Breaking Up is Hard To Do

When I was ten, I remember falling out of a tree swing and falling at least ten feet if not further, landing on my arm.  It hurt more than anything else I can remember from my childhood, but nothing broke.  When I neared fifty, I fell the distance of six inches off a step and broke my foot.  What gives?

We endure many broken moments in our life.  Remember your skin breaking out around the age of thirteen?  Maybe the billionaires of today were the teenagers of yesteryear who pooled their money and invested in Stridex.  The hardest break is the broken heart.  Oh, we look back now and give current teenagers sage advice such as, "There is more than one fish in the sea."  Who the heck wants a fish? 

As we age, parts start to break down and seemingly harmless acts cause damage.  My friend
broke a tooth on a Pretzel Crisp sample at the grocery store. The back corner of her lower molar was missing. Thinking it was a big chunk of salt, she had thrown it away before realizing it was part of her missing tooth. 

My answer to our gradual breakdowns? Eat tons of ice cream in hopes of avoiding or delaying osteoporosis. If the calcium from the ice cream doesn't help, at least the layers of padding added around our bones may help cushion the fall.

Reading Between the (Wavy) Lines

Lately I've noticed how manufacturers have made the print on everything so small.  I'm sure it's to save ink and keep costs down, but it sure makes it difficult to read ingredients when shopping.  When you're in your 20's, you could care less about the sodium content, but now that it's imperative to your health, you can't read the darn thing.

And clothing labels!  Again, why so small?  Our clothes have gone up at least two sizes, so you'd think the label could be increased in size.  I'm so scared I won't see the line dry only instructions and end up throwing the new bigger pants in the dryer and shrinking them back to the size I can no longer wear.

Medicines are also a struggle.  You take more of them and can't read the dosage.  Can you imagine your spouse taking your estrogen in place of his Viagra?  Not only could he not perform, he'd start to wonder why he's suddenly crying all the time on how he's not appreciated anymore or how none of the guys noticed his new shirt at work that day.

Deciding what prescription for glasses becomes more interesting as the eyes change.  I used to only need my glasses for distance.  This was convenient as I only had to wear them for night driving or at the mall.  But then when I sat down at a restaurant, I had to take them off to read the menu.  I lost two pair of glasses that way, because not only can you not read the menu with your glasses on, your memory is shot and you forget to put the glasses either back in your purse or on your face.  My husband bought me a beautiful chain from Brighton for my glasses, but I about punched him as I refused to have glasses hanging around my neck like a spinster.

One day I realized I couldn't read close up either.  Now this was good news because perhaps I could get bifocals and wouldn't have to worry about taking them off at a restaurant.  But at work I need to see the computer, so again, I would have to take them off.  My doctor suggested progressive lenses for all three distances, but my job consists of looking at the computer, while answering the phone, while looking up to approaching co-workers all simultaneously.  I think I'd be more woozy than if I rode the Tilt-A-Whirl at the fair.

I prefer to pluck my eyebrows, but now I need glasses to do it.  It's kind of like the Gift of the Magi.  You can't see the stray hairs without the lenses, however, you can't get to them with the glasses on.  At least I can get at the chin hairs.  Guess I'll have to the eyebrows waxed instead.

It used to be just reading where you noticed the lines a bit wavy.  Lately I can't even see people in pictures.  You're not sure if you're starting to get dementia when you don't recognize people, or if it's that we were so young in the picture that we're no longer recognizable or if you just need to borrow a magnifying glass and suddenly it's, "oh that's me in the photo!"

The silver lining in all of this is people are starting to look younger.  I'm not sure if it's that as I age those older than me no longer seem quite as old, or I just can't see the wrinkles any longer.  With so many articles telling us how to improve as we age, we can't help but get better and healthier.  My dad used to say, "Don't believe everything you read."  I think that's just 'cause he couldn't see the words.

Wedded Bliss

I'm still wavering in the blogging business.  I started with this blog was "discovered" by Vibrant Nation, but then found it difficult to write for both.  I was copying some of my blogs from this post to Vibrant Nation and vice-versa, but if people are reading both I feel there should be different blogs on each site.

Dave Barry and Erma Bombeck have always been my guiding light as I want to be humorous, but I don't always feel funny every day.  Also, I've been trying to write my blogs more like syndicated columns, which isn't really the idea of a blog.  So for now I'm going to write this blog as more random thoughts and keep the column-style type of posts on Vibrant Nation.

So what can I chat about today?  This past weekend was my twenty-seventh wedding anniversary.  My husband and I went out for dinner on Friday and then Saturday went to a craft fair and later that evening to a movie.  We get a popcorn to share.  Now here's my first dilemma.  He eats very fast.  I want to save the popcorn to enjoy during the course of the movie, but he could polish off that bag before the previews are finished and I want to be sure to get my fair share.  Isn't that sad?  Twenty seven years of marriage and I'm still worried about my fair share.  He has always made sure I have everything I need.  In fact, he generally stops eating after a while and gives me the bag to finish.  So why do I still have this keeping even mentality?

