Category: Uncategorized (Page 17 of 39)

Putting ourselves back together.

06/25/2018 /

I have this clock. It’s a great clock.  I have had it for almost 40 years.

I found it many moons ago at a flea market.  There, amidst the rows and rows of people selling everything from crocheted coasters to plants to license plates to baskets, was an older gentleman who clearly had a way with wood. He had several items he had handcrafted. I saw this clock and was immediately drawn to it.  It wasn’t particularly beautiful, it was more how simple it was.

A very large face with large numbers (having always been quite nearsighted this was an immediate plus) and on the back was  small box that was attached…almost like a kit…the literally was the “guts” of the clock.

There are four buttons on this box.  Each one can be pushed, as well as turned.  The first one lets you choose a particular chime.  The second lets you adjust the level of volume for that chime.  The third button lets you decide if you would rather only have the chime during the morning hours or the evening hours.  And the four button is the one you push to simply get the clock to start ticking.

And it only takes two batteries to run the whole thing.

Over the years, I have loved how dependable this clock is.  I’ve enjoyed the chime, although in later years, I value my sleep  more so I haven’t elected to hear that. But it’s been so easy to keep running. When time changes, all I have to do is open the glass front..turn the hands…close the glass and push the button the back and it’s ticking again.

It’s like an old friend.  Familiar.  Dependable.  Something I can count on.

And it’s been with me through a lot of tense times.  Evenings I stared at this clock wondering why a boyfriend didn’t call.  wondering what time I would hear about a loved one’s outcome from a medical procedure.  Dreading the day ending when I didn’t want to face the next day’s events for whatever reason.  Or wanting time to stand still so a moment would last forever.

It’s moved with me at least five times, two of which have been across the county.  So recently, when I made a move that was only about 20 miles away, I of course assumed my clock would go with me and find a new home on the wall.  That changed when I opened my trunk after many trips to unload personal items and the clock fell out and hit the garage floor, its guts hanging out the back like strings of spaghetti.  Or to  be more graphic, like real guts.

Intestines.  My intestines.

It really felt like I had killed something.  I was crushed.  I vowed I’d find an old-fashioned clock repair person and get it fixed.  Weeks went by and I didn’t do it; the injured timepiece sat in a box, disemboweled and silent.  Then one day I thought okay, this is ridiculous, either take it somewhere for repair or put it completely out of its misery. Get a new clock.  Move on.

I did neither.  I sat down with it, started trying to fit the pieces back in the box, loaded the batteries back and accidentally hit one of the buttons.

And it chimed.

I started laughing.  This can’t be.  So I pushed another button.

It started ticking.

Even though some of the guts still hang from the box, the clock is working again.  Keeping perfect time.  It just was waiting for me to give it a chance.

I can’t help but think how that clock is me in many ways at different times of my life.  Maybe you can relate.  You feel like your insides have been ripped out of you.  You are wounded.  Hurt. So disappointed in someone or something that you feel like things can never be the same again.  Never work like they did before.  It’s all over.

And yet, if you’ll pick things up and rearrange them a bit, they snap back into place.  As though the universe has just been waiting for you to realize that nothing is every really broken.

True, sometimes it’s smartest to walk away from something.  Turn the page.  Trade it in.  Start fresh. Let it go.

But when that broken thing is us, maybe we just need to be reminded just how strong we are.  How our guts have gotten us this far and they are still inside us.  How our heart might be broken but it’s beating.  How our mind is so very tired but it’s still on our side.

And when it seems someone else is unraveling, we can sit with them until they can put their insides back together as well.

I’m so glad to have my clock back.  It was always there, just waiting for me.

I hope I can do the same for someone else.

“Sometimes when we think things are falling apart, they might just be falling into place.
      Anonymous

 

 

Sand in the Vaseline

06/19/2018 /

As we age, we’re supposed to grow wiser.  That’s what we always heard would be the reward, that we would know more, have more experiences to draw from, and maybe even have more patience with the little things because we’d seen it all.  So in theory, we would not get as upset about things or at least, we would let the little things upset us as much.

That’s the theory.  I’m still waiting on that to kick in.

Granted, there are a lot of things I don’t worry about anymore, which is a very good thing.  I attempt an acceptable level of hygiene, but I don’t get too wound up about a wrinkled pair of jeans or the different shades of skin that cover my legs.  I actually have moments in the car when the tailgating hot rod behind me doesn’t send me into fits of bad language.  I can let it go when I have to step over a present a neighbor’s pet left for me.  Okay.  That’s all quite evolved.

