It's my birthday and I got nuthin. Not literally, though my husband warned me several days before the not-so-big-anymore day that he'd pretty much poured his heart and creativity into our recent anniversary and wasn't sure he had anything left in the tank for my birthday. That might seem harsh, but it pretty much explains where I'm at as well. It's not a milestone birthday and, even if it was, I don't think anyone really looks forward to those after age 21. I'm at a stage in life in which I can pretty much get what I want when I want it. OK, not the Hope Diamond but, you know what I mean. It's a big, fat ho-hum. Yet, the past year has been good to me. First and foremost, my mom and dad are still in the world. Their health has challenges, but I get to talk to them weekly, which so many of my peers miss. We all talk about our ailments; who knew that would be a thing? My kids, though moving along at a slower pace than I'd anticipated, are getting on with their lives. I've had more time with them which means I get more opportunities to drop my mom wisdoms. Next year I think I'll be thrown into empty nestville rather abruptly, which I'm not looking forward to. My marriage is good, though we'll always have work to do. We're moving back into that space before children, when the two of us were the family and it's been fun. My career has finally corrected itself and I'm happier than I've been in a long time. And my health is actually better than it was on my previous birthday, except for my knees which continue careening toward replacement. So, I think for this birthday, which would be considered a fly-over if it were a state, I'll just consider where I'm at to be my gift. Sometimes these quiet times in life are the best. Perhaps in these more restful, uneventful stretches of time, we unknowingly gain strength for the more exciting - good and bad - times ahead. Happy (shhhh) birthday to me.
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For years my kids shared a love-hate relationship. To be honest, it felt more like hate most of the time. I would think back with painful nostalgia to their very young, halcyon days - bath times together, bedtime stories under shared covers, watching a favorite movie lying side by side on the floor – and wonder where we went wrong. Why did I go through the pain of childbirth twice and the sacrifices of child-rearing if these two were just going to end up enemies for life? Oh. . . be careful what you wish for. After so many years of being at each other's throats, it seems my children have found a common ground on which they play nicely: Tinder. I was, at first, shocked by my daughter’s announcement they both had accounts on this dating app, with a reputation for being a some-times hotbed (ugh) for hook-ups. Weren’t they each just lying on a changing table, gurgling at an overhead mobile? Was it that long ago that I packed away their favorite stuffed animals for their someday children? Who were these grown-up strangers? And yet, it is the natural progression of things, particularly for my two digitally inclined offspring. While both of them tend to be shy, my daughter has always been the more adventurous of the two so she’s had several coffee dates (thank goodness my constant cry of “stranger danger” has struck some sort of chord) and is now seeing a nice guy. Meanwhile, I hear she’s helping my son with his profile. So, of all places, my children have once again found the love – or at least the like – side of their sibling relationship. And while it’s been a process for me to accept they are adults with all the trappings that entails I have to admit, it warms my heart to see them playing nice again. Who knows where this could lead? As always, my children surprise me. It's springtime and there's no shortage of articles on how to de-clutter your home. I'm particularly intrigued with the Swedish Death Cleanse, though perhaps just a tad too young for it (that makes one thing). The idea is based on the fact that this generation of off-spring don't want our old stuff. My guess is that's thanks to IKEA and other low-cost retailers who make it possible to afford new things, even if they won't last forever. I'm sure that suits our millennial and GenZ progeny just fine. This is somewhat unimaginable to me. For example, I bought my first car from my dad for $1,000 It was a whale of a car, an eight-year-old Chevy Impala. My son just bought his first car using $1,000 his grandmother left him. And, while used, it's much newer and even has remote start (which neither of my cars has, by the way). Soon, he'll be moving out. Being somewhat miserly he might buck the trend of his generation and be willing to take old furniture and dishes. Of course, in my eyes, this stuff is all great, if not a little time-worn, because I picked it out. I suppose he is grinning and bearing it just as I did with my first apartment. It had the mandatory college footlocker turned into a piece of furniture, a cinderblock/brick bookcase, a mattress and box spring on the floor, my late great aunt's chair and floor lamp, and every manner of secondhand, repainted furniture from years gone by I could score for $10 or less. But if the Swedish Death Cleanse premise is right, I feel a little sad. First of all, what a waste all this disposable stuff is. A waste of money and earthly resources. And our children will never truly know the joy of buying their first real furniture after living with someone else's chintz-covered