Secondly, as he's holding the popcorn with his left hand, his right hand is on my knee.  Isn't that sweet?  Not.  All I can concentrate on is the fact that he's also eating with his right hand.  And he put extra butter on the popcorn and then he put his hand back on my knee.  I'm going to have to wash that butter out of my pants.  I've been worried about the romance going out of our marriage, but I think I'm the one with issues.

What to talk about is another issue.  Does anyone else have trouble talking with their spouse?  He doesn't want to talk about religion, or politics, or the news.  We don't want to discuss our jobs.  We don't have kids.  Luckily we have a dog that we sort of talk through.  I think she's like a ventriloquist's dummy where we can channel our thoughts out loud through her.  We've discussed everything about each other over the course of thirty years of knowing each other, so what's left?

I do the like the comfort level of not having to be my best 24/7, but I think I need to at least go by some new jammies.  Especially with winter coming up.  I generally have a sweat shirt from one outfit with the bottom half of a pair of flannel pajamas and generally a sexy type of thick pair of socks which ties the whole ensemble together.  With all of these reality shows, perhaps they need a new show that has a makeover for housewives and husbands.  They pull these two poor schmucks out of the crowd as they walk along.  The wife is wearing clothes as least ten seasons old, the husband is picking some sort of food from his teeth and then they whisk both away separately to give them a makeover and a romantic evening out.  Wouldn't that be wonderful to see what we could possibly look like if we gave it half a try?

Well, that's it for tonight in the wonderful world of wedded bliss.

Shopping Nightmare

Have you ever wondered who lays out the various departments in a store?  Maybe I never noticed when shopping for Junior sizes, but now that I'm getting close to shopping in the Women's department, I realize that it's always next to Petites.  It's hard enough shopping for bigger sizes, but I don't need to see little Miss Size Two shopping across the aisle from me.

If Petites is not across from Women's, then it's generally located near Maternity.  Seriously; take a look! You haven't seen your toes in eight months and you have to waddle past undersized ladies shopping for pants that you couldn't shove one thigh into.  As if you're not struggling enough with your image already.

And who puts the bras and panties on the main aisle?  I could count the number of times I've run into anyone I know on one hand in the thirty years I've lived in my area, but I swear the one time I'm shopping for underwear, poof, I run into someone I haven't seen in ten years.  If you're shopping for granny panties like you normally do because they're more comfortable and don't ride up, you're mortified.  But even more mortifying is the one time you want to try to be sexy and are looking for something a little risque.  If you say it's for yourself, they'll laugh.  If you say it's a gift for your niece you look like a strange aunt.

Speaking of underwear, I went into Victoria's Secret to shop for something sexy.  Now first off, you don't want to try on panties unless they're over the ones you're wearing.  Nothing spells sexy like a thong over granny panties.  I wasn't sure whether to laugh or cry.  I have yet to officially try on a thong, 'cause like I said it's over the underwear you're wearing and I don't want to invest $25 for a 50 cent piece of material only to discover that the little piece in the back that goes up you know where gets hooked on a hemorrhoid or something.

They came out with these cute little lacy underwear, not sure what they're called, but they're bikini cut and come down a little over your thighs.  I looked like sausage in casing.  That lace was stretching as far as it could trying to work its way around my upper legs.  I remember my grandmother always grabbing my thighs when I was a teenager when we wore our jeans that we had cut off sky high.  When she grabbed that part of my anatomy she would say, "your moons are showing!"  Yeah, that gave a gawky teenager confidence.

I have never been much of a shopper and am finding it more and more difficult to do so now.  I know we need to get comfortable with our new physiques, but between trying to find a good fitting bra located next to the luggage that men are shopping for makes it embarrassing.  I have yet to find a dress that makes me feel pretty or shoes that are attractive without making my calves cramp up.

There is one store I have discovered that I will admit is styled for women past forty and is very attractive, but the prices are so over the top I can't justify shopping there unless it's for my birthday or Christmas.  Sigh.  I know it's time to put down the fork and pick up the barbells, but until then can someone PLEASE put my department of clothing in the back corner of the store?

How much prep does one need for the OB/GYN?

Ah, - the gynecologist.  This can be traumatic for some and non-eventful for others.  As a newly married woman going for this visit, I remember this old doctor who talked really loudly.  I guess he had to shout in order to be heard because his head was muffled under my dressing gown, but he's going on about "Do you want babies?  Tonight's the night if you do."  Walls were not thick enough to muffle my mortification.  And how could he tell?  Were my eggs strutting their stuff singing Donna Summer's "Bad Girls?" 

A lot of thought goes into preparing for this date.  If I spend too much time getting ready, it looks like I'm seeing someone on the side.  Wearing perfume is definitely out.  But I want to look like I take care of myself so as I'm in the shower I shave the arm pits because I don't want to look French while he's performing a breast exam.  Then I look down and realize I had better shave the legs while I'm at it.  When did the big knuckle of my toes get hairy?  I don't recall that in high school.  My toe nails are gross.  I think to myself, "I can keep my socks on during the visit," but realize how foolish it looks to peel all layers of modesty off only to leave my socks on.  I probably should have scheduled a pedicure before this visit, but it's too late now so I opt for a hack saw and buffer.  Good grief, if I spent half the time getting ready to see my husband each day as I do to see the doc, our love life could be taken to a whole new level.

