On Turning Sixty

     "Ouch!"  That was the first post on my Facebook page on the momentous day (to me) when I turned sixty. 

     I would venture to say that everyone has fretted over a milestone birthday at some point in their lives.  I didn't-until I turned fifty.  I was somewhat dismayed, but it didn't last long.  Sixty however, was downright painful.  Not that I'm complaining-it's just a shock to the system.  It has been thirty years since I turned thirty, the first troubling milestone for many.  My son recently struggled with that one himself.  Personally, I thought forty was a piece of cake.  It didn't faze me in the least.  Again-fifty was somewhat troubling.  That year, I received a birthday card that indicated "50 isn't so bad.  It sure beats the hell out of 60!"  Truer words were never spoken.  Quite frankly, I am impressed that I can recall such detail.  

     What I didn't expect on the day of the big 6-0 was that someone would publicly berate me for my ill feelings about my age.  Yes-someone in her forties very blatantly let me know that I had no right to complain, since my age is a milestone that many folks never attain.  As if I didn't know that.  Here's a revelation: if I were the first person to have a mid-life crisis or struggle with aging, there would be no balding men driving bright red convertible sports cars, with young blondes in the passenger seat.  There would be no market for hair dyes or anti-aging creams.  There would be no dietary supplements, nor ever escalating gym memberships.  We are all fighting the inevitable, although some of us are fighting harder than others.

    In any area of peoples' lives, there are always going to be folks who are better off or worse off than we are.  I'm not so ignorant that I don't understand that, and I empathize.  However, everything is relative, and we all have our own individual struggles.  Getting old is a shock to the system.  Period.  When we are young, we think we will be young forever.  Alas, that is not true.  As we traverse the decades of our thirties and forties, those years still feel pretty good.  I can remember thinking "thirty isn't so bad", and "forty isn't so bad".  But when the fifty mark hits, realization creeps in and we are compelled to acknowledge that we are no longer young. However, that doesn't mean we have to "act" old.  When my mother was in her late fifties, she was retired.  She didn't drive, she didn't exercise, she smoked incessantly, and she drank a little to much beer for my liking.  She never colored her hair, and her makeup application left a lot to be desired.  Conversely, I am still working, and in fact, I just started a new position within the company I have worked for the past 11 years. I commute 40 miles daily to this job which I love.  I stopped smoking and drinking more than thirty years ago.  I walk regularly, am a voracious reader.  I am attending college, and  am in the process of buying a house.  I color my hair and  love (and wear) eye makeup.  I often think of my meddlesome mother, who wouldn't have taken a walk if her life depended on it. She frequently lamented that she'd only achieved a seventh grade education, yet I never saw her open a book.  She could read-she frequently read us the riot act.   But her little world revolved around attempts to control the lives of her adult children, rather than building her own life after we'd grown up and left the nest.   
     So, was I wrong in feeling a little depressed when I achieved the 6 decade milestone?  I don't believe so.  Being a little down in the dumps for one day is trivial when compared to the bigger picture that is my life.  Younger people have no right to judge me for the manner in which I cope with my age.  When the forty-something turns sixty herself, then she can offer up an opinion about it.  Of course, I will be in my seventies by then.  Unless you have lived my life, and know firsthand my joys and sorrows, I will thank you to keep your judgements to yourself.
     One of my biggest challenges at 60 is attending college  It's not easy being older than most of the professors.  Consider this: most of the students are young enough to be my grandchildren.  They show plenty of skin, skin that is smooth and with an abundance of tattoos, with shorts that ride too high, and blouses and jeans that venture too low.  I am out of my element, but I persevere.  It takes a bit of courage to do what I do.  I returned to college after thirty years, just nine credits into my degree.  I now have forty two.  I was foolish when I was young, and didn't attend college when I should have.  I consider my discomfort in the  present  circumstances to be my penance.  Perhaps some folks consider me foolish.  I know I am an embarrassment to a certain relative who shall remain nameless, but that's his problem, not mine.  I will not be deterred.  I have a goal, a number of them actually.  I will earn that diploma, and possibly a few more before I'm through.  I always was a late bloomer, a fact about myself that I have come to accept, and embrace.  If I didn't have this incessant drive, thirst for knowledge, and quest for higher education, I might turn into my mother, and make my adult children's lives a misery.  However, self enrichment is my priority, and it will remain so, as long as I am able.  Was I depressed for one solitary day in my sixty years about my age?  Yes, I was.  But as is customary for me, I picked myself up, dusted myself off, and continue on my journey, in a (hopefully) dignified manner.  After all, I sill want to impress my sons, and I want to feel proud of myself, for overcoming obstacles, for meeting challenges head on, for being resilient, and for my enormous capacity to love and to be grateful for my blessings, which are many.  And now I must close.  I am off to school to take a math assessment test.  Move over teenyboppers, and make room for the old broad.  Oh-and I won't be bringing my smart phone to the test.  I will do it the old fashioned way, utilizing my brain instead of technology. 

Seeing Things

     It's just one more sign that my age is advancing, much to my chagrin (and relief, I suppose).  Welcome to my world-of floaters.  I thought I was having a retina detachment recently when I began noticing flashing lights (not lightning, as I originally thought) and floaters that resemble many things, including cobwebs, in my field of vision.  I immediately scheduled an appointment with my optometrist, who examined me and recommended that I see a retina specialist.  Before I left, he told me about his floater, his one floater (I have many).  His resembles a fruit fly, and he finds himself batting at it-fruitlessly-because it's not a fruit fly.  My sister also has one-her's resembles a house fly.  A fly swatter had become her constant companion, and she was getting quite the upper arm workout, until one day her daughter asked her what she was after...  She was surprised, to say the least. 

