tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33064300723360187792024-02-20T01:46:55.427-08:00Over the Hill and Lovin' ItWe're aging, ready or not, and this blog helps us highlight the positive, the humorous, and downright hystericalMary Johttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17442094332086556812noreply@blogger.comBlogger38125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3306430072336018779.post-66313120438539753152017-06-07T08:13:00.002-07:002017-06-07T08:13:26.760-07:00On Turning (Gasp!) 70<br />
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I never thought this would happen. I don’t know what I thought would happen, since I’m on a 104-year plan, but 70 caught me a little (okay, a lot) off guard. When you are 18 on the inside, the outside can throw you for a loop. Luckily, I hang out with really vibrant, fun people 70 and beyond. One of my favorites is 93 and she just started shacking up with a 96-year old. That’s living! <br />
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We hike, we trek, and we climb 14-ers, those fourteen thousand foot mountains for which Colorado is famous. Another friend who turned 70 within a month of my birthday and I are climbing Mt Huron to thumb our noses at that number. My sweetie, who is a healthy 73-year old is coming with us and he and I will climb a couple more later this summer. <br />
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Of course, we all know that evolution wants us dead and that our bodies were not designed for 104-year plans. Our bones, joints, rotator cuffs and teeth are all trying to bow out while we work desperately to keep them. And maintenance takes waaaaay longer than it used to! My three closest friends in Colorado and I all had major surgery this winter: two spinal fusions and two shoulder repairs. But we’re back in action, with the help of some extensive physical therapy.<br />
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The trick to navigating 70, as far as I can tell, is to stay involved and connected. In my case, that means working more than ever, learning new systems and having Millennials for bosses. My experience really counts for something by the look of my paycheck, and I’m learning new types of writing and processing information all the time.<br />
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We are now the oldest generation, our parents having bowed out after a long and fruitful life. As such, we set a somewhat different example for our kids and grandkids than did those parents because of our fast evolving world and frame of reference. The Baby Boomers are now embroiled in the Trump Generation, whatever that turns out to be. All I know is that it’s never dull. <br />
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One of the tenets by which I live is to celebrate everything. Hallmark birthdays, like the decades, have always been sacred. At 40 I set new personal bests at all my running distances. For 50, I cajoled my sweetie into climbing Kilimanjaro. For 60, nothing would do but to be in Timbuktu. So you can imagine his trepidation at what I would come up with for 70. Not to worry, easy peasy. I just want to drive a Zamboni. And drive it I will in the space of two weeks at the Breckinridge, CO ice rink, courtesy of a friend whose husband is the facility manager there. And I will be in costume and so will all our friends and family who are attending. Outlandish attire required! I will be deplorable at it but that’s part of the fun, and it lets others know that it’s okay to be silly and undignified in our joy of being alive. <br />
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Next year, we celebrate our 50th wedding anniversary and my sweetie and I plan to celebrate the whole year, traveling all over and wheedling the kids into taking part. My parents were just shy of their 71st when my dad died, but there wasn’t much celebration in their lives. We plan to change that. <br />
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Mary Johttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17442094332086556812noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3306430072336018779.post-53736671604605535732016-01-17T07:09:00.000-08:002016-01-17T07:11:18.120-08:00My First Holidays After Dad<br />
I got up this morning and thought ‘I have to call Dad.’ And then I thought: “Dad died.” It comes to me at odd times and then the waterworks start all over again. He was an easy father to love—in his later years.<br />
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In his early years, he was a dedicated bread winner and corporate executive. He traveled worldwide and we didn’t see him much. When he was home, Mom would recite our sins and he became the disciplinarian. He was affectionate, but not overly demonstrative.<br />
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After he retired, he became the most loving connected father. Oh sure, he was still bitterly disappointed that he didn’t raise four Republicans and we didn’t seem to understand what a mess this country is in, but he loved us anyway. We got hugs and kisses and I always called home before I left on a trip and each time I got to my destination safely. He wanted to know I was okay. And he always reminded me to “keep the back door open.” <br />
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My father, Joseph T. Hepp, was a long-time contributor of editorial opinion pieces for the Battle Creek Enquirer. He self-published two books and even had a blog, all to keep trying to wake up this country to the wrong direction in which he thought we were headed. As a writer, I was his editor of his newspaper pieces and books. While I didn’t often agree with his stance, I was always so honored to do that for him. And he was a quick learner. I very patiently fixed and explained to him about not doing all his indentations with hard carriage returns, and that he didn’t have to put every important word in quotes. Courtesy of cut-and-paste, I could move paragraphs around so the meanings and connections worked. Over the years he got much better and produced long articles, typing with only his right index finger. He used to joke that if the arthritis got too bad in that finger, he was going to have to write them with his middle finger, which might be a statement in itself! The last thing I wrote for him was his obituary.<br />
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I miss him so much today and every day. At almost 92 years old, he was a force in all our lives. My husband spent a lot of time today giving hugs. He’s a great father, too. As is my son. His daughters are amazing and know they are unconditionally loved. <br />
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My father wasn’t perfect, but as he told us a few years ago in frustration at our inability to forget the things they did wrong raising us (as all children love to do), he said: “Listen. We did the best we could with what we knew then. Get over it.” I sure hope my son will understand that about his upbringing. I made a lot of mistakes.<br />
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Mary Johttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17442094332086556812noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3306430072336018779.post-23016881986949895142015-06-20T16:04:00.000-07:002015-06-20T16:04:22.211-07:00Losing a ParentIt’s tough losing my dad, even when I’m a senior citizen myself. I will always be his oldest daughter, his writing collaborator and his biggest fan. I never tired of saying how blessed I felt that at the ripe age of almost 68 I still had both my parents in my life. I could see them helping my husband and I celebrate our 50th wedding anniversary in three years. But that didn’t happen. He checked out two weeks before his 71st anniversary. <br />
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As my mom’s caregiver, he was the healthy one. He was adventuresome and would be very active. However, my mom, whose comfort zone is a table in her kitchen, didn’t want him going anywhere. His job was to take care of her. I had big plans for traveling with him after my mom was gone. But life is like that sometimes. He’s gone. She could live to be 100 and she doesn’t like it one bit. But here we are.<br />
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Logic says that it was his time. He had a good life. He was almost 92. Logic isn’t worth a crap at a time like this. He’s gone. I miss him and I have this hole in my heart. His four daughters all miss him terribly, but we honor him by doing everything we can to take care of our mother and make sure she is safe, physically and financially.<br />
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My dad: the editorial opinion writer, the book publisher, the diehard Republican. I was honored to be his editor for his books and articles, and set up his conservative blog. I disagreed with a lot of things he wrote, but I was thrilled with his determination to keep trying to sway people to his point of view. The last thing I wrote for him was his obituary. <br />
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He was cremated and we will hold a party to celebrate his life. My dad had many friends. It should be well attended. We will talk about our favorite memories. My nephew will sing a song he wrote for him. A Quaker minister will deliver a homily. And we will release butterflies so my dad can again soar into the heavens and fly, his greatest joy. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZDgZa6BjgcelcmU2WPitRYy0BZ-1aVRxGjejuR7p08GPSEnSbedsJA58k0ozTAZRbDwYtHpGJeSHbFhdTJ7B2pafmpuaeuO1ZUHMFxi57Z4L-7Mqe8V3kA6eQFrftlfJKE50Lb66N8Q-L/s1600/Dad+obituary.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZDgZa6BjgcelcmU2WPitRYy0BZ-1aVRxGjejuR7p08GPSEnSbedsJA58k0ozTAZRbDwYtHpGJeSHbFhdTJ7B2pafmpuaeuO1ZUHMFxi57Z4L-7Mqe8V3kA6eQFrftlfJKE50Lb66N8Q-L/s320/Dad+obituary.jpg" /></a>Mary Johttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17442094332086556812noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3306430072336018779.post-12942218050377066852015-01-16T15:37:00.000-08:002015-01-16T15:37:01.808-08:00Ringing in a New Year in Style<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgW1ohN01g7Rif1XoJJEPYKFeXs9X5JGI95GOFLkdPKjXRkNMpy9FDmYrYRMMMPHB85NWazc1a24xrT8XYvc8c7l9ddpskqRLN3crIbqzO_wVwaA03twRBSsk4qzzCCUUQcuz1rg_XSyLYM/s1600/Img_2992.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgW1ohN01g7Rif1XoJJEPYKFeXs9X5JGI95GOFLkdPKjXRkNMpy9FDmYrYRMMMPHB85NWazc1a24xrT8XYvc8c7l9ddpskqRLN3crIbqzO_wVwaA03twRBSsk4qzzCCUUQcuz1rg_XSyLYM/s320/Img_2992.jpg" /></a></div>Resolutions aside, the New Year is a great time to give thanks for all our blessings. In addition to the wonderful people in our lives, our relative ease of livelihood and great experiences add richness to our lives and make us feel very fortunate. This year, we watched the New Year ring in from around the world and celebrated our familiarity with all those places:<br />
