I’m sitting here, reading a Melissa Foster book, rounding out a day that started yesterday with rain and then snow ❄. Its cold outside, but my glass of cabernet savignon is warming me.
The book is sexy, the temperature is 40°, and I’m looking at my sleeping German Shepherd Millie curled up on the couch. Also watching my polydactyl calico cat Cleo curled up dozing in the rocking chair.
Snow is low on the mountains, and the clouds are low in the sky. There is a hard freeze warning for our area which means I will have to cover the outdoor plants that are vulnerable.
I’m enjoying my solitude. I have times when being alone and quiet gives me comfort. I think with age we find these times exceptionally valuable.
So to all you lovely folks waiting for inspiration – gaze at the stars, listen to the soft breathing of a sleepy puppy, and relish the complexity of a good wine.
I’ve been released! Essentially this means my two weeks of post-op recuperation requiring me to stay house bound is over. On Wednesday 2 December I was sprung. I can tell you it was wonderful. It was the first time I had driven further that the local grocer a couple of miles away. I actually drove into real Tucson traffic and it was a trip!
This surgery is one of those negative check marks when looking at hiring an older individual. We are considered a feeble risk and we will drive up the cost of premiums in the company insurance policy. No matter that we are doing our best to be healthy, we are loyal and give our best. I’ve lost weight, am eating carefully, and sleeping better that I have in a while, yet I’m seen as a risk to the millennials in charge. To the company we create issues in their minds.
This is what it feels like to be profiled. It has nothing to do with who I am, who I really am as a human. It has to do with perception. To the new college graduates and the millennials in charge I am the age of parents or grandparents and we are useful only for telling stories about the past and keeping traditions going. We make them uncomfortable.
Well I have a few stories to tell.
How about the first time I did speed at a concert that was also my first laser light show-Steve Miller and left there to go to Jekyll and Hyde’s, a gay bar for dancing.
Or the time I was at the Boston Concert and kept dropping the ball of hashish from the pipe bowl every time I tried to light it.
What about my friends and I hitchhiking up and down Speedway Blvd in Tucson on a Saturday night, leaving my car at Pinecrest Center?
Or the time my buddie Eddie gave me a gram of coke for my birthday, and in gratitude I shared the lid of weed I had.
I got memories for you!
Experience is what teaches lessons – all of the lessons – good and bad.
I have years of administrative office experience. I worked for doctors, realtors, insurance brokers, scientists, retail buyers…you get my idea. With plenty to offer and the time to offer it, why doesn’t that equal a desire for these skills?
Want more? I throw a good party, I’ll keep a confidence, and I’ll be there for happy hour. I can talk about football or laboratory sterile technique. I can kill it at karaoke too!
Now back to my writing. My female lead is about to get busted by her son coming back from a hot date with her new man.
I follow several Instagram pages with families that are mixed race. Some because of the parents races, some because of adoption, some because of marriage. The uniform message seems to be they are strong in their trials.
One couple, she’s black and he’s white with multirace children all adopted deals daily with bigotry and judgemental ignorant humans. These people are great parents and their children lack nothing. Another couple she’s white and he’s black are doing an exceptional job in raising three beautiful blended children and her son from her first marriage. I can’t believe how many humans want to accuse her of favoring him over her other children and vice-versa.
Another couple I follow on YouTube are both black and are raising their white adopted son. That child is one of the happiest kids I’ve seen. They are now pregnant with twin girls from adopted embryos. Who cares what race those babies are, they will be loved and treasured by their parents.
Humanity is having to fight a big fight right now against racism, misogyny, Covid-19, religious intolerance, and every day struggles to survive in this world. Its hard to pay bills, buy food and necessities, gas, and keep the lights on when you can’t work full time. Hubby and I are trying to find ways to make $$ spread. At our age options are limited.
I’m proud of these families that face the struggles with love and creativity. My daughter, a single parent, does this hourly, daily, weekly, monthly and yearly while raising an adopted child of a different race on the autism spectrum. He is well loved, well fed, and so wonderful. But its not easy.
So let’s talk about what we can do to support others in this life. Let’s be tolerant, and not accept humans that bully, abuse, and strike out in ignorance.
Ok, I am not young, chronologically, I admit it. I don’t want to accept it yet there are things going on that remind me I’m not under warranty anymore. I’m paying out of pocket for repairs, and I’m at the nickel and dime stage.
The things that drive my interest, passions and dreams look different. Creativity weighs heavily on me now. Every day I want to touch that creativity in myself – it’s where I find the youth in my heart. When I think “Ooo, I would love to do that,” then the desire is tempered with “really? at my age?”