     So I  visited the retina specialist, and after having my eyes poked, prodded, dilated, and photographed, he indicated that he didn't believe a tear or detachment was on my horizon.  He believes I have an age-related degeneration. (I'm somewhat grateful for that diagnosis.  A tear would have been worse.)  My youngest son had driven me to the doctor and accompanied me while I was examined.  I quickly realized that this is another blatant example of our increasing role reversals.  Now, in addition to helping me with my homework,  and acting as my personal IT Department when I am technologically challenged (which is often) my sons are taking turns transporting me to various doctor's appointments. Well, okay. Two.  But that's still two more than it used to be!

     So there is nothing to be done about my floaters, except to become accustomed to them.  On a recent drive home from work, I was certain a coyote had crossed my path, until I realized that my floater decided to dart from right to left.  I leaped out of my bed one evening when I spied a spider on my headboard. (You would be surprised at how high a woman two weeks shy of turning sixty can jump!)  But no-it was just one floater emerging from another floater, the one that resembles a cobweb.  This morning while driving to work, I thought I saw a shooting star in the distance-it wasn't. I guess that wish isn't coming true. This is the best one yet:  the one time I was sure there was a floater in my field of vision, and proceeded to ignore it-it actually turned out to be a gnat on my glasses.  I figured that out when he flew into my eye-the eye with the floaters.  What the fudge!?!?!?!

Classic Films

     One of my favorite movie theaters, the Clearview Claridge in Montclair, shows classic movies every Saturday & Sunday.  It is a thrill seeing a classic movie on the big screen, even though the screens at the Claridge aren't all that big.  They are still larger than my television's screen.  The theater has screened such classics as On the Waterfront,  Gone With the Wind, Dr. Zhivago, The Wizard of Oz, Casablanca, The Princess Diaries.  The what?  The Princess Diaries?  Since when is The Princess Diaries a classic film?  I've been waiting for ages for the theater to screen The Best Years of Our Lives or From Here to Eternity, yet they screen The Princess Diaries.  Upcoming films include The Sound of Music, The Apartment, Breakfast at Tiffany's, Stella Dallas (the original with Barbara Stanwyck), and Beetlejuice.  What the fudge!?!?!?!?!  Now, don't get me wrong-I am a big fan of the movie Beetlejuice.  I consider it to be very entertaining.  But a classic?  I think someone is confused about the meaning of the word.  I don't know if it's the folks who are requesting the films, which can be done online, or the people doing the actual scheduling,  but if they are advertising classic films, then only classic films should be screened in that time slot.   Of course, classic films are not restricted to really old films, for example from the forties, fifties, or sixties.  I would think they'd show "newer" old films, such as Fatal Attraction, Jurassic Park, or Jaws, before they would show The Princess Diaries or Beetlejuice.  But what do I know?  In the words of Anna Bates (Downton Abbey), there's no accounting for taste.

Snowstorm

     I was ready for the latest snowstorm:

Three for me, one for the birds and squirrels!

Buddy didn't mind the storm:

As long as Mommie's home-I'm good!

My Dad's Praises

     Once again I will sing my Dad's praises.  I saw on the news where a man in Cranford  built an ice luge track in his backyard for his children (you can find it on Youtube).  The news clip shows him spraying water from a shower head onto his creative and well constructed track, and a short time later, the children sledding gleefully.  My Dad did something similar for me more than 50 years ago.  It was in the heart of winter, and his little girl, bored of being in the house, wanted desperately to go ice skating.  In his cleverness, he decided to give me my own personal skating rink, in our back yard!  He brought the hose up from the basement, hooked it up to the outdoor faucet, and sprayed our yard generously with water. A short time later, I skated to my heart's content on the mini rink which was lovingly conceived of in my father's imagination.  What fond memories I have of him!

     This past week was the 50th anniversary of the premier of The Sound of Music.  It was my Dad who took me to see it-twice!  (Even as a child I liked watching movies repeatedly!)  The first time we saw it was at the Rialto Theater in Westfield.  We waited in a line which extended around the block, and were fortunate to have gotten seats.  As the movie started, he leaned over and whispered in my ear to be sure and take notice of the scenery, which was glorious, and unlike anything we had ever seen.  My poor Dad, who barely got out of the city where he was born in all of his 87 years...  Seeing the movie with him was an utter joy, and obviously an occasion I will never forget.  Awhile later, the movie came to the local theater, which was about two blocks from where we lived.  It was a Friday night, and we were driving back from dropping my mother off at bingo, when I saw the movie marquis.  Much to my delight, my Dad parked the car, and took me directly to the theater to see it again!  The second time was as enjoyable as the first.  Perhaps more so, as it was the third time my Dad saw it, and probably not what he intended to do that Friday night, making me all the more appreciative.  It was in his nature to make sacrifices for his children.

     I was compelled to see the movie again this week, to commemorate the momentous anniversary.  The opening scene gives me chills, and to this day brings me to tears, in part because the  scene is so awe inspiring, and also because it always evokes memories of my Dad.  Sometimes I miss him so much that I feel my heart could almost break in two.  Here I am, a woman of almost 60, and I am not over his loss yet, after more than 20 years.  In all honesty, I don't think I ever will be.

My Dad with my oldest son-1983

Red Carpet Ridicule

          Was anyone else as disappointed in the Red Carpet festivities as I was?  Increasingly, we are compelled to watch members of the media blabbing incessantly, as opposed to seeing actual movie stars.  I watched for ninety minutes last night, and I barely saw any stars-except from a distance.  Most of the red carpet shots were like "establishing shots",  with so much space between camera and attendees, that  you knew where the event took place, but the actual players were indiscernible. It was like a media tease: the stars are present-but we're not going to let you actually see them. 