But I’m finding that other things really are like sand in the vaseline.  Irritants that my soul just can’t abide.  And maybe surprisingly, it’s directed quite often at other baby boomers and beyond. Because surely they should know better!

For example, I don’t understand:

• How can you still think you are better than someone else, just because you happen to be born a certain color?

• How can you still make inappropriate jokes that demean other human beings?  Or let your friends do the same and not say something?

• How can it be okay with you to attend church each Sunday and then give your allegiance to a politician who advocates lies, sexual misconduct, hatred, greed and disregard for people whose profession is checking on the government and reporting the truth back to the people?

• How can you visit a beautiful, pristine wilderness area and toss your garbage out the car window, leave your campfire smoldering in a fire danger zone, blast your iPod on trail, and honk at a fawn that isn’t crossing the road fast enough for you?

• How can you think cheating someone else is okay, whether it’s through cheap tipping, cutting them off in line, or not letting them into your club/neighborhood/place of worship/swimming pool?

I just don’t understand.  We’re older.  We’ve lived. We’ve been hurt.  We’ve learned how hard life can be sometimes.  How fragile we all are, and how we have no idea if the person next to us is dealing with a disease, a major loss, fears or worse.  And since we don’t know, we should know by now to err on the side of kindness.

Because we know how easily that person could be us.

These things irritate me, I admit it.  Which I don’t think is a bad thing, because the day they stop bothering me, i will know that I have really checked out on the world.

I know there are those who will say well it doesn’t really matter, as long as you don’t actually hurt someone, you can do or say what you please.  I disagree.  I think you are hurting someone.  I believe that principle that the ripple of a butterfly’s wings really does eventually reach the rainforest.

And I think we who are showing some gray have a responsibility to add some gentility to the universe.  Not just for each other, but for ourselves as well.  According to Random Acts of Kindness:

“Witnessing acts of kindness produces oxytocin, occasionally referred to as the ‘love hormone’ which aids in lowering blood pressure and improving our overall heart-health. Oxytocin also increases our self-esteem and optimism, which is extra helpful when we’re in anxious or shy in a social situation….According to research from Emory University, when you are kind to another person, your brain’s pleasure and reward centers light up, as if you were the recipient of the good deed—not the giver. This phenomenon is called the “helper’s high….  Like most medical antidepressants, kindness stimulates the production of serotonin. This feel-good chemical heals your wounds, calms you down, and makes you happy!”

 

Of course the irony is that I’m getting irritated at how hateful other people are.  So I need to chill, right?  Like I said, I’m trying.  But I’m also hoping maybe others will stop a minute to think about the impact they are having on younger people. The example they are setting for their grandchildren.  And how they are affecting their own health.

Wisdom is a gift.  Let’s use it for the greater good.  And maybe all of us can see in each other a soul that has walked a journey we can’t imagine, but we can respect.

Life is short.

And maybe if we stop clenching our fists and holding on so tight, we can receive even more.  It’s way past time to worry about what the “other guy” is getting that we didn’t.  That’s kinda what progress is all about it, right?  That the next generation has it a bit easier?  And for sure, that next generation isn’t going to look exactly like us.  I’m all for that.

Just some things to think about.  I’m going to work harder myself, especially when the internet goes out again.

Breathe.  Just breathe.  It’s worked before.  I have a lot of practice at it.

“It’s not what you look at that matters, it’s what you see.”

       Henry David Thoreau

 

 

 

 

 

 

Gee, do I look that old?

06/11/2018 /

“Gee, he sure has aged.”

 “Wow, she must have had a rough life.”

 “Gosh, when did they get so old?”

 “Wow, she’s got a lot of nerve wearing that at her age.”

 “Does he think no one realizes he has no hair?”

“Why doesn’t she use sunscreen?”

 “I’ll never let myself go like that guy.”

“Rethink that outfit, you’re not a kid anymore.”

“I guess he must be a lot older than me after all.”

 

“What? You mean they are my age????”

 

“But I don’t look that old…do I?”

 “I guess I better think twice before wearing this.”

 “I feel a lot younger than that.”

 “Wonder if others are thinking that about me?”

 “Where did the years go?”

 “Who is this person in the mirror?”