hand-me-downs. Oh well, I guess we should just call it progress. I just hope when my old furniture moves out with my son I don't see it moving back in. I may just have to feign death. When you think about aging parents most of the conversations seem to be around nursing homes - choosing the right one, guilt over placing a parent in one and such. What no one talks about is what you go through before that. When your parents are still caring for themselves, but might need a little help. Whether they realize it or not. My dad is fiercely independent. And while he’s amazingly capable at 90, there are some slips and he’d be the first to admit it. For example, choosing to take a shopping cart on an escalator may not have been his finest moment. In his defense, he was trying to save my mom a long trek to the elevator as she has a lot of back and hip pain. Unfortunately you can now add to that upper body pain because that decision resulted in a fall and a broken shoulder. Most decisions don’t end so dramatically, but they could. Dad goes to pick up New Year’s Eve dinner from a favorite restaurant as he has for years. But for some reason, instead of the usual lobster bisque, he brings home gumbo. Can’t explain why. Still, no big deal. They both forget having put things in the oven from time to time. So far, no crisis, but is it just a matter of time? All of this leads to some tense conversations between me and my siblings. My sister is adamant these are signs my parents need to move closer to her, five hours south, so she can check on them daily. My brother, like me, is a little more hands off but is also the one who lives closest. I am the furthest, a good 12-hour drive, so not only can I do the least on a regular basis, but I also feel guilty for being so far away. We all try to do what we can for mom and dad - my brother making the 45 minute drive over more often, my sister visiting every six weeks or so and me now committed to flying down as close to quarterly as I’m able. We do what we can for them around their apartment, though they tend to push off much of the help. We ultimately nod and smile while cleaning expired canned goods from the pantry or scrubbing toilet bases. When mom was recovering from her shoulder injury, my brother and I decided to either order food or bring a meal by every week. Now that she’s recovered, we’d still love to do that to give them a break, but they won’t have it, saying they’d rather we save those gestures for when they really need it. The same goes for a cleaning service - no dice. Because of this, I gave them a turbo-powered bath scrubber with telescoping handle for Christmas to which my dad shook his head and said "you know you’re near the end when this is your gift." You can’t win. Before it’s time to suggest they give up their license or consider looking into assisted living, there is all this. Which I was completely unprepared, though grateful, for because it means mom and dad are still with us, doing relatively well. But it’s hard. It calls upon skills all my decades have not yet produced. And it makes me see how sibling relationships can fracture. I’m sure we’ll figure it out. Just in time for it to change. This summer I went with my husband and some friends to see one of my favorite local bands. While I spent my 20s regularly attending club shows, immune to the near-midnight start times, since having children, rarely do I venture out past eight o’clock. OK, let’s be honest: If it happens much past five on a weeknight you can count me out. It was a beautiful night and the show was on the patio, the moon slowly rising and mingling with the lights strung above our heads. I stood up as the band began to play because I love music and find it hard to sit still at a live show. And then, as I began to sway a little more with the groove, my arthritic knees reminded me I was no longer my young, concert-going self. I practically had to grab hold of a chair to keep from losing my balance. And the thought struck me: Am I too old to rock? Five years ago, I finally hung up my soccer cleats, having broken my wrist tending goal and defending a strong shot from about 10 feet out. As my knees are telling me now, I should have given that up much earlier. My skiing days are over. I even struggle now to do yoga without major modifications. But as someone who once dreamed of writing for Rolling Stone, being too old to rock cuts deep. How does Jagger keep his stage acrobatics up in his 70s when I can barely stand through a show anymore without aches? I recently attended a Foo Fighters show, excited to see any connection to Nirvana, one of my concert misses. As usual, spurred on by the grinding guitars and pounding beat, I started to head-bang a bit. That is, until my neck reminded me I was a lot older than I was when Grunge first blasted onto the scene. I watched in amazement as Dave Grohl threw his head of long hair up and down for HOURS. How do these guys – younger than me, yes, but no spring chickens – do this night after night, year after year? It can’t all be lubricated by booze. In the end, I guess I’m making my peace with the fact that I’m not too old to rock, As long as I do it right after my steroid injections. Last week I was following a thread on a friend's Facebook page questioning whether or not allowing a young child to dress as Moana for Halloween is cultural appropriation. This issue, it would seem, is that the young heroine of the Disney movie by the same name is Polynesian. I