Reading the Face of Father TimeIt’s the most urgent wake-up call you’ll ever receive. How will you answer it? By Roger A. Reid, PhD
It's just a concrete driveway, with a couple of chalk marks on it. At first glance, you might think the white lines had been drawn by kids setting up a free-throw line.
But no, I drew them. I did it as an exercise in perspective. And I encourage you to try it. But I have to warn you: It’s going to bring you face-to-face with Father Time. Those Hippie DaysMaybe it’s time for seniors to find another cause.
By Mary McGrath Remember those hippie days? I’m not talking about putting on a little bit of weight around your middle, I’m talking about those Woodstock love-child love- bead tie-dye days. Were you one of them?
I wasn’t a full-blown hippie, just a fashionable one. I had a couple pairs of love beads, bellbottoms and, of course, my hair was parted down the middle and down to my shoulders. |
Regrets Are TeachersMe and the Great Wall of China
By Marlane Ainsworth As I’m being dragged irresistibly toward the first day of 2022, I’ve been thinking about regrets.
I keep regrets to a minimum because I consider them almost pointless. Their only benefit is to prompt me not to make any more. But although I seldom bathe in the murky waters of regrets, I’d like to tell you about me and the Great Wall of China — a wonder of the world that I chose not to see — a decision I now regret. Queen of the Double-Entendre:The late-blooming blues great, Alberta Hunter.
By David Asch Casual listeners might list Ella Fitzgerald, Aretha Franklin, Billie Holiday and Etta James when asked to name some seminal female blues singers. It's unlikely they'll mention Alberta Hunter, a Memphis Music Hall of Famer who was a top-tier talent but who is lesser-known only because of a large gap in her musical career. I’m not a blues aficionado, but I became aware of Hunter, who lived from 1895 to 1984, through a family connection.
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I'm Dreaming of a Lonely Christmas Just Like the One We Had Last Year |
Grandparents a Boon to Primates, Whales … and Children |
We’re okay with being alone, and I’ll tell you why.
By Richard Armstrong |
Science shows grandparents & children both benefit. By Cindy Heath
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First, here is the back story. Fran married me 51 years ago, and we’ve enjoyed wedded bliss ever since. But there’s more to our story. When her husband fled the wedded scene, Fran had three children under 9 years old. I had one daughter to hold on to when my first wife decided other men were better than me. Fran and I had a son two years into our marriage. Do you get the picture?
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My mother (child of the ‘20s) typically lived in high-rise apartment buildings. In New York, San Diego and Houston (and a whole lot of places in between). Exiting the stairwell or elevator when visiting, I entered halls wafting with the smells of pot roast, fried chicken or maybe lasagna.
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At my age, minor disturbances
are like shards of glass, broken little things that seem trivial, but needing my complete attention |
My Turn at LastMidlife brings a new chapter of unexpected autonomy.
By Lisa Wathen I’m walking down a narrow, paved road that curls its way through some woods near my house, heading toward the river. This is Southeastern Virginia, so even though we’re on the doorstep of November the air is warm and the trees are only beginning to hint that their soft greens might be ready to warm into the brighter shades of autumn.
I take these long walks three or four times a week, though I’d do it every day if I could. I’m especially eager to get outside this time of year, to mark each tiny change as the natural world leans into the season — autumn is late here, yes, but beautiful. It is so fleeting, I cherish every bit of it. Seriously? Menopause at 43I hadn’t had a period in five months. The first few weeks were kind of nice. I could wear my white underwear. Then I kept thinking I was pregnant. That would have been a miracle on my end given I wasn’t even having sex. That’s how fertile I thought I was. And although I had just turned forty-three, I had just had a baby at age forty-two so in my delusional mind (and dimly lit vanity mirror) I believed I was more likely to get carded at a bar then run out of estrogen. Then I had the first hormone test.
Dr. Khesa, my turban-wearing, white-bearded Sikh doctor emailed me that I was peri-menopausal and that we should discuss it during my next appointment. What an asshole. Shouldn’t that news be presented in person or at least by phone? |
Grabbing My Boobs to Make A PointLast weekend, I went out with some girlfriends I’ve known since grad school, 25 years ago. While handing one of them my reading glasses, the other one said, “Oh my god. We’re at the age that we’re sharing reading glasses.”