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Times Square, New York: Probably the quintessential New Year’s Eve venue, we celebrated it there last year to commemorate our 45th wedding anniversary. We were probably the oldest people there, crammed in with over a million of our close personal friends.<br />
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Memphis on Beale Street: We spent three delightful evenings there this past October while at a professional conference.<br />
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Key West, Florida: Several times on diving trips, we spent time in Key West on the waterfront, eating seafood and watching an amazing routine of cat tricks. Who knew cats could be trained?<br />
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Dubai: Brilliant fireworks from the Burj Khalifa reminded us of our trip to Dubai and looking down from its observation platform. Also, last year in Times Square, we met a man from Dubai who came here to celebrate!<br />
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On a cruise ship in the Caribbean: We did that one better. At the turn of the Millennium, we were on a cruise ship in the South Pacific, watching dawn over Pitt Island, the Southernmost inhabited island. Then we crossed the International Dateline and did New Year’s Eve #2!<br />
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We know at some point, these adventures and other gallivanting around the world will come to an end, but I will never feel cheated from life. We have shared a richness with other cultures that continually makes me feel awestruck at the diversity on this planet. And, while strife goes with the territory, I feel I’m a better world citizen for having traveled to faraway places and soaked up the culture, not expecting it or wanting it to be “just like home”. <br />
Mary Johttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17442094332086556812noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3306430072336018779.post-58542042486706663012014-11-19T07:43:00.002-08:002014-11-19T07:45:51.885-08:00Taking Charge of Your Treatment: A Breast Cancer Two-Timer Shares Her Experience<br />
The diagnosis of cancer is a highly charged emotional event. It can throw us off for days before we can begin to think clearly. The inclination may be to follow whatever the person delivering the news tells you. Not always the best idea. As a nurse/medical writer who has breast cancer twice, here is what I recommend and live by:<br />
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1. <b>Don’t accept the first treatment recommendation you receive.</b> Get a second and a third opinion, and listen to the reasons for each one’s recommendations. One doctor may recommend less treatment than you think you need. Get as many opinions as you need to feel comfortable about your decision. You don’t have to decide today.<br />
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2. <b>Ask other cancer patients, friends, and people in the medical profession for names of doctors for second and third opinions.</b> Don’t use two doctors in the same practice, and make sure they are not affiliated.<br />
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3. <b>Set up your appointments as soon as possible, and get copies of all your medical records to them in advance.</b> Create a paper trail. You should have a complete file of any surgical or biopsy reports. They may be needed years later and be difficult to track down.<br />
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4. <b>Do your own research-but wait until you have all the facts.</b> It will help you ask the right questions. If you don’t have a feel for the reputable medical websites, make friends with a health professional. One of mine was upset by my diagnosis and said she needed an assignment. I asked her to research the relative risk of recurrence with and without chemotherapy for my type of cancer. When she had the information together, we sat down and made a list of questions for me to take to my appointments. I felt more in control, and she knew she had really helped me.<br />
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5. <b>Take someone with you to the appointment or tape record it.</b> When dealing with a highly emotional issue like cancer treatment, even nurses don’t always hear everything. A second set of ears or a tape will allow you to re-hear it in a more neutral environment. None of the doctors I saw: my surgeon, radiation oncologist, or the medical oncologists had any problem with taping our session.<br />
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6. <b>Ask them to put chances of recurrence with various treatment options in a way that makes sense to you.</b> For me, percentages worked. If surgery plus radiation and tamoxifen has an 85% cure rate, and chemotherapy would only add an additional 2-3%, is it worth the trauma and side effects of chemotherapy? That was my situation and I could live with a 2-3% risk. Another woman I met in radiation, a stockbroker accustomed to taking risk on a daily basis, was in the same boat. She opted for chemotherapy because she needed to feel she was doing everything possible. That’s the point. What is right for you may not be right for someone else.<br />
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7. <b>Don’t give away the treatment decision to your doctor.</b> It is your body. For any treatment to be effective, it must have your full mental and emotional support. Your immune system will not be fooled. Only you can decide your risk comfort level. My first oncologist had declared that I needed six months of chemotherapy in addition to the radiation and tamoxifen. I thought I would die either way. Both the second and third opinion physicians felt that chemotherapy was not even clearly indicated in my case. And because they both agreed, but for slightly different reasons, I felt comfortable going with my gut feeling that chemotherapy was not really right for me. It has been 13 years since that second diagnosis.<br />
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Mary Johttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17442094332086556812noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3306430072336018779.post-88040042090869582792014-11-09T11:05:00.002-08:002014-11-09T11:05:48.447-08:00Trash Collection is Site-SensitivePicking up trash can be fascinating, seriously! I have the blessing of living in two different places, one way up in the mountains with very little trash, and one in the heart of a major city with beaucoup trash, so plentiful it seems to come up out the ground instead of grass. So I have different approaches to my dedication for keeping my world cleaner.<br />
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In Colorado, I have a friend who is always training pack llamas, so when we do our adopt-a-road trash pickup, we take a llama along with saddlebags to hold the trash. Then we climb down and up ditches, picking up what tourists flying by have decided to jettison. They don’t live here; why should they care?<br />
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Rattling the saddlebags and stuffing trash gradually gets the llamas used to packing and we don’t have to carry all of it. Win-win. Plus, with a llama, people always slow down to look and sometimes notice we are picking up trash, which gets them to thinking about not leaving any!<br />
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My city home has a real dearth of pack animals, so I have my own mantra for that: if I see a discarded plastic bag (and who doesn’t daily in the city?) I was meant to pick it up and fill it with trash before depositing it in a proper receptacle. That basically means, every time I leave my house, I will be picking up trash, but that has a finite limit, as does the bag. Then I can continue on my way, enjoying the walk, the day and any flowers. <br />
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Imagine my surprise one day during my mountain time while sauntering down a dirt road gawking at the new snow covering on the mountains, when an empty plastic bag drifted in front of me. Here? Okay, same pledge holds, so I picked it up and started filling. Because of our paucity of trash, I walked a lot farther toting it before it was full. And my surroundings were once more pristine.<br />
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Can I invite you readers to do the same? Minus the llama, in most cases, I know, but be aware and help out our planet a little. <br />
Mary Johttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17442094332086556812noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3306430072336018779.post-25833326723368788712014-10-05T08:28:00.001-07:002014-10-05T08:28:05.110-07:00Getting Fired by Your Friends<br />
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Well, I have reached the point in my life where I’ve been fired by two long-term friends. We’ve all had to re-evaluate relationships as we realize life is too short to spend in one-sided non-productive “friendships”, so we just stop calling those people who always are up for something if we call them but never reciprocate. <br />