admit, I haven't seen the film but if it's like so many similar films the lead, regardless of nationality, shows exceptional bravery and character in overcoming some kind of adversity. Here's where I begin to hear my parent's voices in my head. As they got older and the world changed they seemed stuck in their past, unable to accept newer ways of thinking. And while I absolutely think we have gone too far when we worry this much about an early elementary child's innocently desired Halloween costume, I also wonder if I'm getting to an age that makes it difficult to embrace this kind of change. I've always been open minded. Having spent my career in the creative realm, my people often represent the near fringes of society at least in their worldviews and taste for fashion. I've traveled, lived across the US in large cities and small towns. But lately I feel a bit overwhelmed by these kinds of discussions. Not to mention all the "they" and "their" pronouns young people are using to describe sexual and gender orientations. Don't get me wrong - I think being open to the idea that some of us have enjoyed societal acceptance and privilege if not at the expense of others, then completely blind to their suffering, is something we need to embrace and improve. But when a child who really just wants to "appropriate" a character's bravery leads us to think we have some other problem, I think we need to take a step back and try to see that for what it simply is. When adolescents feel they have to choose a complicated gender identity just because the more widely known identities are, perhaps, not as exciting could it be that we are over complicating things? I'm torn between wanting this to be just me getting older and our culture getting just a little crazy. Honestly, I don't know which is worse. I guess I'll find out. At this point in life, we should all have gained some wisdom, right? After all, if we’re going to lose a little of our luster, to be replaced with a few more aches and pains, at least we hope to have learned something in the process. I certainly hope my achy old knees buy me a lot more wisdom before I’m through. But if there’s one thing I know for sure it’s this: Life is most satisfying when you grow – and even bloom – wherever you’re planted. And transplanted. And transplanted again. I am one of those who’ve been planted in a number of places. Some by my choosing and others, not so much. I also like to think God has a plan for my life, but I leave lots of room for the possibility that I’m allowed to forge my own trail, in one way or another. I chose New Jersey after college, returning to where I grew up, against my parents’ wishes. I found my passion for advertising working in New York City during that time and certainly made the most of being young and single in one of the world’s most exciting cities. When living that fast-paced life became a little overwhelming, I trudged back to Texas, not really wanting to return to a place I’d chosen to leave, but knowing I needed to regroup. I stayed 15 years, meeting the love of my life, starting a family and a company. That company spawned a number of other small businesses and even a career for our little work family…before we decided to move to Colorado. No surprise, Colorado was a choice. We lived six years in an achingly beautiful little valley until the economy took a toll on our business, at that point re-tooled to serve not-for-profits. It was painful to leave and I often think back to our time there, trying to uncover what life’s purpose was for me there. We had incredible experiences and, I suppose, we did grow and bloom in that we created a youth group at our tiny church that may have welcomed some kids that hadn’t found their places elsewhere. At least I hope so. I think knowing comes in retrospect. Unlike real gardens, the seeds we sow take time to grow and may even bloom later, after we’ve moved on. A friend once did describe my husband and me as seed sowers. That feels good, even though sometimes I wish I were more of a reaper. But the world needs both, I suppose. Now that we live in Illinois, I’m not really sure what seeds I might be sowing. But, if the past is an indicator, I’ll figure it out someday. For now, I'll dig my feet in, turn my face to the sun and do my best to grow and, if I'm lucky, bloom. I am handwriting this post sitting on the banks of the Arkansas River as it runs through Big Horn Sheep Canyon in Southern Colorado. It is a warm September day, though wildfires further west have cast a haze over the mountains. This is a homecoming of sorts for me and my fly-fishing husband. We moved our young family to this area in 2004 from the concrete confies of Dallas and spent the next six years enjoying a far simpler existence bounded by natural beauty and the opportunity it affords. When the Great Recession forced us to seek financial high ground beyond the rural Rockies, we left, staying in touch thanks to Facebook. The two of us have come back now for a respite from our busy work lives and the flatness of the Midwest we now call home. It's good to be back, if not completely easy. We have received warm welcomes from old friends, picking up with each other as if seven years hasn't drifted by. We inhale the scents of mountain wilderness: Fresh, sweet grasses and wildflowers mixed with heady pine. And, as it's haying season, we sneeze and sniffle - a lot - having become more acclimated to the soybean and corn production common to our Central