     Tell me-is Bradley Cooper this generation's Leonardo DiCaprio?  You know-always an Oscar groomsman but never a groom?  That's okay.  In some cases, an Oscar win is the career kiss of death.  DiCaprio, while never having won an Oscar, has given numerous outstanding performances, and his career has longevity.  He is an actor for the ages, as I believe Bradley Cooper will be. By the way-where was Leonardo last evening?  I surely didn't see him on the red carpet-although I'm sure he was there.  His view was just obstructed by the spotlight stealing media commentators, who mistakenly believe that they themselves are the stars. Not!

     My MLS (movie loving son) inquired if the title of my last blog post is a takeoff on Birdman.  Unclear as to what he meant, he compared the titles:  Oscar Night or My Own Personal New Year's Eve vs.  Birdman or the Unexpected Virtue of Ignorance. I cannot tell a lie-it was purely by accident-just don't tell anybody.

     Who out there knows what the "Oscar Grand Slam" is?  I bet some of you didn't even know the Oscars had a Grand Slam!  It is not a phenomenon restricted to baseball.  The Oscar Grand Slam consists of one film winning the top 5 awards: Best Picture, Best Director, Screenplay, Actor, and Actress.  It has only happened three times.  While sharing a pre-Oscar dinner with MLS last evening, I asked him what were the three films that fall into the Grand Slam category.   I was impressed when, without a moment's hesitation, he rattled off, not only the titles, It Happened One Night, One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest, and Silence of the Lambs, but also the other pertinent stats-like the winners' names and the corresponding years.  He subsequently engaged me in a conversation about the best picture nominees over the last five years, complete with titles and winners, and his educated opinion on the worthiness of the nominations. Honestly-I think I have spawned the next Robert Osborne or Leonard Maltin. 

     I'm glad that J.K. Simmons won Best Supporting Actor for his outstanding performance in Whiplash, but his acceptance speech was a little bizarre.  I am not a fan of Patricia Arquette, who won Best Supporting Actress for her role in Boyhood, but her acceptance speech was splendid.  Kudos to Julianne Moore and Eddie Redmayne for taking home the Best Actress and Actor awards for Still Alice and The Theory of Everything.  While I wasn't a fan of the film Birdman, I dd like the unique way in which they shot the film, in that it appeared to be one long take.  That was amazing!

     And now, if you will forgive me, I feel the need to be catty.  Isn't it time, at the ripe old age of 46, for Jennifer Lopez to forego the slutty appearance?  At her age, exposing too much "cantaloupe cleavage" is not  tantalizing.  It just looks cheap.  Elizabeth Taylor, if she were still alive, would put her, and many other actresses in Hollywood, to shame.  Miss Taylor had a figure to die for, but never did she bare it all, which only added to her allure.  What actress in today's Hollywood could ever compare to "Maggie the Cat"?  No one that I can think of.  You can't buy that kind of sex appeal and allure.  You either have it, or you don't.  Not that JLo isn't beautiful-I concede that she is.  However, I believe that dressing to provoke shock is acceptable when you're twenty, but when you're flirting with fifty, less is more.  When you are of a certain age, more often than not, your appearance is not as youthful as you believe it to be.  Remember-you can run-but you can't outrun Father Time.

Oscar Night or My Own Personal New Year's Eve

     Tomorrow night is my own personal New Year's Eve!  It's the long awaited, and highly anticipated, night of the Academy Awards!  

     Over time, I have slowly but surely evolved into one of those semi-senior citizens who is ready for bed at 7:30 P.M. ( which presents a real problem on school nights), and who rises with the birds (and my equally old chocolate lab) at 4:30 A.M.  Couple that routine with the fact that I hate New Year's Eve, and you will understand why I am still in bed early on Dec. 31st, despite the New Year's revelry which surrounds me.  However-Oscar night is another story altogether-it is a night that excites me as much as New Year's Eve partyers congregated at Times Square are excited. Tomorrow night, I will tune in early to see my favorite (and not so favorite) actors and actresses on the red carpet. I am eagerly anticipating (first and foremost) watching at least some of the show with my movie loving son.  I will head for home by 9 P.M., before I turn into into a pumpkin  (I said I would stay up late-not that I would stay out late!), and then my son  and I will be texting excitedly throughout the remainder of the evening.  I will be awake and watching until probably midnight, on the one and only night of the year on which I am willing to stay up that late. Over the years,  I used to drag myself to work the following day, drained from the prior night's sleep deprivation, but I recently got smart.  Now I schedule a post Oscar vacation day, so that I may recuperate, and also watch all of the inevitable recaps of the evening's highlights.  

     I generally make it a point to see all of the movies that are nominated for best picture, whether the film interests me or not.  At times I have been pleasantly surprised, and enjoyed movies that I never would have seen otherwise (like Django Unchained).  Conversely, I have suffered through films that I did not want to see (like Beasts of the Southern Wild).  The only good thing about seeing that movie, was that my son and I rented it from Red Box, so three of us suffered (he and his fiancee didn't like it either) for a mere dollar.  This year, however, having had surgery put a definite crimp in my style, and I have not been to the movies in weeks.  Not that I haven't watched movies.  My blue ray player got a real workout during the 2-1/2 weeks that I was home-it's still smoking!.  I have not been out to the movies though, a guilty pleasure that I usually indulge in on a weekly basis. 