“Are we?” I said. “That can’t be right.” But then I looked at my friend putting on my reading glasses, and we were. “Oh, this is better,” she said, adjusting them. “Now I can actually see the menu.” We’re also at the age when one of us has been talking too long, we’re allowed to call “My turn!” Embracing the Gray and the Road is ... RockyI blame COVID.
Much like my father before me, I started going gray in my early 30s. Unlike my father before me, who cheekily still referred to himself as “blonde” with a head full of white hair, my stubborn vanity kept me regularly hitting up the salon to freshen up my golden highlights every six weeks or so. Then I hit 50. Highlights alone weren’t cutting it anymore. My silver-white base now required color first, then highlights. It was becoming much more of a production. When the world came to a pause, this provided the perfect opportunity to test out putting a pause on what was now not just enhancing my hair color, but completely correcting it—for lack of a better term. |
On Facing the Autumn of LifeMusings from United Airlines, Flight 1978, Seat 1A
By Julia E. Hubbel First Class isn’t my thing, unless United upgrades me. They did, but only on the one hour or so flight from San Francisco, which took off at 6:35 last night, to Eugene. I’m always grateful for a free upgrade, albeit parts of me would prefer an upgrade on my aging and tired body, which feels a lot better this morning than last night as I watched a red sun sink out over the Pacific.
Our Softest MemoriesWould we judge our caregivers’ bodies?
By a grain of infinity A few days ago, I was reminiscing about a few things I miss from childhood, which got me thinking about the women in my — or, anyone’s — family tree: treasured aunts and great-aunts, grandmothers and great-grandmothers, mothers, older cousins, big sisters.
As I approach my 60th birthday, I finally, finally, am beginning to come to terms with a human body that relentlessly follows science. It reflects the laws of physics (gravity — read into that what you will), biology and genetics (a programmed loss of pigment-producing hair cells), and biochemistry (age-related metabolic changes), to name a few. |
RenaissanceA Sonnet
By William Stubblefield Fragments of the past once filled my mind,
Adolescent complaints from long ago. Although those petty flames no longer shine, Their shadows linger in time’s icy glow: Useless fictions, dreams, desires, lies, The masks I wore for work, success, protection, Love’s nakedness — a lonely man’s disguise -- I Want an El Camino and I Have a PlanBy Jean Campbell
I would never want a PT Cruiser, but it’s a popular car. It screams middle-aged the way a Buick howls “old AF.” I confess I’ve owned mostly Hondas and Toyotas. I love a practical car that holds it value.
In essence, I want to be someone practical who has value, and the right car is the closest I can get to manifesting. At least I’ll resemble a comfortably middle-class, fully employed, ambulatory member of the herd. But lately I’ve come to admit what I really want: an El Camino, maybe a 1961 or ‘62. A car from an era before it all went to hell in this country. |
Caring for an Aging Parent is an Ever-Changing Dance |
Are You Afraid to Die? |
Four things to remember as you care for parents.
By Scott Ninneman |
I'm not ...
By Mary McGrath |
"Why did you take so much of my money?” This was my greeting. Her bank statement clutched in her right hand, she glared at me with a mother’s disapproving eyes.
“Hello.” I sighed, but only on the inside. “The money went to pay your bills.” “My bills shouldn’t be that much.” It was going to be one of those conversations. |
Are you afraid to die? I’m not. I have heard many stories about what happens when you die, and apparently it is a very beautiful experience.
The week before my mother passed away, she started seeing people in the room. She'd been battling lung cancer, and her death was imminent. In the hospital, I watched as she looked up toward the ceiling. There, she claimed to see her first ... |
Freedom to Forget
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Morning Coffee with My 92-year-old Mom |
Do you really want to remember the past?
By Meryl Baer |
Uncovered stories.
By Carol Shamon |
As we get older and more stuff clogs our mind, new information and experiences shove older material into the far reaches of our brain.
We forget math equations learned in high school, the authors of once-favorite books, the names of fictional characters and perhaps the storyline. We remember lyrics of a song, maybe not the name of the song or the performer(s), something about a movie or TV show, an incident but can’t remember exactly when or where it occurred. |
When I come to visit she always asks if I believe in life after death
I always tell her that I do and she always says that she wishes she did but thinks there is nothing Soon we slip into the stories I’ve heard them many many times but never remind her of this |
Five Ways TV Commercials Insult People Over 50Women get hit hardest, but men take their lumps, too.
