What is Your Purpose?

The other evening I watched, “Signs” starring Mel Gibson.  It had been years since I originally saw it.  Always being philosophical, I loved it the first time and feared the same connection would not happen.  It did.  But why?

Everyone needs a purpose in life.  The older I become, the more urgent the need to discover my purpose.  In “Signs,” each person had their purpose and in the end it all came together what those purposes were.

Unfortunately, while we all have a purpose (and I firmly believe this), many of us aren’t afforded the opportunity to discover what that purpose in our life was.  Like the mother in “Signs,” did she know that her last words were the reason for her existence?  Does it matter that we find out?

Those with children have the joy of simply carrying on a part of them.  I never had children and so am often wracked with grief that when I die, that’s that.  Perhaps that’s why we blog, carve our names into trees, write on bathroom walls, scratch our initials into stone.  We want to visualize that we were here; that we matter.

“Signs” helps me relax that I don’t need to know my purpose.  I have to trust that God will use me as He sees fit and whether I am aware of what my existence means is not important.  Just knowing that my life had purpose is enough.

Until I take my last breath, however, I do not want to live blindly just flowing with the current.  I will continue to always strive to lend a hand to those in need, a shoulder for others to cry on, arms to support an elderly friend, legs to run errands for those who can’t.  I will go forth doing the best that I know how.

Know that you matter; you were created for a purpose.  Now go and live it!

Growing Older Doesn't Have to Mean Growing Up

I'm still waiting to decide what I want to be when I grow up.  As a girl, my mother really tried to get me inspired to do different things.  She had me sign up to be a candy striper.  In case no one knows what that is, that's the girls who used to volunteer at the hospital and wore the red and white striped dresses.  It was generally duties such as passing out the mail, distributing the food trays, helping patients brush their hair.  Everyone wanted the job to pass out flowers in the nursery area so you could look at the babies.  I think my mom thought that would motivate me to become a nurse.  I knew this wasn't my gig because one patient I dumped chicken noodle soup down their chest when I was trying to feed them.  Another patient wanted a drink of water so I handed them the cup of water on their tray.  She takes a big gulp only to discover it was hot water for her tea.  Maybe they used candy stripers to inspire the patients to get well quicker and get the heck out of there!

Another job she landed me was as a corn detassler.  Farmers created different hybrids of feed corn by which rows they chose to detassle so the corn could cross breed.  I about gave the guy a heart attack when he went off for a moment only to come back and I had tired of waiting and started plucking off the tops.  "No! No!," he yelled.  Who knows?  Maybe I helped create a new hybrid that year.

I should have known I was in trouble when I couldn't decide between being a missionary or a go-go dancer.  One hates to limit their opportunities.  My first money making job was baby sitting.  Personally, I think the parents got taken.  I mean, what a gig to get paid to watch someones colored television (yes, I grew up only having a black and white television in my formative years), eat their food and read your Nancy Drew books once the the kids were asleep.  It was like four or five hours pay for one hour of work.

Other places of employment have been at KFC, a lumber company, a seed company, line work at a factory and a bank.  It wasn't until I moved to the Chicago area that life started turning around for me.  I had always been miffed when my mom didn't let me take a foreign language or art classes in high school.  She is a practical woman and insisted on business classes such as short hand, typing and accounting.  Perhaps had I taken the classes I wanted, life would be totally different.  Who's to know.  However, all those business classes paid off as it helped me get my foot in the door as a Gal Friday and from there job opportunities took off.

Now I have passed the age of fifty, and if I could enroll in school, I still don't know what I would want to be.  Perhaps Frank Sinatra knew best when he sang, "I Gotta Be Me." Maybe I don't have to "become" anything.  Perhaps there is confusion in thinking your job needs to be your passion.  I know for some this is true, however, we all can't pay the bills on dreaming of being an artist or a singer.  I know I would certainly go hungry.  Although with all this mid-life weight gain, that might not be a bad idea!

The light of retirement at the end of the tunnel is starting to shine.  The finish line is getting a little closer. I realize I can enjoy my passions in my spare time and in my future retirement.

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.

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!

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).

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!"