Am I Spotting the Subtle Signs?

Wrinkles may not hurt, but getting older?…Ouch! 

 

I’ve detected some subtle symptoms creeping in.  I laugh at these sly little signs sneaking up on me, but I wonder how long before they overtake me and I will have to accept that I am actually inching my way to old age.

I’ve been lucky enough to inherit some good genes and I am hoping that I follow suit from my past generations.

Last summer I was at Comerica Park for a Tigers baseball game with my family.  There were 9 of us, including my posse of 5 young grandchildren. 

 

Sitting in the direct sun on that hot and humid day, we kept cool with a constant mist of cold water in a spray bottle I brought in from home and had sneaked into the stadium.

We were enjoying the game when the ball was hit into the stands. Loooong Goooone! 

 

The fans went wild and rose to their feet.  We cheered…loud!  A minute later, the crowd quieted and settled back down into their seats.

Without peeking behind me, I took my seat………the next thing I knew, I was sitting on the cement with my knees up at my chin. 

 

I was bewildered!  “What just happened?” I thought.  For a second, I thought no one had seen me. I felt as if I was in the twilight zone.

You know how close the row in front of you is in those stadiums?  

 

Must be only 24 inches or so!  

 

Well I was down there still wondering how I got there, and how was I going to get out of this 2 foot square box-like space. 

 

Then I heard a familiar voice of my daughter, “Are you OK?”

 

I must have forgotten that the seat pops up…and evidentially, STAYS up, when you get out of it.  LOL  OK, I can laugh at myself with the best of them! 

But sometimes getting older is a bit frustrating.

 

It’s not funny when you can’t read those small words printed on a medicine bottle, or when you have a hard time opening a jar in the kitchen.

But, I’m part of the Baby-Boomer Generation.  I am not going to accept this sentence sitting down.  I am going to gracefully fight every step of the way. 

 

Just remember: do not regret growing older. It is a privilege denied to many.

Halloween Past.

 

It's almost here.  Halloween 2014, but most kids have already been celebrating for a while.  Parties at church, Trunk or Treat, private parties, school celebrations.  By the time Halloween rolls around, the kids have had their costumes and make-up on many times over.

 

Back in the 1950s and 1960s, when I was a bit younger, things were quite different.  Anticipation built during the final days before Halloween.  We weren’t running to the stores looking for costumes.  We’d trot upstairs to the attic and start rummaging through the “old-clothes” bags, pulling out over-sized shirts, pants, scarfs, dresses and old jewelry.  We used our imaginations with the little resources we had. My parents never really got into the excitement.  Matter of fact, it was more of a nuisance to them.  We were on our own to find costumes…and we LIKED it that way!

The boys usually dressed as (and this may not be politically correct) “bums” or hobos. They’d burn a cork and smear the ashes on their faces to make the perfect whiskers, and they’d fashion a "bag" made from a red handkerchief to throw over their shoulders.

And the girls?  They’d don an over-sized white shirt of their dad’s, slip on some black tights, whiten their lips, darken their eyes and they’d become, like, instant beatniks, man.   

Of course, there were still the witches and ghosts, and gypsies, and occasional princesses, super heroes and Draculas, but compared to today’s elaborate costumes, the get-ups in the 50s and 60s were quite simple.

For more than a year or two, I helped dress my young sisters as nuns for Halloween.  The length of a cloth diaper (and we had many) served as the perfect front for their costume, and another formed the back.  A black scarf around their head completed the “sister” look.   And the diaper pins?  They were perfect for holding together our make-shift getups.

I recall one year when I was about 11, I went out as Alice in Wonderland.  I didn’t WANT to, but I HAD to.  We had the costume so I had no choice.  I wore a long blue dress with puffy sleeves.  Thank God it had an apron…a very wrinkled apron…with a glittery scene of the Mad Hatter Tea Party on it.  If it weren’t for that apron, no one would have known who or what I was.  And, take it from me, no kid wants to be asked “and what are you dressed as.”  I remember being embarrassed at that question.  Alice in Wonderland was supposed to be beautiful…and I didn’t feel that way.  Not in my garb.

In the Detroit suburb of Dearborn Heights where I grew up, we didn’t trick or treat...we went BEGGING.

