The Empty Nest - When Your Youngest or Only Child Moves Out

The Empty Nest - When Your Youngest or Only Child Moves Out

Middle-Aged People and Dreams

Middle-Aged People and Dreams

When Kids Head Off for College

When Kids Head Off for College

Selecting a Gift for Ill or Hospitalized Loved Ones or Friends
Things to keep in mind when searching for the right gift for a loved one or friend who is hospitalized or confined to their home as a result of health problems.
http://www.associatedcontent.comarticle/1528727/selecting_a_gift_for_ill_or_hospitalized.html

Nostalgia and Occasionally "Dwelling on the Past"
After a few months of seeming obsessed with the past, I realized that this temporary phase served a purpose.
http://www.associatedcontent.comarticle/342820/nostalgia_and_occasionally_dwelling.html

Thoughts of September

Thoughts of September

Buying A Kettle Bell

Buying A Kettle Bell

Watching Television

Watching Television

Core Rhythms - A Review of Their Website and Program

Core Rhythms - A Review of Their Website and Program

Age-Defying Makeup Versus "Age-Denying" Makeup

Age-Defying Makeup Versus "Age-Denying" Makeup

The Ten Commandments - No Updating Necessary

The Ten Commandments - No Updating Necessary

Building A Website - More Difficult Than EMail But Easier Than You Think

Building A Website - More Difficult Than EMail But Easier Than You Think

On Fitness Videos

Not long ago I realized it was time to start thinking about fitness videos. I had been getting a lot of exercise walking, but somewhere along the way I discovered I just didn't have the time. As a result, my walking dramatically decreased. After a few weeks (or a couple of months) I began to notice that my waist size not dramatically, but very definitely, increased. Spending far too much time sitting at my computer desk, it started to seem as if I could actually feel the ounces of weight clumping together and turning into pounds. I know it was my imagination (or at least I think it was). Still, I realized it was time for some fitness DVD's.

One of the reasons I had been relying so on walking is that I'm not a big fan of exercises that require dragging out a mat and lying on the floor. I remembered having seen an infomercial for a fitness program that didn't involve much being on the floor, but I hadn't seen it for a while. In the meantime, I set about to find some fitness videos online and order them.

As if the universe knew exactly what I had been wanting to find, one night after I had fallen asleep to the television, an infomercial for a "dance-type" fitness program came on. From what seemed like a deep sleep I awoke, sprung to my feet in a half-asleep stupor, and hurriedly copied down the toll-free number for the set of DVD's. Having managed to do that much, I continued to watch the infomercial to make sure I really wanted this program. I'm usually not an "infomercial person". This program, though, was one I'd be hoping to see advertised. As the infomercial wound down my DVD's were on the way (or at least that's how it seemed).

At this point, I had the whole set of DVD's on the way, as well as other individual ones I'd ordered. In a way, I felt kind of silly for having ordered the infomercial set, which had a "flavor" and the music to suggest the program was aimed at women younger than I am. To give you an idea of the youthful flavor, this particular program plays "urban" music. I reminded myself, however, that most fitness programs are not going to try to look as if they're aimed at women over 50. That's not what's done. I decided to ignore the fact that I felt kind of silly, and I was happy to know the program was on the way.

My plan was to use the "main" (infomercial) DVD's for one part of an hour-long workout, but then use a completely different one for the other half. I didn't know if the program I'd ordered would really do everything I wanted it to do; so I thought two different programs would offer more "well roundedness", just to be safe.

I wanted, too, to really get in a "fitness frame of mind", so while I waited for all my DVD's I continued to research other DVD's and basic exercise aids. I wanted to plan my own program - one that would be right for me.

The DVD's all came, and then some more came. I had my pink and lilac 2- and 3- pound weights, some weighted gloves, and a couple of other fitness aids. I was happy with all the DVD's; and as I began working out with them, I definitely began to feel much better. The "non-infomercial" DVD's were basic workouts, but the "infomercial" set - in all it's youth-oriented fun - was making me feel a little silly (even if it was only "to myself").

Now that I was "into" fitness DVD's I was making a habit of looking for what else was available online. Somewhere in my online travels I ran into a site that showed hundreds of fitness DVD's. Among them, I saw one "for people over 50". Thinking that, maybe, it would focus on specific exercises to increase heart health, I clicked to learn more. Well, when I clicked I saw the woman on the cover of the DVD package SITTING IN A CHAIR!!!! This video involved people exercising FROM THEIR CHAIRS!! This wasn't a video for people "over 50". It was, as far as I was concerned, for people who are over 85 or who, at least, have some health problem that prevents that from being able to exercise "the regular way".

I'm really not one of those women who likes the music "kids like" or who dresses the way sixteen-year-old girls dress; but the next day I returned to the familiar, thirty-something instructor on the "infomercial" DVD - grateful to realize that maybe this was where I did belong after all.

All fitness programs warn that nobody should ever start a fitness program without checking with a doctor first. (I had to say that because I like to think I'm a responsible individual.)

A "Thanks" to the Great Cast of Boston Legal

It was just a few hours ago that I watched the series finale of my favorite television program, Boston Legal, and I have surprisingly found myself struck by the urge to say "thank you" to the people who (until this season) brought a little fun to my Tuesday nights for the last few years.

I'm not a "television person". Usually, I don't care about it. These days, much of the time I find it unbearable. There are a few news or almost-news programs that I like to watch; but they aren't fun. There are also a few sitcoms I enjoy here or there, and even though they make me laugh, they aren't the kind of fun that Boston Legal has been.

When Boston Legal first showed up to kind of replace The Practice, I was pretty disgusted with the new show. It was obviously aimed to be more lively, more brash, and more "shiny and new" than The Practice had been; but the first Boston Legal episodes were so full of "nothing-but-everybody-sleeping-with-everybody-else" I had no hopes for the program.