My real fear is realizing what I've eaten the night before.  How many Gas-X can I safely take at one time?  The little stool is rolled into position and the doctor suggests to relax my knees.  I'm thinking, "buddy, if I relax my knees that little stool is going to be blown backwards, through the wall and into the next examining room."  You couldn't pay me enough to be at his end of the table.

When all is said and done, it's great to know I have a clean bill of health for hopefully another year and since I'm all gussied up, I call the hubby and go out for dinner and a real date night.

Hey, I Want Credit for That!

How do inventors get their ideas? Many were happy accidents. Remember when teachers made students stand at the blackboard for chewing gum? It was probably that kid who was the inventor of the Post-it Note, which was invented from a glue no one could find a use for. What else is he going to think about while he's staring at sticky substances for long periods of time?

Food items were created out of mistakes. Cheese, for instance, was invented by an Arab who put milk into a pouch made from a sheep's stomach. Apparently the heat from the sun transformed chemicals from the sheep's stomach so when he opened the pouch during the journey, he found cheese. I can just picture that vacation. "Dad, are we there yet? I'm thirsty." "Abdul, I'm not telling you again. Get the milk out of the sheep's stomach." "Aw dad, can't you get it for me?" "Look Abdul, if I have to pull the camel over, you're in big trouble."

Now I think my family should get credit for some inventions. I was always looking for ways to save time. I hated plucking my eyebrows so I thought, "why not use dad's razor?" Now here's a tip; don't use a razor that's about an inch wide to shave an area only a half inch wide. My mom freaked out during dinner that night when she looked over and saw both tips of my eyebrows shaved off. I'm sure this incident made someone come up with the idea to wax or thread instead.

My mom also had great ideas to use what was readily available to do tasks. There was the evening my dad needed his coat washed before going to work the next day. It was getting late and he was worried it wouldn't be done in time. My mom is like, "dont' worry, it'll get done." Well, down coats need to be fluffed during the drying cycle. She had heard if you put tennis balls in the dryer they would bounce around and fluff the coat. Not having any tennis balls, she decided apples were the same size and weight, so why not use those? I'm not sure why she didn't realize she wasn't hearing the thump, thump, thump of the apples any more, but when she finally went to get the coat out it had a shiny cast to it. She couldn't figure out what happened until she went to retrieve the apples only to find they weren't there. They had exploded and basically the coat's sheen was from baked on applesauce. We want our percentage for the dryer ball invention.

When I was in junior high, sanitary pads were attached to a belt. Not only was it awkward, I was sure everyone could see the outline of the belt through my pants. So I used safety pins and pinned it to my panties. Great idea until the pin opened up. Hmm, maybe the Post-it Note guy put my concept with his glue and came up with the adhesive sanitary products.

I haven't seen any royalty checks arrive at my door yet, so until then I won't quit my day job and keep on thinking of new ideas.

Who Changed the Dryer Setting to Hot?

There's a laundry poltergeist at my house who's turned up the dryer a notch. This has been very frustrating because all my clothes shrank two sizes. My abode's apparitions sit and snicker while I'm dressing when they see the edges of my sweater not meeting in the middle. It wasn't as horrible when you could take a big breath and manage to slip the buttons in their proper place, but lately each side of the sweater is like opposite poles of a magnet resisting contact.

Further proof of these goblins are my belts and bras. Since bras are not put in the dryer and belts, of course, just hang in the closet, the only logical explanation is these creatures have been twiddling with the furnace again. The humidity setting has been increased and it's always hot, which explains why I wake up sweaty in the middle of the night.

To further complicate matters, these sinister spirits have changed the surface of my mirror from flat-planed to convex, causing images to magnify. The bags under my eyes are more noticeable. Another big chuckle for these demons is when they dabble with the lights just as you remove your clothes to get in the shower. Somehow it's as if the light is shined directly on you and your silhouette looks like Santa against the shower wall.

Now friends have suggested this could all be signs of menopause, but that would mean you have mood swings. Hmmm, this could explain the look of fear in my husband's eyes when he's uttered words he can't take back like when I was trying to get on a pair of pants and he lovingly suggested maybe I had grabbed his by mistake. If my eyes could turn my thoughts to laser beams, there would have been nothing left of him but a puddle.

I'm starting to think the issue of Dr. Jekyll/Mr. Hyde is that Hyde was a woman whose estrogen had fallen so low she went stark raving mad. Think about it; mannish attributes start to appear. Hair starts growing different areas. Your upper lip; your chin. I'm like the Sorcerer's apprentice as the faster I pluck the faster the little buggers grow back in.

The good news is,once you've crossed from perimenopausal to being a full fledged member of the menopause club, you only have somewhere between one and ten years left and you're home free. Gee, that should help lift my mood swing.

Stress Busters

We all need stress reducers in our life. Ah, what better relief than a pet. The feel of their fur between your fingers, the purr reverberating off your chest, the oh-so-adoring eyes staring up at you. It has been documented that pets lower blood pressure and cholesterol, cure depression, lower heart disease, improve mental and physical health. They might as well say they cure hemorrhoids and warts while they're at it.  Do these people even own pets?

