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!”