Coach is the person to call, the one who will listen, understand and care.

Come to think of it, an Aging Coach just may be another name for Dear Friend.

 

LITTLE WHITE DOGS

 

Have you noticed all the old ladies walking little white dogs?  I am one of those. I am an old lady who walks a little white dog. Women over sixty-five years of age simply do not walk Great Danes. We lose some muscle strength, even those of us who lift weights and if even the best behaved large dog suddenly decides to chase a squirrel. Well. Can you spell trouble?  A younger (at the time did not even qualify as a senior) dear friend of mine suffered a broken hip when her German Shepard decided very suddenly to take a different route. And left her on the ground.  

So, little dogs, that for some reason are usually white in color, are the dogs older, wiser women chose. Among the popular breeds are Maltese, Bichon Frise’, West Highland Terrier and the poodle. (Please do not be offended if I did not mention your breed. Shih Tzu. I am a dog person, partial to them all!)

My little white dog is Charlie. He began as a black and white spotted puppy but he is a Havanese and many lose their color as they age. (Sort of like us.) The black has faded away. These days he’s pretty much beige and white. In the past I usually provided homes for rescue dogs but my partner at the time of Charlie insisted we know from the start how the dog was trained. Charlie is a clown and at six years shows no signs of slowing down. He loves to play and he loves to snuggle. He personifies lapdog. He is the best companion I’ve ever had and that’s saying something. I’ve been married three times and been involved in two loving relationships.

In conversations with fabulous older women, I’ve heard them insist that a little white dog is superior to having a husband in our so called golden-years. It’s been pointed out to me that most little dogs are great company. They are loyal. They don’t eat a lot. They don’t talk back or insist on being in charge of the television remote. These sweet dogs warn you when someone is at the door and might very well attack that someone to protect you.

My Charlie has learned to tell me when my phone is ringing…or the text sound blings. I think those self-taught skills qualify him as a support dog. He certainly supports me.  Except when I’m singing. I like to sing around the house even though I can’t carry a tune. When I start to sing, Charlie starts barking. I believe he thinks I’m in pain.

But our dogs are more than sweet companions for our aging years. They reduce our stress, help lower blood pressure, give us purpose, and increase our physical activity…those little walks we take provide awesome exercise.

The next time you see a beautiful older woman walking a little white dog, smile. And the next time you feel like you need a friend, there’s one waiting for you at your nearest animal shelter. Get a little dog of any stripe or color!

 

 

A LITTLE WHITE LIE

 Several years ago my friend Dee called me. “Brittany cut five years off her age.”

Brittany was a sometime actress who had been in our broadcast classes during college.

I thought about it for half a second. “Well I guess that’s what you have to do when you’re in show business,” I replied. Attempting to be kind.

“I think we have to take five years off our ages too so she won’t be thought a liar.”

“We’ll all be five years younger?”

“Right.” Dee said. I could actually hear her smile. “It’s the nicest thing we can do.” 

Or participating in a bit of chicanery.

Let’s face it, women especially, have been lying about their age since the beginning of time. Some using a younger number to feel better about themselves, thinking claiming youth makes them more attractive. Somehow. (I don’t understand this.) Some to land a role meant for a younger woman. And all sorts of reasons in between and beyond.

Is lying about one’s age deceitful? Yes. Plain and simple. But not the most damaging type of deceit. On a scale from one to ten it’s most likely a two. It’s more puzzling than deceitful. Why lie about your age?  Appearing younger is better? Afraid of ageism on a job interview? Wanting to seem wiser than most people at the same age? Or better preserved, if physical appearance is important.

I refused to shave those years off as the actress did. I’m a survivor and have been rather proud of my age and accomplishments. I’d made it through the unkind years. I don’t think Dee had anything to fib about age-wise either. In her seventies, she was still beautiful, still the beauty queen she’d been in college.

We all age differently. Some of us are old, very old at 70 years. Some of us are still working and enjoying life into our 80’s and 90’s. The brain power, the physical appearance, the emotional stability… are all very different. Why? Is it genetics, a life of healthy diet and regular exercise… or that shot of bourbon my aunts enjoyed every night before bed? No one really knows. Yet.

More and more people are living well into their hundreds. (Not the amount of candles I care to blow out. If I had that much lung power!) Medical care has come a long way as well to contribute to our longevity. In 1929 my grandfather died at age 49 because he could not pass kidney stones and the doctors had no way to crush those stones at that time.

Fortunately, because I enjoy it, I’m still working in my eighties. (But at a way different, slower pace.) Over the years I’ve lost some brain cells -- and also some momentum. I would love to tell you that just a few years ago I operated at a genius level. But no. That would be a fabrication. My ego will tell me I was…I am a smart woman. However, in truth, even my common sense quotient, shaky at best in the good old days, is circling the drain more often on the best of these present days. Creatively, I’m on a roller-coaster trajectory.

More changes are coming. (Listen as if David Bowie’s 1972 hit “Ch-ch-changes” is playing in the back of your mind. “Turn and face the strange ch-ch- changes.”)