      This year's nominated films are American Sniper, Birdman, Boyhood, The Grand Budapest Hotel, The Imitation Game, Selma, The Theory of Everything, and Whiplash. I have seen six of the eight, having missed Birdman and Selma (at least so far-I still have 36 hours!).  Consequently, I am not in a position to declare which film I believe deserves to win.  Of the six I did see, I would vote for American Sniper, with The Imitation Game coming in at a close second.  My son, who did see all of them, and who also makes predictions based on the precursor awards (something I as a movie lover had never heard of until he enlightened me) like the Directors' Guild, Producers' Guild, etc., believes that Birdman will win.  That's okay.  Not having seen them all, I am not as emotionally invested as I usually am, but I will be waiting with bated breath for the winner nevertheless!  Bring on Oscar!

"Mindless Marketing"

     It amazes me that retailers are baffled when sales are low, which is often.  In their infinite brilliance, did anyone in their marketing departments ever stop to consider that, in rushing the seasons, they are sabotaging, rather than serving to enhance and grow, their own sales?  The temperature today is 5 degrees, and with wind chills, it feels like -25.  Yet, when I walk into Target, the first thing I see is racks upon racks of bikinis.  Hello!?!?!?  Did it ever occur to anyone that winter coats would be more likely to sell at this time of year, considering the current conditions? That is-winter weather!?!?!?  The stores could probably sell fifty winter coats for every single bikini that they sell in January or February.  It seems like fairly simple logic to me.  I would buy a new winter coat right now-if I could find one.  But no, the stores will be teeming with them in August, when I, and countless others like me, am more apt to be lounging around at the beach than shopping for cold weather apparel.  In late spring, I want to buy light weight clothing and spring jackets.  In June, July, and August, I want to buy bathing suits, shorts, and beach towels.  In September, I think of fall, and the switch to slightly heavier clothing in warm colors.  In October, Halloween is imminent, and I wish to buy the appropriate decorations.  In November, I am thinking turkey, and all of the trimmings.  

     When I was a child, the Christmas season began the Friday after Thanksgiving, and that is how it should be.  The Christmas lights were lit, and people began their shopping.  There was an accompanying air of, not to sound corny, peace and good will.  People were kinder, and with the season came joy and comfort.  Now, people trample each other, sometimes to death, to purchase the desired sale items that they can't live without.  Personally, I don't know of any TV that is worth killing a fellow human being over. 

     I have no more desire to buy Christmas decorations in August than I do scarves and hats and coats.  I don't want to skip over Halloween and Thanksgiving, to get to the highly commercialized Christmas, and on Christmas, I don't want to buy Valentines candy (not that I have a significant other to buy it for, but that's another blog post).  The point is, if the stores would promote their merchandise when there is a need for it, it would sell.  Isn't that known as supply and demand?  Why don't they get it?  They resort to mindless marketing, and then wonder why their sales have plummeted. Duh!

     By the way-does anyone know where I can but a winter coat?

"The Beautiful Past"

"the vague far past, the beautiful past, the lamented past! I remember it so well"
*Mark Twain

     This morning I went into my sewing basket to obtain the materials needed to sew a button onto a pair of slacks that have suddenly become too tight (they must have shrunk)-a needle, (steel) thread, scissors...  It's been years since I even opened my sewing basket, and I was surprised to find sewing patterns for pajamas and pants that I had made for my sons when they were little.  I cannot say that the past came flooding back to me in a rush, for it is always with me, but the find did evoke more memories.  I miss my babies and my little boys so much, that at times, I just don't know how to cope.  Life can be so cruel.  We are given these beautiful little people to love and to cherish, and we do.  We build entire lives around them. Then they grow up and are no longer ours.  We are compelled to let them go, to give them to another human being who will have the privilege of sharing their lives, as I had done for more than twenty years of my life-the best years, when I was young and strong and energetic, and optimistic.  Those times were hard...sleepless nights, endless bills, cooking and cleaning, raising and nurturing, holding down a job... But I would go back, in a heartbeat.  Had I known how quickly my children would grow and leave me, I would have spent every waking moment with them, instead of wearing myself out with working and cleaning and painting (rooms, not landscapes).  Now, I sit alone with my memories, and try to build a new life on my own-not an easy feat for one who is old and set in her ways.  I work and go to school, I have friends who are dear to me, yet I miss my sons, who mean everything to me.  But they are grown men, and entitled to live their own lives, as I did when I was their age.  I don't begrudge them that-I understand.  I hide my true feeling from them, as I do not want to impart any guilt on them for doing what comes naturally.  It is the cycle of life, and like it or not, it is what it is.

     I had an aunt who was very dear to me, and she too lived on her own for many years after her children were grown. I used to visit her with my young sons, as she became a second mother to me when my own mother passed away.  I often think of her now, when I am feeling sorry for myself, and I wonder did she experience the same loneliness that I do now. I know she had her sorrows, but she demonstrated an infinite amount of strength, for the sake of her family.  Her love was boundless and unwavering.  She was one of the kindest and most loving individuals I have ever known.  She never had an unkind word to say about anyone.  She was forgiving, and professed her love for her family, even those few who had wronged her.  I miss her too, and I look to her for inspiration.  

     Forgive me if I have become redundant, but at times I have trouble letting go.  I push my feelings down, like a baker pounding down yeast laden dough for bread.  But like that dough, they expand, and I am compelled to beat them down again.  Sometimes, a person just has too much time to think.  I have been alone so much the last couple of weeks, recovering from surgery.  I have not been able to partake of the activities that would normally keep my mind occupied...  As I resume my normal routine, I will pick myself up, dust myself off, and plod on, albeit unwillingly.  Life has changed, and I've no choice but to embrace it-gracefully, I hope...

                                          The pajamas resemble those on the left.  I still have them.

                                            My beloved Aunt-my inspiration.