I would like nothing better than to sell everything, clear out and get a wonderful fixer-upper Victorian by the ocean or next to a mountain lake and open a B&B. But then I think about my hubby with his bad knees and back. He has no business working on fixing a place. He should be fishing.
How long would I realistically have to do this and make a living? Supplementing my social security income with a successful venture doesn’t happen quickly. This is a goal for a younger couple.
So rather than my sewing be making fabric accents for my dream B&B, or my writing be composing promotional pieces…well you understand.
One of the biggest issues for people my age is finding part time work. It doesn’t matter what “company policy” is, age discrimination is real. The thirty somethings don’t understand or want to fill their companies with people they feel can’t put in the time and effort needed. I’ve been looking, especially work from home opportunities which I’m told there is a glut of them. Uh, nope. But I will keep looking.
I will continue doing my creative thing, not giving in to the worlds attitude. Sure I would love to be thirty again. So I will be thirty in my mind. Still singing, sewing, writing, blogging, voice-over.
I’ve been having a great time watching my follower count go up for my blog, my twitter and my Facebook author page. It is a great feeling to think I might have something to say that will connect with another human. I’ve laughed out loud at the posts on Twitter by the vibrant young people out there. I remember that time in my life where everything was exciting and full of adventure.
I was talking with someone about what happens when humans reach a certain age. That certain age can vary depending on the human and their life experience. She had been very sick, spent hours in the ER and came away with a diagnosis that most likely was stress related. Ok, this person does have a lot of stress in her life, but the first thing I thought was she is younger than me, so check mark the age box. She is younger in years I can’t get back, yet I refuse to be one of those old people who always talk about illnesses, aches and pains, prescriptions and doctor appointments.
Yuck!! Double yuck!!
Most young people don’t go there, they don’t have time for it while they live life to the fullest. Sometimes that living gets them in trouble, but they do as Taylor Swift says “shake it off!!” I want to keep that youthful thought in my head so I can avoid the signs of acting my age.
Let’s keep dancing.
Sally Field said she see’s herself as young, no matter her chronological age. I do that too. In my dreams I am young, skinny and adventurous. Even if I am my current age in dreams my actions betray my self perception as a youthful person. I refuse to cut my hair no matter how many times I’m told long hair on older women ages them, because I like my hair like this. My iTunes playlist has a lot of current music. I enjoy listening to and engaging with the young people I encounter.
I think we all have an age that is our best age. Mine is 35. That age to me is still young, very active, super sexy, effortlessly spontaneous and immensely curious.
Tell me what you see when you look at yourself. Do you look through the eye of your mind or do you count the lines that mark your age number? Please share you comments.
I had an eye appointment today and the first thing I noticed when I was walking into the big building of doctors offices was there were lots of “old” people coming and going. Blue hairs I call them. My eye doc, who is really great, is retiring to Florida. Bummer, Chuck and I both like him. He is mellow and works quickly. Gonna miss that guy. Eyes haven’t change much, that’s good. I have small cataracts, that’s bad. Did I really say that??
Please God, I’m not old, right?
In my head I’m 30. I was skinny and energetic when I was 30. No reading glasses, I could jog a mile without breathing hard and I could drink and dance all night if I wanted. My kids were little so I knew I wasn’t old.
I worked for almost 10 years at the University of Arizona and it was one of the most fun jobs I ever had. Primarily because I was around young people all day. It was great. The best part was hearing about their fabulous and crazy college aged lives. I heard about who they were hanging out with, where they were going for vacays and the parties they hit on the weekends. I felt younger being around them. They cheered me and kept me from the oldness feelings.
For years before that I had worked in the medical field in hospitals and private offices. I found I spent my time talking about doctor appointments, medications, sick days, and aches and pains. Not getting ready to go to the beach or bar hopping with friends to meet people. It made me feel old and I started to sound like these grumpy people.
Right now my Sirius car radio is on the “top hits or Z100 or coffee house”, my Pandora is on the “Mark Ronson station or today’s hits”. I’d love to hit the dance clubs and get sweaty dancing all night, but they look at me funny. Ok, Chuck isn’t a dancer. So I’m not that skinny girl who closed the bars when she was 22 but I’m still fun. Just try me!
My son said I was loud about everything. I think it was a compliment?!?! I’m not typing in all caps, right?
I know I can’t avoid the chronological progression but dammit in my brain I’m not that old. “I’m gonna kiss myself I’m so pretty.”