Aging is a one way street - and steers us mostly downhill. I hope I’ll know when to stop working and just smell the roses. Stop, pass the baton to a younger person and try my hand at watercolor painting. One of my friends is doing well with her canvas thanks to U-Tube instructions. 

Life is full of adventures I might enjoy given a chance. If my ego does not get in the way. It’s our egos we have to watch out for as we age. Our egos may convince us we’re irreplaceable and that’s a lie.

The biggest lie of them all. 

 

 

 

 

FAR AWAY PLACES PART TWO

 In my last post I talked about how much I love to travel. And then I traveled for the first time in a year. It only took 4 different plane trips and a day each coming and going. And crowds. Large crowds. A trip like that could be exhausting for anyone of any age.

I debated about wearing a mask. I have many never-worn masks from the days when masks were mandatory rather than a debate with oneself.  Now I wish I had used the mask that traveled in the bottom of my purse for the entire journey. I came home with a forty-eight hour “bug.”

I know. It could have been worse. I could have come home with Covid. I’m just sayin’, just recommending…a mask for travel in crowds for those of us whose immune system may not be what it once was.

I’m still all for traveling solo, I’ll be traveling again soon. However, I understand not everyone feels comfortable solo. But solos are in luck! There are many agencies and travel companies with a trip designed just for you.

At the top of the list is Road Scholar Adventures. I don’t have experience with the rest of my list but always recommend that do your research. Adventures Abroad for Over 50, Elder Treks, Grand European Travel (an AARP provider), Intrepid Travel and Kensington Tours are just a few catering to our aging population. There’s no need to give up travel if the spirit is still willing!

Faraway places with the strange sounding names are calling, calling me.

 

 

FARAWAY PLACES

 “Faraway places with strange sounding names

Far away over the sea

Those faraway places with strange sounding names

Are calling…calling me.”

A song, my anthem. As a young girl I listened to that song. Growing up, I lived in a small seaside town and on long walks looked over the Atlantic wondering what lie on the opposite side…the people, the history, the land. I wanted to see it all. So you know I was born to travel and to prove the truth of…all who wander are not lost.

I love to travel! I’ve always loved to travel so it was no surprise that I’d planned on doing lots when I retired. I hadn’t counted on various old age illnesses stopping me. When my husband retired we did a lot of traveling, mostly cruising, with an old college pal and his wife. My favorite way of traveling is cruising. When Dave became ill we were able to rent a scooter for use at sea. The scooter companies deliver right to your cabin door. (And my husband loved to pretend-terrorize the other passengers with his scooter driving skills.)  What he was able to do with this new-found mobility was to continue his years old hobby as an amateur photographer. He’d scoot to different decks and take pictures of wherever we were docked while I went exploring on my own. Not the ideal way to vacation perhaps but so glad we both had the opportunity to enjoy our travels, each in our own way.

I travel solo now, (thank you cruise lines for installing solo cabins!) I make new friends and still explore new places. With the challenges of aging cruises offer the easiest access and safest way to travel for me. (I’m eighty-four going on sixteen.)

Tomorrow I’m off for a new adventure in a city I’ve been to before to meet up with old friends and share writing experiences with new ones. Until I return, this will be the last post. But I’ll return soon so please come back to check for more adventures in aging …of the traveling type!

EH?

 

Eh? Is an element of the universal “old” language which means please repeat what you just said because I didn’t hear or may have mistaken what I just heard. Although the ear trumpet, the first hearing aid was invented in 1634 by a French mathematician, people still do not like to use any aids to hearing. This may be caused by a stroke of vanity or stubbornness, who knows?

A recent acquaintance of mine mistakenly believed I was hard of hearing. This might have been due to my age. Many men and women my age - 80’s - are hard of hearing or wear hearing aids. But some of us miraculously are not. We’re officially “elderly,” but hear just as well as we did when we were in our twenties. Hearing well is a sense we’re grateful for and do not flaunt. (Although sometimes it’s less free not to hear all that’s being said.) We may have other mega problems thanks to aging just not hearing life’s instructions. As I’ve written before I think about our body parts like old car parts. They dull or totally wear out.

Assumption based on the norm is the danger in stereotyping. (No one who knows me has believed that I have been normal. Ever. But neither am I the uber crazy family member brought out to show off on the front porch.)

I have no problem hearing, even mutterings. Which my acquaintance now realizes because I immediately began a soft, sweet rant of education. He had it wrong.

Do not judge or belittle in my presence, because I will hear you. Loud and clear. Even with eighty and ninety year olds, you don’t know who enjoys keen hearing is listening. You can’t be too careful. (People carry guns these days and use them at the slightest provocation. But that’s a subject for another blog.)

At the other end of the “eh?” scale are the “shouters.” I appreciate those who raise their voices (with a smile) to speak to seniors as a matter of course and consideration. I can tolerate being yelled at by a thoughtful person. If you feel in danger of being misunderstood - shout. Don’t mutter.

Thanks to cataract surgery, non-invasive, painless and a procedure usually covered by insurance, most of us past sixty-five have had our sight restored to early days. We need the bare minimum of help; enter drug store peepers.