A Pain in the Neck

     Recently I wrote about upcoming surgery in my post titled Not Necessarily Cancer (it was).  The surgery has been performed, and I am left with a scar and resulting pain in my neck and throat-lots of it.  Having a number of age lines dominating my almost 6 decade old neck, I was anticipating that the doctor would  utilize one of them when he made his cut.  That was not the case, however, and a 4 inch wide scar is adjacent to my age lines, their appearance subsequently resembling the lines on a city map.  A dense map.  Like a New York City map.  Never having been one to wear scarves all that often, I am now planning to invest in about a dozen, something I probably should have done anyway.  My neck is actually pretty scary looking now, as what was once smooth is now, in addition to being lined, crater like, and I am able to see everything moving within.  I know-I probably shouldn't look, but I am in the habit of scrutinizing my neck, after having discovered its mysterious bump recently.       

      Since the surgery was performed, I now protect my neck with my hand gracing my throat, similar to the manner in which a baseball player protects the ball with his glove.  Everything is sore, from the flesh that has been carved like an Easter ham, to the muscles that have been manipulated and rearranged to dissect my troublesome thyroid.  That being said, I now am recuperating at home, still barely eating, and sleeping as much as possible.  I never realized how much I actually used my neck muscles, until they were violated by my surgeon, resulting in  restriction of  movement. I am also keenly aware of how slowly I have bounced back, as compared to when I was younger.  Anyway, enough of bellyaching.  I am indebted to my surgeon, who has provided me with a new lease on life.  I was skeptical about him initially, but I was pleasantly surprised by his skill and his kindness, and would gladly, and gratefully, recommend him to anyone who asked.

     I have had to miss class these couple of weeks.  I must admit, I like writing my own absentee notes.  When I return, it will be to my first exam of the semester.  I am not worried, however, as I am prepared, despite not having been in class.  In my previous semester, having taken American Government & Politics, I was constantly remarking about the extraordinary volume of information that we were compelled to absorb.  I have now discovered why.  The professor of my current class, American National Government, who assigned the same text book, has indicated that the former class was to cover the first ten chapters, and that he would cover the remaining eight.  We previously covered seventeen chapters!  No wonder I was feeling overwhelmed!  It didn't stop me from earning an A, however.  Also, the first professor did me a favor, because I am entering the current class with a greater understanding than if he had only covered the requisite ten chapters.  

     Surprisingly, to me at least, I am really enjoying the study of our Government.  Having always ignored government and politics as much as possible, I was always silently critical of it, a common characteristic of the ignorant.  Now however, I have a much greater appreciation for the framing of our government, as well as the mechanics of it.  Brilliant!  Of course there are some bad eggs within our government, but they are in the minority.  Besides, isn't that true of any group, that there are always good and bad within, but that generally the bad are not the majority? 

     While recently watching the opening credits of my favorite show, Downton Abbey, I realized that I recognize most of the actors' and actresses' names and am able to equate them with their corresponding roles.  I can only hope that I am as familiar with the names of our government officials and their titles for the upcoming exam.

HAAA or How Annoying Are Acronyms?

     HOAA (how annoying are acronyms)?  You see them everywhere.  They RTUH (rear their ugly heads) in all types of CC (correspondence and communication), so much so, that I keep an AI (acronym index) on my desk next to my ED (emoticon directory), so that IKWPATA  (I know what people are talking about) and WETAE (what emotions they are experiencing).  WTF!  (what the fudge!).

     SAO (sometimes acronyms overlap), meaning two or three phrases PTSA (possess the same acronym), LMRC (leaving me really confused), a confusion that has NTDWD (nothing to do with dementia).  In these modern times, PCCI (people can communicate instantaneously), but NOK (no one knows) what anyone else ITA (is talking about).  Additionally, peoples' ATS (ability to spell) diminishes exponentially with EPD (every passing day).  LINATM! (Life is not a text message!).  SIO!  (spell it out!)  TI,IYKH...(that is, if you know how...)  Sarcastic, I know.  But my readers are FA (fully aware) that I am a SpSn (spelling snob). 

     WIB (while I'm bitching), and NTBR (not to be redundant), an Email is NAC! (not a conversation!).   IAL! (It's a letter!)  I sometimes find it VD (not what you're thinking-Very Difficult-this is another of those overlapping acronyms I was telling you about) to access, read, or print my Emails.  I used to be able to open them in a PUW (pop up window), as if I were OAL (opening a letter), but that is NLP (no longer possible) because the Email is POAC (part of a conversation).  HF (Heaven forbid) that I should need to VAE (view an Email) that was PR (previously received).  I am CC (completely clueless-as opposed to correspondence and communication) then.  I think someone should invent TFOP (technology for old people).  Given the EHN (extraordinarily high numbers) of BB (Baby Boomers), there is DAM (definitely a market).  DYA? (don't you agree?)  It's the young people who are ITM (in the minority).  MSI (my son insinuates) that I don't have a HF (huge following) OMB (on my blog) because people in my age group DNWABI (don't know what a blog is).  I daresay-HR! (he's right!)

    I know IMBGO (I must be getting old), because my patience for the YG (younger generation) DD (not Dunkin-diminishes daily).  IMY (In my youth) INT (I never thought) I would mimic my MG (mother's generation), but that day has come, and ATQ (all too quickly).  HG (Her generation) used to think the seventies WB (were bad), and ATT (no, not the phone company-at the time) I could not fathom why.  I can't BTI (begin to imagine) what they would think if they were OTW (of this world) now.  BIDUTT  (But I do understand their thinking).  Ah, TBYA... (to be young again...)

     Now, imagine if the only way to read this entire post was to revert back to an AI (acronym index) in order to comprehend what I am trying to say.  Daunting, isn't it? And tedious?  YB! (You betcha!)