My dog is a springer spaniel.  High energy, which is good because it forces me to walk her each night after work.  Ah, spring time, and we can get exercise after our long winter.  That will reduce some stress.  There is the smell of rain - rain and lots of it.  Gotta get the rain coat, the leash, the bags.  "Come on Katie, let's go for a walk." Five minutes is spent trying to hook the leash to the collar as she spins about my ankles. I open the screen door and go to shut front door while she proceeds to leap off the front porch pulling me with her and the screen door slams on my wrist. "Katie! Sit!" She sits. I lock the door and off we go. Now where I live it is goose wonderland.  There's a reason why the phrase loose as a goose was penned, but to my dog it just translates into the word smorgasbord.  Remember the game Pac Man?  Well that's how my dog walks; from one prize to the next while I'm turning green trying to persuade her to avoid these little treasures.

Summertime is good.  The geese have left and the field is ours until soccer season starts.  Ah, the smell of freshly mown grass and children running through sprinklers.  Well in my mind that's what it sounds like.  I know kids must exist, I'm just not sure where they are.  Holed up in front of a television, or computer or texting their friends, but all done in their air conditioned homes.  Because it's so hot, Katie gets extremely thirsty.  We bring a water bottle for her, but it's embarrassing when she tries to take water bottles from other walkers.  I apologize to the couple wearing white shorts that now have her paw prints on them.

Fall has come; the dang geese are back.  You can't step one foot between one land mind and the next.  She's like, "Whoo-hoo!  Snack time!"  I am fairly soft spoken and do not like to make a scene.  So first I'm just whispering, "Psst, Katie, stop."  After about a block my voice is more raspy as I hiss, "Katie, don't eat that!"  And by the end of our walk,  I look like someone who's escaped from a ward.  "KATIE, PUT IT DOWN!!!"

Winter has come, geese are gone again, but my dog can dive head first into a six foot drift and pull out, well, you get the picture.  I have fallen on sidewalks when my feet hit black ice just as Katie has spotted a rabbit.  My head hits a boulder of frozen snow where the snow has been shoveled off the path .  As I lay there stunned I wonder why I didn't bring my phone and hope I don't freeze to death before someone discovers my body.  I don't have any i.d. on me, but as long as the dog doesn't get away, they'll see our address on her tags.
Yes, she is frustrating, the vet bills are outrageous, the pet store portion of my credit runs higher than the groceries, but she gives my husband and I something to talk about and like proud parents watching over their children sleeping at night, we whisper lovingly that she looks like an angel and would probably do it all over again.  The fact that she relies on us, trusts us and loves us unconditionally - that, my friend, reduces my stress.

March to Your Own Beat

It's good to be unique, however, unless you're rich enough to be considered eccentric, most will just label you as nuts.  The other day I went to Menards and asked if they had any bat houses.  The lady says, "you're the first who's ever asked for one of these."  If no one asks for them, why are they selling them?  At Walt Disney World, I requested a Coca Cola half regular/half diet. The vendor says he's waited on hundreds of thousands of people and that's the first time he's ever gotten that request.  What's so weird about that?  You get let less calories, but more of the real Coca Cola flavor.

Life's too short to be boring.  Even as a child when most were asking for dolls, I wanted stilts.  Guess I secretly wanted to join the circus.  Another item I wanted, but never got was a unicycle.  My parents thought it was just a passing fancy, but then the next year it was asked for again, and the next and the next.  Guess they thought the idea would eventually pass.  My mother must have felt guilty because she bought me a unicycle Christmas ornament one year.

While other children quietly watched the t.v. while their parents square danced, I was outside in the field attempting to catch a mouse.  One the way home, I was telling my parents about my mouse encounter and my dad said, "you shouldn't play with mice, they might bite you."  It was at that moment I realized I had never heard either of my parents swear.  Mom said things like "bug juice" when she was mad, but when I announced that the mouse did indeed bite me, dad said "s**t."  I was more stunned at his swearing than the fact I was bit by a mouse.  He whipped the car around and headed for the hospital.

Now it can also be said I was a bit of a smart aleck as a child.  When the nurse asked if we had the mouse, I'm like "no, I flung him off my finger."  She asked if we could go back and retrieve the mouse.  I asked "How?  By looking for the one with the blood on his teeth?"  Ah, my parents were so proud.  Because we had no mouse, my parents had the fun decision of debating between my getting rabies treatments or crossing their fingers and taking a chance.  Not sure if they flipped a coin or what, but they opted out of rabies treatments.  Maybe they decided it was a win/win situation.  They saved money on the procedure and if it turned out badly, they would have one less mouth to feed.  Everything turned out fine, but it could explain why I sometimes foam at the mouth when I'm mad. 

To this day I still want to try new things.  At 30 I tried ice skating and at 40 went to night school to work on completing my Bachelor's degree.  Now at 50 I just want to be able to bend over and tie my shoes without blacking out from the jeans cutting off my air supply as they dig into my abdomen.

As long as my heart keeps beating, I'll march to that beat, however offbeat it may be from others.