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This is different. These were friendships I really wanted to keep. One just stopped interacting because she said we no longer have anything in common. She and her husband have very tight money issues after their investments tanked in 2008. We have done all right and can continue to travel. While I try to focus on family when we’re together, and not travel, she still knows and doesn’t feel we have enough to share. I still continue to send birthday and Christmas cards with warm thoughts for their continued well-being. She’s still MY friend.<br />
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The other one is a sad case: a brilliant woman with many talents but deeply scarred from her life. Adopted and neglected, the break-up of two marriages have left her bitter and feeling the world is out to get her. I tried to be a friend to help her focus on her talents and encourage her. She lives alone in a hermit-like existence. We were doing fine until another person treated her unjustly in a group email. All of us who got it thought it was tacky, but because we all just discounted it, none of us rallied to support her. Unfortunately, because she can never let go of slights or assign them to the other person’s issues, anyone who sees that person is slamming her and can never be a friend again. Although I had apologized, it wasn’t enough. I was forever tainted. <br />
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This has distressed me, but as another friend who does counseling says, “She made that choice. You offered friendship. She wouldn’t accept it.” Even this compassionate person knows that sometimes it’s not within our power to help another person who doesn’t want it.<br />
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The personal benefit out of all this is that I look at my relationships and my demonstrations of caring more critically, and try to increase them with every encounter. Am I being the best friend I can be to those who matter to me? Am I guilty of distraction and lack of support when things come up in my life, or am I able to be in the here and now when people need me? Truthfully, not always, and I will work on that for the rest of my life.<br />
Mary Johttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17442094332086556812noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3306430072336018779.post-9117072328993288172014-07-08T10:42:00.001-07:002014-07-08T10:44:15.973-07:00Figuring Out My Life’s Work<br />
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As I watch my mother, who is almost totally blind and has mobility limitations, sit and do nothing all day, I ache, not just for her, but for everyone who doesn’t have something that gives her life meaning. Looking forward to my ever advancing age, I feel an urgency to have a life’s work that I can do at some level while I still have breath in my body. Deciding on one thing is driving me nuts! Consequently, I spend more time than I should doing crossword puzzles and reading. <br />
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While enjoying our deck time high in the Rocky Mountains, my sweetie and I have had this discussion. He says his life mission is to no harm and to always be open to new experiences. That’s fine, I say, but what are you actually doing? I volunteer long-distance while in Colorado and in person in St. Louis with the Red Cross, but somehow that doesn’t seem to be enough. I do volunteer writing and editing for a couple of organizations and look for people to mentor. Again, not enough. <br />
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Arianna Huffington said it best in her new book <i>Thrive</i>: <br />
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<i>1. Make small gestures of kindness and giving a habit, and pay attention to how this affects your mind, your emotions, and your body.<br />
2. During your day, make a personal connection with people you might normally tend to pass by and take for granted: the checkout clerk, the cleaning crew at your office or your hotel, the barista at the coffee shop. See how this helps you feel more alive and connected to the moment.<br />
3. Use a skill or talent you have—cooking, accounting, decorating—to help someone who could benefit from it. It’ll jumpstart your transition from a go-getter to a go-giver, and reconnect you to the world and to the natural abundance in your own life.<br />
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</i>By the way, I would heartily recommend this book. It teaches us how to be mindful in our lives so we experience every moment of every day of this oh, so brief existence.<br />
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Mary Johttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17442094332086556812noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3306430072336018779.post-30976177823904800092014-05-27T07:33:00.003-07:002014-05-27T07:33:41.523-07:00Family DynamicsA 105-year old vivacious lady once told me that the secret to having a happy aging was not being encumbered by family. Instead she cultivated male and female friends who were much younger than she was and found they kept her challenged and engaged.<br />
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Family certainly keeps us challenged in every sense of the word. My husband and I have a full life, sometimes too full with our part-time jobs, travel and friends, and then the family issues. My 90-year old parents, still living independently, are starting to struggle with health issues and the logistics of staying in their home. My sisters and I know that when they must move, it will be crisis management on our part, since my mother declares that the only way she is leaving her house is in an urn. We honor their independence, but find that better health care decisions could be made if they were more savvy and assertive with providers. That won’t happen, so we dance around issues to try to improve their care. <br />
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Our son and daughter-in-law have busy lives and keep our darling granddaughters way too scheduled to spend time with us, something that distresses us deeply. <br />
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Then there are the health scares and threats to our generation, especially my sisters, without whom I would be lost. Two of us have had cancer twice, and now a third may be battling something worse. <br />
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Herein lies the challenge of living well: being concerned but also paying attention to the joys that surround us and making sure we communicate that joy to those we care about. Although trite to say, this message bears repeating: we have but one life to live. Live it grandly and with joy. Don’t miss the daily gifts we are given while caring for those around us. And laugh. Laugh long and lustily. Joyous noise that is contagious.<br />
Mary Johttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17442094332086556812noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3306430072336018779.post-89284808530552655732014-03-29T14:29:00.000-07:002014-03-29T14:36:30.035-07:00My Friend DianaWe are never ready to lose dear friends, but ready or not, we have to deal with it. One summer within the space of a month, I lost two close friends and the father of another dear friend. It must have seemed to my husband that I was forever opening my email and bursting into tears. Then things calmed down for a while, long enough to lull me into a false sense of security that the rest of my friends were safe, and so was I. <br />
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But I’m on the shady side of 65 heading on down that slippery slope to 70. And at this point, losing people starts to pick up. So this is a good time to give some thought to how I handle these occurrences, these holes left in my heart. I still have both my parents. At 88 and 90, they feel like they are slipping from my grasp. They will leave a huge hole in my heart as I become an orphan. I can’t even think about losing my darling husband, my adorable sisters or my precious kids.<br />
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Still, here I sit with the very raw loss of my best writing friend Diana, taken so quickly by an obscure but fast-moving cancer. She left two barely grown children, a mother, and a devoted husband, all of whom are still reeling at what happened and where they go from here. So, too, all her writing friends. Diana was bigger than life and a constant force for urging us to be better than we ever thought we could: better writers, better citizens, better protectors of nature, just better. <br />
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As Diana’s husband and kids have circled the wagons around their loss, Diana’s other friends have united to support her mother and each other as we deal with having to push ourselves to excel without Di here to do it. She leaves a large hole, yes, but more importantly, she leaves a legacy of her example of how to lead, embrace, and chronicle life. We are all the better for it and for the privilege of having held her hand as we discovered life from her perspective. Having had that teacher and treasure, we can share her lessons with those who remain in our lives. Thank you, Diana. We miss you, and we’ll take it from here. Mary Johttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17442094332086556812noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3306430072336018779.post-53254718410762608632014-03-02T14:23:00.000-08:002014-03-02T14:23:38.195-08:00Keeping the Knowledge AliveI recently came back from visiting my parents: dad age 90 and Mom, 88. My dad does a lot of writing, but my mom with her macular degeneration and a prior stroke is almost blind. She feels she has nothing to live for because she can’t do anything she used to do. She needed something to feel good about, so I started a memoir for her. The only rule was that we had to focus on stories of her life that were not part of her intense anger at her family. <br />
