Tag Archives: Getting old

You know you’re old when . . .

. . .  you are writing something and put down the correct year – on Day One.

Julian Lennon is 49 and tomorrow Earth Day is 42

In the 1950’s film Gigi, Maurice Chevalier (I know, you never heard of him)) strolled the boulevards of Paris singing:  “Oh I’m so glad that I am not young anymore”.

None of us iz anymore.

Be kind to your planet.

I hope I can be this witty when I’m old (really old I mean)

You’ll be glad if you stay to the end; it’s short. And clever. And funny. And kind of endearing.


Age is merciless

Woke up this morning feeling great and with a busy day ahead. After putting the coffee on, I went into the bathroom to brush my teeth. I reached up grab my toothbrush and my back screamed  “Oh no you don’t!! Stop it right now!!’ Let me repeat, I had moved my arm slightly away from my body to reach my toothbrush. That is what I did; that is all I did. And that is how it goes, children,  that is how it goes.

I have put on a neck brace (I have one – this has happened before). A shower is out of the question which is annoying as I’ve a ten o’clock date with a dozen people who will be assembled because I asked for their help in a volunteer project. I’ll get to watch them which might cause some hard feelings. I hope the neck brace convinces them that to go easy on judging me.

Blogging will resume later today, assuming the damn neck allows me to use these fingers on keyboard (not actually going very well right now).

My kind of woman

Over at I Tried Being Tasteful one of my favorite bloggers – Texas Trailer Park Trash – has written the very best first sentence ever. It beats the blue jeans off “It was the best of times; it was the worst of times.

“I’m almost sixty-four years old and I don’t own a dress.”

Women may read the whole thing here.

Treasured moments

A much-loved nephew, father of two, busy busy man,  blew in (and out) of town yesterday. I had dinner with he and his parents last night; we ate and talked for almost four hours. Hugged too.

I think he’s  looking good these days, don’t you?

I forgot it’s my birthday

. . .  until I opened my email and the facebook messages were there (more bithday wishes than I’ve had since I turned 16 – reason #422 ‘why I like facebook’.)

Look at this rare birthday recording from the Beatles – posted by neice Kate! Everyone over 50 should save this one.

Like a Tweet?

I have had a very bad day. In fact, I have had a very bad week. Sharing any of the humiliating details would speak ill of me, so I shall abstain. But I do feel better now.

Not just unbloggy; a blog break

Some of today, all of tomorrow, and a good part of Saturday will be occupied with my Father’s memorial service and reception and with family from around the country who even now descend upon our environs. Siblings must sit down like the real grownups we must be and finalize the ‘estate’, such as it is, given that a condo purchased ten years ago for almost $200K may bring $40K if we’re really lucky (this is, after all, South Florida).

These things must be attended to, decided upon, all the hugs must be given, the cheeks kissed, the food offered and then offered again.

And then it will be over. And oddly, now that the end of planning and executing  it all approaches, I will finally and maybe for the first time, look in the mirror and see someone without a buffer generation between me and that big Marlboro in the sky.

Or maybe I’ll just take a nap, blog up a storm and clean the refrigerator. One never knows, do one.

Here’s a song by a guy who used to say just that – in case I don’t get back here tomorrow.

If John Lennon would be 70 . . .

. . . how old is Yoko Ono? Well, two years from now, John Lennon’s wife will be 80.

I am having difficulty processing this.


Since installing the pool, I’ve swum lengths every single morning. I do it the very minute I’m on my feet, knowing how easy it would be to blow it off if I did something else first.

I began this regimen on Day 1 with five lengths, after which I could barely breathe. Today I reached 40. I am proud. I am also breathing just fine.  

There is hope.

98th birthday coming up

This is my father. He has a social life, is working with a personal trainer, and remembers every conversation he’s had with me over the last few years. I don’t.  He will no doubt outlive me.

Time for cocktails

I wish this hadn’t occurred to me

PBS is broadcasting the Paul McCartney White House concert from a mnth or so ago. I was enjoying it until I realized . . .

Paul McCartney is old enough to be Obama’s father. Worse, Obama is young enough that Paul McCartney could be his father.