By Janice Harayda |
The Retirement Revolution Will Not be TelevisedWhat are you rebelling against?
By The Recovering Educator |
Americans lampoon the TV commercials of the Mad Men era that portrayed women as happy floor-waxers with a fixation on removing “ring around the collar” from men’s shirts. But have things really changed?
In one way, yes. TV commercials show a much broader cross section of the population than in the past, or people of varied ages, races, cultures, body sizes and sexual orientations. One study found that 38 percent of their actors were people of color, compared with 26 percent in 2006. Gay couples have become more common, though they remain relatively rare. |
A revolution begins with small acts of rebellion. The revolution that gave birth to the United States began with a few thrown snowballs and harsh words in Boston.
If you're reading this you probably spent much of your youth either participating in or observing acts of rebellion through images delivered by a dumb, black and white, no def, snowy, television tube attractively packaged in a plastic or metal woodgrain box. We have lived the history so I will skip the obligatory recap of the social upheaval of the 60s and 70s. |
Confessions of a Mature Belly DancerI just want to dance and have a good time.
By Meryl Baer |
Nature's LullabyThe beguilement of repose
By Deborah Barchi |
My dance saga begins at the tender age of four. My mother enrolled me in a ballet class, and like millions of girls before and after me, I spent an hour a week pirouetting and spinning. There was a recital at the end of the year.
Imagine a line of a dozen four- and five-year-old girls struggling to dance together. Perhaps you have suffered through the spectator experience. It can be long and wearying, the doors of the auditorium protected by stern-looking parents should you wish to leave following your performer’s routine. |
An afternoon nap
As late summer insects churr — Nature’s lullaby. One of the great things about being retired is the pleasure of an afternoon’s nap. It took me a while to allow myself this comfort; but once I did, I realized what a treasure I had found.
A nap in the middle of the day is more a meditation beneath closed eyes than a deep sleep. Images drift through my mind like a kaleidoscope. |
Reflecting on the Rhythm of Life Lessons In the Rear-View Mirror |
Why I Never Had Children |
Hindsight is always 20/20
By Brenda Cyr |
Sometimes I regret it.
By Mary McGrath |
The other day I was watching excited kids getting their school supplies. They were full of giggles and had bright eyes as they chose their new pens, books, and pencil cases. They were anticipating their return to school and to start learning new things. Every year of school meant they were moving closer to being grown-up, and they couldn’t wait to get to that magical place.
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As I’ve gotten older, I’ve noticed that many of my friends have children as well as grandchildren. It’s a club that I am not a part of. Sometimes I look at them and I am envious because they have a lineage that will follow them. Descendants will refer to them in the years to come, combing over pictures and other memorabilia.
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Maybe Junk Mail is More Valuable Than You ThinkWhen your life has slowed down, waiting for the mail becomes the main event of the day.
By Jackie Madden Haugh Excited at the thought that someone sent me a present, I clawed my way to the back of the mailbox with feverish hands and sent a pile of bills tumbling to the ground. No sooner did I extract the large carton than disappointment stomped its steel-toed boot on my foot. The bane of every mailbox’s existence had done it again. It was just a piece of junk.
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It’s 2021 and My Dad Just Found Out About SeltzerNo, he didn’t try it. He just learned that it existed.
By Emily Kingsley My parents are both healthy and alive, but they’re also old enough that a phone call at a strange time quickens my pulse. My dad called me during the middle of the day last week. He works at a college and I work at a high school, so neither one of us is usually free to make personal calls. But when his number popped up, I had a few free minutes. I gulped and answered.
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When the Future is Loss Fear and grief over crises that common sense tells us are on the way. By Lisa Wathen
Driving south on Highway 13 through Delaware and the eastern shore of Virginia, I was sobbing. Big, gulping sobs. Ugly crying, you know what I mean. On and off, hiccoughing between tear storms, for 45 minutes. I was thinking of my parents, listening to music from my childhood, replaying memories from decades ago, hearing their voices in my head and grieving their loss, the devastating hole their absence means for my entire existence.
I Don't Want a Perfect LifeI'm OK with average.
