Posted on in grey hair, health, sixty

Tipping Over Sixty

Sixty was hard. I felt my age. Middle-age extras in all areas, a few injuries, comfort food, and a lazy attitude kept me feeling my age. My mind kept going to the elder thinking ways, as I lost a parent. That will make you think for a bit. My thoughts lasted too long, and every pang was an emergency. Finally, I woke up and dusted off my sixty years to embrace sixty-one and beyond. It’s never been the number it’s always been about life with the number and sixty stunk. Lots of lots. Leave it at that, nothing insurmountable, I come from strong stock. But the moments plus my looks that turned accelerated the feeling of old when anything but. Did I mention I am vain. Oh yes, and while no model beauty, the little I have, I treasure, and in my eyes, the slow crumble was devastating.

Until now, actually last week. I just snapped out of it, got on my bike, rejoined Weight Watchers, Oprah or not, and am doing things the right way for my body and my life. Of course, with my newer fluffy body in shrink mode. I made peace with the neck. It’s not going away. My thought is that if the other pounds slowly melt, fitness increases, and my grand buddy and I explore the world more. I don’t care. I want to keep up with him and enjoy. Nugget thinks I am pretty. All the time, except once when I herniated my disc and told me I needed a shower. But that is another story, and he was right.

So sixty-one has a few gadgets trying to minimize lines, better makeup on my weaker areas, simple comfy styles as I shrink and feel happy wearing, and my notation that size and weight do not matter, it is overall eating to live and moving to move everyday, without fail that is key. Sixty-one is enjoyment, love, travel, family, and feeling youthful per mind and body. Why not! Sixty-one is designing sixty-five, i.e., retirement to create a busy fulfilling next season. I have ideas. It’s a start, but no concrete plans, and I know I am blessed to be at this stage.

Bring on Sixty-one!

Posted on in education

Spring Break=Recovery

Let’s face it, a teachers’ spring break is different. Not because we are teachers with less spending ability, anyone can save, but because we are exhausted. Let me rephrase, teachers who have taught over twenty years have different looking spring breaks. We are in recovery from the sights, sounds, and smells of school. Not the work, just the chaos of kids. No matter their behavior, they are still busy. 

I had the best break. I listened to my body and slept. Now, don’t get me wrong, I did clean, organize a bit, watch way too much nonsense television, wrote, and played with my dogs. But I slept so much that I finally felt normal six days later. I’m not sad or in hiding, just doing that self-care bit. I actually had some excitement planned, all canceled due to the need for rest. My body gave out, and I did not feel robbed or have feelings of FOMO as my friends traveled because I slept.

Today, on the last weekend of break. I will do laundry, set up my clothes for the week, organize my meal delivery, and watch some basketball to ease back into life, but probably throw in a nap because after twenty years I have earned it!

For those with far fewer years. You are recovering from a trip and throwing life together, enjoy the crazy years, and look forward to your naps.

Posted on in anxiety, essay, family

It Was My Choice

Recently, I reconnected with a family member, while not estranged, we were never in the same zip code, and life moves quickly. A question asked with innocence crushed my soul. “Who are your people in the family?” I could not answer. I was baffled. All I could think about was my dad, my bridge into a world that was not mine. No one made me feel different or out of a loop, but 3,000 miles will do that to any relationship, no matter the level. He is gone. It is still heartbreaking as he was my person. I understood him like no other in my family. The link is broken, and again, I am alone.

I blamed the strength and oddness of genes for giving me a family at a distance, but yet my moving was never my choice. My far away western local was done for my grandmothers health and my own mothers attempt to hide from the mess that was created, not due to anything but love, but still much to clean with no guidance as the early 60’s were rather a socially neat era.  I listed off who I would love to see. But that’s all I have, that and a feeling of being detached from a clan, that innately I feel so attached to, but yet so far away. I have no bitter feelings, just an occasional sigh or feeling of sadness, all of which were stirred with one question. “Who are your people.”

The conversation led to my dads passing, and my trying to explain my missing his day.  While there was an actual reason for my no-show due to logistics, timing, and a huge chunk of change. Let’s face it, I made a choice. I did not go to my father’s funeral. I mourned at home and still do. So, why not go? Yes, money was a small part of the equation, but it became a scapegoat that I used to become my mother, running away from facing the truth.  Her running away from a life without him by her side, and my sprint away from his passing. I still struggle daily, not due to the missing of the service but the detachment I feel. The love I lost. The man I truly never knew, at his core, was the father I wanted, needed, and had in our own distant relationship. As odd as it sounds, perhaps the miles might have been for the best. Distance can never leave. It is already gone. Too many “dads” had come and gone in my life to have the real one, faults and all, leave me in this life. As such, I still can’t bear to say goodbye. It was my choice.