After the first several episodes, which I suppose I watched because there was nothing else on and 10:00 is a good time to watch television, Boston Legal began to find its identity. Known for dealing with social issues, the program began, too, to really develop the characters. I admired the fact that this program had characters who were over forty, over fifty, and even over seventy; and that these mature people were not limited to a role that involved being a younger person's parent, grandparent, or neighbor.

Boston Legal had its share of young, attractive, people; and it was the "same-level" nature of their relationships and dealings with the older characters that added credibility and wholeness to a show that made no bones about being bizarre or silly at times.

As time went on, the depth of the characters grew. Also, however, the "level of bizarre" was elevated. Ordinarily, someone like me, looking for a good drama, would have tuned out because of all the foolishness and bizarre things that went on at the law firm of Crane, Poole, and Schmidt. I don't know why - but I stayed. At first, I had to overlook some of the craziness of Boston Legal. As the characters were developed more and more, however, I began to look forward to.

The show had become an amazing mix of serious issues, well developed characters who were interesting, and silliness. Viewers were taken on a little excursion into drama, comedy, and even sentiment in a way that was both subtle and extreme.

Again, I'm not much of a "tv person" and never have been; and yet I actually find myself talking about the show with others who love it. I did bother to go to ABC's Boston Legal site once and discover that I could visit the "Crane, Poole, Schmidt" site, where I could read the e.mails and hear the answering machine of the law firm. I am an adult, and yet I actually found myself hanging around that website, looking at everything they had on there.

At the end of each season I have hated to see Boston Legal go for the year. Each year I've looked online for confirmation that it will return the following season. After last season ended I discovered the show would return. (Another season sealed up.) This season I was, however, disappointed to learn that program wasn't just on its final season, but would end as soon as it would.

I don't know why (maybe it's because smart television shows are so rare these days), but I came to have a particular appreciation of that program that made this "non-tv-person" make the coffee and settle in at 10:00 p.m. each Tuesday night (this year, Monday night).

The program's writing, of course, is at the root of its cleverness, but the actors have, I think, done a particularly good job of making viewers not only like them, but be interested in them.

This is so unlike anything I have ever done in my "non-tv-person" life, but I discovered that there are Crane, Poole, and Schmidt coasters and travel mugs available; and I've actually thought about sending for them for me and my fellow Boston Legal fan, my sister - just for fun (because the show is a fun show for those viewers who have become faithful fans). Besides not usually caring much about television, I'm not the type who pays attention to celebrity gossip or generally has any interest in actors - and yet, here I am, thinking about ways to send a "thank you" to the people who made Boston Legal the smart, serious, fun, and moving show it was - week after week.

Actually, I did write a blog post about Boston Legal when I heard it was on its final season. Apparently, I was inspired enough to do that, and I guess I thought that was my way of acknowleding a fun and clever show. Maybe, too, I was just complaining on the Internet. That was about the show, really. What has inspired me to say yet another few words (a lot of words, actually) was having watched the series finale.

In a recent interview William Shatner (Denny Crane) commented that the finale would be very satisfying for viewers. He talked about how there was the chance to wrap up all the story lines in a way that made each satisfying. I'll admit to worrying that something disappointing would happen in the finale, but Mr. Shatner was right. The show had a satisfying ending. In its characteristic Boston Legal understanding of viewers, the finale did tie up all the loose ends. It also, however, took the liberty (and sometimes brave step) of giving viewers a number of happy endings for all the characters involved.

As the show has been winding down, the episodes have had the flavor of a show in the process of wrapping up. One of the best episodes ever was the Thanksgiviing episode this year, in which warmth and depth of the characters overshadowed the usual bizarre behavior of the characters. With the finale aired on December 8, the show included Christmas decorations in the background, along with references to it and Hanukah. That's the thing about Boston Legal - it's a show that has always known how to take all the elements of life (drama, humor, intellect, society, friendships), add them in sometimes small doses, and somehow create a show that left viewers never quite being able to guess what would happen.

And so, because I'm not someone who tries to figure out how to get celebrities' e.mail addresses and can't really be bothered registering with the network site in order to send e.mail or comment on any forums, I've decided to post my "thank you" on the Internet. It isn't that I think my personal, little, "thank you" will ever be seen by any of the people to whom it is directed. It's just that I think they deserve acknowledgment for a program that conveyed messages about social issues, mature people, friendship, and the importance of whimsy and foolishness in a world where people often take themselves too seriously.

To: William Shatner, Candice Bergen, James Spader, Rene Auberjonois, John LaRoquette, Christian Clemenson, Tara Summers, and all the other "attorneys", "associates", and "judges" who made Boston Legal such a clever, likeable, fun, show.......

Sincerest appreciation for a lovable show.

BOSTON LEGAL VIDEOS:
Denny and Alan - And So It Goes
Classic Scenes
A Tribute
Shirley and Denny
Denny
Alan

On Thinking About the Future - Just Some Thoughts

The future is a funny thing. When it is the future it is a mysterious, blank, expanse of time before us that holds the promises of dreams fulfilled and a life perfected. Once any point in our future turns from being part of our future to part of our present, however, we often discover that what was once the future holds no more mystique, mystery, or magic than any part of our past ever has.
I have my own theory about how we view the future; and from what I think I've observed (in myself and others), I believe people often generally view the future as follows:

When we are young enough that our future is a vast, unknown, expanse before us; and our our past consists of a very few years; thinking about the future is a matter of either having trouble imagining it, or imagining our perfect future and believing it will become reality. The younger we are, the more difficulty we tend to have even imagining what our future will be.

I can actually recall being a very small child and wondering what kind of woman I would "turn into" once I was grown up. The concept that I would still be the same person (only bigger and older) wasn't one I grasped. The idea that my future face and hair would pretty much be the face and hair I had at the time eluded me. Even once I got to an age where I feared having my parents die, when they (fortunately) didn't die young I viewed my future as one in which I would have them forever. Children have neither the knowledge nor the experience to bring much valid information into their dreams of the future, and so, for children, the future can be either a blank, white, page or a water-color, idyllic, dream. Children often don't think of the future much beyond their next birthday. With all that, however, children may often feel quite certain that the future will be better than the present. The song, "Tomorrow," from Annie expresses that common childhood belief (sometimes hope) that tomorrow will be better (of "even better") than today.

Birthdays, for kids, are defining things and play a large role in a child's view of his past and future. As a child grows closer to those birthdays that mark the milestones associated with getting closer to being an adult, children and teens often think of the future in terms of the 16th, 18th, and 21st birthdays (each of which marks the 1-2-3 steps toward becoming "officially" grown up). When the 21st birthday lies with reach it is often viewed as the dividing line between not being an adult and being one, and it can seem as if the future is as close as that dividing line.

In the late teens and early twenties, grown-up realities tend to creep up and around the young person and create the feeling that at least small bits of the future are finally becoming part of the present. People this age may no longer see the future as a blank, white, page or an idyllic dream. They may be more likely to view it as an extension of the almost grown-up reality in which they live. For teens and young adults, who often feel as if they're approaching the finish line of dependence on parents, the future may no longer seem like an abstract, hard-to-imagine, thing. People of this age can feel as if they have finally reached an imaginary pile of building blocks that will make up their future. It can seem as if all that needs to be done is use those blocks to build the foundation for the future - and from there, just head on into that perfectly constructed future.

The twenties are often a time of particular focus on living in the present, even though the task of building a future remains. The thirties aren't much different, although, just as teens begin to see their immediate future come more into focus, people in their thirties have seen yet more of a once imagined future come into clear focus. People this age have enough past, and have reached "enough future", to be better able to see that, in ways, the future doesn't change who we are very much. People this age have a better grasp on a more realistic concept of "future". If they sensible and able they may concentrate on preparing for their, and their family's future, by focusing on financial stability, college savings plans, and having a home the grandchildren can inherit.

Because people in their thirties often have children, they not only have a tendency to have a pragmatic approach to the future, they often develop a particular appreciation of the past. A person in his thirties often sees particularly clearly the link between the past and the future, and an appreciation of the past may extend beyond the person's own life and into history. When the mother in her thirties saves a sugar bowl her mother gave her it isn't just a matter of keeping a reminder of the past. She may be thinking about how her great, great, grandchildren may appreciate discovering such an item in an attic trunk.

Having children usually makes people think not just about their own future, but about the future of their children and grandchildren, as well as the future of the world in which they will live.

People in their forties may think about the future in ways very similar to the ways people in their thirties do. The difference may be that the fortieth birthday can make a person aware that he is, without a doubt, at a point in life where the number of years in the past may be equal to, or greater than, the number of years in the future. While young children may see the future as something as close as their next birthday or as distant as another universe, people in their forties may view the future as "the next twenty-five years", while avoiding thinking about the years that will follow if all goes well.

Although all people have different life experiences at one point or another in their lives, and although some have more "kicks in the head" than others, people in their forties have generally had enough life experience and loss to have begun to view the future as frightening. On the one hand, people in this age range usually think pragmatically about the future, while also having hopes and dreams for their own. On the other hand, there can be times when it seems necessary to squash all thoughts of the future if ominous thoughts of it have found their way into a person's consciousness.

It can seem as if as the expanse of future left to live shrinks, and as the number of "kicks in the head" in the past accumulate, the future turns from seeming like a dream into seeming like little more than an extension of the present. Those "kicks in the head" (otherwise known as "realities of life") have a way of showing us how the future we once viewed as dream-like or perfect turned out to be far colder than we ever would have imagined. With more real-life under our belt and a future that doesn't extend nearly as far out as it once did, thinking about the future can seem impractical or pointless sometimes. People who has passed their fiftieth birthday already have half a century of past under the their belt. While it is true there's a good chance they could be exactly at the mid-point of a 100-year life (people over 50 often need to believe that), a half century of passing from one present into each phase of future can make it seem very clear that no future is ever more magical or perfect as any present or past. Of course, the hope that tomorrow will be better (or "even better") is always there; but a half century of wonderful or terrible past (or a combination of both) can take up one's thought processes enough that thinking about the unknown may take a back seat.
Even so, a surprising thing can be that the person who has noticed how differently he views the future usually still has that hope that tomorrow will be better (or "even better").

As maturity sets in more and more, maybe we get an increasing awareness of the importance of thinking about, and living in, the present. After all, we have brought our past with us into our present. All that life and living can mean one plate is more than full.

As more and more presents turn into pasts, and more and more future turns into present (and then pasts), it can become clear that there's sometimes (not always) not a lot of point in thinking about the future because, whether we like it or not, the future comes to us and brings what it will. Some of those building blocks we put together when we were young have proved to be a solid foundation for the future that has closed in on us. Others may have knocked out place when life decided we would not have the luxury of having our best laid plans left in tact.

In maturity we learn that some parts of a future can turn out to be filled with loss and horror. Then again, we learn that some parts of a future can turn out to be just as we planned. We learn, too, that futures can bring to us a wholeness that we would never have imagined back when futures were always viewed as wonderful and dream-like. We may learn that we don't really care that our future has become smaller than it once was, because we have our present and past that have been so much more whole than any imagined future could ever be. Something else we learn is that even with all those "kicks in the head", we somehow still often have that hope we've had since childhood.
When we have reached maturity, we no longer have such trouble imagining what's left of our future. We may, however, choose not to think about some of what we do imagine.

Of all the things my once-futures have revealed and taught me, I have to say that one lesson is surprisingly most memorable, and that is this: When I was a very little girl, spending so much time, wondering what kind of person I'd "turn into" in the future, I would look at pretty actresses on television and wonder if I'd look like them. They could be light skinned or dark skinned. Some had light hair. Some had dark hair. Some had blue eyes. Others didn't. Some were extremely tall. Others were petite. I didn't understand that my coloring, skeleton, and facial features were unlikely to change (without cosmetic surgery and chemicals); so I imagined I could "turn into" any number of types of women. What the future held for me was certainly a magical mystery to me.

Little did I know that decades later I would look in the mirror and see the exact same face, coloring, and hair that I saw back when I was three or four. It's an older face, but it's the same face. The hair is older hair; but, much to my dismay, it's pretty much the same fine, straight, light brown hair that I couldn't stand even back when I was three or four. I'm still the same person I was back then. I just know more now and have less future ahead of me.

The lesson I learned about thinking about the future is that futures are unravelled minute by minute, and aren't really all that mysterious. We neither turn into different people nor abandon the selves we once were. As presents turn to pasts and futures turn to presents, it is we who bring the continuity to the process of the passage of time. When we do what we can to lay that foundation for our future we enhance that continuity, even though we can't control what the future which bring.

That little girl I used to be once believed that when I reached my twenty-first birthday I'd magically turn into someone who looked like Natalie Wood, Grace Kelly, Debbie Reynolds, or any number of other actresses I knew because I had paper dolls with their names. That little girl viewed the future as mysterious and magical and nothing but wonderful. Now I know that futures are nothing more than presents that haven't happened yet, and that futures sometimes bring things that are far from wonderful. Still, as I sit here at my PC (not looking the least bit like Grace Kelly), I'm kind of glad to have learned that futures aren't about bippity-boppity-boo, magic wand, transformations; and are, instead, of having these same two grounded feet under me regardless of how time changes what is around me.

I have lived a good part of the future of that little girl who once couldn't imagine it. As I ponder the matter of thinking about the future, I kind of wish I could travel back in time and tell that little girl how even though her future didn't turn out to always be easy, it turned out to be pretty good. I'd like to tell her, too, that even if she didn't magically turn into someone who looked liked Grace Kelly; the continuity of having journeyed, one step at a time, into her future would help keep her from getting lost at those times when her journey became difficult.

Planning for the future is always a good idea. Worrying about it usually isn't ever a good idea. Dreaming about it may be more for the young than anyone else. Tucking away into memory former futures that have turned into pasts is, as we all learn, part of life.

That 50th Birthday - A View From The Other Side Of It

Here comes a long post, but this topic, I've discovered (now that I'm past my 50th birthday) is a complicated one.

My mother was 52 when my father died. I was 21. I thought, at the time, "Gee, she's sort of on the young side (SORT OF) to be a widow, but then again it's a sort of (SORT OF) reasonable-ish age to be a widow too." (!!!) Now, I'm in that area myself; feel as the same as I did when I was 25 (and sometimes even 14, sometimes even 6); and I now think how horribly young she was to be a widow.

I was fortunate enough to have no signs of any changes in my complexion all through my forties (and I've noticed some other people that haven't either). Right after my 50th birthday, though, it was as if the fine lines under my eyes came in overnight. My hair is still it's natural brown, but I now have some gray streaks that I've been trying to pass off as bad blond highlights. I almost think it has been more of an adjustment for me to see those visible signs of aging show up, because for so long I actually kind of believed (kind of) that they never would.

I'm kind of in an identity crisis because I'm not quite sure how old I really look right now. I see the fine lines, but since I do now need reading glasses, I don't see them without glasses on. (People say God makes us lose our 20/20 vision so our partners will look better to us in old age. Maybe the real reason is so we won't freak out when we look in the mirror.)

If I put the reading glasses on the fine lines are magnified - which is particularly horrifying. Sometimes I do a quick over-the-glasses/under-the-glasses thing to see if I can figure out how bad the fine lines really are; but then I realize it doesn't matter. Someone who is 20 and has 20/20 vision will see them as bad. Someone else who is older won't see them without glasses, but will see them worse if they're wearing glasses. I've figured out, I look different to everyone - but the real problem is the fact that, in reality and regardless of how bad the fine lines really are, they're there; and I'm not too thrilled about that. :)

To my surprise, though, I've discovered that necks, arms, hands, etc. don't look any older than they ever have. I guess tissue paper neck and "old" arms and hands must be more for the 80-year-old set (or the 60-year-old set, in which case my remaining "good years" in that department are numbered - but our days are always numbered; so there's never an easy figuring out of all these aging issues).

I'm fortunate enough to feel as energetic ever and (knock on the wood computer desk) remain healthy and arthritis free. I just ordered a whole workout program because the Massachusetts Winter didn't let me get out and walk the many, many, miles I had been walking until last December. A few extra pounds did creep on; and, I think, faster than they would have 20 years ago.

I'm kind of horrified at the number, "50". Then again, it doesn't feel bad to be this age. I'm pretty much horrified, horrified, horrified to see that the fines lines are just staying there (rather than magically disappearing as if they were just a bad dream).

What may bother me most about my age is having all the people who haven't gotten to be this age yet think I'm old. I don't really care if they think people over 50 are old. I just don't want to be treated as if I'm 110, when I am, after all, ONLY 50-ish.

My sister (in my age range) and others my age seem to notice the same thing, though; and that is that even if we feel great and are fortunate enough to be healthy, there's a new feeling that "it's all just a matter of time" - and good health seems more like good fortune now than something to take for granted.

Part of my loves my age because I know so much more now than I did when I was younger. Part of me has noticed, though, that all my relatives in the generation before me have gone now. There's something a little sadder about living without all those people who once pretty much made up one's world. Then again, I've discovered - to my surprise - that I remain incredibly happy with, and still enjoy, my kids, even though my youngest is old enough to be in college.

I still would like to change the world. I'd still like to do any number of things. It doesn't feel as if I don't "have the rest of my life ahead of me". Then again, sometimes I realize that so much of my life is behind me.

It took a lot of thinking before I showed my age online. It wasn't so much that wanted to make people think I'm younger. It was more that I don't want people thinking I'm older than I am (inside). Then again, it occurred to me that if I write AND show my age there may be times when "the world" will see that 50-plus isn't as old as lot of people think it is. (Of course, my "old, fuddy-duddy" side comes out often enough too; but sometimes I'd rather be that than be the way some of today's teenagers are.)

If we really think about, age can both be "no big deal" and be "a very big deal" - and since it is sometimes both at the same time, it isn't anything we can always get our minds around. I've figured out that not thinking about works best.

Sometimes I'm proud to be as old as I am and still look and feel as ok as I do. Sometimes, though, I am depressed to realize that the signs of face aging have set in I imagine how maybe I'll never leave the house again. (Isn't that horrible? :) ) I've discovered that the insecurities I had as an awkward teenager have come back (not all the time but sometimes, at least when it comes to the fact that I don't look the way I wish I did).

My mother was in her 70's when she said how she didn't realize how young 40's are until she was well passed her 40's. She said how she had wished she had realized, in her 40's, how young she really was. I've done the opposite. I've continued to feel like I am 20 years old. The trouble is when you feel 20 but see 50 in the mirror (or, I like to think, 45 in the mirror) you both worry that others may think you don't realize how old you are; but also feel the need to get reality into your own head as well.

As with most matters of age, there are the two different ways of thinking going on at the same time: 1. I'm glad I still feel 20. 2. "Hey, self, you're not 20. Stop thinking you ought to look it."

When sports reporters interview professional athletes after a game one of the most frequent replies they get to their questions is, "Is it what it is." I would love to know exactly how many times the words, "It is what it is," have been uttered by athletes (for some reason, football players in particular - maybe because football is such a rough game).

When I was in my forties I guess I worried about what was to come once inevitable signs of aging showed up on my face. The forties were, for me, a time of realizing there was "no going back to young, and only getting closer to older if we're lucky." The forties were knowing that the next decade was fifties, which, without a doubt, cannot be glossed over as being the least bit young.

It wasn't until my fiftieth birthday passed (and those lines showed up three days later, it seems) that I found myself faced with having to deal not with what was coming, but what has arrived. After a blend of both supreme "ok-ness" with my age and also needing to adjust to the whole idea of it, I came around (as those my age usually do) to realize that it is what it is.

After spending my forties getting my mind around the idea that I was now "middle-aged" and had, without a doubt, left being a young person behind; and after a decade of not seeing any signs of aging and believing that maybe, for some reason, I'd get to look 35 forever, I was faced with the fine lines and the reality that aging is a game even the best of us cannot win. Then again, as each horrifying birthday comes around (and they're all horrifying once you pass fifty), and you're still in the game, that is, by itself, winning.

The thing about 50, for me, has been that thing where you think and feel two things at the same time so much more once you get to that age. I love my age, and I hate my age. It is what it is.

ELECTION DAY REMINDER

If you believe your candidate is winning don't take that for granted.

If you believe your candidate is not winning don't
create a self-fulfilling prophecy by not voting.

VOTE

Also, don't forget that the presidential election is not the only thing on which your vote is needed.

The Uglier Legacy of the Boomer Generation

There has always been something that has made me look at my own generation with some contempt or shame or whatever word should be used to describe, essentially, a bad taste in the mouth.

While it is never really appropriate to generalize, my generation is made of up of a population for whom going to college was almost taken for granted. People of the Boomer generation were children in the 1950's and early 1960's, and born to World War II generation parents for whom buying a nice, little, American-dream, home with a nice yard for young children to play in was what "everybody" did. Nobody was untouched by World War II, so our parents' generation had a particular appreciation for the "luxury" of just living a nice, little, life in a nice, little, neighborhood (often with the help of the GI Bill). Our former-soldier fathers, and our mothers, who may have worked in factories during the war or lost brothers or husbands in the war, started families in a 1950's America that focused on children and families.

Things in the 50's and 60's were perfect, by any means; but the idea that there was such a thing an "ideal" family was not seen as unrealistic. Some of our fathers went to war instead of college. Many of mothers didn't go to college at all. They had come along in a generation when only some people "had the luxury" of going to college; and if a kid didn't have a specific plan for a specific career he was often encouraged to go to work, instead of school.

Our parents' generation, however, seemed to decide that their children would have green yards for playing, pretty dresses to wear to Sunday school, and college in their future. Like all parents, our parents wanted better for us than they, themselves, often had.

And so, perhaps for the first time in history, childhood became childhood - a time for just "being a kid" and playing and going to school, expected to get good grades, behave in school, and do all homework. While there always have been, and probably always will be, families for whom The American Dream was not/is not a reality, an awful lot of people of our generation grew up surrounded by that American dream. Many of us took for granted the idea that we would go to college. Many even took for granted the idea that we would go to college first and figure out what we wanted to be later.

And so, by the mid-60's and early 70's the college-student population was made up of Boomers, who, after carefree childhoods created by parents who worked hard to send their kids to college, often realized they were the first generation in their family to go to college; started to think they were more intelligent and sophisticated than their parents. Parents were seen as people who sold out for a little house with a lawn in the suburbs. Imperfect parents (as all parents are) were seen as hypocrites for attending church each week but being content to remain removed from the peace protests that were going on at the time. Some adults were, of course, hypocrites. After all, in any population there will be hypocrites. The mood at the time, however, was that everyone in the "Over 30" generation were hypocrites, naive, misguided, war-mongering, and untrustworthy.

Seemingly oblivious to the idea that it is parents who are responsible when we are nurtured in a way that leads to our being reasonably intelligent, and that it is having a wonderful childhood that often gives us the confidence to be sure of ourselves when we reach college age, our generation was the generation that would successfully upset all the old apple carts and recreate American society to its own tastes. Some of the apple carts upset by the Boomer generation were long overdue for it, but as with all revolutions, some that should not have been upset were.

Seemingly oblivious that they were as "aware" and intelligent and educated as they were because of, not in spite of, their parents; many people of our generation decided to overturn all the apple carts that their ignorant, naive, unsophisticated, and hypocritical parents had built. At ages when their prefrontal cortexes were not even completely matured, many in our generation decided what was cool and what wasn't - and some were even aggressive enough to manage to convince their parents to become "enlightened" and cool as well. College students were having more than their say, and a good portion of American society was listening.

Since there was alcoholism in our society, our generation decided it was hypocritical to try stop young people from using drugs. Since some of the parents of our generation were, in fact, flawed or too oppressive, our generation decided to be a different kind of parent.

In an age when technology was more and more becoming "the latest thing" young people trained in, and working in, technology were enjoying the prestige of being involved with that latest thing. Non-technological fields, like teaching, social work, psychology, law, and journalism were seen as "caring" professions and/or "intellectual" professions. Surrounding themselves with others like them, people our generation often came to see themselves as a little superior to their blue collar fathers and at-home mothers.

And so, with the positive changes for which our generation was substantially responsible, came some "throwing-the-baby-out-with-bath-water" changes as well - and when you "throw the baby out with the bath water" there's no getting that "baby" back.

The people of our generation are often proud of changes in civil rights, women's rights, reproductive freedom, and any number of other changes that took hold back when all was in upheaval in America. Some look back fondly on their own drug use in their college days. Some are proud of bringing that "enlightened" awareness that sex and love don't always have to go together, and that beliefs about going to "hell" for premarital sex have largely been changed. Our generation may well be the generation, too, that made Bachelor's degrees common and Master's degrees almost as common. It was our generation that switched its "music loyalty" from the light-hearted Beachboys to Jethro Tull.

Of course, our generation was the one that, for the most part, decided daughters would not be ignored in school and that daughters would get to participate in sports. It is the generation that has become part of "The Sandwich" generation, in which parents care for their kids but also take care of elderly parents. Our generation is not a bad generation, but in its youth it may have made done some damage to some apple carts that might even be seen as unforgivable.

More unforgivable, though, is the fact that today, as so many people in our generation have either gone through, or are going through, the stage of life in which they must find ways to care for elderly, infirmed, parents; many still believe they are more intelligent and wiser than those parents. Baby Boomers often see themselves as the big cheeses in the sandwich of the "Sandwich Generation", still not realizing how much the people of our parents' generation learned from lives that were not nearly so sheltered and fortunate as those of their children.

As we watch our children turn from teenagers into college students and young professionals, we, in the Boomer generation, will begin to get a taste of what our parents went through. The difference, however, is that our children have not seen the end of innocence the way so many of us have. Their childhoods, not matter how abundant, did not have the kind of innocence that ours did - and that, my fellow Boomers, is the thing that leaves a really bad taste in my mouth.

When I Was Young and Tired

My first son was five when I was expecting my younger son. I was five months along, and there was something "iffy" about the baby's position. As a result, I stopped getting a full night's sleep around then - and it wasn't until my youngest son was seven that I finally got more than three or four hours' sleep. I remember it well: He was seven, his baby sister was four, and their older brother was nine - and one Friday evening I slept for a whole six hours.

My little son was born prematurely, so that meant watching him more closely than some mothers need to watch their babies (although, of course, all newborns mean "little sleep"). The baby got one virus after another, and he did that until he was past two. He was, fortunately, a generally healthy baby. It was just that when he'd pick up his older brother's Winter viruses he had to be watched more closely. Of course, just as he was turning three years old I was expecting his sister. Call me "not really suited for pregnancy", but, as with my pregnancy with her brother, I wasn't able to sleep more than a few hours a night. Besides, it was Winter (again), and he was still getting his share of viruses brought home by his elementary-school brother.

With children spaces 8, 5, and 3 years apart there was always juggling preschool, elementary, and middle school events; as well as different baseball fields, different music lessons, and other activities to numerous to mention. Christmas shopping and change-of-season, clothes, shopping meant bringing three different children to three different sections in any store.

Then, too, I kept close watch on my little daughter through the nights; so for a while, I was something of a "night watchman". I had to be up early for my school-age son, and I had developed the habit of doing work once the children were all asleep (and I'd had a chance to have coffee and watch Nightline).

Besides getting little sleep, there was always the fact that with each child came one more person to be thinking about - whether that was worrying about four showers/baths (mine and theirs), five sets of meals (theirs, their father's and mine), or three people' s health/emotional/educational matters. There was no such thing as "just running out to the store". It always involved four sets of outdoor clothing, one infant seat/stroller, and needing enough eyes and arms to keep track of three people in varying stages of mobility. It was a happy time in my life, and I didn't mind the chronic exhaustion. I was a "good kind of exhaustion".

One at at a time, however, each grew old enough to grab his/her own jacket when errand-time came. One at a time each stopped that aimlessly spinning and milling that little kids in stores tend to do. One at a time each entered high school and then college. Today, a semester away from the last graduation from college, it seems I woke up today, suddenly aware of how much freedom and time I have. As I spend a little more time thinking about it, I realize that somewhere along the way I started to gain more and more energy. (I think it happened around the time I began gaining a full night's sleep.)

I realized how I can find the time to do things besides just keeping the house in order. There's time to, for example, listen to music AND talk radio. Do you know that I went through the last half of the 80's and whole of the 90's never listening to music? Whatever was on television during the 80's and 90's is nothing I know a thing about (which isn't a bad thing - just an interesting thing to realize). I lived in a whir of children, and when they were asleep or in school I spent all my brain time thinking about what doctors they needed to see, what their education required, or whether someone needed a haircut or a cupcakes for the Halloween party at school.

As much as I loved all of it, when I say it all "slipped away" I'm not saying that in a sad way. Somewhere along the way, after kind of losing the person I once had been, I started to find that person again - the person who liked listening to music, the person who liked getting involved in one project or another just for the enjoyment of it, the person who had time to think uninterrupted thoughts sometimes for hours on end.

Contrary to what some people say about no longer being young, I have discovered that I have more energy now that I had since I was, maybe, "out-playing-in-the-neighborhood" age. What's more, I've stopped thinking about how much I wish I could "just sleep".

What I've discovered about having grown kids is that they're still the same people they've always been - only they can take of themselves. Sure, I miss the sweety, snuggly-bugglies that I can pick up and smooch on the nose; but - wow - looking at these fine young folks now has its own overwhelming sense of joy. Sometimes, too, it can just feel kind of good to be back in touch with the "old me", approaching life from a "me in this world" way of thinking, as opposed to "all-three-of-them-in-this-world (and sort of me too)" way of thinking.

There was a time when I would have believed that as I aged I would grow older and more tired. What I've discovered, now that I'm on this side of parenting, is that I've, in a way, grown to feel a little younger and a whole lot less tired. When the children were little I never, ever, could have imagined that "life on the other side" could possibly mean getting back in touch with the "me" that, at times I guess, I kind of lost. It turns out "she's" apparently been there all along. I was just too busy to pay much attention to "her".

I'm not a grandmother yet. (I've told my three kids I'd prefer to be in my seventies before becoming a grandmother. I just feel way too young to even imagine being a grandmother (and for now I wouldn't want the reality of any grandchildren to break the illusion that feeling so energetic and not-tired can create).

For now, I'm kind of enjoying being "the me I was before I had children" (only with the children all here and a few fine lines around my eyes).

When my children first came along it was as if a whole part of me that I didn't know I'd ever be came out and rose to the occasion. Now that the kids are grown, that person is still there; but "she" no longer over-shadows the girl I was before I was the mother of those beautiful little folks.

The song from Fiddler on the Roof comes to mind ("Sunrise/Sunset"), but I realize that from where I am now that song just seems a little too sad. I would more think that the Diana Ross song, "It's My Turn" seems to say it a little better.

And Then There Were Three (On Siblings)

The first Mother's Day after all three of my children were in a position to
be able to do what they wanted to do as far as gifts for me went (rather
than having to rely on their father to assist with gifts) was a Mother's Day
that I will always remember.  As my three pretty-much grown kids skulked in
and out of the house in secrecy I realized how very much the same three
children they still were.  My two sons and my daughter were clearly
delighted as their secret plans fell into place over the course of an early
afternoon, and before I knew it they had created an elegant and thoughtful
Mother's Day afternoon for me with a level of taste and loveliness that, I
guess, I just wasn't expecting.  They decorated.  There were flowers and a
new vase, gourmet chocolates from a shop near one son's work, a bunch of my
favorite buttercream poutpourri tarts, some nice earrings, and a CD that was
just my taste in music.  The larger gift, though, was seeing them as the
capable adults they'd become; and more importantly, seeing them work so well
as a team.  I think every mother hopes her children will grow up to be
close.   Those three kids of mine are close, and I know how important that
is.

My siblings and I are at the point in life where both parents have gone.
When I think of my own sister and brother and me working together as a team
I can't help but remember those days surrounding the death of my mother,
when the three of us, shell-shocked and numb, went about doing all the
things that needed to be done after losing the mother who had been bedridden
for over a year and who suffered terribly.  It wasn't just a matter of
funeral arrangements.  There was a world of things to be done when it came
to her house and finances and whatever else there was to deal with.  When
our father died we were all young, and our mother was the one to deal with
things.  Since she would remain in her own home there weren't the issues of
dealing with an estate, as well as as some of the complicated matters that
came about as a result of her long illness.  When she died, though, there we
were - just us "kids" (39, 44 and 49) - feeling strangely united while
feeling equally and woefully alone.

I am the middle child and was (appropriately) seated in the middle the day
we went to the funeral home to at least take care of those arrangements.  To
my left was my "baby brother".  To my right was my "big sister".

Let me tell you about my big sister.  For five years she and I were two
sisters.  She was the big one.  I was the baby for a while until I turned
into "the little one".  We played together much of the time.  Santa Claus
brought us pretty much the same things, although we'd get a few things for
our own age-group.  We would name the dolls we got for Christmas and play
house.  (We'd call one another, "auntie" in a very peculiar and high voice,
and my father never knew why such a voice and the name "auntie" for each of
us was necessary.)  As "aunties" we'd pretend that potato chips were fried
clams (because we have never seen fried clams).  On Saturday mornings we
would sit in the living room with a "magic slate", and each of us would draw
people and tell stories about our people and then whip up the film on the
magic slate and draw more and talk more about what the people we drew were
doing.

My sister and I got along all the time when we were young.  I saw her as
big, and I saw the fact that she was in school as "important" and grown-up.
We were happy little girls, and one Saturday morning our father popped his
head in our bedroom door and announced that the doctor had called and said
we had a new baby brother.  He said that the doctor said, "He's little but
he's healthy."   I've never quite figured out when my mother went to the
hospital or whether my father was there and when the aunt who came to be at
the house showed up and then left - but my sister and I were delighted to
have a baby brother.

When I think of my sister, besides recalling the annual and boring dancing
recitals I got dragged to even though I hated tap dancing, I think of two
other particular things:  We shared a bedroom.  One night she apparently
wanted to create some magic for her little sister, so she told me when I
went to sleep and woke up a fairy would have come and left me a present.  I
was - needless to say - excited about this fairy that would be coming in the
night.  I was probably 4 or 5, and she was 9 or 10.  When I woke the next
morning on the chest that was mine was a peculiar toy (one of the "Three Men
in a Tub" I think, and I'd never liked it) that had been hers when she was a
baby.  When I got a look at what this so-called "fairy" was supposed to have
left two things hit me:  1) I was incredibly disappointed and 2) I was
incredibly moved to think that she was willing to give me this toy that had
been hers most of her life.  I began to cry pretty hard, and when my
mother came in to see what was going on and found out about the fairy story
she kind of scolded my sister.  I was crying too hard, and I was too little,
to explain to my mother I wasn't crying because I was disappointed but was
crying because my sister had tried so hard to create some magic for me.

Just before my seventh birthday and just before I was about to make First
Communion my mother got pneumonia, and there was a question that it could
also be tuberculosis.  She was in the hospital for several months, which
meant that it was a good thing she had brought me to get my beautiful First
Communion dress early but which also meant she would not be there to see me
lead the First Communion line or to curl my straight hair (which she had
done every school night since I'd started school).   One memory that stays
poignantly with me all these years later is that of my twelve-year-old
sister, who wasn't all that much taller than I ( compared with adults),
standing directly in front me and trying to get my hair right as her tears
fell right past my face and onto the ground.  She would be the one to stand
with my father in the church and cry as her little sister led the First
Communion parade.  During those months when my mother was hospitalized
she and I would cry every night because we missed her and because we were so
afraid she would die.

At the time, our baby brother was a toddler.  Because he had been premature
he was sick a lot, and he got pneumonia a couple of times.  Every time he
would get a fever he'd take a seizure, which was absolutely terrifying.  My
sister and I would stand by, scared to death, as my father took care of the
baby and got him out to the hospital.   A few times he was admitted, and
we'd watch our father go between one hospital and another, calling one
hospital, and then calling my mother, and then another hospital.   She and I
were pretty grown-up as we worried together about our mother, our little
brother, and our exhausted father.

My aunt had quit her job, and my father paid her to watch us while he
worked, and, of course, my brother was allowed to run wild as a two-year-old
because everyone had been so terrified at how sick he'd been.    I was an
extremely small seven-year-old and he was a good-sized two-year-old, and he
started to terrorize me and even my sister (twelve) in a way that nobody
would ever think a toddler could do to older kids.  He would tease and tease
and get us upset, and one day my sister was so upset she ran after him and
fell down and did something to her nose.  Another time my out-of-control
brother leaped off the arm of the couch and through the glass on a french
door (without much injury).  He had become a happy, teasing, wild, fresh,
little boy who was king.

In a few years my sister outgrew his torture, but I remained for the long
haul.  In pictures he and I almost look like twins, so it was rough even
though I was older.  For years he and I hated each other a good part of the
time, although he had also become my playmate in view of the fact that I
still needed to play and my sister was now too big.  There would be times in
the backseat of the car when we'd get a whole big fight going because
someone was looking at the other one.  Sometimes, though, we'd play "club"
quite well.  He would announced that we were "going to have a club" and that
he'd be "president".  Even five years older, when I said politely one time,
"I'd like to be president", he said, "I'm the president.  You're the
treasurer".  (Not that the treasurer or the president ever did anything past
stating their office in these do-nothing clubs).  We didn't seem to like
each other a good part of the time, and yet - oh so many memories of playing
Vacu-Form, Creepy Crawlers, GI Joe and Barbie in a boat, and Erector set!

My brother was messy, and I was neat.   My sister was messy, and I was neat.
Nobody understood why I wanted to be neat, and neither of them
appreciated my pickiness.  My brother at all his Trick or Treat candy.
My sister at all hers.  I would store mine and never eat it.  My mother
would eventually throw it away after a long time had passed.  I am the
middle child, as I said.  I had had the benefit of being close to both my
sister and brother. I think I came to see myself as some sort of glue in
the family (although I know that each of us, in his own way, has, at one
time or another, been "glue").

My brother was 16 when our father died, and it wasn't until I had grown much
older that I realized how awfully young he was to lose his father.  My sister
was married when our father died.  With my brother going through his own
thing and her married, I sometimes almost played man-of-the-house (in some
ways) until my mother began to take on more of her new role as widow
(and until my brother got a little older).  It wasn't that our mother was, in any
way, incapable or lacking in ability to be strong (very much to the contrary).
It was just that for a while she wasn't quite used to doing some things around
the house.

The most meaningful memory I have with my brother is the Thanksgiving when
my mother had died the day before and when my youngest children were with
their other grandmother; and when he, my oldest son, and I sat at the
dining room table to eat the dinner my brother had cooked (I guess because
we had nothing better to do that day.).  My grown baby-brother has done a
lot for me.  So has my big sister.

What siblings share grows with them in ways we don't really expect.

When my sister and I go shopping and see little, tiny, elderly, ladies who
must be sisters we smile and say, "That's how we're going to be."

When I see my kids with their siblings I'm proud of them.  My parents would
be proud of me and my siblings too.  Siblings can hold things together when
it seems all could fly away.