POOR PLANNING

 I did not plan well for retirement.

I did not plan on losing more than half of my friends. Still, they are gone and irreplaceable.

I did not plan on outliving my investment funds. And yet. Here I am, a cautionary warning to my peers.

I did not plan on continuing to work. But apparently, I have a genetic inability to stop.

I did not plan on living alone after officially being designated as "elderly." Fortunately, I have a "new-fangled" watch that alerts my family if I've fallen and can't get up.

In my next life, I will plan better. For now, despite my poor planning, I will be happy with the friends and the life I still enjoy. 

GIGI'S VICE

 My family goddess name is GiGi and I am -- a shopaholic. Unlike Sophie Kinsella's heroine, things do not usually end well for my budget. Also, alas, I have not turned my retail addiction into best-selling novels.

While I'm not certain how or when my condition began, I'm certain that online shopping accelerated the problem. During Covid lockdown, my rush to fill the cart was not slowed by the eventual check-out. Like Scarlett told us years ago...payment for past transgressions is something we can think about tomorrow.

My grandgirls are all fashion-forward young women. No pressure on grandma, except from me and the thought of potentially embarrassinging them. And no judgement. Except from me. 

My quest to become the best-dressed geriatric brings up many questions. Among them...Is it wrong to become a fashionista after fifty? Or eighty? Do I sound shallow for caring about my appearance? For wanting to personify senior style? Am I bitter that wardrobe shopping which was once so easy and fun -- when I was tall and so thin they called me Bones -- is now a major problem? The answers might possibly be humiliating.

The bottom line...I have aged-out of fashion.

I understand that clothes do not make the man...or in this case, and more importantly, the woman. But really?

My friend Suzie recently complained that shopping has become a painful experience. Department stores and boutiques offer fashions that either scream out that we're desperately attempting to recapture our youth, or worse, declaring ourselves ancient by lunching in wrinkled rayon prints. Women over sixty, seventy and yes, eighty have a problem. It seems we can either look dowdy or we can look alike.

If I shop at one of the most popular franchises marketing to older women, I risk seeing the same thing I'm wearing walk by me on another body. If I shop the expensive line of clothing designed with flowing elegance, taste and a mature woman's body in mind, my closet will be bare.

Granted, some women possess natural flair like Maye Musk or the women Ari Seth Cohen features in his book and internet blog, Advanced Style. Or my colleague Mame.

Mame dresses with flair. Without spending millions of dollars she always looks like a million dollars. She shows no fear flaunting colors, style and fit. And we, her admiring friends, expect her to show up in daring, sometimes eccentric, ensembles. She is a walking drama, a turn-heads-kind of woman. Good friend, that she is, she has attempted to act as my stylist and dress me. But no good has come of it. I may be too stubborn or faint-hearted -- but then again, I don't wear purple.

Because I'm living on a fixed income like so many of my peers, my daughter has encouraged me to shop at discount stores. I've attempted to do that but the clothes that end up on those racks for the most part have been designed for the younger generation. The come-buy-me-labels lack fabric and therefore reveal body parts that would have me arrested. 

Why are there a plethora of fashions that make a woman of seventy with a mind of a thirty-year-old look like a one-hundred-year-old? Not only are these offerings unflattering and unfair, they're denying a growing population.

In the past I've worn mini-skirts and I've worn bell-bottoms with shaggy yarn vests. I didn't save them. I know. My bad. Those of us who've reached a certain age have seen fashion recycled again and again. 

Where is that stunning new style that transforms, disguises and flatters victims of gravity, and constantly shifting bodies? 

If you find it...let me know. 

  

THE INVISIBLE WOMAN

 Have you ever walked into a room and disappeared? Became invisible?

Stan Lee created one such woman, The Invisible Woman, for Marvel Comics. Sue Storm, a mutate, received her awesome powers from cosmic rays and became able to render herself invisible in order to fight crime. A good thing. Most normal, mortal women, however, do not consider becoming invisible as particularly empowering. It's not a good thing. Even to fight crime.

According to a plethora of recent studies, a phenomenon known as "The Invisible Woman Syndrome" threatens women everywhere. One survey studied two thousand women and discovered by the time they reached 51 years of age, many believed they'd become invisible and irrelevant. Only fifteen percent felt they had high or very high confidence in any area of their lives and forty-six percent thought no one understood or addressed aging and what older women go through. They experienced a growing frustration in or out of the board room. And just like that aging becomes so much more difficult. 

I'd never heard of Invisible Woman Syndrome until a year or so ago when a friend wrestled with the problem. Angrily. Let's call her Lucy. 

Lucy complained about being invisible throughout her later years. She had been a very attractive young woman and accustomed to having heaps of attention until she reached a certain age. Everyone who knew Lucy considered her adorable. And more. She was a mother, a witty, intelligent woman and an accomplished novelist. She attended the best parties and knew the right people. She could "work" a room as well as any experienced politician. But then her looks began to change. Not in a bad way, in a lovely, mature way. Over-sixty Lucy, with the same attributes she'd always had, no longer drew the same attention. The once much-admired woman found the possibility she'd become invisible, extremely annoying. Devastating even. She took to singing aloud in stores while she shopped. Lucy indeed suffered from The Invisible Woman Syndrome.