Marriage Game Plan

Day one of marriage - you start with all your worldly belongings.  For me, that would be my clothes, a twin bed, a dresser and a yellow, vinyl bean bag chair.  In the olden days, that wouldn't even translate into one goat.  Luckily, he checked my teeth and they were good.

Duties - you share everything.  The grocery shopping, the cleaning, the laundry.  "What do you want to buy for dinner, darling?"  "Whatever you want, sweetie."  Life was grand.  Eventually you split chores.  It's really a matter of saving time.  This way, you have more quality time during those few hours each night after work. 

Then came the house.  Houses are good investments; they are great to come home to; they are the black hole of time, energy and money.  Now duties were divided out of necessity.  We didn't care who did what, but obviously one person couldn't do it all.  I was a fortunate wife in that my husband was a whiz at doing anything and everything.  Cooking?  No problem, he was like Chef Gordon Ramsey.  Yardwork?  Piece of cake.  Finish the basement?  Who needs to hire out when you're married to Bob Vila?

He, on the other hand, did not marry Martha Stewart.  Hem pants?  Hello, there's the tailor.  Prepare a gourmet dinner?  You mean fish sticks and canned peaches aren't considered fine dining?  Ironing was, and still is, my nemesis.  I knew I was in trouble at the beginning when he wanted his socks ironed.  "Your socks ironed? Are you kidding me?"  The first half is hidden under your trousers, part is hidden in the shoe, the rest is about a one inch strip around your ankle so if there any wrinkles, they're stretched like Joan Rivers facelift so wrinkles won't show.  Yeah, the honeymoon was over.

You learn each other's moods, facial expressions, eye tics and throbbing veins on the side of the neck.  These are vital clues to know when to spring the news about how the dog chewed the carpet, that new outfit you bought, your mother is coming for the weekend.

Oh, life can get a little too routine sometimes, but it's sad to see so many throw in the towel before they review the game book.  Eventually, when everyone finds their position on the team and learns the moves, that winning goal is worth the effort.

Tattoo Tea Totaler

Why are tattoos so popular? It was tough people who had them; motorcycle guys, sailors. I'm glad that trend was after my time because you always want to do what's in fashion and I can't imagine what I'd look like now. Let's see, what was popular when I was younger? The smiley face, the peace symbol, phrases like "keep on truckin," and "I can't believe I ate the whole thing." The weight of my triceps pulling down from the biceps would have turned my smiley face into a frown by now and everyone could see that I truly did eat the whole thing. Can you imagine the effects of cellulose? If I had the face of Mork on my thigh, he would look pock marked.

What would you choose that you are so committed to that you want to look at for the rest of your life? Woman are known for their proclivity to change. My husband always wants to buy me Coach purses because you can carry them forever. Who wants to carry the same purse forever? Would I have chosen a person or a phrase on my shoulder? A poignant quote on my neck or a cute cartoon figure on my ankle? You'd be forced to shave or tweety bird would look like he grew a beard. That's the only beauty of winter is that you can wear slacks and not shave for three months.

And wrinkles? Laverne and Shirley's faces would age along with me. Not to mention stretch marks from pregnancy, mid-life weight gain, surgery scars. My billboard of beauty would start looking like a battlefield of blemishes.

Not to say I haven't been tempted. Once on a trip with my best friend, I wanted to commemorate the occasion by getting tattoos. She's like, "can't we just get our photograph taken?" Luckily, I gravitate to people who keep me steady. I still think it would be cute to have something fun tattooed just for the heck of it, but even at fifty, I still can't think what it would be. I suppose something simple like a heart right above the bikini line, but like the Grinch, my small heart, after a holiday meal, would grow three sizes that day.

Bucket List

Everyone needs a bucket list. It may be difficult to get started, but you can crawl out of that bucket seat. Did you know the definition of a bucket seat is to keep people in place? Aren't you tired of staying in the same place? Get your seat out of that bucket and write down your dreams. That first dream will be just a drop in the bucket. Gather your friends to create a bucket brigade of support all before you kick the bucket. The song says "there's a hole in the bucket," so buck the system before the water runs out. This is not to be morose like you're waiting to die; it is meant to be inspiring as you finally start to live. What are you waiting for? What's stopping you from doing the things you want to do?


There are so many people who became famous or did inspiring feats later in life. Corrie ten Boom wrote, "The Hiding Place" at the age of 78. John Mahoney, father on Frasier, didn't enter the acting world until close to the age of 40. Laura Ingalls Wilder wasn't published until after the age of 65. Grandma Moses was 76 before her first painting. Ronald Reagan was 55 before being elected to his first public office. The list could go on and on. The point being, it's never too late to start. As Al Pacino said in "Scent of a Woman", "I'm just getting warmed up."

At one point I wanted to parachute. When you're young and have your whole life ahead of you, you feel invincible which can lead you to unwise decisions. As time wanes, you cling tighter and tighter to that rope of reason and have difficulty releasing those fingers. Perhaps I'll choose this feat like George Bush Sr. did and save it for my 80th birthday. I'll just keep up my calcium supplements until then so I don't break a hip on the landing.