"Let us make a special effort to stop communicating with each other, so we can have some conversation."*

*Mark Twain

Free Range Children

     So, a couple in Washington, DC is under investigation for neglect because they allow their 10 and 6 year old children to walk to and play in the local park by themselves.  The children, and others like them, are deemed “free range”.  I love this new term “free range children” (not!). It sounds more like a description of non-Perdue chickens as opposed to children.  Who comes up with this stuff?

     When I was a young adult, we had latchkey kids.  When I was a child, however, I was on my own.  Period.  The chief of police lived next door to us, yet no one ever accused my parents of neglect.

     I attended grammar school on the other side of the city I lived in, a 30 minute ride on the public service bus that I rode daily. The year was September of 1960. I remember being a kindergartner, age 5, and my father taking me on the bus, showing me where to get on and off, and how to navigate the various intersections that were necessary for me to cross.  I used to arrive so early that the school doors were locked, prohibiting access.  The weather didn’t matter.  I patiently, or impatiently, waited outside, sometimes for an hour.  Was that considered parental neglect?  No.  My parents fostered my independence out of necessity, because they had to go to work and they had no other choice.  I imagine they would never have gotten away with it in these times.

     The street I grew up on was busy, even in the early sixties.  It was the main drag, which cut across the entire city, like the scoring on a loaf of French bread.  Our house was located at the top of a small incline, and my father taught me to cross there, where I had clear visibility, rather than where I actually got off of the bus, at the bottom, which was also an intersection.  I learned very young to be cautious.

     I was not allowed to have a key to the house at that time, and was compelled to wait on the front steps for my mother to come home from work. (Are you noticing a pattern here? I spent a good portion of my childhood just waiting!)  On one occasion, I had to go to the bathroom so badly, that I went behind the house, lifted my skirt, and peed in the woods.  Luckily, child protective services (and predators) were not around.  That little incident landed me a key, however, leading to another learning experience.  My folks instructed me never to enter the house if anything looked amiss, in case the house was ever broken into.  That taught me, at a very young age, to be aware of my surroundings.  Upon arrival, I would take off my uniform, place it on a hanger, and hang it on the bathroom doorknob, because that was all that I could reach.  I would have a snack, and then start my homework, never getting into any mischief while my parents were not there.  They taught me to be neat, disciplined, and obedient.

     In the summer, I was often home all day, every day, by myself.  I slept late, and watched TV until my folks arrived home from work.  Have I mentioned that we did not have smoke or carbon monoxide detectors?  I doubt they even existed at that time. 

     Currently, it appears that, increasingly, busybody people stick their noses where they don’t belong.  People despise children who misbehave in public places, yet report people who would discipline their children to the authorities.  People condemn those who keep their children in the house in front of the TV all day, yet report people like the folks in DC, for allowing and encouraging their children to be outside, for teaching them to cross the street, and to be independent.  No matter what folks do as parents, there will always be some non-expert waiting to condemn them.  Quite frankly, I think people should mind their own business.

                              My beloved father, and teacher. I love him to the moon and back:

                                                       

                                              

Canine Cuspid, or Lack Thereof

     I recently noticed that Buddy, my chocolate Lab, had a funky smell about him.  Initially, I thought perhaps he had stepped in some dog mess outside, but there was no physical evidence of that.  Then, as I was lying on the couch (one of my favorite pastimes), he approached and subsequently breathed on me!  The offensive odor was coming from his mouth!  In a shocking and worrisome deja vu, I remembered by beautiful yellow Lab, Holly, who, years before, had the same rotten odor emanating from her mouth.  She had cancer-of the tongue-and was gone within the week.  The Vet indicated that he hadn't seen that condition in a dog in twenty three years!  How traumatic it was, especially knowing we would have to put her down.  My brave son, who was just eighteen at the time, took her for me, and stayed with her, as I couldn't do it.  I still miss her...

     I hurriedly made an appointment with our Vet, and, much to my relief, Buddy's bad breath was merely caused by a cracked and infected tooth, which would require oral surgery to be removed.  I scheduled his appointment for the day after Christmas.  As with humans, he was not allowed to have anything to eat or drink after midnight. He stared at me in puzzlement that entire morning.  I explained it to him, but I don't think he was listening...

      Big "scaredy-dog" that he is, Buddy hides behind me whenever anyone approaches.  On that day, a look of shear terror crossed his face when he realized I was leaving him with the Vet.  "Maternal" guilt kicked in, and I left there feeling dejected, but aware that what I was doing was in his best interest.  The surgery was done in a number of hours, and I picked him up at suppertime.  

     The Vet indicated that Buddy might experience difficulty navigating stairs due to the anesthesia.  Have I mentioned his weight?  Ninety three pounds!  And that we inhabit a second floor apartment?  Fortunately for me, he was just a little wobbly, and also highly motivated to return to his personal love seat.  We ascended the stairs without a hitch.  

     Buddy's diet was restricted to soft foods for two weeks.   I have always given him dry food, so the canned dog food was like going from a diet of  stale bread and water to steak tartare and Dom Perignon.  He required no encouragement to eat.  

     It's been three weeks now.  Buddy has had his follow up visit with the Vet, and is doing fine.  His gums have healed nicely, and the funky smell is completely gone.  It was well worth the nearly one thousand dollars that it cost me.  He is such a good dog, and I love him so much.  Hopefully, that canine "old man" will be with me for years to come.

                                                                  "Me and Buddy"

                                                                "Holly and Brandy"

Fearless

     As a Catholic and a Christian, I am offended by those who would take Christ out of Christmas, as, I am sure, are many other Christians.  The difference between us and a percentage of some members of other religions, is that we Christians don't opt to slaughter en masse those who do not support our views, or who demean our beloved Lord.  Christians are taught to pray for our "enemies", not massacre them.