Unfortunately, it's still true that women's role in society whether they rule as a CEO or not, is typically to be attractive. Even in the corporate world attitudes towards aging and female beauty continue to be primeval.

"If women seem no longer to be attractive, which is considered to be when she reaches that first stage of aging, she becomes less relevant. The same does not apply to men because as they get older men get more respect, and it really doesn't matter what they look like," according to Dr. Louise Mahler, an English Executive coach.

Only women become invisible.

Noted Nobel Prize-winning novelist, Doris Lessing had a different and more positive view of the phenomena. "...when you become middle-aged and anonymous no one notices you. You achieve a wonderful freedom."

Freedom! Something introverts -- like me -- have appreciated all along. We welcome being invisible and always have. Let me work in my isolated office, let me make my statement and leave my legacy in perfect anonymity. Don't look my way. Allow me to cover my unkempt hair with a cap, hide my un-made-up face with a mask and conceal my bulging belly under a caftan.

There is only one problem for me. Anyone who knows us will tell you that the women in my family are self-proclaimed goddesses. (Thus my name GiGi, the goddess grandmother.) The goddess label is purely a state of mind achievable for every woman. And encouraged. We celebrate the strength, intelligence, humor and sense of adventure that we treasure in one another. Occasionally when we get together we wear our tiaras (available at the Party Store) and share adult beverages. We come in a variety of shapes and sizes and we range in age from the low fifties, straight through to the sixties, seventies, and eighties. By all accounts, we should feel irrelevant. We should be invisible - not so easy wearing tiaras. But no. We are loud and opinionated. Except for me, I raise my voice on this blog. 

For women who resent being invisible there is one way to be seen. Refuse to be irrelevant or invisible. Own the room...raise your voice and rant! Or sing aloud in the store while you shop.

THE AGING APPEARANCE ISSUE

 Fear of aging is a very real fear that strikes at our hearts. Our souls. I think this is more true of women than men. I believe this because I am a woman and understand vanity and appearance issues. We want longevity...but we want it with our thirty-year-old appearance. Bodies young and tight! 

Men do not discuss such topics as wrinkles, weight gain and baldness. Much.

We have limited, or no control, over the serious illnesses that can strike without warning at any age. For the most part, they are preventable and unpredictable. But we like to believe we have control over our appearance. Way before we reach senior status we are gripped with panic at the sighting of the first wrinkle or the first gray hair (plucked out instantaneously). We confront the fear of losing our youthful appearance with denial, even though the physical signs of aging swamp us like a raging tsunami.

Liver spots, a swollen belly and spreading crevices as deep as the Grand Canyon pop up with increasing frequency. To combat these pesky problems we reach out to the marketers who have been inundating us with "cures."

We buy anti-aging supplements, cosmetic surgery, peels, purges and more. There are treatments offered for whatever you can afford. The tragedy may be in how many folks buy into this dream of youthful appearance as some sort of guarantee for a longer, or better life.

Women, more so than men, spend billions of dollars toward the hope and process of looking forever young. In the end, far too many achieve a mouth that can no longer smile and eyes stretched beyond the ability to read an eye chart. The "transported by aliens look."

Anti-aging products are now number one in sales. Chemical peels and liposuction are in the top ten surgery procedures. Globally, the Precendence Research company projects by 2030 we will spend more than one hundred and nineteen billion dollars for products and procedures to appear younger. That's $119.6 billion!

The truth is, no matter how much money we spend, we'll never regain the face and body of our thirty-year-old selves.

Oh, but the quest is not new. Juan Ponce de Leon searched for the Fountain of Youth in St. Augustine Florida way back in 1520. I've visited the Fountain- out of curiosity. Since the waters have not had the desired effect on the thousands of tourists who visit the Fountain each year, I didn't drink any. But if things don't improve I may. It's only a thirty-minute ride away. 

I'm not anti-aging. I'm for aging, naturally and with as much grace as I can muster. 

AGE ENTITLEMENT

 There's a certain sense of entitlement that comes with aging...and it comes in various levels, increments of good and evil. For instance, some seniors feel entitled to be rude, even hurtful by saying or doing whatever they wish. I'd rather focus on positive entitlement like my friend Linda shared with me.

There are times when advanced age gives one a ticket to outrageous behavior, or so my aging brain likes to think. Maybe I feel my agedness gives me an excuse to do something in us that feels we're disappearing, being forgotten, not being seen?

The name tag on the saleswoman checking me out at a store recently read Adeline. I asked if she knew the song with her name in the title. She'd been told about the song but never heard it. She blushed as I sang Sweet Adeline to her in its entirety.Applause and laughter throughout the store followed, and from the rear a lovely true tenor voice lifted to sing the song again. I hope everyone in the store enjoyed the sing-a-long. As I drove away I thought about how embarrassed my children would have been had any of them accompanied me shopping. I laughed and sang some more. It felt good. What fun.

Entitlement often equals happiness.