This year my husband I went to Alaska. The picture at top is me photographing grizzlies. Other items on my list are to fly a plane, visit Africa, write a book, do stand-up comedy, learn sign language, a foreign language, play the piano, etc. While I can learn to fly a plane, that probably won't happen as my husband informed me he doesn't even like driving with me so he doubts he'll want to fly with me. The rest of my list is doable. I found a stand-up comedy class so hope to do that sometime in the near future. I recently got my passport for the very first time. When's my trip? I have no idea, but I'll be ready!

Fountain of Youth

My body seems to be aging at the speed of light. My main trouble spot is the deep, vertical crevice that runs between my eyes right above my nose. It almost looks like I was knifed in a fight. If I open my eyes really wide it sort of disappears, but then diagonal wrinkles run from east to west across my forehead. I'm thinking of using Scotch tape to tape from my temples to behind my ears, which will stretch out that area. Now if could use Scotch type for the forehead, what to do for the gluteus maximus? Something stronger perhaps, like duct tape.

Do you remember that girl from Willy Wonka that turned into a giant blueberry? At my age no one will accuse me of being pregnant, but that's what it looks like. I swear you can see my skin grow without using time-lapse photography. The Incredible Hulk probably didn't bust through as many shirts as I seem to be doing lately. One of these days, one of my buttons will bust free from that last thread and blind a passerby. The only upside of all of this is that instead of donating my husband's clothes, I just wear them. The latest article of clothing are his belts.

My hairdresser is using so many foils pieces to do my hair I'm starting to pick up radio stations in Florida. Right now my vanity outweighs my pocketbook, but there will come a day that I don't think dying the roots weekly will be healthy.

Sigh, I know eventually one must accept all of this and age gracefully. Until then I'm looking for quick fixes for improvement; and I think I've found the fountain of youth. While going into my refrigerator in the basement for a soda, I discovered the cake from Easter. It had been kept in my Tupperware container all this time and still looked edible. Michael Jackson may have had his oxygen chamber, but I'm thinking if we could have a Tupperware-encased bed with a breathing tube, we could stay fresh forever!

ADHD - Absentminded, Desperately Hoping for Direction

At 19, I asked my best friend why can't adults have ADD/ADHD? People had just started using Ritalin for their kids. Obviously, ADD or ADHD couldn't be a new phenomena so there must have been kids when we were growing up who also were affected by this. We wondered if at a certain point you just grew out of it. Think of all the children subjected to corporal punishment in school when they weren't being naughty, they were suffering from lack of focus.

Low and behold, the other day on television there was a commercial for a drug to help adults who suffered from ADD/ADHD. Crud, I should have followed up on that 30 years ago; I'd be rich! Now that I'm 50, I don't want to go to the doctor for this. Number one, I've survived 50 years, so what's another 30 or so more to put up with this? Also, people our age are at that point we have become inundated with pills.

Do I have ADD or ADHD? Do I have ADD or ADHD? Oh wait, I just said that. One thing should have clued me in years ago. It was between whether to be a missionary or a go-go dancer when I grew up. My interests have never been on one particular thing. Signed up for cake decorating at 25, ice skating lessons at age 30, returned to college at night to finish my degree in my 40's still not knowing what it is I wanted to be when I grew up. Other attempts have been dance class, scuba diving, photography, ASL American Sign Language and the list goes on.

All this time I have been attributing my distractions to getting older, but I just turned 50 and this has gone on since as long as I can remember. It is very exhausting to be thinking in so many directions at once. It's one thing to multi-task and another to run yourself ragged retracing your steps all day to make sure you didn't forget to do anything. You're ready for work, you get in the car. Oops, forgot the lunch. Back in the house, but where are the keys? You just had them. How can you lose keys when you just went from the door to the car? Oh my gosh, you took out the garbage to the curb. There they are in the top of the recycling bin. You snatch them up before the truck that's coming down the street reaches your house. And so starts your day.

It could be I'm just starting to slow down, but I prefer to pin it on a disease. As Kathy Bates said in Fried Green Tomatoes, " I'm too old to be young and too young to be old."

Don't Worry; Be Happy

One of the things I notice most as I age is worrying about everything. Actually not worrying as much as wondering why no one has common sense. Such as, why is the handicapped parking nearest the building, but farthest from the door? It's like map quest. There's the fastest route and the shortest route. The handicapped parking where I once worked was physically closest to the entrance of the building, but behind a curb. The person had to wheel themselves to the drive entrance, but then the ramp going into the building was back the other direction. They were almost wheeling one city block just to get in the building. It was probably, by law, within code, but come on! Another thing that troubles me is the braille at the drive-up window at the bank. Really?

Today I noticed that the live bait vending machine was out of order. Who stocks that thing? Is it heated? Will the worms survive this chill we're having? And if the machine doesn't get fixed, what happens to the bait? These are troubling thoughts.

You've realized you're older when you're concerned with what everyone is wearing. Why do kids wear shorts in the winter, but when it finally gets warm they wear stocking caps? Or you see people wearing sandals in the winter and you hope they have boots in the car in case they have car problems. And I bet that same girl wears Ugg boots during the summer.