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She started talking about life on the farm growing up. These stories will be of interest to my granddaughters now, and certainly later when my parents are gone. My parents did a book for their daughters about their lives that my mom typed and made bound copies for their four daughters in 1993, but many of the stories Mom came up with over the last week weren’t in there, so my project is to take what she did then and add these great remembrances. <br />
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On an earlier visit, I took her letters she had written her best friend years ago, especially when we were living in Mexico. Her friend was moving into assisted living and her daughter, my oldest friend, asked me if I would like these letters. Of course I would! As I read them to Mom, I learned so much about what my mom grappled with living in a foreign country and raising three daughters, running a home and keeping everything going while my father traveled extensively. My memories are from my teenage years, a much different perspective than my mom’s. <br />
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With the world changing so fast, the environment and tools we grew up with will be alien to our grandchildren and great-grandchildren, so we could keep the knowledge and appreciation of earlier times going by writing this stuff down, about our parents, and about ourselves, since we aren’t exactly spring chickens.<br />
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It’s also a great way to have a meaningful conversation with older loved ones, even siblings. It celebrates and validates their lives. We all want that.Mary Johttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17442094332086556812noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3306430072336018779.post-40269306254314618422014-01-03T15:08:00.000-08:002014-01-04T06:59:28.281-08:00Another High Point for Seasoned Citizens: New Year’s Eve in Times Square<span style="font-size: large;">Now why, you ask, would a 70-ish couple want to spend hours out in the cold, celebrating an event that comes predictably every year with 1,000,000+ of their close, very close, but not-so-personal friends? The average age of Times Square revelers is probably 22. </span><br />
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</span><span style="font-size: large;">So why do it and maybe scare ourselves silly in the process? Because we could, and it was a stretch and, yes, a little scary. That’s the point. As we get to this age, there is a huge tendency to circle the wagons and play it safe. Not a good idea. If we don’t continue to grow intellectually, emotionally, and in competency, we shrink. There is no standing still.</span><br />
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</span><span style="font-size: large;">Still, we all have to pick our challenges to match our interests and physical limitations. Times Square has some physical and psychological requirements that are significant. </span><br />
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</span><span style="font-size: large;">1. <b>Structurally:</b> You have to be able to walk several miles and stand in essentially the same spot for up to 8 or 9 hours. I hopped a lot and did some deep knee bends when rigor mortis started setting in. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">2. <b>Cold:</b> We’re talking New York City on the last night of the year. It can be snowing, sleeting, or just bitterly cold. Bring more layers than you think you need. Wear mittens: they keep your hands warmer and you can drop hand-warmer packs into them. Ours kept our hands moderately warm for 7 hours. Toe warmers stick to the bottom of your socks to warm your feet. That helped, too. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">3. <b>Bathrooms:</b> We have to be frank here. Essentially, there are none. If your bladder can’t hold its own for 8 hours, you may have to rethink—or make provisions to help it. I thought this over carefully and came up with a plan. After my breakfast cup of coffee, I cut off all fluids for the rest of the day. And for the first time in my life, I wore Depends—just in case that wasn’t enough. Luckily, cutting off the fluids worked, but it’s always good to have a back-up. And I found out that anti-leaking undergarments are quite comfortable—for future reference.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">4. <b>Escape routes:</b> In Times Square after about 3 PM, the police cut off most of the access roads and pedestrians are funneled through densely populated check-points, where you will be wanded and cleared to enter a cordoned-off viewing area with big metal barricades. The only way out, once packed in like cattle, is by climbing over the barricade, so you have to decide to either stay or that you are physically able to climb up and over. Once out, however, you will not be allowed back in. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">5. <b>Back to the packed in like cattle:</b> If you have even a touch of claustrophobia, don’t do it. There are times when you are packed so tightly together with strangers of different sizes that you can’t even raise or lower your arms. You are totally pinned. My sweetie and I held on to each other through those areas with iron grips to keep from getting separated. I wanted him there at midnight. I came for the kiss!</span><br />
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</span><span style="font-size: large;">So why would anyone want to do this? I can only answer why we did it. Several reasons:</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">• It was our 45th wedding anniversary and we wanted it to be bizarre.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">• We had seen the ball drop on TV for so many years; we just wanted to see it happen live for once.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">• Our kids blew off our offer of an all-expense paid Disney cruise and park vacation, and this was plan B.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">• I was curious to see who else would be crazy enough to do this. I met people from France, Germany, Mexico, Dubai, Croatia and about 14 states. Of course, they were all under 30. New York City-ites wouldn’t be caught dead there.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">So we did it, first counting down the hours and finally the minutes. We saw the crystal ball drop, saw the 2014 numbers light up amid fireworks, and kissed each other like we had another 45 years in us. </span><br />
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</span><span style="font-size: large;">Then we slogged through the crowd for umpteen blocks back to our hotel, toasted each other with champagne and crashed! Next year, we’re thinking of New Year’s Eve in Red Square in Moscow. It didn’t look as crowded.</span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJb5ztMqycyyvMKnCLrkXqA_vOgqM0miP1_mO1oT6A0Vc0KYcYZUUUYDx-L-X1Rpr98ucN58_do0FdO9TZVQFU_DyX8AaE8NVM7vpbffbUpXQGyZ2GkvKorCNXGjDGGqG6zvUTvJwR3s8p/s1600/TSus.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" closure_lm_696078="null" gua="true" height="224" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJb5ztMqycyyvMKnCLrkXqA_vOgqM0miP1_mO1oT6A0Vc0KYcYZUUUYDx-L-X1Rpr98ucN58_do0FdO9TZVQFU_DyX8AaE8NVM7vpbffbUpXQGyZ2GkvKorCNXGjDGGqG6zvUTvJwR3s8p/s320/TSus.jpg" width="320" /></span></a></div>Mary Johttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17442094332086556812noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3306430072336018779.post-86749994423022642702013-12-06T11:56:00.003-08:002013-12-06T11:56:45.760-08:00Seasoned Citizens Unite!Every once in a while, something sticks in our brains, besides nutty old songs or trying to remember someone’s name. My aha! moment came out of a class I do, called “Aging with Pizzazz,” that started out meaning aging ‘with health and humor’. I’ve since broaded that definition of pizzazz to be aging with passion. Pizzazz passion drives us to take care of ourselves physically so we have the stamina to follow our dreams, mentally to stay sharp and challenged, ethically to live an honest life; but most importantly, to age with the passion to energize and empower other people around us, and leave this world a better place than we found it.<br />
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We all have issues about which we feel passionate. After all, we live in a pretty complex and scary world. After visiting remote tribes living on atolls that are three inches above sea level, and seeing the ice melt away from Kilimanjaro and breaking ice floes in Antarctica, I’ve returned home passionate about combating global warming. I’m thinking about forming a new group: Grannies Against Global Warming, but I’m not sure the acronym would work: GAGWA?<br />
And while I very much care about this issue, my epiphany involves a greater cause: that of harnessing the activist power of 120+ million “seasoned citizens” to combat a multitude of issues. It makes all the sense in the world:<br />
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• We certainly have opinions! (Just ask our kids)<br />
• We care what kind of world we are leaving our grandchildren.<br />
• We have years of education and experience to bring to the table. <br />
• We have the time to get involved.<br />
• We have numbers! There are 76 million Baby Boomers and another 45 million of us between 61 and 90. That’s over 120 million experienced people who can make change happen.<br />
• We want to focus beyond all the aches and pains that come with age.<br />
• It’s a great way to embarrass our children and our grandchildren.<br />
• There is a problem needing a solution to fit every one of us, and the world needs us -now!<br />