By Micah Ward Every day brings new articles in many media outlets that give instructions on how we can each live our most perfect life. Usually, those articles come with lists:
The Ten Steps to Achieve This Type of Wonderfulness. The Eight Phases to Becoming Excellent at Something or Another. Five Rules for Attaining this Great Thing or That Greater One |
My Retirement Didn’t Go As Smoothly As I Thought It WouldI learned a lot of lessons that first year. By Ruby Lee
Since tomorrow is the first day of school here in my town, it has me reflecting on my thirty-two-year career in education. It was a good run while it lasted, but you know the old saying, “all good things must come to an end.”
I was excited to retire, but once the euphoria of not going to work wore off, I got pretty bored. I read a lot of books, but even that got old quickly. I'll Sleep When I'm OldNo, you won't. But you'll have a lot of conversation about it with your spouse. By Jean Campell
“How’d you sleep?”
“Great! I only got up twice to pee, and slept all the way till 5 a.m.!” “Wow! That’s good.” “What about you?” “Meh. The usual.” This is the scintillating dialogue that may rule. |
Twilight Years |
What Happened to the Passion? |
Wait, what twilight years?
By Linda C. Smith |
It's time to rekindle the wild spirit of youth.
By Brenda Cyr |
I was tiptoeing through the news headlines the other evening when I saw something that referred to a person’s retirement as his or her twilight years. Oh, why was I tiptoeing through the news? Let me explain that before I continue.
Stuff: You Can't Take It With YouYour kids wouldn’t be caught dead with it.
By Judy Millar I’ve arrived in my seventies with SO MUCH baggage.
Do you want a Suzanne Somers’ ThighMaster? You’re in luck. This contraption hasn’t been compressed by my quivering thighs since circa 1990, but it regularly jams up my closet door. It’s yours for the taking. |
Remember the sixties and seventies? Love-ins, sit-ins, great music, long hair and bell-bottoms? I remember it as a time of discovery and rebellion. We challenged everything we didn’t understand. The world was changing, and we were in charge.
The Joy of 71And it's not just about sex.
By David Martin This is not a paean to aging or a discourse on why we should treasure our so-called “golden years.” I’m not a glass-half-full kind of guy so I’m not a great candidate for penning such a work. After all, I’m already suffering the ravages of time.
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I Have No Memory of That |
Time |
The necessity of forgetting.
By Laura Culberg Last night I got together with four of my best friends. We gathered to celebrate one of our birthdays. We’re all in our fifties now — some more solidly than others. We’re tamer than we once were, choosing mocktails...
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You may have more of it left than you think.
By Joe Thomas For most of my life I have had a bad understanding of time. Not that I can’t tell time, or that I don’t know how many days there are in a year, but in a more profound sense.
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Sex in the SixtiesOr whatever decade you find yourself in.
By Catherine Dunn Sex in the sixties. I know there was lots then, but not for me. I was a toddler at the beginning of that decade. Sex in my sixties. That’s what I’m talking about. It’s good.
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Open letter: On Reaching Level 50I have now reached Level 50 in Life Diety System. And I have a complaint. By Karl Hodge
Dear Deity Systems,
I have been playing your game, “Human Life,” for some time, but I am starting to think it may be broken. |
Hypersensitivity to AgeismIs this a typical phase of aging?
By Dana Dobson |
Shifting Gears in My SeventiesIt’s okay to let bucket lists go with no regrets.
By Carole Olsen |
My 65th birthday is in August, and I’m in fierce denial that I’m “old.” The outside world, however, tells me otherwise — pretty much daily now — through innocent words and actions. I continue to take umbrage, but I pretend not to notice.
But I do keep inventory on what people say and do, allowing their commentary to grind away in my head. An Octogenarian SpeaksSo listen up, kids.
By Tom Phillips I read the stories in Crow’s Feet because I like to know what younger people are thinking. Right now there seems to be a wave of anxiety among Baby Boomers, as you turn 60 or 70.
I turned 79 and 1/2 this week, and decided since I’m closer to my 80th birthday than any other, I’ll just be 80. It’s the age of Wisdom. |
A few days ago, I was planning to climb Mt La Conte in Tennessee for a second time. It didn’t happen. What did happen was that I admitted to myself I didn’t like to tent camp anymore.
For the past two years, I have left camping trips early, making excuses, “it’s too cold, it’s rainy, or I’ve done all I can do here.” I Just Turned 60: I Didn’t Wake Up Dead TodayAnd that's a great start to my birthday!