It’s so easy to look at someone else and decide we are older or younger or thinner or fatter or more moisturized or more weather-beaten or whatever…and why? Does it matter?

Isn’t it supposed to be about self-love and self-care? How much more peaceful to accept ourselves and do the same for other boomers and those older…without rating ourselves on an “age scorecard”.

Sometimes I really do forget my age, because inside, I don’t feel a whole lot different than I did 25 years ago. At least it feels that way most days, except when I’ve walked up the stairs 13 times in an hour. Then I confess I can feel every year in my knees. (Actress Betty White, 96, said the secret to her longevity was “a bad memory and a house with stairs.”)

But in my mind, I still look at the world as something to be explored and life as something to be cherished. There are new places to go, new food to eat and new friends to make. So really I think my age is a consideration only when it can get me some cool discounts or spare me from re-experiencing a few of the best- forgotten follies of youth.

IMG_0611 - Version 3It’s when I look at another person in my age range and start comparing myself that trouble can begin.

Of course, advertising doesn’t help. There are few wonderful seniors in television commercials and print advertisements who look like real people and wear their wrinkles proudly. Of course, it’s usually a commercial for a prescription drug, adult diapers, or laxative.

Excuse me, but could we please see a few more people over 50 buying cars? Shopping for clothes? Dining out or cooking a meal? Surfing, hang gliding, exercising, or sailing?

But we all know television isn’t real, right? (It isn’t.) If we feel good enough to try something, then we should go for it, as long as no one’s going to get hurt.

So what if you walk into a yoga class and you think you’re oldest one?

True, you will be invisible to some of the youngsters. But there’s likely at least one thinking, “How cool is this…I want to be like him/her and still be taking care of myself when I’m that age.” And let them wonder what “that age” is.

Or if you’re headed to your 50th high school reunion, just remember:  when you were in high school, you probably thought everyone else was cooler than you.  You quickly learned that was ridiculous, that everyone felt insecure.  That’s probably still true.  At least now, we know it just doesn’t matter what’s on the outside.

So go for it. Learn it. Ride it. Read it. Live it. Don’t worry about your reflection in the mirror.

Chances are, you’ve never looked better.

ROCK that wrinkle!!

 

“The mind is everything.  What you think, you become.”

               Buddha

 

 

 

Keeping your cool.

05/31/2018 /

First, it’s hot.  Just plain hot. Too hot. 

I know it depends on where you live, but chances are, you’re already sweating more than you’d like by now.  And it’s only the first few days of June.  Egads.

Second, it’s harder for us over 50 when it gets this hot.  We tend not to realize we are thirsty as soon as those who are younger, so we have to keep a water bottle with us and drink from it all day long.  Really.  Sip it every few minutes and you might keep from getting dehydrated or at least a blinding headache.  The heat also just makes you feel weak and listless.  You run out of gas halfway through a task (and this is when you are inside, usually in air conditioning).

Listen to your body.  Rest.  Get cool.  Wait until dusk to cut the grass or clean out the trunk of your car.  it’s just not worth it.

But even more than the seasonal heat, everything seems hotter right now.  The air is filled with hateful tweets.  Angry vices take over the news.  Irritating political commercials make outlandish claims and force us to listen to people we would never give the time of day to if we sat next to them at the office.  It all makes you want to find a shady place by a mountain stream and put your bare feet in the water, close your eyes and just feel that gift of peace.

You can’t make people stop spreading their heated words.  But you can turn down their volume.  Or better yet, hit the mute button.

Turn the channel.

Don’t read the angry Facebook post.

Delete the email with the doctored photos.

Walk away from the person who wants to tell you the racist joke, since it seems to all be “okay” these days to mimic very, very very behavior set by those in power.

Turn away.  

Instead, breathe some cool air.  Have some iced green tea.  Listen to your favorite sonata.  Sit with a grandchild in the grass and string together some clover.  Buy a popsicle and sit on your front porch and enjoy it.  Watch the lightning bugs at night.

Take back your summer.  Take it where you want it to go.

Let them rave.  You’ve heard it all before.  Hot air doesn’t last long.  Heated words blow back on those who choose to spread hateful messages.  You know better.

Put down the phone.  You won’t miss anything important.  And you might create some wonderful open moments for other things to happen.

You carry your treasure within.  Let yourself enjoy it.

“Nothing can bring you peace but yourself.”

      Ralph Waldo Emerson

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