I wear glasses, usually peepers, because my sight is more than fair and peepers are less expensive than glasses. (If you’re a woman this is a bonus because you can have frames in every color if you’re serious about coordinating.)

Our five senses are important and expected to diminish over time - but some don’t. Remember, on meeting a new senior, you never know. Be kind.

Picture my hand behind my ear as it is now, “Eh?”

Can you hear me?

 

 

SOMEONE IS IN THE KITCHEN - BUT IT ISN'T ME!

 

I don’t buy green bananas anymore. It’s an old joke that my husband used to toss around frequently. But as in every joke there’s underlying truth. The closer I get to heaven’s door the less I want to leave half a dozen bananas browning in the fruit dish.

Three days is as far as I’ll risk advance grocery purchases.   

Sadly, I’ve neglected my foodie side on this blog. I haven’t blogged about meal planning, shopping, or cooking on my adventures in aging - and each is an adventure unto itself. Sometimes an every day adventure. (I make a grocery list but it’s usually not until I reach the store that I remember the list is still at home.) So, I grocery shop more than I’d like.

I used to love to cook. And I used to be fairly good at it. Something fresh out of the oven meant instant gratification to me. I made fried chicken only second best to KFC according to my son. Another favorite was the little twisty sugar cinnamon donuts I made. Yes, I cooked with Crisco!

But I’m over it now. All of it. The urge to kitchen-strike happened  sometime in my seventies. Now in my eighties I’m good with the early bird specials.

Yet another reason for a kitchen-strike, there is no joy in shopping anymore - if there ever was. Every time I enter a grocery store the prices seem to automatically rise at least 25%. They see me coming. Prices on groceries are sky high and items we remember paying twenty-five cents for are now two dollars and twenty-five cents and climbing.

Once I do make a meager grocery selection I have to plan the cooking. I’ve done this for too many years and in Florida during the summer I break out into a sweat just thinking about it. Turn on the stove? Turn on the oven?

No! Not this senior babe.

There are meal plan services that deliver but you do have to cook the meals once you have them. Fast and easy is my favorite category but they come in family packages, breakfast packages, and organic packages. Almost any package you can ask for is available. For a price. “Hello Fresh” and “Home Chef” are two of the most popular services. Again, cooking is still required.

Yes, you can dine out. That’s why there are early-bird specials and I for one take no shame in enjoying them whenever I can. (Who drives after dark anymore?)

Perhaps simplest (even I can do it) there are the delivery services that bring your favorite restaurant fare to you. It’s a phone call and a slight charge away. When I say I'll make reservations...this is what I mean!

And when it’s required. Thank goodness for the volunteers who make “Wheels on Meals” possible. To be an aging senior in this day and age is to be blessed.

 

 

BEHIND THE MICROPHONE. SPEAKER TIPS

 

When I reached the century mark I stopped counting the many, many professional conferences I’ve attended before and after retirement. I still attend a conference now and then, mostly to catch up and get nostalgic with old friends.

While this applies to any age, I have a conference pet peeve. A giant pet peeve which tackles microphone etiquette and which requires a soap box. Here we go!

First of all there should be rules. Most of us will only address a gathering of our peers a handful of times and therefore don’t feel the need for microphone education. But oh, my. We all do have the need, trust me. I believe there should be a short speaker school, attendance required, where the basic rules of public speaking are laid down. Oh. Wait. There is!

It’s called Toastmasters International. Toastmasters instructs on a wide variety of public speaking and is a great way to gain confidence - if you have the time and inclination.

For those without the time who are about to go behind the mic and speak…I offer a brief course learned during my broadcast days. These are my rules…only five rules that I beg you to follow.  Beg you. When you get up to the podium:

 

5. Do not hold the microphone too close to your lips. Everyone knows this is a sure way to pop your “p’s” and hiss the sound of your sibilants.

4. Also. The closer you hold the mic to your mouth, or move into it…the more muffled the sound will be.  (This also applies to most of our smart phones as well.) It’s not necessary and obviously detrimental to hold the mic too close. If your lips touch you will not be electrocuted…but your message won’t be delivered either.

3. Practice lowering the pitch of your voice. The higher the pitch the less chance of a garbled sound that no one can understand. Yes, it requires practice but can be done. For women think of emulating Emma Stone rather than Minnie Mouse.

2. Tapping the mic to see if it’s “on” is so amateur hour. Restrain yourself don’t do it. Mic’s usually are tested by the sound professionals before being turned over to the speaker. Speak at a normal level and you will be heard, understood and appreciated.

1. Most important of all…please don’t read. Please. I beg you not to pull out a two page single spaced address and ready yourself to read. I guarantee you will fall into a monotone after the first paragraph and very quickly afterwards the audience will fall also. Asleep. 

Use index card notes. No one will mind if you refer to notes, or make a mistake. We are all human and we are not born to be public speakers - that takes time and practice.

 

Okay. That’s all. Now I’ll get down from my soap box and wish every summer speaker, “Much good luck!”