So—May I convince you to give activism a try? Activism, not such a scary word, simply means finding a cause about which you feel strongly and taking some kind of positive action. Activism can take many forms. We can get involved with grassroots organizations already fighting for what we believe in, or we can engage in what I call: “single-handed feats of activism”:<br />
• Resolving to be kind and validate every person we have contact with every day<br />
• Tutoring a child (our world’s next great leader?)<br />
• Raising money for cancer research<br />
• Helping out at an animal shelter<br />
• Working at a food pantry<br />
• Writing a letter to an editor<br />
• Pulling lonely people into a support network<br />
• Being fully engaged in seeking positive solutions to tough problems.<br />
We can be a force in this youth-oriented culture, and return to our activist roots. It starts by finding and channeling our passions into something that helps other people and our planet. It starts by letting our pizzazz shine, one person at a time. Seasoned citizens: our time is now!Mary Johttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17442094332086556812noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3306430072336018779.post-71339393961747667302013-11-13T14:04:00.000-08:002013-11-13T14:04:00.383-08:00Cataractical ChaosAaauuggh! How could something so relatively straightforward, medically speaking, be so logistically confounding? I’m talking about having cataract surgery. Even as a nurse, I find the process daunting, so I know other people are challenged.<br />
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Oh! I forgot to mention I also have glaucoma, so I’m on two different eye drops because one didn’t reduce my pressure enough. I’m a really healthy person, but apparently a good lifestyle and prevention only go so far. Because I have glaucoma and cataracts! <br />
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So my glaucoma regimen is one drop in each eye twice a day and one drop once a day. I do the twice a day in the morning before I get up. No prob. The once and twice a day are done at night, but have to be administered at least five minutes apart, so I put in one drop, rest for a couple of minutes, then go wash my face, brush my teeth, etc., go back to bed and put in the second one. Mission accomplished.<br />
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So here comes cataract surgery and THREE more kinds of drops, but just for the eye being operated on. One of them is four times a day, and the other two, three times a day. Again, at least five minutes apart. When I outline the regimen I’ve figured out, my husband just rolls his eyes and says he hopes he never has cataracts. <br />
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One reason he says that is because my machinations will affect him and his ability to get fed or to sleep at night. AND---once this process calms down, we start over with THE OTHER EYE. So here goes:<br />
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Before rising: glaucoma twice-a-day drop both eyes<br />
Breakfast time: drop (5 minutes) drop (5 minutes) drop. Then get up and fix breakfast<br />
Lunch: drop (5 minutes) drop (5 minutes) drop. Then get up and do whatever<br />
Dinner: drop (5 minutes) drop (5 minutes) drop. Then get up and make dinner, after a stiff drink!<br />
Bedtime: drop (one eye) (5 minutes) drop both eyes (5 minutes) drop both eyes, bed!<br />
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The three extra ones start a couple days before surgery and then go for one-to-two weeks after, encompassing travel and time-zone changes. I know this isn’t serious, just something akin to a Keystone Kops routine. I am truly blessed with good health. It was just too funny not to write about!<br />
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Mary Johttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17442094332086556812noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3306430072336018779.post-88139256814205253512013-11-06T07:18:00.001-08:002013-11-06T07:35:07.657-08:00Caring for My Parents: Things I Learned from my SisterOur parents are now 90 and 88 with some significant health issues, but more difficult to deal with, political and control issues. During a recent visit, my dad excoriated me about not understanding the horrible shape this country is in, courtesy of the Democrats, our president, yadda, yadda. We don’t share the same political beliefs, but more importantly, he has never told us what he wants us to do about it. So going to visit is like walking on eggs. I want them to be as independent as they can be, but have the resources they need to stay that way. When we try to help, it is often greeted with a resounding: “No! Back off. I don’t need help.” And yet they do. <br />
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While we made some strides during my visit, I left feeling exhausted and like I was fleeing the scene of a crime. A few days later, enter one of my three sisters, the one who has been taking care of her equally difficult, but thankfully local, mother-in-law. She is also the one with the active listening skills honed from years in special education. And boy, does she use them, and well! In the few days she was with my parents, she made major strides in making them safer and starting a dialogue about “what if”. They visited a multi-level senior care center with independent living apartments, assisted living, skilled and dementia care. And they kind of liked it. <br />
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Because of my sister’s listening skills, Mom was able to say that she didn’t feel safe in the shower, something I had talked with her about and she insisted was fine. My sister went shopping with them and got them a shower chair with a back and arms. What they had tried before had neither, and my mom couldn’t get down or back up, making falling an even greater possibility. After they got it, my sister helped her take her first shower, making small adjustments, lowering the hand-held shower holder, so everything was well within reach. Now Mom feels safer and we breathe easier. Her success with our parents got me to thinking back about every encounter during my visit and I could see where I could have handled those situations differently. <br />
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What they both need is to feel heard without having someone volunteer solutions all the time. As my sister found, they come up with their own solutions if they have someone to bounce their thoughts off, and it has the added benefit of keeping them in control and feeling validated. For now, I can practice my active listening skills with them over the phone and next time I visit, since I can’t undo. Luckily, I had my sister for that. And I’m keeping her close by as my personal consultant so I can learn from the best. Mary Johttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17442094332086556812noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3306430072336018779.post-11377282268382158362013-09-22T12:50:00.002-07:002013-09-22T12:53:22.663-07:00More Trips for Oldsters<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Wouldn’t it be great if we could just plan a trip and do it? Not so fast. At our age, stuff happens. This was the second year the three amigas planned to hike the Grand Canyon and the second year we had to cancel it. What’s the point of being the Three Amigas if one of us can’t do it? Last year a blood clot sidelined one. This year, it was a bad knee.</div>
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By holding on to our prior expectations, all we did was increase our stress and the guilt feelings of the amiga with the bad knee. Not a good way to start a road trip.</div>
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So the order of this trip was to cancel all the reservations and start over. We were packed and the car was loaded, so last minute is an understatement. Consequently, we took stuff we didn’t need and left things we could have used. Making it a little more complicated was an extended monsoon season. So all our hiking and sightseeing involved dodging raindrops and finding dry clothes to change into. </div>
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But it worked because we were able to let go of our expectations and grab for the fun where we found it. If there is anything useful we can learn as we age is to be flexible and choose to have fun. It helped that we had firmly affixed in our minds the reasons we were doing this trip: to spend some extended girl time with dear friends and guard this oasis of fun between frantic bouts of normal activity. Everything else is gravy.</div>
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We got one extended lovely hike in before the heavens opened up, and then spent most of the rest of the time in a cave—very handy during monsoons. And a lovely cave it was: Carlsbad Caverns with its size, theatrical lighting and amazing formations kept us busy for quite some time. And did I mention the bats? Carlsbad has a thriving bat population. We watched them fly out in the evening and would have watched them fly back in the morning if it hadn’t been pouring on the al fresco amphitheater. So instead, we adopted bats for all our grandchildren and various other relatives. (Won’t they be surprised?)</div>
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When we came home, we were all three recharged and ready to face whatever mayhem presents itself. We also had a long bucket list of future trips with varying degrees of activity, depending on which one of us is indisposed next year!</div>
Mary Johttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17442094332086556812noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3306430072336018779.post-48786164097791880012013-07-29T11:19:00.000-07:002013-09-22T12:59:51.672-07:00Mountaineering Mamas (and Papas)<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