Posted on in family, granparent life, grey hair, health, life, menopause, travel

An Aha Moment with Disney Grandma

The joy of seeing not only your five-year-old grandson squeal with delight upon every twist and turn of the Disney experience, but also your son watching his son, is priceless. After the two days of steps into the high five digits per day, crowds, and the mastering of the Genie +, which is a necessity if you go…it is my all-time favorite trip to date. Yes, it beats any European or fancy trip I have taken. My smile has still not left my face. I am already ready to plan our next adventure, LEGOLAND and then a Disney Cruise for all to enjoy. Even with all the fun, I struggled with my pictures, my thoughts, my looks in the mirror, and of course how difficult 30K steps really are at sixty. I felt my age. This was the first time I FELT sixty. I have tried to ignore this age until this trip hit. I felt it. I am it. And it isn’t so bad. I stood tall and survived with absolute delight at the entire trip. My current bronchitis and ripping my back on a doggie crate have nothing to do with my days off from school afterwards, one needs to separate the two, or I will really feel my age. The bronchitis is due to other teachers showing up sick and passing it along. Thanks. The crate and back are my stupidity and rushing. But I digress. Back to the show.

Disney, while a hit in every way possible, I would go again tomorrow, was my reality that I am aging. I need to take care of myself and not feel bad about it and think about the end stages of work i.e. retirement. I want more out of life than another group of students and a new classroom decor. I have decided. Three more years of work and my health patrol to keep me going to fully enjoy life and not to sit on the sidelines. So, I am eating well, losing an ounce or two a week and working out through the Instagram motivation of all the other silver ladies that walk, ride, lift light weights etc. so the body will go back to what it is to be…a healthy age without a number. Not a drastic med enhanced thinness, just real. So, while my pictures may dwindle on social media…or I may not look as often, as I do love to post. I need to fall in love with myself again and figure out my new figure attire, as I dress for my body transformation moment, that I am blessed to have as it is part of the journey of life. I have officially entered the Disney with a five-year-old grandson who will chase down any Disney character for him part of my life. It is amazing.

Here are some great Disney links for silver mamas and grandmas out there who need to plan your daily adventure at Mickey’s House, walk in faux lululemon style and comfort, say good-by to foot pain, and count your steps with ease. So, book the trip and smile all the way home.

  1. Genie+ https://disneyland.disney.go.com/genie/
  2. Baleaf https://www.amazon.com/stores/page
  3. Alegria https://www.amazon.com/Alegria-Women-Indigo-Athletic-Walking
  4. Lululemon https://www.amazon.com/s?k=lululemon
  5. Oura Ring https://www.amazon.com/s?k=oura+ring
Posted on in family, fitness, weight loss

Enter Tovala

My Best Friend

I have not felt this sort of initial love in decades. It is as we were made for each other, as this is my answer, to all things cooking. Imagine a scan and go technology with the ability to churn out meals that have ingredients only tasted by my household in restaurants. I can’t cook, but marvel at those that can and actually love the process. I applaud you. I am more of the shop, five minute prep and scan girl. Oh, I can do chicken nuggets and lunchables but charcuterie still comes in plastic with my shop, open and go mentality, and I am ok with this.

The hubs heard of this Christmas gift to myself and he balked. You can cook, it will be costly, yadda yadda. I ignored. So far, he likes it. It is not a love match as he has his own eating peculiarities (bariatric patient) but so far I have received a positive reaction. I am just learning to order for him and myself separately. I am low calorie and he gets what wants and divides it up. It works and makes me happy. Tonight is a Korean pork dish. Yum.

The upsides of this new countertop space grabber far outweighs its bulkiness in a world gone minimal. We are eating balanced low calorie meals that are portioned correctly and enjoying our choices, more time together, and sometimes a fancy lunch, if leftovers or an extra chicken, does no meet his tastebuds.

So run do not walk to www.tovala.com and find you machine, meals, and your new best friend.