That is all. I am now turning to drugs.

Good morning. I am drowning. Not in water. Yet.

Before retiring, I visualized my life-to-come in various ways. All of them included devoting serious time to reading. I would do this in an orderly fashion – perhaps devoting one week to early American History and the next to environmental issues. Perhaps spend some time on the history of Persia/Iran which I find endlessly fascinating. It would be a civil life, a contemplative life. There would be order to it. I dreamed of a discipline I never had.

In the real world, I have twenty magazines at a time open to articles I’ve not yet finished – in the bathroom, on the bedside table, even here by my laptop so I can advance by mere minutes  into the article while rebooting. There are five or six books open on the nightstand. Just shoot me.

There is no order, no theme at all. A few weeks ago, just to give myself a rest from chastisement for failure to follow the ‘plan’, I grabbed some mystery novels at the library and read them to the exclusion of all else for days. And it was FUN. Until I realized that my little R&R had not had the slightest impact on my reading habits at all. I went right back to where I was – complete disorder.

 Such disconnect from what we want and what we do. I imagine – dear Elvis, I hope! – this is a shared experience.

I also hope things are okay for the guys and gals in Afghanistan, where it is the  222nd day of the ninth year of the War; 143 days until we are in the tenth year.

Well, a very very very good morning

Ah, that's a bit better now . . .

Medicine, it appears, works quite well. I am one, who, when sick, crawls outside and hides under a shrub to get better or die. But yesterday I observed that hiding under my shrub was not bringing any positive results.  In fact, the dreaded pink eye had invited itself into both eyes. So after two weeks of coughing till my insides hurt and sleeping in spurts of two or three hours max, I returned to the walk-in clinic. (These places have improved remarkably – terrific place).

Turns out, as the 17-year old who claimed to be the “Doctor” said, I was ‘actually quite sick’. Well. That got my attention. I returned home an hour later, burdened with seven (SEVEN!!!) various prescriptions and miles of small type to read. I am now to follow a carefully scripted five-day regiment of magical potions.

About four o’clock yesterday I began the dosing as instructed. At 11pm, I became weary, went to bed and fell asleep. At 7am, I awoke refreshed. As I said medicines indeed work. Quite well. I think I shall allow them into my life in future on an as-needed basis. Learning new tricks and all.

So being unbloggy as I briefly noted a post ago or so, was much more than not being in the mood. Now it’s time to catch up, especially as our little adventure in Afghanistan is much in the news again, and our prom date from last year, Al Quaeda in Iraq, is back in let’s-party! mood.

My morning nap (doctor’s orders! doctor’s orders!) commences shortly, but first let’s be reminded that today is the 180th day of the ninth year of the War in Afghanistan.

Blogging Lite (and good morning)

Blogging’s been light and sporatic – maybe later today I can pick up again. But the real world will have its way with us at times.

Can you list the number of reasons (there are many) why a Droid is the  w-r-o-n-g  device for a woman of a certain age? Watch me go to the Verizon store and go all old lady on those kids and see if I can unsign that damn contract.

Meanwhile, as you know, today is the 143rd day of the ninth year of the War in Afghanistan.

Good morning

The world gets more and more interesting every day and it makes me want to live forever so I can see how it works itself out (or doesn’t!). But I’m off to get a bone density scan, which is a very old thing to do, so I guess that forever thing isn’t likely.

And today is the 125th day of the ninth year of the War in Afghanistan.

Let it snow, let it snow, let it snow

Well, in my memory anyway. These days I’d just as soon watch from afar.

Back in the 60’s, I was living on the Upper West Side of Manhattan. In fact, I resided in a somewhat shabby studio apartment in a somewhat shabby hotel on upper Broadway. On the ground floor was a so-so night club the name of which is long gone. And six nights a week Tito Puente was the featured entertainer. (No need to listen to records when I was home!)

I worked in theatre and had a  number of friends who lived downtown in Greenwich Village. So I was often down there and one of our favorite places was a bar called The Limelight on Sheridan Square. (It became quite famous as the NY home of the Irish Clancy Brothers.)

