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.