Salmon, brocoli and fancy sauce
Posted on in book, essay, family

Joe

I was Joe for years. I have no understanding as to why technology placed my number under this moniker. But so be it. My dad was happy, it made him laugh, and that is what I lived for, his laugh. It was big and Joe made him laugh. Sometimes. I still have his last message and kick myself that I waited a day to give him a call but I did not expect death. No one does. I cry at odd times and need to see a shrink. I am a mess. We were an odd couple with a deep father- daughter bond with distance, understanding, and a likeness that was odd since I never grew up in the same zip code, state, or on the same coast. No ill will. Just a reality that made our times, good and bad, more poignant. The last time I saw him, I let him read part of my book, aka the heap of papers that I am rewriting and asked his permission to use his addiction story but no name. No big details just enough to tell my own co-dependency story. He loved it and agreed. But it sits. Every year, it is the books year, with more of an effort on the type of cover picture than the words. This is a problem and a pure sense of delay in my own healing and perhaps the two others that purchase the book. It is not the sales, it is the completion.

So, this is the year and while I should dedicate it to “Joe” whoever that technology snafu friend was, it will be dedicated to my Clem.

Posted on in Christmas, family, life

Next…

On Christmas Day 2023, I noticed people posting the pressing question of when to take their Christmas decor down. Call me crazy but I read these posts/questions before mid-morning perhaps minutes after presents were completely unwrapped around the world and Santa was finally drinking his first egg nog with Mrs. Clause. Seems odd. Have we lost enjoyment in our ever pressing social presence. I fear a few out there lived through Christmas via mental lists that ushered on the social media imposed schedule. Where’s the joy and the simple pleasures of watching your tree brown to a point lights cannot be turned on? We all learned great fire and cleaning skills from this season that can’t be learned without tree droppings. Where has simplicity and the utter delight from just “being” gone? Why the rush?

Is holiday running due to the excitement of resolutions that are never kept over NYE or the countless countdowns of years in review? Or are you skipping ahead to Valentines, St. Paddy’s. Easter or Mayday? Why are ornaments aleady boxed and wrapped? Now they are being relinquished to an attic only to come out for a quick show next year. Your Instagram moment awaits us all next year, with your matching 2024 Skims, carefully cropped and edited. As we are now a society who will only share a picture that is perfect with all the sparkle for the moment with hair, makeup and smiles in grand perfection and then quickly whisked to a quick dive back into hiding, so the next big moment can be captured without the clutter of Christmas. The social media slave continues only to be thinking about the next day, outfit, picture, food, cocktail or coffee to catch attention of scrollers in between their holiday heavens with drop dead decor and coordinating outfits. We once did matching sweaters for a family picture. It was hell. We were miserable but it looked perfect. It was a one and done moment in our lives, without joy and nothing but a great rush. Think about this on a daily or weekly basis for the average wannabe media maven, not those who make a real living in this crazy world. They have my odd respect and are probably creating content for weeks and months ahead so it rolls out with seamless scrolls. But this is their life and business and they are the few. The true rushers of time are just our old-fashioned “Keeping up with the Joneses” in picture form. Long ago, we just saw your new car properly or improperly parked for the best view. Now, we all see it. We have turned into a society of braggers. Don’t get me wrong I post. I have fun. I am old school insta. I enjoy the activity. I have corny comments and don’t think I am cool. It’s not a retail business or a push to keep up with others in their quest of looking perfect in my world. As us old school instas know, it’s all just a sham and perfection is never in the picture it is in the feeling. And today, I am watching my grandson sing the entire movie of Matilda. Complete with a dose of Excedrine. Because these are memories and this is perfection, so why rush?

Posted on in anxiety, life, menopause, retirement, sixty

It’s My Cabana

It’s my cabana and I will cry if I want to, or take up the entire space, glaring at others that dare to share. I knew cabanas were an option at every resort, but never did I ever dare to reserve, I will now. They are meant for those of us who have spent lives in the chairs, sharing chairs, and schelping out the children focusing on their needs first. Truly parenting with juice boxes and cherrios in tow. It is my cabana time. I have arrived. Lululemon dupes and all. These two weekends have been devoted to bringing a smile to my face, the hubs is trying. I have struggled. Between turning the big 6-0, and my fathers passing without proper closure, life has become murky.

Wading through my clutter did feel better on a cabana. Perhaps it was our fabulous waitress, the perfect backrest, or the sea air and views. Or was it just the cabana with the only lacking accoutrement being a charging station for cell phones, or is that not the point of the cabana life? I dont know? A newbie here. But I will bring a charging pack next time, which while taking away my solitude, allows me to write and solves my huge cabana problem.