Illinois home. In our travels, we drive and stroll along main street and down to the bluff overlooking the valley, again marveling at the spectacular views. We are glad to see some new development, but the ghosts of our past remain - empty or otherwise occupied buildings where some of our favorite hangouts once were. We visit with friends, sharing news of our children who grew together during our time here. One was valedictorian of the class my daughter was in; one of my son's classmates just returned from an internship in Argentina. Memories of them all as scampering elementary students, seem like yesterday. Some of the most poignant emotions arise when, during our visit, two young brothers drown on their family's ranch, one trying to save the other. Life can be very hard in this beautiful yet rugged part of the world and, as anyone who has lived in a small town knows, tragedy touches everyone. So I sit in the waning sunlight, watching my husband delight in this touchstone place, thinking about the pleasures and pains of our past here. Clearly the former outweigh the latter as we are thinking about what a having a little piece of this place again might mean. At the very least, it could allow our children time to return and ponder these very things about going back home. Believe me, I am the first to cringe at the phrase "senior discount." I have yet to join AARP though they've been after me since before I turned 50. But, scrolling through my saved Facebook links I noticed, somewhere between "8 essential toning moves for women over 40" and "How to clean out your dryer hose," a post from Mogul titled "This list of senior discounts for people over 50 might be the best thing you learn all day." I decided to revisit it and thought some of my contemporaries might be surprised to know what is ours for the asking. If you're 55+ here is just a sampling of savings as rewards for making it beyond half-century mark. These are available to all of us, every day. But you do have to bite the bullet and ask for them. FOOD Chili's: 10% off ( 55+) Dunkin' Donuts: 10% off or free coffee ( 55+) - Probably the small, boring variety, but certainly a just reward for picking up a dozen for the office crowd. Fuddrucker's: 10% off any senior platter ( 55+) - Hopefully not just soft items we old folk can chew. IHOP: 10% off ( 55+) Jack in the Box: up to 20% off ( 55+) KFC: free small drink with any meal ( 55+) Krispy Kreme: 10% off ( 50+) Long John Silver's: various discounts at locations ( 55+) McDonald's: discounts on coffee everyday ( 55+) Papa John’s: 25% off (55+) for online orders. Enter the code “AARP25″ when placing your order - I assume this works even for non-AARP imposters. TCBY: 10% off ( 55+) - Froyo yo! Wendy’s: 10% off (55+) RETAIL Dress Barn: 20% off ( 55+) - You'll have to buy your clothes in a "barn" but still... TRAVEL : Budget Rental Cars: 10% off; up to 20% off for AARP members ( 50+) Dollar Rent-A-Car: 10% off ( 50+) - Even young whippersnappers can get some of these! Best Western: 10% off (55+) Hampton Inns & Suites: 10% off when booked 72 hours in advance Mainstay Suites: 10% off with Mature Traveler's Discount (50+) Travelodge: 10% off (50+) ENTERTAINMENT AMC Theaters: up to 30% off (55 +) - Likely tickets, not popcorn. That's still expensive (but sooooo worth it). So, if you're itching for adventure, grab a friend, buy a dress, hop in a rental car and take off for the weekend. Catch a movie, eat some road trip food - it's all good (and cheaper than it was when you were younger!). As my young adult children take their first steps into the grown-up world, I find myself, more and more, thinking about retirement. True, I've got 10 years before I can take full benefits (and my husband several years more), but it certainly feels like the next thing. And while wedding and baby showers could sneak into that timeline, those are events for my children to star in. My lead roles there have past. If living nearly 60 decades has taught me anything it's this: You can make all the plans you want, but you better be flexible because it's highly unlikely they'll all come off as expected. I never imagined I'd move to rural Colorado in my 40s nor did I see that jaunt leading me to Illinois. Yet here I sit, facing the last stretch of my career before taking off into the great golden beyond. Will I follow my children? My parents had all three kids move away, me with their precious grandchildren in tow. So I don't know if that's a good strategy. Lately I've been thinking of finding a place the kids would want to visit. Then spending a couple months - perhaps in the hottest or coldest season - living somewhere else, changing the location every year. After recently inheriting a little camper my mind has wandered to RVing through at least the early years of retirement, seeing all the North American places I've yet seen. I read articles about the favorite international locales of retired expats. But I don't think I could spend all my time in a foreign country. It's a bit uncomfortable, this place. Being able to see that future just breaking the horizon, but not close enough to recognize. For an adventurous spirit, but one who wants to know what the adventure is, it's disconcerting. I guess I'll just continue to dream. As getting older proves to everyone, I think, the future will be here before I know it. |
d.a.meek
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December 2017
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