Award

photo-versatile-blogger1I am beyond honored and excited to have been nominated by mybrandofgenius for this award. You said I cover a wide variety of topics which you found refreshing — a wonderful word to be honored with.

The rules of this award are as follows: Name your nominator and provide a link to that person’s blog.  Share 7 personal things about yourself. Nominate 10 other bloggers, and leave them each a note about their nomination.

Here are some things about myself:

  1. If I could, I would have a houseful of animals. As it stands, we have two cockatiels, two parakeets, three Boston Terriers and a horse — he is not in the house, thank goodness. I also rescue all the hurt and and ill creatures that somehow find their way to our door.
  2. I love wine, especially red zinfandel.
  3. I have BIG feet — I wear size 11 shoes.
  4. I am a VERY nervous airplane traveler. The slightest ripple and I am in the lap of the person sitting next to me, so make sure you are never that person.
  5. I learned about life and religion from the back of a nondescript little brown horse named Buzzy.
  6. I am thankful for the wisdom and understanding that has come along with a few extra wrinkles on my face, and a few bulges here and there.
  7. I am on a never-ending quest for the perfect pen, which has left me near bankrupt more than once.

And now I hereby nominate these bloggers:

Animals Deserve to Live

Childhood Relived

Bits and Bites

Press “M” for Menopause

Ramblin’ Through Dave’s Garden

Charity Ideas Blog

Too Old to Care

Disorderly Chickadee

Heavenali

Elena Sellivan

 

 

 

 

 

 

Memory, Memory, Where For Art Thou Sweet Memory

Gone – flat out, unequivocally GONE. If you’re like me, you’re constantly looking up the definition of Alzheimer’s disease, brain tumors, and concussion caused by some random bump on the head you didn’t even  know you got.

And if you’re like me, you’re also of the Baby Boomer generation where memory loss is now epidemic. Consider:1 in 8 boomers over the age of 60 reports they experience memory loss, in the largest self-respondent survey of its kind.

I’m not quite over 60 (I’ll take every hour, day, month I can get) but I constantly fret, worry, and stew over what is definitely a dwindling sense of recall. Example: you know, that word, the one that is right on the tip of my tongue, or I could have sworn I put my keys right here on the kitchen table, or (you fill in the blank).

Compounding this memory game is menopause. I was actually relieved to learn that many of my memory symptoms are the result of my body’s dwindling hormones.    A recent study : “concludes that the memory problems experienced by women in their 40s and 50s as they approach and go through menopause are undeniable.”

Want to know more? Here is yet another great resource for all my fellow menopausal memory-loss mamas:

The good news about losing at word games and having to walk everywhere because you can’t find your keys is, there’s hope! There are definite strategies you can employ to help sharpen that gray-matter. Here are a few:

  1. Exercise: Hide your car keys on purpose and get that body moving through walking, biking, running, swimming, or whatever your sport of choice might be
  2. Eat like Popeye (remember him?): In addition to spinach, eat a diet full of fruits and vegetables of all sizes, shapes and colors
  3. Engage in mental workouts: Say what? Think: crossword puzzles, Sudoku, the classics (as in books), and whatever mental gymnastics get your wheels turning and burning.
  4. Get good sleep: Get enough, good quality sleep with quality as the operative word.
  5. Drink red wine: Now this one is right up my alley, but of course, the key to success is moderation.
  6. Do only one thing at a time: One of the worst contributions of this technological age is the temptation to multitask. Simply put – DON’T!
  7. Find tricks of the trade: Circumvent those times when you know your memory is going to hiccup: leave index cards around so you always have something to write on, carry around a small notebook, use the note function in your smart phone or tablet, and whatever you do, make sure to always carry a pen with you. .

Want more detail?

So, here’s the bottom line: you’re not alone, it’s perfectly normal, and  …. what was it we were talking about again??

Soft Boiled Eggs

soft_boiled_eggI was on the phone with my father this morning and he told me he was eating a soft-boiled egg. I told him I loved soft-boiled eggs. He said, “I’ll make you one.”

Someday … not tomorrow.

Tomorrow my father is having major, life-threatening surgery. He is having 2 feet of colon removed. He has a pacemaker. He is 88.

But – he is vital, robust, lucid and a delightful, loving man.

His wife, my stepmother, and I are speaking only in terms of pleasantries because to do otherwise will be to breakdown. We are otherwise close. I love her.

