Except for Thanksgiving (which I love), November is #1 on my disliked-months-list.  First, I dread the end of daylight savings time.  I know that I will adjust to less daylight, but that doesn’t help at this moment. In addition to shorter days, the skies are grayer in November. And, of course, the gardens are tired and the trees are bare. 

But this year’s November is bringing an election that I fear.  I hate that our country is so divided, and I worry that no matter what the outcome, the transition will not be easy.

Fingers crossed that I am wrong.

In her recent book, The Connection Cure, author Julia Hotz suggests a new approach for doctors.  Don’t ask your patients, “What’s the matter with you?”

Rather ask “What matters to you?”

Hotz asserts that our country practices pill-based medicine (not a bad thing in itself), but that there are other approaches to wellness that our doctors don’t typically prescribe. 

She suggests that we talk more about social health or social fitness, health that comes from "connections".  She advocates for “social prescribing.”  In other words, get moving, spend some time in nature, with art, performing service and/or other activities that she calls “belonging.”

Absence of illness is not the same as presence of wellness.  Purpose, optimism, mindfulness, relationships are part of social health.

What matters to you?

Old habits die hard, and I admit to belonging to that rare group that still watches network news in the evening.  Sure, I see breaking news on my phone, but while cooking supper, it’s just fine to have NBC's Lester Holt in the kitchen with me. Years ago, John Chancellor was like a member of the family.

But if anything would make me stop, it is the incessant and repetitive drug ads.  Obviously, the networks know that their watchers are of a certain age.  But here’s the thing…

With the exception of New Zealand, the United States is the only country that allows direct drug advertising to consumers.

Don't get me started on why drug ads are a bad idea.

A week ago, I pulled my first wool sweater of the season out of its plastic bag, removed the “washed” tag, and officially marked the end of summer.

I like the change of seasons (except for the early darkness in the fall).  I like the crispness of the air, the beautiful fall foliage and the incredible array of skeletons and spiders in their webs in front of neighborhood homes.

But this week nature did a turnaround, and overnight we have summer again.  It’s short-lived, I know, but what a treat!

Still, I need to figure out what I stashed my boots. 

This won’t last

My grandson Leo, a junior in college at Carleton College, near Minneapolis, is a soccer goalie.  I watch his games on my computer which is a lot of fun.  But when his father asked me if I’d like to attend a game in person, I couldn’t resist.

Jeremy was unable to leave for Minneapolis until Saturday morning for the Saturday afternoon game due to a work obligation.  I decided to travel with him so I flew to Maryland on Thursday and had the bonus of attending my other grandson’s Thursday night football game. 

It got more exciting when Jeremy told me he had two tickets to the U. of Maryland football game on Friday night. He had been invited to watch in the Presidential Suite (he works at U. of Maryland).  Of course, I didn’t know how much fun that would be (not the game, the Presidential Suite).  In fact, it was so much fun that we didn’t get home until almost midnight.  And to catch our 6:00 a.m. flight to Minneapolis we had to get up at 3:30 a.m.  (Are you still with me?)

Thankfully, it all worked.  The plane landed in time for us to be at Carleton for breakfast (it’s an hour earlier there); the game was wonderful.  Leo was in the goal and Carleton won.  Dinner with some of his teammates and then an early morning trip to drop our rental car at the airport and take a light rail to the gigantic Mall of America for  Jeremy's reunion with nine close colleagues from his job in Minneapolis twenty years ago.

I had to get back to the airport on my own, managing to get to my gate as the last group was boarding my plane to Boston.  Talk about exhausted…

I’d do it again in a second

Last week in an 80-something.com post, I reported my experience standing behind a woman in a Whole Foods checkout line who did not have enough money to pay for all the groceries in her cart.  The cashier had to ask for help as she didn’t know how to undo the purchases one-at-a-time until the bill got down to the amount of cash the customer had.  In my blog post, I expressed my frustration at being delayed on what for me was an especially busy morning.

I was very pleased that several blog readers took the time to respond to this post, some indicating that they would have paid for the woman’s groceries. 

I discussed this situation with my son Jeremy. He gave me permission to share his thoughts:

“I think your story leaves out an important detail. I think it's important to note that the woman in front of you was not only shopping at an (extremely) high-end supermarket, she had an assortment of high-end bakery items, among other premium products. That fact makes a difference in how I (and perhaps some readers?) would have handled the situation.

What if this incident had taken place at Aldi, the bargain store where I do my shopping (and literally pay less than half what your daughter-in-law pays for "the same stuff" -- well, not quite! -- at Whole Foods)?  The Whole Foods shopper wanted to buy non-essentials she apparently could not afford. The Aldi shopper could more easily be considered "in need", doing the right thing, and perhaps therefore more deserving of support? I tend to lean that way.

I am pretty sure I'd not have paid for the gourmet baked goods (not being able to afford a luxury is a bummer, but not an issue to which I prefer to direct my philanthropy). But I like to think I'd have paid for the fruit, cheese, yogurt etc, at Aldi.”

I wonder what your readers think? 80-something or 50-something, neither of us is too old to evolve our behavior.

Love,

Me”

I like books.  I like the feel of a book in my hands.  I have a Kindle.  Unlike most people I know, I don’t use it. 

On the other hand, I am at the stage of life where I am against acquiring more things.  And that includes books.  Therefore, the local branch of my library is a regular stop for me.  It’s a small branch, but it has a big heart.  I request a book online and I am told whether I can get it within a day or two or how many people are waiting for it and how many copies it has access to. 

The other day I noticed that the library gives away composting bags, saving me a trip to the city's public works department.  And the library still offers free Covid masks.

What’s not to love?

I was in a huge hurry when I stopped at Whole Foods the other day to buy two ingredients I needed to make a dessert for dinner at a friend’s that night.  I chose a checkout line with one person who was almost finished. 

Turns out, she didn’t have enough money to pay for her groceries, and she started unloading things from her bag to “unbuy”.  The cashier didn’t know how to do that. The first person he called for help couldn’t help and went to find someone else. 

At that point, I chose another line. I was irritated, especially since I was on a tight schedule.  But then I thought about how sad it was that she couldn’t afford to buy everything in her basket.  I, on the other hand, just whip out my credit card.

Another reason to be grateful.

Peter and I had a policy about our children.  We’d do the best we could. But as for how they turned out, we would take neither credit nor blame.

I don’t think about that very often now because they’ve been on their own for a long time and seem to be doing fine. 

But when on my recent visit to Maryland, I visited Jeremy’s office, although it was clear that his associates think highly of him, I found myself not taking credit.

Upon leaving, I told him how proud I was of his positive relationship with his colleagues.

Always truthful, he explained to me that he was picky about who(m) I met. 

Taking credit would have been just fine.

When I received an email from a Kennedy School graduate of more than twenty years ago who was coming to town, I quickly agreed to a coffee date.  I remembered her well as a student, and I was delighted that she wanted to get together.

After her master’s degree, she went on to further study and received a doctorate followed by an amazing career. I loved hearing about her adventures.  Nearing retirement age now, she is thinking about her next (and perhaps last) job.

The next thing I knew, we were strategizing about her job search.  I grabbed my computer and started giving her names and offering her some of my connections. 

I may be 80-something, but helping people navigate their futures still can make my day.