    To say that I am appalled by the recent vicious terrorist attacks in Sydney and Paris would be a gross understatement.  I am particularly disturbed by the execution of the French policeman, Ahmed Merabet, a Muslim, who was simply doing his job.  People who kill and terrorize in the name of God love to kill,  terrorize, and exert control.  They merely use the name of God to justify their distorted lust for the blood of the innocent.  It is that lust that propels them to arbitrarily kill, even their own. 

    I will forever remember  the images of distraught people waiting for the arrival of doomed Pan Am Flight 103 in December 1988.  It is my first recollection of terrorism.  The memory of watching the news, with my baby in my arms, crying for the victims and their relatives, is vivid still.  I am saddened by countless other acts of terrorism that have occurred since.  The murder of children and teachers in Pakistan recently was a despicable act.  I heard on the news that some female teachers were burned alive.  What could possibly justify such a horror?  Most recently, the image of French policeman Ahmed Merabet lying on the ground with his hands up in surrender will be forever seared in my memory, as will images of our Towers and the planes that struck them, or innocent hostages in coffee shops and supermarkets running in fear from those who would harm them. 

     With today's technology, and the ability to see and hear anything online instantaneously,  I imagine that those who would choose to intimidate and terrorize are enjoying the graphic images of their handiwork.  I wonder if sensationalizing their heinous acts is encouraging and gratifying them.   I feel it is now more important than ever to collectively strive for a peaceful coexistence amongst all the peoples of the world.  Otherwise-where will all of this end?  Are we destined to be forever enmeshed in a climate of hatred and killing?  I have only to think of my children, and the grandchildren that I hope to have one day.  I want them to inhabit a world in which they do not have to fear getting on a plane, going to school or work, seeing a movie, or stopping to buy a cup of coffee. 

     In my youth, I was fearless.  I considered myself privileged to live and to raise my children in the safest country in the world, naively believing that nothing could touch us.  Having witnessed increasing acts of terrorism, not only worldwide, but within my own country, has been both traumatic and foreign to me.  I could not be more shocked than I am over the recent beheading of a woman in her place of employment-in Oklahoma!  She was not even the intended victim, any more than  Ahmed Merabet was.

     As a parent, I worry incessantly about the safety and well being of my family.  Now, however, in addition to the normal parental worries, there are the added worries of radicals who could possibly take members of my precious family from me. In my opinion, we should utilize modern technology to promote love and respect for one another, and tolerance for those who are different, be it in views, religious beliefs, appearance, or nationality.  The time is now- before any more innocent people are executed.

Blog Evoluton

     After nearly three years, my blog has not exactly turned out as I had expected, or originally intended.  Initially, it was meant to be a parody of my college experiences as a semi-senior citizen.  There is not always enough material to write about in that vein however, so the blog has branched out to cover various other aspects of my life, including my failed attempts at internet dating, my love of movies, my opinions and pet peeves, and life experiences in general.  Pursuing a college education remains an important goal, however, as I am slowly, but surely, closing in on a 2 year degree.   I am currently taking the dreaded government and politics courses that I had procrastinated about, having earned an "A" in the first course, and having the second course scheduled for the upcoming semester.  Quite frankly, I surprised myself by earning that "A", as I absolutely detest politics.  The amount of material was often overwhelming, and I was very skeptical about my abilities in the beginning, as I always am, actually.  At times, wanted to throw in the towel, as the challenge was daunting.  I persevered, though, as this goal is so important to me.  I have made it a priority, and I am determined not to  allow other challenges that I face to interfere with it.  I long for the day when I will be attired in cap and gown, with my sons in attendance as I receive my diploma.  As I receive Emails from the college on the topic of graduation, I am keenly aware that this particular goal is well within my reach, looming ever closer on my horizon.  I expect my graduation will coincide with my eligibility for Social Security.  I'm sure there won't be many in my graduating class able to boast that claim!  Perhaps I will reward myself by retiring!

Resolutions vs. Goals

     I am no longer in the habit of making New Year's resolutions.  I did in my youth, a lifetime ago.  Some of my successful and not so successful resolutions included quitting smoking, drinking less, going to the gym regularly, walking away from a bad relationship.  I have been successful at three of the four, some more than once.  

     I stopped smoking on my oldest son's fifth birthday, nearly thirty years ago.  Of course, it took numerous attempts before I found success.  I also stopped drinking around the same time.  Not that I had a problem-I just went through the youthful phase that most of us experience.  Having children brought that to a screeching halt.  Now I wouldn't touch alcohol if I was paid to.  I am determined to have full control of my faculties at all times, as I remember all too well how drinking to excess hampers one's judgement.

     On relationships, I've walked away from more than I can remember, now living a life of solitude and unbridled independence that I savor, rather like a gourmet meal that I am experiencing for the first time.  I have grown accustomed to being alone, in more ways than one.  It is strange how life changes, and changes me as I grow older.  My priorities have shifted.

     Regarding going to the gym-that is one resolution I have never kept for any length of time, although I was quite disciplined about walking for many years.  Now, however...not so much. 