So many younger people are too busy to do much hiking through the wilderness, but age has its privileges. Because we live high in the mountains of Colorado at a slower non-9-to-5 pace and this year has been exceptional for wildflowers, we get out there any chance we get. </div>
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But we all realize we have to be smart about it. After all, the equipment doesn’t work as effortlessly as it once did, and because we’re all on the shady side of 60, we’ve learned how to keep doing it. One of us has an arm problem, another, sciatica, and me, well, my depth perception kind of stinks. Still, we tackle long treks at altitude, even those coveted Colorado fourteeners (peaks over 14,000 feet). </div>
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While my 88-year-old mom keeps asking me when I’m going to grow up and act my age, I think I have. I’m out there hiking smart and loving it. We avoid scree, or as my friend calls it, ball-bearings. That’s the fine gravel that can make you slip and slide, especially going steep downhill. We use poles, especially for those sometimes treacherous water crossings, and we keep a steady but slow pace. And we pick our hikes, based on how well the body is working on a given day.</div>
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We seasoned citizens are of one mind on this. The important thing is to keep doing it. The more we do, the more we can. We just do it smarter than other hikers we’ve encountered: climbing high right after arriving from the flatlands, wearing open-toed sandals, not being prepared for changes in weather, and not carrying enough water for the distance and temperature.</div>
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Our hikes take us into some areas seldom seen by most people our age. There is a reason for that. It’s work! Not only that, but you have to develop a comfort level with bush toilets, rain and bugs. And as my husband would add, it helps to have a high tolerance for whining.</div>
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To be prepared for sudden climate changes and to tote enough water and calories to keep going requires a good day pack. I carry a large waist pack in the back with a water bottle holder on the front because my shoulders bother me with the traditional day pack. My friend with sciatica finds a well-fitting day pack with built-in water pouch hydration system the most comfortable. Day packs and waist packs should not exceed 15% of the body weight of that person. Make sure you allow room for food, first aid supplies: ibuprofen for muscle or joint soreness, bandages, cleansing wipes, antiseptic cream, sprain wraps, and moleskin.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
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Now we’re ready to boogie up those mountains and have the time of our lives doing it!</div>
Mary Johttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17442094332086556812noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3306430072336018779.post-39865102461238731262013-06-02T15:20:00.001-07:002013-07-29T11:43:56.874-07:00True Love Knows No Age<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
But second love requires some common sense. That’s what I found out when I went to a birthday party and a wedding broke out! Perhaps I should explain? We have some long-time friends we’ve traveled with for 20 years. They have been a couple for as long as we have known them, and then some: twenty-four years. She was divorced; he, widowed. So they “hooked up” in modern parlance and have grown in love over the years as they’ve traveled the world together. </div>
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Last weekend, we were invited to an all weekend bash to celebrate her 70<sup>th</sup> birthday. We had a pre-party Friday evening, the big birthday bash Saturday evening, and wrapped it up with a Sunday brunch. It was all very festive and we reconnected with many friends. </div>
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Friday was wonderful. Saturday evening came, and when we reconvened for a lovely dinner, her beau who was hosting it, stood up, invited her to join him at the front, and said he had three questions for her: How many countries has she been to? (277) What was her favorite one? (The next one) And then he got down on his knee and asked: Will you marry me? After a communal gasp, she said yes, and explained that in Colorado you don’t need to be married BY someone; you can just marry each other, as long as you have the proper paperwork and the required witnesses. And that is what they proceeded to do! None of their closest friends knew this was coming. They repeated their vows to each other. He slipped a gorgeous ring, purchased in the Grand Bazaar in Istanbul, of course, on her finger and they were married! Lots of laughter and tears as we celebrated their joy. </div>
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Back to the point: not only did they NOT rush into marriage (24 years-seriously??), but they checked out all the legal and financial ramifications before they did: things like divorce settlement and pension issues. Neither had children, which made it simpler. When I talked to her later, she explained that there was no downside to it. Our country is pretty pro-marriage. So Mazel tov all around!</div>
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For many couples, that’s not the case. Besides children worried about losing their inheritance, many couples could lose necessary retirement income from survivor benefits and others by getting married. Because of that, to stay solvent, they live together outside marriage. So I guess it pays to look before you leap. Our friends did and were able to leap with abandon. Me? I’m going to keep my original model, going on 45 years now. What’s his is mine and vice versa. That works for us.</div>
Mary Johttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17442094332086556812noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3306430072336018779.post-44368754952373678082013-05-19T11:05:00.004-07:002013-05-19T11:05:32.746-07:00What I Want to Be When I Grow Up<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Sometimes, we get mired in problems that in the whole scheme of things are pretty minor. That distracts us from focusing on what really matters. I’ve had cancer a couple of times, but I don’t now, as far as I know. I’ve also just discovered I have glaucoma and cataracts. Me? Yes, me. As a writer, my ability to function could be impacted, but I discovered them in time to prevent the glaucoma from further eroding my peripheral vision; and I can have the cataracts removed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So, moving on with my life. Are those so very serious? Of course not, as long as I remain vigilant with my eyes and the rest of my health. </div>
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We can always focus on what’s not ideal about ourselves, but what happens to the day-to-day miracles we then miss because of our preoccupation? I’ve always been enthralled by the different interesting turns my life has taken: from nurse to teacher to medical writer; from single to couple to parent to grandparent. And still I can’t wait to see what’s next. But rather than waiting for it to unfold, it helps to have a general goal in mind.</div>
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My goal is for whatever I end up doing as I grow up is for it to make a difference in people’s lives. It’s a simple concept, and it applies to everything we do:</div>
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<span style="font-family: Symbol; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font: 7pt 'Times New Roman';"> </span></span></span>Through my writing to share important health information, lovely travel experiences, and laughter about the bumps in the road</div>
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<span style="font-family: Symbol; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font: 7pt 'Times New Roman';"> </span></span></span>By helping my granddaughters navigate life with their self-esteem intact</div>
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<span style="font-family: Symbol; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font: 7pt 'Times New Roman';"> </span></span></span>By giving my true love the kind of support that speaks to his needs, not just mine</div>
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<span style="font-family: Symbol; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font: 7pt 'Times New Roman';"> </span></span></span>By giving myself and my caring to strangers who aren’t accustomed to receiving any</div>
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So whatever work projects, volunteering, or family assistance I take on, using that goal as my guiding principle helps ensure that whatever I do will have a meaningful impact, and I’ll grow up just fine.</div>
Mary Johttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17442094332086556812noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3306430072336018779.post-2044219028136637752013-04-30T09:18:00.000-07:002013-04-30T09:22:09.907-07:00Requesting Youth Do-Over, Please!<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
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Most of us Boomers talk frequently about our misspent youths. Misspent mostly on underachievement, it seems. Today’s young people have accomplished so much more when they hit 20 that it boggles my aging mind. Last year, I had the opportunity, as a Saint Louis University alumnus, to interview students applying for the Presidential Scholarship, a full-ride tuition scholarship for four years, not chump change by a long shot. As I reviewed their resumes and talked to them, they sounded more like college graduates than high school, or maybe people who has been OUT of college for a while. Two of them had already established their own non-profit organizations working on international projects. </div>
