We all worry a bit about our own physical health and the health of our loved ones.  Our mental health and that of our loved ones is also of concern. 

But there is a third type of health that Kasley Killam and others are bringing to our attention.  It’s called social health.  It has to do with our connections and is thought to be a factor in our longevity.

In her new book, The Art and Science of Connection, Killam reminds us that there are things we can do to mitigate the epidemic of loneliness.  Her recommendations include being sure to interact with a minimum or five people a week.  Nurture three close relationships and allocate one hour per day for connecting.

Sounds like a plan.

On my recent visit to my Maryland kids, there were non-stop conversations on three subjects:  Football, college choices and food.  I listened to an analysis of Grady’s Friday night high school football game for most of our 3.5 hour drive to visit Washington and Lee in Lexington, VA on Saturday.  Competing for airtime on that trip were discussions about what fast food restaurants we might stop at along the way, and, even more important, what fast food restaurants might be accessed near the campus should Grady become a student there. And the food choices at the student dining hall at W&L were seriously assessed and determined to be excellent.

I thought about how different my conversations are with friends at home.  Among the most common topics, the local winner seems to be medical appointments.

As evidence, within days after I returned home, I walked with a lovely friend whom I hadn’t seen in several weeks.  We covered many topics, but only after…

Health updates.

Football has never been my thing.  Decades ago, when the rest of the family watched Doug Flutie make his historic Hail Mary pass for Boston College, I was in the other room talking to a friend.

However, when your 6’ 5” grandson is the kicker/punter for his high school team, things change.

That’s why I watched two football games in 24 hours last weekend—the first a winning high school game, the second on the next day visit to a college that is recruiting Grady for its team. 

Grady and a handful of other recruits watched Washington and Lee’s win from the field.  His father took photos on the field when the school’s photographer couldn’t make it.

I think I am beginning to understand football.  Maybe even like it.

It’s never too late.

I cannot recall ever watching a comedian in a office building's black-walled basement room, crowded with folding chairs, and a small stage. But when a neighbor offered two tickets that he couldn’t use to see a comedian he loved, I thought why not?

The room was packed.  I would say that less than 5% of the audience was over 35.  The comedian whose name I’ve already forgotten had the audience in the palm of her hand.  I would say that I got two-thirds to three-fourths of the jokes, but the audience loved her.  And the laughter was contagious.  So I loved her too.

Even at 80-something, one should be open to new experiences.

This month marks eleven years since I retired from the job I loved for so long.  I’m not sure what appropriate work attire is in these post-pandemic days, but I always took pride in my almost-Wall-Street-like wardrobe.

I was particularly fond of my tomato-soup (as my boss referred to it) red double-breasted suit with its quarter-sized gold buttons.  I hope it went to a good home when I reluctantly parted with it.

My guest room closet still contains two work outfits that I have been unable to let go.  One, a short navy plaid skirt that I wore with my reliable Brooks Brothers blazer, navy tights and boots.  The other, a dark navy-pin-striped pants suit, perfect plane wear for many business trips.

In a corner of that closet, there is a shopping bag containing give-away clothing.  I know that I should add the above outfits. Just…

Not yet.

Every September, our old neighborhood held a back-to-the-fall block party. Grills and chairs were set up.  Everyone brought food for themselves and something for everybody.  From newborns to 90-year olds, we welcomed fall, noticed how everyone kids had grown over the summer and caught up with one another.

I’m not sure what prompted me to go this year, seven years after we moved away, but it was much the same event.  Sure, there were a lot of new folks, but I loved seeing everyone I knew, especially the kids who were so changed.  And the people that bought “our” house are still loving it.  They told me that they gather on the sun room sofa that we left for them, just as we always did.  Our remodeled kitchen is still their kitchen.  Their girls are now teenagers.

I felt like a visiting dignitary.  Peter would have loved it…

On a perfect late summer morning, I headed to the glasses store to get my new prescription sunglasses tightened.  (I thought their falling off when I leaned over was not a good idea.)  Anyhow it’s less than a mile, a walk I’ve taken countless times.  But usually without much adventure.

At the park in the next block, I saw a neighbor picking up some debris.  Turns out she’s a Friend of the Park.  We had a pleasant chat.

About a block further along, I was peering into the window of a coffee shop under new ownership.  A lovely young woman, with long black/gray streaked hair was  leaving the shop with her coffee, and held the door for me.  I explained I was just looking, and we walked together for about a block discussing the various permutations of coffee shops in that location.

And then, the drama.  At the next corner, there was a body, lying still, flat on her stomach on the sidewalk.  Long blond hair.  Her pocketbook and a bag she had been carrying were splayed on the sidewalk next to her.  A waiter from the adjacent restaurant and another man were leaning over her.  I asked, “Has anyone called 911?”

The supine body spoke.  “Don’t call 911,” she said. “I’m all right.”

Ten minutes later, my glasses were fixed. I saw that the woman was alone, sitting with her back against a fence.  I kept walking.

Just another exciting morning in the life of an 80-something.

I have mixed emotions about the behemoth called Amazon.  I try to support local businesses.  But when the local hardware store I had patronized for decades closed, I succumbed, and I haven’t looked back.

One day last week I decided I had to do something about my new inability to walk briskly when the temperature is over 80 degrees. If the humidity is high, I actually do not feel well. 

I found a good selection of neck fans on Amazon, but was somehow distracted and didn’t place the order.  That evening about 10:30 I remembered what I had meant to do, restarted my computer, and ordered a fan.  At 6:00 a.m. the next morning, it was delivered.

Unbelievable—and scary.

Like many 80-somethings, I am trying to limit new acquisitions.  That has made me a faithful user of my local library.  And like many 80-somethings, there is a set route that I use for my frequent visits. 

Or, to be accurate, that I was using.  The city of Cambridge in response to complaints from residents about too much cut through traffic on their street added a “No Left Turn” that prevents me from using that route and requires me to add at least three precious minutes to my trip.

Coincidentally, I often walk along the street from which I can no longer turn left for exercise. Prior to reaching the no-left-turn corner, drivers see a flashing sign announcing the new rule.  At the exact corner, there is a stop sign AND a No Left Turn sign. I find myself and my walking pal standing there for a bit to watch how many people still turn. 

About one week after the new rule went into effect, we were joined by a policeman on a motorcycle stopping people just after they made the illegal turn. 

I am wondering…

Is that really the way I should be using my precious time?