I had quite a bit to say about my recent move.  (Doesn’t everyone who moves?)  Occasionally, I write blogs to be published later, but on Sunday, I accidentally published the post that was supposed to be today.  Two posts on one day means I can skip a day, so with apologies, no fresh blog post today.

‘til Sunday…

“Home is the place where, when you have to go there, they have to take you in.”

So wrote Robert Frost in 1914. My latest move brought that famous quote to mind because I am now “home” in Cambridge again.

I moved to Cambridge from Beacon Hill in 1965, married Peter in 1968, and a year later, we moved to the suburbs. In 1995, with our boys out of college, we moved back and lived in a perfect “empty nester” Cambridge home until we retired, and then moved to a condo near Harvard Square.  Except for the last ten months, Cambridge was my home.

My returned-to-Cambridge-apartment is a mile from where Peter and I lived for twenty years and two blocks from the (condemned and now demolished) apartment building where we lived for five years together, and I lived for one year without him.

It’s great to be back.

The last time I moved, my new dwelling was three years old.  This time my building is 130 years old, and although I love my apartment, there are some issues.

For starters, the garbage disposal doesn’t work, and has no cover, and the plumber has to order something to fix it plus a cover.  That’s something I can live with, but when my raw salmon slipped out of my hand, it descended into the non-working, cover-less disposal.  (I “fished” it out, washed it, and cooked it with some trepidation.  It was still delicious.)

Next came the ants.  With my safety in mind, I had grab bars installed in my shower.  The banging unleashed dozens of ants from somewhere.  I found them crawling all over the tub.  The building superintendent explains “it’s an old building…” He immediately produced ant poison and said they’d be gone in three days.  (Thankfully, I have an extra shower.) And finally (for now), the previous owners must have disliked fresh air, because almost no windows have screens. 

BUT, I have a beautiful balcony overlooking the Charles River, and an honest-to-goodness dining room.

One can’t expect perfection…

According to The New York Times, a new (and affordable) toy is sweeping the country.  Basically, it is a “goop-filled blob” that is squeezable.  The blobs come in endless shapes and colors—the article features a stick-of-butter-shaped blob.

Reportedly, an eight-year-old who regularly resisted getting up for school hopped out of bed at 6:30 a.m so that his mother could take him to Target before school to add the latest shape to his collection.

One can’t help but think of Cabbage Patch Kids and/or Beanie Babies.  

Back in the day…

I am grateful for my lucky life.  But today I want to tell YOU, my amazing blog readers, how grateful I am for you.  You understand how stressful moving is, and your good wishes have been pouring in. 

At this moment, I am down to a few remaining boxes, and once I remember where I too hastily put everything, I’ll be fine.  One thing I know from previous moves is that things put away with the plan to find a better place for them rarely move from their first location. 

So it goes…

80-something followers may recall that in November. 2024, my condo building was found to be unsafe because of inferior construction decades ago.  We residents had four weeks to vacate.

With so little time to look, I moved to a “temporary” apartment where I stayed for eight months.  And then I moved to the independent living part of a continuing care community. 

Two days ago, I moved again. I found living in the woods (though beautiful) with only people of my generation was not for me.

It is well known that moving is one of life’s biggest stressors, but six days ago, I moved back to Cambridge.

Yes, it’s stressful to move.  But I see the Charles River if I sit up in bed, and this morning there was a family of ducks passing by. 

It’s great to be back.

An August, 2022 article in American Heart Association News, suggests that adults over 50 who have more positive attitudes about aging have a 43% lower risk of dying from any cause over a four-year period than those who are less positive.

The study also found that optimistic agers tend to be at lower risk for many health conditions, have better cognitive function, and a greater sense of purpose. Optimists were also less lonely.

So how do we develop a more positive attitude about aging? Here are some of their suggestions:

1. Find projects that align with your values.
2. Reject the idea that poor health for the elderly is a given
3. Find your community and get involved

Easier said than done.

My father (who was born in1895!) used to tell my brother Don and me that he remembered when a hamburger cost 5 cents.  I checked, and White Castle hamburgers were exactly that until 1949.  In 1970, a McDonald’s hamburger was only “18-20 cents.”

Today a McDonald’s hamburger is somewhere between $2.49 and $2.99.  Not sure how much of that is inflation and how much is the cost of raising cows.

Of course, like everyone else, I am noticing the higher prices of everything, especially in the supermarket.  But I was astonished to read in a recent New York Times magazine article that the author paid $14 for a frozen yogurt with three toppings.

What would Dad have to say about that?!!

“When you go out into the woods, and you look at trees, you see all these different trees. And some of them are bent, and some of them are straight, and some of them are evergreens, and some of them are whatever. And you look at the tree and you allow it. You see why it is the way it is. You sort of understand that it didn’t get enough light, and so it turned that way. And you don’t get all emotional about it. You just allow it. You appreciate the tree.

The minute you get near humans, you lose all that. And you are constantly saying “You are too this, or I’m too this.” That judgment mind comes in. And so I practice turning people into trees. Which means appreciating them just the way they are.”

Loved this and had to share…

When the formidable woman who edited many of my articles in The Boston Globe invited me to a retreat of female journalists at her New Hampshire home in the shadow of Mt. Monadnock, I was delighted. I was also intimidated because, unlike the other women there, I am not a bona fide journalist.

There was an agenda—an ice breaker, a session of exercise in a big barn, swimming in a nearby lake and lots of conversation.    There was cooking in the huge farm kitchen and fabulous meals in a screened porch looking out on the mountain.  There was a lot of laughter as well as some tears.  It was magical.

And I have eight new friends.