Large packs of kids roamed door to door repeating “HELP THE POOOOOR” (help the poor, my pants are tore, give me some money, I'll buy some more) in our sing-songy voices.  You could hear the chants echoing throughout the close-knit neighborhood. 

 

Not too many parents walked with their kids in those days.  The older kids took care of their younger siblings, even though the little ones tried desperately to keep up with the older kids as they ran from house to house. 

And we always knew which houses passed out the “GOOD” stuff.  Most of what we got was suckers, wads of bubble gum, MaryJanes (yuck), and small candy bars.  We’d get a penny or two, too.  But once in a while, some of the “GOOD” houses gave out bags of chips, popcorn, and even NICKLES!

The week before Halloween…and especially the night before…Devil’s Night…was always punctuated by acts of mischief.  Mostly ringing doorbells and running, and waxing windows.  I wasn’t allowed to do those things, but I had a friend whose mother would give her soap to “soap windows.”  The mother said that waxing windows was not nice because the wax was hard to remove, but she would give her daughter free-reign when it came to soaping windows.  I never quite understood that one.

I remember making our own decorations.  We kids would draw and color pumpkins on paper, cut them out and hang them in the front window.  Other than a lighted pumpkin that we carved earlier in the day, that was the extent of our Halloween decorating. 

I expect about 150 little buggers “beggers” at my house.  I hope I am one of the “GOOD” houses. I'll passed out chips, Doritos, Fritos and cheese curls.

I Ain't Afraid of No Boats...

It’s summertime and the livin’ is easy…or so the song goes.  It’s the time of year when people are deciding how to spend their coveted couple of weeks with their families.  The lake?  A trip cross-country?  Or perhaps a trip a bit closer to home.  Or maybe a “staycation” and take in a few nearby attractions with the family.  Whatever you decide, leave your problems and take in the sights and sounds with your loved ones.   

It was many years ago, that my immediate AND extended family decided to try our first vacation together. Everything fell into place perfectly.   Looking back, it was one of the most enjoyable times we had as a family.  And that trip is still talked about today.

A houseboat trip on the Trent-Severn Waterway near Toronto, Canada, proved to be the most exciting misadventure on which our family has ever embarked.  The Trent-Severn Waterway is one of Canada’s most beautiful and varied inland water routes. 240 miles of protected cruising through 20 lakes, rivers, and canals offering incredible variety.

My family consisted of not only my then-spouse and two young children, but my parents, and 7 of my siblings and their families.  With a total of 36 anxious (mostly non-swimmers) sea-going amateurs ranging from infancy to age 74, it was with some slight trepidation that we ventured out to test our sea-legs.

After piling onto the Egan Marine Houseboats dock, cramming a week's worth of bedding, clothing, and food into our 6 rented floating homes, and a 15 minute lesson on house-boating and water safety from the young tanned instructor, we slowly drifted away from dry land and into open water. 

The first night most of us were rocked to sleep by waves generated from a passing storm, while the other hardy, coffee-drinking sailor-types kept watch 'till dawn.

In the span of 7 days and nights, my entire family had become "professional" boat people.  As in Follow-The-Leader, linked only by our CB radios (there were no cell phones then), our 6 houseboats cruised the waterway on route to our destination - Peterborough, Canada. 

We drifted past historic homes, and maneuvered through scenic parks where eagles were spotted perched high atop the trees.  But the ultimate experience was our approach and entry into the gates of the locks which raised or lowered our boat to the next level so that our trip could continue on the waterway.  It was in the bowels of one particularly deep lock where an enormous water-balloon war erupted.  But we abruptly surrendered when the lockmaster outwitted us and joined in the fracas as he dumped down buckets of water on our heads from his post high above our crafts.

Leisure days were spent tying the vessels together in the middle of the lake and anchoring for swimming, wind surfing, and sunning.  Other days we docked on dry land for a game of volleyball, a camp fire, or to take a break from the on-board barbecues to enjoy the quaint restaurants and shops dotting the landscape.

It was an adventure I highly recommend for family togetherness, and one that will not be forgotten by members of my family - old and young alike.

Plan your family time together.  You won't regret it.