All week – morbid thoughts have sunk my naturally ebullient, positive self.  My thoughts spark reservoirs of un-fallen tears that I struggle to choke back but that blind me.

All week – he has been his naturally ebullient, positive self. Although today I heard a hint of the fear that must surely be strangling his psyche.

Tonight I will pack my bag: computer, books, tablet and gum – lots of gum, gum to give focus and and act as an outlet for energy that wants to come out screaming but can’t.

Tomorrow it begins – 7:30, the first surgery of the morning – a good thing, he laughs, the surgeon will be rested and the instruments will be clean.

Tomorrow when I wish him well before they wheel him away on the gurney, I will remind him that I’m holding him to his promise to make me soft boiled eggs. I will tell him that I love him.

Unique Teeth

Model Lindsey Wixson who was made fun of in school for her teeth
Model Lindsey Wixson who was made fun of in school for her teeth

When my son was around 7, at a visit with our beloved pediatrician, I asked him whether or not I should get J.D. braces for his teeth. Quite emphatically, Dr. Kay said no, his teeth are just fine, and furthermore, they’re interesting!

Interesting …

As J.D. grew older and I saw all his schoolmates emerging with these perfectly straight, blindingly white teeth, I began to feel guilty. I mean, there was nothing really wrong with J.D.’s teeth, they were just not as white, not as straight and … interesting!

Fast forward 10: Enter models in Europe, women in Japan who seek dental care to achieve that ‘imperfect’ look, and more young women and men who decide to embrace their unique teeth look.

Yes, I had braces, no, my teeth are from perfect and now they are smiling trophy of all the coffee and red Zinfandel I have consumed over the years.

So, my dear son, know that Dr. Kay was right, and that your funky, spacey, non-white teeth are far more interesting than those myriad sets of teeth that are perfectly aligned and truly pearly whites.

Check these out:

Why The Perfect Smile Isn’t So Perfect

What’s So Bad About Having Crooked Teeth

Why are Japanese women paying hundreds of pounds to make perfectly straight teeth look crooked and fang-like?

10 Stars With Not So Perfect Teeth

A Bird in the Hand

SparrowI was in the café line today, chatting away with the counter person when I felt a presence over my shoulder. I turned to find one of my best students standing there. He was not the kind of student who sought or required much help, so to see him waiting for me in the café was surprising.

“Do you rescue animals?” he asked. Puzzled, it wasn’t quite what I expected him to say and I wasn’t sure how to respond.

“I, um, I am, yes.” Now I know how my students feel when I call on them unexpectedly.

“There’s a bird up on the bridge, just lying there on its back,” he said. I could see now that he was upset, this a young man who had done a superb presentation the day before about hunting humanely.

Damn, I thought to myself, because no matter what, when an animal is in need, there is something deep inside me that simply must step in and help. I am not like this necessarily with people, always with animals.

“If we get it, can you do the legwork to get it to a wildlife rehabilitator?” I said.

He nodded, I asked the counter person for a box, and off we went across the bridge that all the students for my next class were crossing, in the opposite direction.

“Do we have class?” they asked, seemingly in unison.

“Yes,” I said as my student and I hurried on.

We reached the little sparrow who was by this time hobbling around in the brush, clearly not able to fly. My student reached his hand under a bush and took it in his hand and ever so gently put it in the box.

We hurried back to the classroom where I looked up wildlife rehabs on the computer, scribbled down a phone number on a small piece of paper and pressed it into his hand.

He looked at me questioningly.

“No worries about class, go take care of this bird. But make sure you email me later to tell me how you and the bird fare. That is you assignment.” I said. He nodded. We understood one another.

And yes, my student completed his assignment. He wrote that the little sparrow regained his strength and flew away.

Almost Full

20130426_135408
Almost Full

In recent years, I’ve become fascinated with the tales and history of the many wonderful places around me. One such place is the Erie Canal, a true feat of engineering brilliance. Construction on it began in 1817, and it took 8 years to complete the entire length, which stretches from Buffalo to New York City.

What I find particularly magical about this man-made waterway are two things. The first is the vestiges of the original canal. Sometimes there are remains of a cement lock obscured among forests and trees. Then there are portions of the old canal bed, sometimes now part of a highway, other times a difficult-to-discern gully harboring just a trickle of water hidden  in a forgotten  tract of woods.