By Charles H. Roast Yes, my lovelies. I turned 60 today. I am alive and sorta kicking. Well, I was when I wrote this last night. But, hey! That’s what we old folks call an optimistic attitude. I am optimistic that I will wake up tomorrow morning alive and achy from all the old people pain I have.
They say old is a “state of mind.” |
What Is It With Young Women and Grey Hair in Stock Photos?Please stop usurping our silver locks.
By Carol Lennox I search for pictures of lovely older women with silver hair for a story I’m writing about, you guessed it, older women. Write what you know. Right?
How are women my actual age represented in stock photos on a platform that shall remain nameless because of licensing with another platform I would never intentionally offend? As overly wrinkled crones. Seriously. Go check it out. I’ll wait. Are You an Online Senior Dating?Meet My First Companion, Lorem Ipsum.
By Lee J. Bentch I signed up with an online dating app for Seniors. It’s a fun learning experience. I figured out how to swipe left, swipe right, clap, smile, connect up, have an excellent time, break up, move on, all the exciting things associated with getting out there again.
It’s been a few years since my wife passed. I figured it’s time to stretch my arms and get social again. |
You Might Be Retired If...How to spot a retiree.
By David Martin Comedian Jeff Foxworthy has made a nice living from his shtick “You might be a redneck if…….” As in, “You might be a redneck if you’ve been married three times and still have the same in-laws.”
What Mr. Foxworthy has done for rednecks, I’d like to do for retired guys. As a retired guy, I’ve begun to notice that most of us have similar traits, characteristics and lifestyles. Thus, you might be retired if: My Young Visitor Said Her Mother Was OldHer mother is my age, but I knew what she was saying.
By Ruby Lee Everyone has heard the old saying. You know the one that goes, “Age is nothing but a number.” Well, tell that to my knees!
But I know what it is supposed to mean. You see plenty of seniors who are young at heart, and then you see the seniors who are just old and like being old. My son invited a young couple to our house on the 4th of July. |
Challenged to Honor the “In Sickness” PartIt might come sooner than you think.
By Marie A. Bailey In February 2001, I was diagnosed with endometrial cancer. I was 43 and scared shitless of cancer. My husband was scared too, but kept it to himself for the most part. I was freaking out. Somebody had to stay calm and it was him. That March, I underwent a total abdominal hysterectomy as treatment. Fortunately, my recovery was swift and uneventful.
I'm Retired and I Don't Want to TravelThere, I've said it. I don't want to travel.
By Orrin Onken I don’t want to buy an RV and see the country. I don’t want to visit the Galapagos. I don’t want to cruise the rivers of Europe.
I recently retired from practicing law. I liked working. I ran my own office, got to do things my way, and earned a lot of money. But it was always work, and I never mistook it for anything else |
Ageless LoveA poem.
By Jaylee Reign antiquated love
memories of eras past teetering precariously on life’s edge yet still I turn on for those who notice my fine form hidden in dusty corners I'm Going to Wash That Man Right Out of My HairAnd send him on his way. Mitzi Gaynor in South Pacific
By Carol Lennox My mother was a lover of musicals. Specifically, sappy musicals full of love songs. South Pacific had love songs galore, but it wasn’t sappy.
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Stepping StonesBy Carol Price
I chose to walk across the stepping stones.
I carefully placed one foot in front of the other as I crossed the living water. There was a slight wobble from time to time, but that’s OK. No one is expected to get it entirely right on every occasion. My Journey to Accepting my AgeWhat will your journey be?
By Nancy Peckenham When I turned 58 years old it hit me. I could no longer deny I was getting old. My younger son graduated from high school that year and I was already sealing off empty rooms at home. I had just sold my small online news business and I had no plans to start another venture. I secretly wanted to be hired by an established media outlet that would value my experience, but I knew that was never to be.
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It's the Little MomentsBy Joe Wheeler
If you look at the pictures on the walls of peoples homes, you would assume that it’s the big events that matter. You may see pictures that commemorate the birth of a child, that child’s first steps, the year they won the science fair competition, etc. You may see wedding pictures and graduation pictures...
Must Our Sex Lives Die Before We Do?Sex doesn’t have to stop after any age but recognizing and responding to its challenges is necessary
By David Mokotoff “Do you believe in same sex marriage?” a man was asked. “Of course I do,” he responded. “I have been married to the same woman for 40 years and we have been having the same sex for all of those years” This old joke takes on more significance as we age.
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