So let me tell you about my entitlement today.  I enjoy writing. I've been doing it since I first picked up a pencil. I write for the love of words, for creating stories and for my peace of mind. I think if I didn't write they would have to lock me up somewhere and throw away the key. Writing is the most inexpensive form of therapy available in this modern, shrink-wrapped world.

When I was employed to write - just about all of my adult life - I was well disciplined and wrote whether or not I was in the mood, with or without a muse over my shoulder. Now old and ostensibly retired I only feel moved to write when the mood strikes me. After all those years I feel entitled. I immediately write "The End" for a family vacation, a cruise with friends, or a great football game.

How to you feel entitled? When do you play the entitlement card?

PATCH, PATCH, PATCH!

 I like to think of my old body as a '57 Thunderbird. I loved that car. I coveted that car. But, alas, I never owned one. The Thunderbird boasted the roaring energy of a V-8 engine apart from its sleek, awesome style...energy and style similar to my body way back in the day. Now, like the old classic car, my parts are wearing out. Fortunately, today's medical community provides replacement parts. Or, has determined, thanks to evolution, that the human body no longer requires certain parts - think appendix. Think a lung lobe.

There are body parts that are scary when they go awry. Any part in the heart for example. This is why we need the support and the encouragement of souls who have marched before us into these types of replacement or treatment adventures and have prevailed.

Not long ago a hunch became a reality when I was diagnosed with an obstruction in one of my heart arteries. Anxiety set in. (It's a family thing.)

"You mean I can't participate in Tai Chi?" Not until further testing.

"So what do I do while I wait? You're talking to a former type A personality here! I cannot just wait for answers." (Drama is another family thing.)

And yet, wait is what I did initially. Afraid to move. Besides the meds made me sleepy. I could sleep standing up. Oddly enough the statistics on women's medical issues are quite different from the perceptions. While one in thirty-nine women will be diagnosed with breast cancer, one in five women will suffer from heart disease. I did not know. Did you?

There is a history of heart disease in my family so while I was genuinely shocked at the statistics I was not surprised by the test results. And while I waited for the follow-up test results, I read. I read books. I read the fine print, the notes and the footnotes. Until I realized I was wasting precious time. Wasting time is the real rub. If I were on the brink of death the day the threat was discovered, I would have been hospitalized then and there. Immediately. But I was free and happy to be! 

I am thankful and amazed at the incredible machines that can see into our bodies and allow physicians to pinpoint what they could have only guessed at a few short years ago.

I can walk in the sun, taking in the Florida beauty of nature and wildlife surrounding me. Things I took for granted in my young past.

I can manage household chores. (Not cleaning the fridge today, thank you. Any excuse.)

I'm able to share my experiences on this blog and assure you no matter what there is still quite a bit of living to do ahead. Be ready for it. There are treatments. There are cures.

I can give myself a spa day, call old friends, and shop online. (Although shopping online proved dangerous to my wallet during the Covid lockdown.)

Lame reasoning above? Perhaps, but I came of age during the time of Dr. Norman Vincent Peale and his message of positivity. Just making the shortlist of can-do's snapped me out of my anxiety and impending depression...and launched me on the road to mental recovery, which is half the battle. Good news! My broken body part can be and will be fixed as whatever part you might need fixed or replaced in the future will be. 

By the bye, if you're one of those lucky people who own a '57 Thunderbird I understand you can still find parts.

And remember the immortal words of the late actor Jimmy Stewart, "After age seventy, it's patch, patch, patch."

So happy we can patch.

GiGI'S ADVENTURES IN AGING

 You are reading a lifestyle blog for women seventy-five years and older. However, this is an all-inclusive blog, and women of all ages are welcome here! I'll be blogging on aging, fashion, finance, family, and other senior fun stuff.

My name is GG -- actually, it's not -- the initials stand for the Goddess Grandmother which is a mouthful and so my granddaughters prefer just calling me GG. Currently, I am the oldest woman in the family, so I happily accept the title, Goddess Grandmother, or the synonym. Some of the girls spell my name GiGi, so let's go with that.  I am over 80 years old and no beauty by any means...but I do have all of my teeth.

The women in our family are self-proclaimed goddesses, purely a state of mind and achievable for every woman. We celebrate the strength, intelligence, humor, and sense of adventure that we treasure in one another. Occasionally when we get together, we wear our tiaras and share adult beverages.

While I may not be an expert on aging, I am experiencing the process on a daily basis. I possess past and present personal knowledge and am always prepared to speculate on the future. At times, I may be opinionated. I'll be silly. I'll be serious.

On this blog, you'll find information, helpful resources, encouragement, and support -- hopefully with a chuckle or two.

From time to time I'll be quoting the U.S. Census Bureau, CDC, the National Council of Senior Citizens, and other influential aging organizations. Just for some examples, did you know life expectancy has increased, the gender gap has narrowed in mortality rates and we are working longer? Oh, and there's so much more to come. Do you feel invisible? Are you residing in the anti-aging camp? Is your social life a disaster? Have your children taken your keys away?

As of this moment...and I am a woman so I may change my mind...a new blog will appear on My Adventures in Aging every Wednesday. (Perhaps more than once a week if the spirit moves me.)

So please join me and we'll adventure forth and forward together.