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What was I doing in high school? Besides trying to impress my parents with my GPA, I was going to dances, doing volunteer work at a local hospital, and participating in school clubs. Homework took up a lot of my time. </div>
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For today’s high-schoolers, homework continues, but somehow they manage to take advance-placement college classes, compete in high level sport teams, establish non-profit organizations and still have a social life. How is this possible?</div>
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Most of my friends agree that we wouldn’t want to re-live our high school years to become overcommitted, but there are some things I would have liked to have done. Recently I came back from a trip to Cuba, sanctioned by the US State Department as a cultural exchange. One of the things we did was to watch a rehearsal of the Opera de la Calle, street opera, a concept developed by a Cuban opera performer who has performed all over the world. His goal was to make opera more accessible and affordable for the average Cuban. What he developed was a vibrant, colorful and life-affirming performance that just lifted you out of your seat. More like <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">West Side Story</i> than <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Othello</i>, it was magnetic. As I watched it, all I could think was: “I want to do that. I want to BE that!”</div>
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Well, let’s be real. I’m not 19 years old and I’m not a great dancer. As my husband pointed out: “Did you see how LONG they kept that up? We don’t have that kind of stamina!” But I have the soul of that person and I wish those types of opportunities had been available when I was in High School. That they weren’t, and my parents would never have understood, doesn’t mean I can’t find some semblance of that dream at age 65. </div>
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A wise person recently said (and of course, I can’t remember who that was) that we should write down all the things we would do IF there were no barriers (money, age, health, etc.), and then start doing them. So I just need to find an old-fogey band, some other people near my age who want to sing and dance, and start putting together our group. Even if we have to perform for nursing homes, hey! A gig is a gig! </div>
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#<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>#<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>#</div>
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Mary Johttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17442094332086556812noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3306430072336018779.post-61003185326460947122013-04-25T10:16:00.002-07:002013-04-25T10:16:14.000-07:00Gratitude Increasing with Age<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
I think one of the truly great things about advancing age is the time and experience we accumulate to amp up our gratitude quotient. Some of the things I’m grateful for:</div>
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<span style="mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman';"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">1.<span style="font: 7pt 'Times New Roman';"> </span></span></span>My “Old Love” of 45 years, Tom, who have been at my side through thick and thin</div>
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<span style="mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman';"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">2.<span style="font: 7pt 'Times New Roman';"> </span></span></span>My parents: At 90 and 88, they are one of the greatest blessings to still have in my life at my ripe old age of 65.</div>
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<span style="mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman';"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">3.<span style="font: 7pt 'Times New Roman';"> </span></span></span>My son and daughter-in-law: great people, great parents</div>
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<span style="mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman';"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">4.<span style="font: 7pt 'Times New Roman';"> </span></span></span>My two (don’t get me started) smart, adorable granddaughters</div>
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<span style="mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman';"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">5.<span style="font: 7pt 'Times New Roman';"> </span></span></span>My sisters: three truly remarkable women who inspire me daily to be more than I am</div>
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<span style="mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman';"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">6.<span style="font: 7pt 'Times New Roman';"> </span></span></span>My health: I can do what I want to accomplish without health issues holding me back.</div>
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And if that weren’t enough, my financial comfort. That was never a more apparent gratitude than after a recent trip to Cuba. With the US embargo of Cuba in its 56<sup>th</sup> year and with Cuba being a Communist country, the people there have dealt with considerable adversity. After their main supporter and importer, the USSR, collapsed in 1991, the country spiraled into an economic downspin. The average Cuban had lost 20 pounds through malnutrition by 1994. They went to rationing for key staples. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
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There are no supermarkets in Cuba. Farmers can’t own the beef from their own cows. Only certain ages are entitled to milk. All products in Cuba, if available, are very expensive because, other than produce, have to be shipped in from other countries, usually around the horn of South America. Because of the embargo, ships bound for Cuba can’t even use the Panama Canal. And yet, the Cuban people are alive, vibrant, and produce music and art to die for. </div>
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When we returned from the trip, I had to go to the grocery to buy perishables. I felt a profound sense of guilt at the amount of products available to us at reasonable costs. The choices can be overwhelming. I stood in the canned tomato section for 15 minutes totally at sea as to what type of diced tomatoes I needed. Such a dilemma to have! </div>
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We could all spend five minutes thinking about our blessings and the things for which we are grateful. It makes all the creepy parts of getting older pale in comparison. </div>
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Mary Johttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17442094332086556812noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3306430072336018779.post-17848424353524922022013-02-10T12:22:00.001-08:002013-02-10T12:22:42.511-08:00I Was Right About Skiing<div>
When I was about 11, my dad took me skiing for the first (and last) time. It was the most humiliating day of my life. I couldn’t stop on those darn skis even snowplowing like I’d been taught. Down I went. Down I went. Down I went. Just trying to get across an almost level area to the other side was fraught with peril. I started sliding, was able to grab onto a low sign before my feet when out from under me, and I was left hanging from the sign with an entire crowd of people laughing their heads off. I was never going skiing again! And I didn’t.<br />
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After a long and fairly accident-prone life, and being in the health management field, I have become convinced that as we age, by pushing ourselves, we will continue to function physically and mentally at a higher level longer than if we don’t. After last week, I’m thinking under certain circumstances, it can also get us killed.<br />
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Case in point: we belong to two different chapters of our University of Michigan alumni association: Denver and St. Louis. The Denver group has some frantically active members who do all kinds of things, including climbing mountains.<br />
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We found out they were climbing a numbered peak of 13,760 ft to apply for the right to name it: Wolverine Peak, naturally. Two weeks before that, they were climbing another “thirteener” so we decided it would make a good training hike. Now we have climbed 30 peaks over 14,000 ft, and two peaks of 19,000+ feet, including Kilimanjaro; okay, a few years ago.<br />
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So we showed up for the training hike to find 24 people there, all in their 20s and 30s, and us on the dark side of 60. The girls were all six feet tall with legs up to my armpits. They took off and we brought up the rear—and came pretty darn close to the top before we pooped out.<br />
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Now comes the big Name-the-Peak day. Knowing we are a bit slower than this pack, we start out 90 minutes ahead so we won’t get shown up too badly. This hike made the other one look like a walk in the park. We took the recommended route, which included an almost vertical scramble up a scree field of loose gravel with multiple snow fields. We could see the top beyond a field of huge boulders. It looked like we could shorten it a bit by crossing a very steep snow field. I led the way gamely, tramping across to about the middle, at which point my feet shot out from under me and I found myself body skiing down the mountainside over snow and rocks toward a precipice, with nothing to stop my descent. My poor husband had to stand there and watch, not knowing if he would be taking me home in a body bag.<br />