Memorial Weekend 2012

I don’t think I am getting lazy…at least any more lazy than usual!   But when I checked into my blog today, I realized I hadn’t talked to you since April!  At the very least I wanted to write once a month.  So for this end-of-the-month of May…

It’s been a great Memorial Day weekend for me, so far, and there is still another day to go!  On Friday, I was invited on a boat cruise on the Detroit River.  The weather was perfect and the company even better.  Most of my family was able to hop aboard for the two-hour cruise.  Despite all the great food and drink from the Portofino Restaurant on board, we even had the J.W. Wescott Tug Boat - an actual floating post office - deliver pizza!   There were at least 40 pizzas delivered to us just as we passed under the Ambassador Bridge.  Thankfully no pizzas were damaged or lost in the deep water below as the tug docked to our deck.

The very next evening I was at a family wedding at the beautiful Colony Club in downtown Detroit.  The Colony Club is located between the Fox Theatre and the Town Pump in Detroit’s Theatre District.   The club has some interesting history.  Matter of fact, just today I heard George Clooney had spent some time at the Colony Club prior to shooting a scene there for his movie The Ides of March. 

We all know that Memorial Day is the unofficial start of summer.  My pool is open and ready.  Matter of fact, today I took the plunge…if that’s what you want to call it.    Joyce doesn’t “plunge” into anything.  But I DID descend the stairs into the clear waters.  Quite refreshing.  Now I am waiting for the grandchildren to join me!

Just before my tradition of viewing the Memorial Day Concert on the Lawn at the Capitol in D.C. , I decided to  gas up my car and then make a quick run to the grocery store for a couple of items. 

I quickly ran through the store just scurrying the outer aisles.  After reaching the register and paying for my few items, the clerk asked me if I preferred my milk in a bag.  I told her I preferred it in a glass!  I made her day!

Have a safe Memorial Day and take a minute to remember our fallen heroes who have given us the freedom we cherish.

Is My Garage a Reflection of My Life?

My fingers, in desperate need of a manicure, were already reaching for the button that was velcroed to my visor even before I had rounded the drive to my home.  And before the door had entirely inched its way to the top, my silver/gray Chrysler 300 rolled to a stop deep inside my garage.

“I’ve just got to get rid of this darn junk,” I thought for the umpteenth time, “everything looks messy and cluttered.”  I took my customary glance into the rear view mirror to check my face, exited the car and struggled my way through the garage in a maze of old boxes piled high to the rafters, used office furniture, and old paperwork strewn across the concrete floor. 

It was already 8 months P.D. “post divorce” and HIS things were still piled up in MY garage.  Seems as if every time I thought the house was swept clean of him, something mysteriously appeared in a closet or drawer that I had obviously over-looked.  I quickly dismissed any thoughts of him now……I had better things to think about.

Home at last.  I had been out running errands; post office, drug store, bank, gassing up the car.   I tossed my keys, the mail, and a couple of small purchases made that day on the kitchen counter mixing it in with all the other little things I planned on getting to.  I shot a quick glance over to the phone.  No blinking red light indicating any long lost friend, or even foe, would have called.   Slightly disappointed but not discouraged, I quickly darted to the computer to see if I had any e-mails. 

With a quick shake of the mouse, the screen came to life and, surprise!  I had 1, 2, 3….8 e-mails!  “Oh, good,” I thought, “I’ll check them out later.”  Usually the anticipation of “later” was better than the e-mails themselves.  “For now,” I thought, “I’ll revel in the feeling of anticipation.”

Those days I eagerly waited for my phone to ring, or listen for the ding of my computer indicating another e-mail had arrived.

This was all new to me.  This new life they call the single life.  To me, I was divorced, not single.  And at 58, I found that I had a lot of catching up to do.  I was a 1968 teenager stuck in a 2008 world.  And what a changed world it was!    

John and Yoko

You know that revolution in the 70s?  That sexual revolution?  I definitely missed that one!  Right over my head…..gone….nada.

After a 36-year marriage to one man, I was still in the process of retraining myself that “we” is now an “I”… and “us” is just “me”.  Such a strange notion after forty years with one man. 