Is worrying an aging process or genetic? Should I worry that I worry? No, it's probably we've been around the block so many times we're familiar with the view. Been there and done that. In case anyone digs out any of my pictures during the 70's like the one shown at top, I'll cool it on the fashion comments of today's youth. Using a bible metaphor, but way out of context, I'll remove the log out of my own eye before I try to remove the speck from my brother's eye. However, in the meantime, I'll be happy to wear my boots in the winter and my sandals in the summer (the white ones not until after Memorial Day, of course).

Happy Mother's Day

Took a day trip to visit my mother to celebrate Mother's Day. Picked her up and drove to the state capitol in Springfield to a little sandwich shop located in an old Victorian style home. Afterwards went to the mall for a little shopping then dropped her back in her town and headed back home. From the time we left to the time we got back home 12 hours on the dot. Long day, yes. Worth it? You bet.

There are times it is easy to convince ourselves we don't need to celebrate every event. Yes, it's a "Hallmark" holiday, but it's these moments we look back on with fondness. It is important to take time to celebrate these moments. While we may clear our house of clutter, we need to continue making memories. Otherwise, we won't have anything worth remembering years from now.

The picture is a wind farm my husband and I passed on the way home. What is so great about this picture? It's representative of both the old and the new. It is not good to stay cemented in our past. It is not wise to always look for newer and better things. It is when these two entities balance we can truly thrive.

Whether you are a mom, have a mom, know a mom - here's hoping you find that balance in your life. Happy Mother's Day!

Practice What You Preach

My previous blog was on getting rid of "it" and I am happy to say that even my husband took my admonition to heart and went through all his dresser drawers and filled an entire trash bag with who knows what. It took everything in my power not to go through that bag.

Great strides have been made as the other day when he filled a bag of "stuff", I went into the garbage, retrieved the bag, untied it and went through everything. He actually had some good "stuff" that I really should have donated, but wanted to remain supportive of his good efforts. So I was very proud of myself not to even go through the next day's stuff.

I donate regularly, but somehow can't come to grips with giving up everything. However, if I'm going to type for you to get rid of it, then I must practice what I preach and do better with clearing out the clutter. So why do we keep all of our accumulation? Probably out of guilt. "It was a gift", "it's too expensive to give away", "not even the poor would want THAT shirt", "this isn't being green to toss it". The angel of action hovers over one shoulder and the Satan of selfishness sits on the other. Who will win?

Seeing everything go at once is stressful to me. I have no idea why. I don't want it, don't use it, don't need it and could use the space or the money or the feeling of accomplishment by getting it out of the house. Since it hurts to purge everything at one time, here are some thoughts. Take a garbage bag and go through the house once a month, or every other month. Just fill that one bag and donate it. That way, it doesn't appear to be very much stuff you're giving away.

Pick a good charity. A shelter for battered women, the military, a children's home. That way, it feels good knowing that the money raised can help so many causes. And you can even claim it as a deduction.

My church is having a sale to raise funds for school supplies for the local community. I already have a whole list of things I can give for that. The library in town collects books to raise funds to buy materials for the library so I'm thinking of donating a lot of my books to them.

If the thought of just giving it away hurts, think about using EBay. The girl scout uniform pictured at top of page I was able to sell. At a garage sale I would be lucky to get 50 cents, yet on EBay, someone paid me $14 plus shipping. I have sold piggy banks, and Barbie dolls, too. It has been a lot of fun seeing who all bids on items.

Of course, you can also have a garage sale. For me, that's a lot of work and I don't feel like going through the effort of lugging everything out, pricing it, and sitting out on the drive for two days watching people pick over my possessions. And what's the most I could possibly get? Is it really worth all the effort.

Another garage sales of sorts is craigslist. You can just post one item at a time and when it's convenient for you and the person who wants it, you can set up a time for them to come and buy that item from you.

Another organization if love is recycle.com. You can't charge anything, but you have the satisfaction of knowing that you're not filling a landfill. Not only can you post something you don't want, but you can peruse the list for things you might need. I've seen people looking for little boy's tuxes. What a great idea instead of having to buy something he's only going to use once.

Once you start making a habit of donating regularly, it won't hurt as much and it helps curb the desire to go out and buy more "stuff" that will eventually end up in one of those bags you're giving away.

Get Rid of It!

Okay, so I'm still learning this blog thing. By the time anyone finds my site, or I get enough hits where you can find it on the web, most of my posts will be old. Who's going to go back through six months of old blogs reading everything you've posted. So I've decided it won't matter if my theme gets a little off track.

For today's topic, my thoughts wander to, when does one become "old", act "old", look "old"? For me it started in my 30's. My friend and I were at the movies and we wondered what makes us look old. Do we look this way. Looking down at my large purse balanced on my knees, I'm like, "yeh, we look old."

Sorry, but I grew up in a practical era. Purchasing items for need, not want. My purse had to be neutral, which means I've only bought either black, brown, tan or navy. Couldn't be so big you'd develop back problems carrying it, but not so small as to not be able to carry needed items. You know, gum, tissues, nail clippers, makeup, wallet, pens, candy, mail, bills, book to read at lunch, house keys, car keys, poop bags for the dog, an apple for a snack at work, um, what else? And you thought Mary Poppins' bag had a lot of stuff in it?