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My life and several others flashed in front of my eyes as I headed for the edge. Finally, guardian angel working overtime, I came to a stop on the edge of rocks. Frozen, soaked, scratched, and sore all over, I had more than 250 feet to climb up to regain my starting level.<br />
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The thing about near-death experiences is the adrenalin rush, followed by the rubbery legs. I think we both experienced that. We met up with the climbers near the top: five 20-something guys—and handed off the sign, so someone could take it back up and plant it. Limping home, I realized I had been right about one thing: Stay away from skiing. </div>
Mary Johttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17442094332086556812noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3306430072336018779.post-45381751049188784992013-01-29T13:02:00.000-08:002013-02-06T07:26:59.464-08:00On the Road with Two Best Buds<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
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Think Thelma and Louise here, but without the downer ending. Last year, three of us did a driving, hiking and pueblo-discovering trip across New Mexico and Arizona. I hadn’t taken a trip with anyone but family for quite some time, so I wasn’t sure how it would go. Doing a road trip with two other over-the-hill friends seemed like it would be complicated. </div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Take, for instance, bedtimes</b>. One of us is an early riser, and I do mean early. She’s up way before dawn to meditate and get her day started. She’s asleep by 9 pm. The second one is an early riser by my standards, up by 5:30 or 6 am. She has big critters and has to get them watered and fed. But she will stay up later, until about 10:30 or so. And then there’s me. I’m a night owl. I can read until 2 am and will wake up by myself in the summer with the sun in my eyes about 7:30 am. (Add an hour to that for winter.) Before that, I need an alarm. So our solution in a room with two queen-size beds was for the two night owls to share a bed and a reading light, while our early sleeper got the dark side of the room.</div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Hot versus cold:</b> That can be a huge divider when three women of a certain age are sharing a room. The early riser doesn’t have a heat problem. The other two of us are throwing off covers all night. Seriously, who wants to share a bed with that? Luckily, the early-to-bed gal is also the colder one, so she piles on a full sweat suit to sleep in so we can crank up the air conditioner. Luckily, she is also the one who turns in early, so she gets the bed in the dark corner <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">and</i> the farthest away from the air-conditioner.</div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Driving:</b> One of us (that would be me) is severely directionally impaired. I can get lost coming out of an elevator. So the other two decided right off the bat to keep me out of the driver’s seat. Because one of us (not me) had planned out the route beautifully beforehand, much of it familiar to her, we had a lovely stress-free itinerary. </div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Diet: </b>Two of us are carnivores and the third, a vegan. We eat vegetarian/vegan a lot on these trips, which is really good for us; and most restaurants cater to a variety of preferences for those occasional meat cravings. We all like wine, so we’re good!<br />
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The only downside of a vegetarian diet is that vegetables, especially raw food, are higher in fiber. That, combined with an aging gastrointestinal system that has a harder time absorbing some fibers, sugars and starches and we tend to toot more. But since the trip is mostly about being outdoors and hiking, we can toot away! </div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Physical limitations:</b> We’re all about the same age with the same abilities, so hiking and nature discovery have been some of our most enjoyable pastimes. After a couple temporary physical problems, we know the value of flexible planning, so we don’t worry about them. For now, we keep on pounding up and down the mountains.</div>
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Road trips with good friends are a treat and help nourish our friendships and overall well-being. If you aren’t a hiker or a bicyclist or a kayaker or a bird watcher, road trips are still a good option, even without driving. Train travel can be very relaxing and allows you to get out into scenic places stress-free. Bus tours with a good guide and someone to schlep your luggage can make travel enjoyable with physical limitations. </div>
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So get out there. Hit the world or your corner of the USA. See things you haven’t seen before. Try things you’ve never done. And do it with good friends or people you think might be good friends if you spent more time with them. Your life will be the better for it.</div>
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Mary Johttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17442094332086556812noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3306430072336018779.post-10020484823637244402012-08-20T13:34:00.001-07:002012-08-20T13:34:12.448-07:00Stepping Over the Medicare Line
Well, I’ve arrived. I’m officially “Mrs. Medicare,” as my
son calls me—in retribution for me making a big deal over him turning 40. I’m
now eligible for any senior citizen discount out there; and I’m not really sure
how I feel about this.<br />
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I’m happy that I’m moving from onerous private insurance
premiums to lower Medicare payments, but now I have to think about doctors. I
have a competent internist, who continues with me into Medicare, but my trusted
oncologist retired and my gynecologist doesn’t take Medicare. So I’m doing my
homework to see what I need, helped by the advice of a geriatrician (gasp!) I
interviewed. As far as health screenings go, my priorities should be a yearly
mammogram (as a two-time breast cancer survivor), and an every-five-year
colonoscopy (for the same reason.) If pap tests have been normal, she says
those can be stopped at 65. Bone density, if low, should be done every couple
years or so, but an internist can handle that, colonoscopies and mammograms. </div>
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If for some reason, I become a three-timer with the breast
cancer, I will shop a couple of opinions for a new oncologist. Otherwise, life
actually becomes simpler at this point. All of us seasoned citizens need a
yearly vision exam to watch for cataracts, macular degeneration and glaucoma,
and should keep our eyeglass prescription up to date. Dental visits for
cleaning and check-ups should be twice a year, because if we have our teeth, we
really need to keep them. </div>
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The geriatrician had a couple other practical suggestions:</div>
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If all my friends and family seem to all be mumbling and
have the audacity to ask me to turn the TV volume down a notch or so, I should
get my hearing checked. If there’s any appreciable loss, I should get hearing
aids. Studies show the earlier we correct our hearing, the better we adapt to
the aids and the more we stay in the flow with our surroundings. The newer
technology makes them almost invisible, and nothing says aging like repeatedly
saying: “Huh?”</div>
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But the most important determinant of health, she says, is
staying very physically active. Walking errands and our Colorado mountains will
help with that! And because I’ve always been a secret gym rat at heart, it’s
really neat that my Medicare Advantage plan includes a free fitness center
membership! </div>
Mary Johttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17442094332086556812noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3306430072336018779.post-20467265219587056502012-03-26T07:00:00.003-07:002013-02-10T12:00:04.863-08:00You Know How Old You Are When….<br />
We were hosting some undergraduate students from our alma mater, University of Michigan, for dinner. They were in St. Louis doing service projects over Spring Break. I got talking to one student who mentioned that her mother also graduated from the School of Nursing. I asked her what year she graduated, thinking it likely her mom and I were contemporaries. Imagine my shock when she told me her mother graduated 20 years after I did. I should have asked about her grandmother! How did this happen?<br />
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On the way home, my husband, who had had a similar experience, started musing that you know how old you are by what you spend your time doing:<br />
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Age 10: Birthday parties<br />
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Age 20: Fraternity parties<br />
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Age 30: Weddings<br />
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Age 40: Baby Showers<br />
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Age 50: Financial planning seminars<br />
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Age 60: Retirement parties<br />
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Age 70: Doctors<br />
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Age 80: Funerals<br />
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Age 90: The bathroom<br />
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Age 100: What do you care? You’re still breathing!<br />
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Adding to his assessment, it seems to me that it’s what we choose to do with the rest of our time that determines our quality of life every step along the way. <br />
<br />Mary Johttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17442094332086556812noreply@blogger.com0