I was 17 when we met. He was only 16.  December of 1967.  December 16^th, to be exact, our first date.  Seniors in high school.  I thought he was cute.  He thought I was cute.  We dated, and never saw anyone else after that.  Four years later we were walking down the aisle.

Straight from my parent’s home where I was raised, to the home of my husband and me.  Add another 4 years, two moves to two new homes, a baby girl, and 20 months later…..a baby boy.

Fast forward 30+ years and there I was again.  Feeling like I was starting over.  Only this time, alone.   

But now there were more people involved.  Two children…adults…who were married and had families of their own.  Yes, that’s me.  A single grandma.  There I said it.  Grandma.   So proud this grandma is…so proud.

Fast forward again another 4 years. And now the grandchildren number 5!  And they are all age 6 and under!  It’s wonderful.

Today.  I am 62 and am still in my same house.  Despite a bit of arthritis that assaults mostly my hands, I am proud of the things I have accomplished around my home.  It’s amazing what one can do when put to the test.  Sure I need a little extra muscle once in a while, but I can hold my own with a wrench, screw-driver or hammer.   And that little bottle of “Krazy” Glue?  It’s amazing!  Best. Invention. Ever!   And my pool?  Never has the water been so crystal clear.

I even borrowed one of those telescopic tree trimmers last week from a neighbor.  You know the kind. It can stretch out to 20 feet or more?  And has a rope on a pulley system that you yank to cut the tree branches?  I did it!  Lucky I didn’t smash the whole thing through my front window, though.  The pole felt so heavy to me that if I didn’t hold it straight up, the pole would start to lean one way and pull me with it!  The neighbor I borrowed it from yelled out his window asking if I needed any help.  “NO,” I called back, half embarrassed.  I probably looked a bit overwhelmed at that very minute, but it sure felt good that I accomplished my task…alone.  Although I paid for it dearly the next day when my shoulders and the front of my neck ached like never before.

I definitely don’t feel lost as I had during my first year post-divorce, but there are still worries.  Mostly financial concerns about how I will manage.  And if I live anywhere close in age to how long my parents lived?  My mother was just 87 and my dad 100 ½! 

I had quit my job in 2003 from a good, close-to-home, position with the encouragement and support of my “then” husband.  We had an eye on the Golden Years.  We were preparing to be grandparents when all heck broke loose.

My life was turned up-side-down.  There was nothing I could do to make things work.  I tried.  When someone has their mind made-up and is getting encouragement from outsiders, there is nothing you can say to change things.  Looking back, I wish I hadn’t begged and pleaded.  But, as in every situation, we do what we can at the time.

My 5 Favorite People

So here I am, today.  I’ve made some acquaintances through my Blog.  Some of my readers experienced the same difficulties as I.  I’ve connected with friends from my childhood, but most of all I enjoy my children and their families. 

I am fortunate to be able to take care of my grandchildren at least a few days every week.  I give their parents the opportunity to work without worry.  But more importantly, I am building a relationship with my grandchildren that will last a lifetime.  The kids get to attend “grandma school” where they learn the oldies (their favorite is Great Balls of Fire by Jerry Lee Lewis), and countless “Grandmaisms” (Move over Bacon…here comes Sizzleen” and “I ate too much, I ate too fast, now I have to _ _ _”) and rhymes, silly…and not-so-silly songs, and more rhymes.  They even pick up the pace when Grandma commands “Chop-Chop!”

I am confident enough to dine, attend movies, live shows, and weddings alone.  And I am also re-living things with my grandchildren…zoos…museums….Cedar Point.

Now in 2012, as I round that corner and my garage door is inching its way open, my Enclave (safe and big enough to hold ALL my grandchildren) rolls in to a clean, uncluttered garage.  Just as I am living a clean, uncluttered life.

Privacy Please!

I visited my local Social Security office the other day.  Matter of fact, it was the second visit in less than a month.  I am at that age now where I am considering if it’s time to collect the money I had paid in to SS for the past 40+ years. 

As you probably are aware, the longer a person can put off collecting, the larger the payment can be.  I’d like to wait a few more years until I am at the full retirement age, but I am still considering my options.  

It’s just a matter of weighing, balancing, and figuring out your personal situation.  It’s actually sort of a gamble.  Are you going to live long enough and wait to collect?  Or should you collect now at the lower rate?