Speaking of purses, you had to have shoes. Woo-hoo; let's see they have to match so that would be, oh yeah, black, brown, tan or navy. I am a walking fashion faux pas. I'm not sure I was cool when it was even my time to be cool.

You know the day you realize your old, is the day those around you have no idea who you're talking about. It used to be funny when I was the one who was 20 and my co-workers were ancient, somewhere around 35. But one day it happened to me. I was talking about Ann Landers, when my co-worker had a deer-in-the-headlights look and said, "who?" I'm thinking, "Come on! It's Ann freakin' Landers!!" Everyone went to Ann for their problems or at least read her column so you would know your problems weren't as weird as those writing to her. That day was a crushing blow to my ego.

Now, my last blog said to accept thyself. But it's also okay to have a goal. We shouldn't just throw in the towel and give up. But I'm not making this blog one of those improve yourself, reach for the stars and be a better person. We are already okay the way we are. Just do try new things for the fun of it, the joy of it.

Somewhere I read a column about getting rid of all the things that you think you need to do, read, be. Took me a while to understand that, but looking around the house realized how many of the "classics" in paperback were just waiting to be read for the last 15 years. If they haven't been read by now, get rid of them. Go to the library if you get a urge to read "Wuthering Heights".

How about those clothes that you know you'll just squeeze into if you just lose about 20 pounds. Get rid of it! There are so many charities in need of good clothing. It's a shame to have them hanging around collecting dust and just making you feel bad because you haven't lost that weight yet. By the time you do, is it something you really want to wear anyway?

What else is lurking in those closets? Probably magazines you want to read, or you at least trimmed out the articles so it wouldn't take as much space, but I bet you still haven't read them. Christmas cards and pictures of people's kids that have been sent to you. You feel guilty to throw them out, don't you? Wait, you could make a great album, and put each family in chronological order so you could thumb through them years from now. Will you? Get rid of it!

And speaking of getting rid of things, dump that mental baggage, too. Those regrets long harbored, the mistakes, the I should-ofs, and the only if I could-ofs. It's okay. Like a potter, it has shaped us into the weird and wonderful person we have become. I only mention about getting rid of those things that we're saving hoping to be the person we should be. Instead, let's save the things that celebrate the person we are. It's okay if you haven't learned to play the piano, or written that novel. I bet everyone has someone that thinks the world of you, just the way you are right now.

Wanted to add some inspiring quotes. Since we're just starting this journey, today's quote is: "Forty is the old age of youth, fifty is the youth of old age." Victor Hugo. Let's celebrate our new youth!

Accept Thyself

When thinking about creating a blog, I had so many ideas swimming through my head. As soon as my head hit the pillow, I could hardly fall asleep with all the wonderful tidbits I was impelled to share. It had to be funny, poignant, captivating.

What to share first? Childlessness, innovative ways to be green, menopause. But sad thoughts came, funny thoughts came, my gosh, this was making no sense. Thus, welcome to my world. I am 50 and I am no nearer to knowing what I want to do when I grow up than when I was 12.

About a year ago, I joined Facebook. At first, it was exciting. Re-discovering old connections. I would just sit and think of people whose paths I've crossed. I always used to wish I had a crystal ball just so I could see what people were up to. Not necessarily wanting to talk, just to see where they were. And then along came Facebook. Voile! Now you could find all those people you always wondered about.

However, it quickly became discouraging. Everyone was so successful. They had children, grandchildren, written books, travelled the world. And here I was playing games and wishing I could do all those things. Then I realized, "Hey, they're all sitting at their computers reading about everyone else." Suddenly I didn't feel so bad after all.

Why do I mention Facebook? While some of my Facebook friends are younger, there are those who are older, but many are nearer my age. After reading so many posts each day, I have come to the conclusion we are all searching. Making sense of our past, re-discovering our present, planning our future.

So on that note, perhaps I will write 50 suggestions on being a more successful 50. The first is, accept thyself. This is it baby, what mistakes have been made, have been made. Get over it. My friend's husband always said, "This ain't no dress rehearsal; this is the live performance."

Are we giving up? Heck no! As Popeye would say, "I yam who I yam."

This year I turned 50. Why is that such a corner-turning age? Probably because one has lived longer than the amount of time left to live. Unless, of course, you become one of the growing number of octogenarians.

What has been accomplished? Who's life have I inspired? Is it narcissistic to even feel the need to accomplish something to make life worthwhile? Never having had children, my saved treasures are pointless, such as the cast of my teeth during the braces era. Thought that would be great for a science project. The poetry I wrote as a young girl. My favorite Nancy Drew books. It all dies with me. So now I go through the house monthly and collect a bag of things to donate. I don't see the point in keeping all of this. Lately I have been reflecting a lot and hope to make some sense of my life.

So I have come up with Phooey on Phifty. It is time to become the fabulous person we have kept hidden inside for so long. How do we do that? That's to be determined in the course of this blog. For now, step one is, the realization we are no longer 20. Even if you have the body, it's just plain sad when to see a 50 year old with a thong crawling out the back of her pants. So embrace this decade. We'll discuss the wonderful stages we as woman encounter, yet persevere.

As Helen Reddy said, "I am woman; hear me roar!"