While embracing my new life fixture and enjoying every minute, I still clashed with my current status of coping with a life in transition. A life in the normal stages of 60. A life beyond empty nester and into the “one day retirement” stage. Don’t get ideas. Just one day. The day gave me clarity that served the day but the chaos bounced back today. It will continue. I can’t stay on a beach or any other metaphor for life perfected, forever. No matter how many trips, spas, and dinners my feelings will stay until I learn to manage them, without a cabana. But until then the memories and true joy I felt will help me along the way on this journey to find my peace.

Posted on in essay, family, granparent life, humor, life, sixty

The Claw Can Lose!

The first haul from the claw!

Going to an arcade with a five-year-old is a blast. As a grandparent you cherish the smiles, the firsts, the games you choose and do not choose to play. You do, however, just because you are a grandparent and let’s face it this is more fun than parenthood. Truth. Even better is the fact that my nugget outsmarted the claw four times over. Yes, the impossible claw, that my husband and I swore to our own son, “the claw always wins.” We were cheap. Well, with the nugget, who cares. This is our third or fourth trip. I stayed with the mantra, but dad gave in… well, toys came out galore. “Grandma, I won. I beat the claw.” Of course, this is really the first time I have seen anyone win at the claw, so I was overjoyed and yes, we continued to play. Why not? Yes, there is more loot (one stuffed item for all) as he shares nicely. The Kermit like figure, is my gift from my grandson, which I will cherish. All $50.00 of him! A grandparent’s time is pricey but well worth it, as parents, usually cannot do what we can due to just life being expensive. It is our time. I never did arcades with our son. Never, but the nugget, after reading me a book gets the moon and I get the love of Kermitish.

Kermitish

The Kermitish, will be my forever. It was the combination of the sharing, the excitement, and just the enjoyment of the day. Nugget laughed at the name. I would as well, it is goofy. But so is an arcade and an after delight of a kid’s movie in a fancy theater. These days are precious, and they are coupled with the delight of reading, watching him tie shoes. Almost. Helping me pick out a Halloween costume (Blues Clue) down to the tights and ears. Since it was cost effective, and it made him happy, why not? No reason, sans my dignity but it for a school function. I lost any sanity and sense of costume style long ago. So, while the claw can lose, news to me, grandparents who put in the time, a few bucks, and plans for the years ahead to share in their lives, will never. That to me is the adventure, I will gladly continue to take, as long as Kermitish can come along for the ride, and he will. In the arcade I had an epiphany. Odd, yes. But it was the consistent flashing lights that brought on an idea he will never forget. Wherever we travel so will the Kerm, sort of like Flat Stanely, with postcards, journals, and of course pictures of grandma and grandpa (unwillingly) and the Kerm, wherever we go. So today, while was just a small adventure in an arcade and the viewing of a movie became so much more. It was compassion, sharing, beating the claw, and having a grandma make it into a lifetime of memories for all of us, especially the Kermitish because he thought his life would be inside a bubble, but now he will see the world. Eventually.

Posted on in family

In Respect…

For years I have felt like a Jew wannabe. Born a Jew but only practiced at a young age, learned a bit of Hebrew and the Yiddish words often tossed around my grandparents home. But never quite a full fledged Jew. There were complications. My father’s side was Catholic, and if I wanted a wedding, a Catholic I would become. I have never felt at home. The hubs is Methodist, and I would not change him. He would but it would cause chaos. Why bother. I knew my grandparents genes would pass onward to my son. I was happy. He would have the heritage. That’s all I can hope for in my life.

I stare at my Star of David only to take it out and feel like a fraud, if I wear it, but I am not. I should wear it with the pride I feel, not innate knowledge, but pride of a people who suffered and continue to suffer for years to come. My grandmothers friends were holocaust survivors, they played Mahjongg and talked of the good times and the times of terror. They talked to me in mixed languages of their homeland and a Hebrew/Yiddish mix. I loved them.

I will never be a devout or even practicing Jew. But these days of terror reminds me of what my Grandparents always said, “Be proud of who you are, and let no one change you, or let them think you are less than them.” I realized tonight, I let them down, not understanding that I can celebrate my heritage forever to carry-on their memory and the memory of those in my life that have touched me beyond any religion. It is who I am, who I have always been, but was afraid to let it be known, because I was not devout in faith. My star, which I will now proudly wear represents so much more. It is life, struggle, my heritage, and my love for them as they weep from above for their Israel and their adopted United States.