     What I have done differently for the past five years or so, is to set goals for myself.  Granted, setting goals is something I probably should have started a very long time ago, but then, I always was a late bloomer.  My recent goals have consisted of employment and financial goals, educational goals,  a focus on my writing, and more recently, retirement goals.  Some of my goals that I've set have already been realized, like landing a  job, paying off credit cards, and having gone back to college.  (While  I haven't earned my degree yet, I am well on my way).  My writing has suffered, however,  as juggling work, a commute, and studying, leaves me depleted, both mentally and physically.  That is why I have incorporated increased writing into this year's list.  In years past, I was writing three blog posts per week and poetry on a near daily basis, in addition to my papers for school.  Slowly but surely, that has fallen by the wayside, as I succumb to exhaustion in my free time, having become engaged in a very satisfying love affair with my sofa.  I hardly even write in my journal any more.  However, I mean to change that this year, and revert back to doing that which I love.  The joy of writing sustains me, in good times as well as bad.  Most likely, it will never be a career, but hey, you never know.  I recently read of an eighty six year old woman who was published for the first time, having taken five years to write a novel.  I guess there's hope for me yet!

"Ambiguous Movie Dialogue"

     Watching movies brings me such joy.  There is so much more to them than mere entertainment value.  No matter how many times I've seen a movie (and I believe it's necessary to see a movie multiple times), there is always some new detail to discover and marvel over.  I am now it the habit of deciphering the films I watch, looking for, and often finding, subtle visual effects, obscure details, or the double entendre, which I will touch on now.  I wonder if you can guess what movies these ambiguous lines come from:

1. "Just think how happy your husband will be".

2. "I'm sure his generosity is well represented by his surviving partner".

3.  "You know this city is full of hawks?   That's a fact.  They hang around on top of all the big hotels, and they spot a pigeon in the park...right down on them".

4. "Though you need kissing-badly.    That's what's wrong with you.  You should be kissed, and often, and by someone who knows how".

5. "Just tell them about the end.  It's the part everybody remembers".

6.  "The pleasure does not lie in the end itself.  It's the pleasurable steps to that end".

Answers:

1.  The Painted Veil:  Mother Superior to Kitty Fane on her pregnancy.  Would her husband be happy or not?  It could go either way... I recommend that you see this wonderful film to find out why.

2.  Scrooge:  The humanitarians seeking donations from Scrooge to feed the poor and destitute.  He clearly demonstrated that he was as stingy and uncaring as his deceased partner.

 3. On the Waterfront:  Terry Malloy to Edie Doyle.  Was he talking about actual hawks and pigeons, or the mobsters that hit on stool pigeons?  Consider the opening scene, where Edie's brother was pushed off of a rooftop.

4.  Gone With the Wind:  Rhett Butler to Scarlett O'Hara.  I never thought I was too terribly naive, but I was wrong.  I didn't get the hidden meaning in this line until recently. 

5.  A Summer Place:  Molly Jorgenson to Johnny Hunter on King Kong, or was it ???

6.  Sayonara:  Hana-Ogi to Lloyd Gruver.  She was referring to a Japanese Tea Ceremony-allegedly.

     This is just a sampling, as I am sure there are loads of examples.  If you can provide an example, leave a comment., and I will do the same as I discover more.  Meanwhile, watch a favorite movie for the second or third time, opening yourself up to a world of discovery about the incredible detail involved in its creation.

"Term of Endearment"

    It really bugs me when people say "I could care less", which means I could care less, as opposed to "I couldn't care less", which means I could not care less.  Another example is when someone says drive safe, versus drive safely.  One stands a better chance of staying safe by driving safely. 
     I have always made it abundantly clear that spelling accuracy is very important to me, meaning I  could care less about the subject.  I am  of the opinion that, if spelling is a weakness, one should invest in a dictionary!  I don't mean to brag, but I have always been a good speller.  Nevertheless, being a fallible human, I keep a dictionary on my desk.  (I know-I'm dating myself!)  When I was in grammar school, back in the 1960's, when corporal punishment was accepted, misspelled words often resulted in a thrashing with a poker, meted out by a strong armed nun, in addition to a poor grade, and a probable spanking once you brought the inferior grade home.  Talk about motivation!   Those nuns must be spinning in their graves if they can see what is going on in the schools now...
      I have recently witnessed the most gross misspellings ever:  Dicember  (December),  reepor  (report),  and Wensday  (Wednesday).  Two of the three appeared on an outdoor sign at a local school.  Seriously?  If you can't spell, I should think you wouldn't want to advertise it, especially if you are running a school. And if your spelling is that bad, how are you in that position anyway?  By the way-I don't respond to Emails marked "urget" (urgent), and I would never apply for a job at a company advertising "immidite" (as opposed to immediate) openings.
      I am also anal about the correct meaning of words.  Someone informed me recently that the word "aunt" is a term of endearment. (theoretically it could be, but only if you are not related to the person you refer to as "aunt").  I wanted to be angry with her, but I was too moved by pity.  Daniel Webster did not reside in her home, so I sent her a copy of the latest edition of the Merriam-Webster, with a bright book mark and highlighting at the appropriate page/word. We are no longer on speaking terms, but at least she knows my role.
     I read an article where the author was discussing "glove" warming.  She wasn't referring to placing her mittens on a radiator in winter, but to the phenomenon of global warming.  I don't believe this was entirely her  fault, because if teachers and principals can't spell, as is demonstrated above, how is a student supposed to learn correct spelling or word meaning?   That is not to say that the fault lies solely with the teachers.  I believe that teachers are held far too accountable for students' grades, while students are not nearly accountable enough for their performance.   Additionally, it seems that parents do not provide teachers with proper support when dealing with difficult students, nor do our courts support parents who are dealing with difficult offspring.  I recently read an article about a 21 year old woman who sued her parents, insisting that they pay her college tuition.  The judge ruled in the young woman's favor!  If a person is of legal age, why should his or her parents be compelled to pay for that person's schooling?  I am not in favor of people looking for a handout, be it from their parents, spouses, or the government.  Personally, I find all of the above bewildering.  Don't you?