Anyway, when I entered the office, most of the chairs were occupied with people waiting for their name/number to be called.  The rows of chairs were neatly aligned, 8 across and about 7 rows deep.  I quickly glanced around to look for a place to sit where I would not be knocking elbows (and possibly other body parts) with the person next to me. 

I am sure you’ve been in your local Walmart or maybe your local DMV office?  Well, the clientele at the Social Security office falls somewhere in between those two.

I nabbed a seat on the end of the aisle and as I slid into the chair, I tried to move it out and away just ever so slightly.   It wouldn’t budge.  

The seats were all connected in the back with one of those long plastic zip-ties.  The kind that make a good handcuff (I’ve seen it on TV)!    No wonder all the chairs were lined up neatly despite being overloaded with, well, let’s just say, rumps that were bigger than the seat itself.

I settled into my chair and thought that this would be a great time to just rest my eyes a bit.  After closing my eyes, I focused… well…not focused, it was more like I was being FORCED to hear a couple of strange conversations between friendly strangers.    

Even the armed Security Guard (why do they need an armed guard?) firmly requested to a few different people to “take their phone conversations outside.”  I was surprised because the talking INSIDE was more annoying than the phones…although I agree with the No Phone rules.

I noticed that the long beige wall we were all staring at had a mounting for a TV up high near the ceiling, but a TV was nowhere in sight.  And the bathrooms, separate ladies and men’s rooms, were carved right into that very front wall smack-in-the-middle where everyone was facing!    

And despite the johns being only 10 feet from the front row, and having only a wooden door between the toilet and the “audience”, it didn’t seem to deter people from using them.  There was a constant trek.

Is this what I was being forced to watch? The traffic in and out of the toilets?  In the unlikely event that I would have needed to use the restroom, I probably would have gone outside and across the street to the local McDonalds and used their “mcrestrooms” before I walked to the front of the “stage” to use the bathroom in front of at least 50 people.

Every time someone walked out of one of the bathrooms, I wanted to clap.  It seemed as if they were coming out into an arena.   And every time that person would walk out, I also wondered if they had washed their hands.   

I couldn’t help it!  Was it only me that found this situation hilarious and bothersome at the same time?  This was a brand new building for the social security office.  Who WAS the architect?

Safe-House? Stay Home.

Ok. I’ll admit it.  I surrendered to the hype.   I don’t like to think I follow the crowd, but the propaganda publicity finally got to me. 

I couldn’t watch late night, or daytime (in-between the PBS station that captivates my grandchildren) television in the past few weeks without seeing the handsome Denzel Washington on set plugging his latest new movie.  And that other guy….Ryan Reynolds, too.   Both actors star in a CIA conspiracy-thriller billed as one of the greatest action-packed suspense movies of its time. 

So… on opening day I ran to my nearest theater to catch the matinee I saw Jay Leno dub as an “edge-of-your-seat” action spy story, Safe House.

Despite my affinity for Jay Leno, “Don’t believe everything you hear,” is what I have to say.  Don’t get me wrong.  I L-O-V-E action flicks.  Suspense.  Political-thrillers.   Even some “necessary” violence.  But this picture?  If you MUST see it, I’d say, “save it for DVD…or Blue Ray,” or whatever it’s called now.

The HUGE body count is just too many to be believable.  And you don't have too long to wait before another shoot-out, car chase, stabbing, explosion, bludgeoning or face-kick comes along.  And, of course, the stars only end up with a minor scratch or two on their cute little mugs.  But they do leave behind a trail of dead bodies, cars wrecked beyond recognition, with CIA and FBI big-wigs and local law enforcement scratching their heads in disbelief.  Duh.

Denzel (yes, we’re now on a first-name basis), as usual, plays his cool self and does it well.  However, Reynolds?  He seems so unaffected and barely changes his facial expressions.

And another thing.   I know the picture screens are getting clearer and sharper, but I wish someone would tell Ryan Reynolds to wax his nose.  No. I don’t mean his nose-hairs, but the hairs ON his nose.  I couldn’t help but notice the peach-fuzz on his face shining in all those close-ups.  Am I being too “picky” (no pun intended)?