And I was there one magic winter day when a blizzard began (there was no Weather Channel then). A group of us sat in a front booth, watching the snow come down. It was enchanting and we began drinking Irish Coffees. Which probably contributed to our decision to walk north on Broadway all the way to West 77th Street. A very long walk. Especially in the snow.

And so we did. We walked. All the way, four abreast in the middle of the road, singing winter songs. It was one of the best days of my life.

Good morning

For the first time in decades, and because I’m seriously overdue for a haircut, I rolled curlers into my newly shampooed hair this morning. It’s been so long that I had some difficulty doing it. (Why hadn’t I tossed them out after ten years? fifteen years? twenty years?)

What are you looking at?

How the lives of American women have changed! As a young woman (when, ironically, I probably had the best figure of my life) I wore a girdle. I ‘set’ my hair every night. I laid out my next-day clothes the night before, freshly ironed of course. I was, after all, merchandise on the market. In those days newspapers separated their help wanted classified ads into Help Wanted WOMEN and Help Wanted MEN. Often the same jobs, but of course the pay scale was quite different. And until the 70’s, we considered this to be normal. In fact, many of us didn’t even think about it.

I like today much better. Those curlers brought back many memories, and triggered thoughts of the future. By the time my great nieces and nephews are adult, gender should have ceased to be of much import (except in terms of reproduction and/or its attendant delights).

Back when I was sleeping on metal rollers every night, many in today’s military hadn’t even been born. Their lives have changed too, because thousands of them are in Afghanistan, where it is the 117th day of the ninth year of the War there.

The newfound movie critic

I just read something touching and remarkable by a man who is himself remarkable. Who knew? All those years watching or listening to Roger Ebert tell us about movies, and the whole time, hiding in plain sight, there was a philosopher, a raconteur, an acute observer of life. A few weeks ago, I posted a link to a letter he’d written to Rush Limbaugh. (Whether he actually sent it or not who knows, but Ebert was pretty fed up with the nonsense.) As soon as my post was up, I forgot about Roger Ebert.

But just now, following a stray link, I found myself back there. And this time I found the man himself. A man who’s been fighting cancer, has had endless surgeries, has lost his speech and oddly, his ability to eat and drink. Life is a different place for him now, and I just read a long post about eating and drinking – and not eating and drinking. Not an appealing subject matter, but in his hands . . . His writing is elegant in its simplicity. His voice is true and honest and humble and makes me wish I knew the guy. This passage makes me think we would get along very well indeed.

EBERT:  [driving around town] I never look at a trendy new restaurant and wish I could eat there. I peer into little storefront places, diners, ethnic places, and then I feel envy. After a movie we’ll drive past a formica restaurant with only two tables occupied, and I’ll wish I could be at one of them, having ordered something familiar and reading a book. I never felt alone in a situation like that. I was a soloist.

He wrote the post recently and it has nearly 700 comments. One doesn’t see those kinds of comment numbers outside the rarified atmosphere of the blog giants. I will explore his blog a bit more now – I’m sure it’ll be worth it.  While he still does movie stuff, his writing often veers toward this new journey he finds himself on.

Here’s another gem, from another post. First, he quotes Brendan Behan:
I respect kindness in human beings first of all, and kindness to animals. I don’t respect the law; I have a total irreverence for anything connected with society except that which makes the roads safer, the beer stronger, the food cheaper and the old men and old women warmer in the winter and happier in the summer.
And he adds, speaking for himself:
For 57 words, that does a pretty good job of summing it up. “Kindness” covers all of my political beliefs. “

Nice stuff.

UPDATE: Just added a link to Roger Ebert’s Journal to the blogroll on the right.

Good morning

Laughed a lot last night at a family dinner with a visiting cousin.  And we were marveling that the day before would have been Elvis Presley’s 75th birthday.  The evening was so much fun that upon arising this morning, I had nearly forgotten that it’s the 93rd day of the ninth year of the War in Afghanistan.

Friday night oldies – becoming a Saturday tradition

Maybe rename this Weekend Oldies? Maybe remember to do it on Friday night? Decisions, decisions. Here you go: