The 70-Something Blog

Tragedy in Boston

Patriot’s Day is a holiday in Massachusetts, but not for me.  Nonetheless, I love the spirit that surrounds the Boston Marathon.  When the kids were young, Peter used to run it, and we would cheer him on.  It’s a time when the world is watching Boston, and most of the world is represented in our city’s famous race.

At three o’clock on Monday afternoon, I heard about the explosions.  Word spread quickly thanks to the Internet.  That people were injured was apparent, but no one knew how many and how seriously. 

No more work was accomplished that afternoon—everyone was checking on loved ones and watching the same frightening footage of the scene over and over again on their computer screens.

That evening the emails poured in.  A college roommate I hadn’t heard from in years. A young woman who used to work for me, now a medical resident and out of touch for some time. My brother, Peter’s sister, and my 101-year-old Aunt Ruth.  All wanting to know that we are safe.  All sad for those who suffered and for Boston.

On Tuesday we gathered outside work for a moment of silence and remembrance that brought tears to my eyes and 9/11 feelings of vulnerability.  Since then, we’ve been hearing about heroic helpers and acts of generosity by the people of Boston.  Even Stephen Colbert paid his respects (http://bo.st/Yv2VOd).

This was the 116^th Boston Marathon.  There will be a 117^th Boston Marathon next year, but it won’t be the same.

Missing Sue

Our neighbor Sue has moved to assisted living.

When she and her husband Leo came to our neighborhood, she knocked on everyone’s door to introduce herself, much as if she were running for office.  In fact, her nearly one hundred neighbors would say that’s exactly what she was doing.

Sue became our “mayor.” Before we knew it, she had formed a committee to lobby the city and our neighborhood streets got repaved. Soon after, the town aborist checked our aging trees and planned replacements.  Sue was our organizer.

Sue reigned at our twice-yearly neighborhood block parties, bringing updated lists of addresses and introducing new residents. She was a force.

A few years ago, Leo died.  Shortly thereafter, Sue began to lose her vision and she developed other health problems.  Her grown children and grandchildren didn’t think she should stay in the house on her own, and eventually she gave in. Two weeks ago, she moved. 

I got Sue’s address and wrote to thank her for all she did for us and to tell her that we miss her.  She replied that she had loved living in the neighborhood, watching it come together, introducing folks to each other. She added, “ I am sad to leave and I envy everyone of you.”  

Neighborhoods turn over, but somehow Sue’s departure is different.  It is a loss for us all.

Shopping

My mother always looked terrific.  She had impeccable taste in clothes, an enviable figure and a thick head of gently curling silver hair.  She looked stunning at her 80^th birthday party in a black designer knit skirt and top with a blue appliquéd design.  You could take her anywhere.

I’m lucky to resemble Mother in many ways.  But she did have a gene that seems to have skipped her daughter’s generation, i.e., the shopping gene.

Don’t get me wrong.  I like to look nice.  I dress professionally at work.  I buy classic clothing and wear it for a long time.  But I never liked shopping and at seventy-five, I hate it.

It seems that my options are becoming fewer and fewer.  Since I got my new knee six years ago, I rarely wear heels.  So dresses are not a good option except in the colder months when high (but flat) boots work.  My upper arms are finely toned, but my neck and cleavage zone, not-so-good.

I’m thinking about this now because I have two rather dressy events coming up, and I’ve already returned empty-handed from two shopping expeditions.

I may have to resurrect a couple of outfits tucked away in the guest room closet.  These events are not about me, and probably no one cares what I wear.

The problem is that Mother would be disappointed.

Self-Worth

I heard a short talk by Cheryl Saban the other day.  She is the author of What is Your Self-Worth? a book about women and self-esteem. 

Picture a beautiful age-less woman, elegantly dressed, standing in front of a group of about twenty women and two men, holding up a crisp $20 bill.  “Who would like this, she asked?”  All hands went upward.

She then crumpled the $20 bill in her fist, and held it up again.  “Who would like this?  Again, all hands went up.

Next she dropped the bill on the floor and ground her stiletto heel into it.  Still, everyone wanted it.

Finally, she took the crushed, trampled bill and ripped it.  All hands went up when she asked if anyone wanted it.

“Still worth $20?” she asked. 

Point made, she gave the $20 to the young woman sitting next to me.

Dialogue at the Dressmaker

When I took a pair of slacks to my seamstress’ shop the other day, someone was in the small draped changing area, so I sat down to wait. I overheard the following:

 Customer:  “When I ordered it on line, they asked for my measurements, but it's way too big.” She went on to say that it was for the after-party of her October Las Vegas wedding so she wasn’t in a hurry. 

Dressmaker:  “It’s beautiful, but it is a lot of work to take it in because of all the feathers and beads. Can’t you send it back?’ 

Customer: “No, I bought it online and they  don’t understand English.”

Dressmaker:  “OK. I’ll do it, but I’ll have to charge you $150.” 

“It doesn’t matter,” said the young woman, as she came out of the dressing area clutching an unbelievably unbelievable dress.  A pinkish-salmon color, strapless beaded top and a skirt of feathers, the length of which was, shall we say, immodest?

When the customer left, I asked the seamstress, who was shaking her head in wonder, why she agreed to alter the dress.  “Oh, because I don’t know how to say no,” she replied.  She was as perplexed as I was as to why anyone would wear such an outfit.

After she pinned the slacks I had brought in for alteration, I said, “Unlike that future bride, I can’t wait until October to pick these up.

I’m at the age when I don’t plan that far ahead.

Suddenly, They're All Gone

Carol Mithers is a West-Coast-based journalist and author.   On March 22, her posting Suddenly, They’re All Gone appeared on The New York Time’s “New Old Age Blog.”

One week later there were 579 comments.

Her topic, the overwhelming-ness of being part of the sandwich generation, is not unfamiliar to us.   

In our 70’s (and for the lucky ones, beyond the 70’s) many of us are fully functional and are not a burden on the next generation.  But unless we are very lucky, we will be a burden on someone some day. 

Mithers tells about having her older relatives’ care-givers on speed dial; about knowing that things would not get better.  She writes, “Frantic was my new normal and normal the new never…”  She goes on to talk about “listening” because the past returns for the old when there is no future. 

In the end, she says, “Their singularity dazzled me.  Their selves, revealed in all their layered complexity, could never be replaced.  I came to know them—and I fell in love.”

Many of us have “walked” in Mithers' shoes.  But soon it could be us needing the help. Suddenly, They're All Gone is a story that we need to hear. http://newoldage.blogs.nytimes.com/2013/03/22/suddenly-theyre-all-gone/#more-14730)

Symphony Hall Conversation

The audience at Symphony Hall on Friday was cheering.  We had just heard the Handel and Haydn Society Orchestra play a great concert of Mozart and Beethoven pieces on period instruments. I wondered aloud why the cello section was sitting stage left rather than in its usual place to the right of the conductor. 

“It’s because that’s how the orchestra played it back then,” opined Peter, as if he knew.  “I don’t think so,” replied our friend Margaret.  “I think it is up to the conductor.” 

I explained to Margaret that Peter has a way of saying things in an authoritative voice that fools people into thinking he knows what he’s talking about. 

“Oh,” she replied “Joe is the same way.”

Is this a male thing?

Seven Billion Dollars

American women spend a total of $7,000,000,000 (give or take a billion or two) on makeup every year.  According to Shine, a Yahoo website, the average woman spends $144 annually on cosmetics.

What are we buying?  Hope? Do we actually believe that face cream will keep us young?

I saw an ad the other day for a face cream that I bought a year or so ago because it was NEW!!!  The ad promises that “visible wrinkle results start day 1”.   I am about to finish my second jar of that cream.  My wrinkle results are “visible,” but in the wrong direction.  Knowing that, will I keep smearing cream on my face twice a day?

You bet.

Coupon Deals

We hear the coupon biz isn’t doing so well.  People are tired of the daily emails, and customers are not returning to pay full price once they’ve enjoyed their bargain.  So merchants are unhappy too.

Nevertheless, when good friends said they had bought a cut-rate brunch coupon for a local hotel, we agreed to join them. 

It was not a flawless experience.  When our friends didn’t come by to get us on time, we thought they were held up in traffic.  Eventually, we called. They had forgotten. 

I called the restaurant, and they told me they could take us later, implying (I thought) that although they were jam-packed, they would seat us.  When we arrived, the restaurant was nearly empty.  We wondered why.

Although we always have a great time with our friends, the food was mediocre and the service wasn’t much better.  Peter summed it up, “When we came in, we wondered why the restaurant was so empty.  When we left, we wondered why it was so full.”

So we saved some money at a restaurant we really didn’t want to go to and didn’t like. 

No wonder the coupon biz isn’t doing so well.

 

Paraprosdokians

Do you know what paraprosdokians are?  Paraprosdokians, as I recently learned, are figures of speech in which the latter part of a sentence or phrase is surprising or unexpected.

I now realize that the message on a birthday card I have on the bulletin board above my desk at work is a paraprosdokian. “It’s not the years in your life that counts,” it reads.  “It’s the life in your years.” 

Here are some more:

 1.  The last thing I want to do is hurt you.  But it’s still on my list.

 2.  If I’d agree with you, we’d both be wrong.

 3.  Knowledge is knowing a tomato is a fruit.  Wisdom is not putting it into a fruit salad.

Some paraprosdokians are more relevant for us 70-somethings, such as

 1. Nostalgia isn’t what it used to be.

 2.  Getting old is no problem.  You just have to live long enough.

 3.   I’m supposed to respect my elders, but it’s getting harder and harder for me to find one now.

At the end of the day,  “Growing old is tough; not growing old is worse.”