I recently discovered some of these treasures while walking the canal path with my trusted Boston Terrier buddy Brinkley. We walk this stretch of canal often, and since finding them, I am obsessed with the many mysteries they hold and the stories they could tell.

An Old Lock
An Old Lock

I am next awed by the seasonal draining and filling of this 363 mile long waterway. With a change in elevation of 500 feet from the Hudson River to Buffalo, a series of locks change water levels so boats can pass through. My amazement comes from first  wondering what is the source of such an incredible volume of water, and second, the complexity of calculating all the who, what, when, where and how’s of this process.

On a recent walk, it appeared that the momentous process of filling this behemoth had begun with what appeared to be a swelling of the winter melt. I felt full of excitement and wished I could witness the entire process. A week later we returned and the bottom was hidden until next November.

The canal was almost full.

Ever Faithful Brinkley
Ever Faithful Brinkley

Live Nice

Live Nice. Yikes, when these two words came to me a few weeks ago, I knew I was onto something. I knew it was to become my mantra. I knew it would become bumper sticker  and T-shirt material. I knew it was something I needed to write about.

So besides the obvious, what is it? A few thoughts for Live Nice in my humble world.

  • Do it the simple way, not out of laziness, but out of purposefulness
  • Take walks in the country, through the woods, or in old city neighborhoods
  • Plant a vegetable garden and reap its harvests with healthy meals and salads
  • Plant a Zen garden and sit in it often with a book and glass of sun tea in hand
  • Meditate often
  • Breathe deep
  • Ride my horse Buzzy  taking small steps when I’m fearful and bigger ones when we’re more sure-footed
  • Call and visit with friends more often: I am blessed to have many good ones
  • Learn new things
  • Embark upon a research project for something truly purposeful
  • Limit technology time and stop wiling away hours doing nothing on the Internet
  • Stop feeling guilty about everything
  • Be kind to people in supermarkets, stores, and public places instead of feeling annoyed by them
  • Focus on writing
  • Drink good wine

So, just a few new behaviors for my Live Nice list. Many, many, many more to follow…Maybe you have something to add?

Book Binge

BooksI am on a serious book binge, and when I say serious, I mean a major hording episode.  I mean I am exchanging baby pictures with the UPS man. I mean OUT OF CONTROL.

I have adored books since I was a little girl when we had Scholastic Book Club in my Catholic grammar school. Several times a year our nun-teachers would solicit our book orders , but the biggest and most exciting order was the one for our summer reading lists.  After more than 45 years, I STILL have some of those books, including Candy Stripers, Willow Hill, Everybody Calls Me Father, and one of my all-time favorites, A Tree Grows in Brooklyn.  I still can feel the thrill of getting that order of brand-new, off-the-press paperbacks: smelling the fresh ink and fanning the pages. Bliss.

You know what? I do the same thing today. I smell the ink and fan the pages. In fact, friends and families find my page-smelling habit rather peculiar. I say, let them smell their roses and leave me to my book bliss.

Body Shaping 101

I was reading one of the women’s  magazines yesterday and I was struck by all the dieting, exercising, fashion-ista-izing, and botoxing articles it contained. Now don’t get me wrong – a healthy diet, exercise – all to the good.  In fact, I’m a great proponent of exercise – have been running, swimming, walking, etc. since I was a teenager. I also eat healthy, sleep well, and try to manage my stress levels.  Where I draw the line is in taking my natural form (body) and shaping, molding and squeezing it into clothes that are simply not designed for it.

Now, as I ‘ripen’ into my more fruitfully robust years, so does my body morph into a still healthy state, but somewhat altered shape. This shape is, truth be told, quite comfy and insular. It is fit, tight and well-tuned. What it isn’t, is sculpted. What it never will be – sculpted.

However, along with  this altered state comes a dilemma. It is called waistline. It is called great discomfort with many at the waist ‘cinches.’ My dilemma is that what’s comfy at the waist is huge everywhere else, and what fits elsewhere feels like a tourniquet  keeping the blood flowing to my lower body.

So what’s my point? It’s actually threefold. One, I am happy as a pig in a mud puddle in my own skin, ripened waist and all. Two – clothes designers of the world: TAKE HEED!! We Baby Boomer women are not of the ilk to sweat, starve and carve our way into your clothes. Third: I am here to sing the praises of elastic waistbands (… as long as they’re not too tight ….)

Life Skill Inventory

100_0612As it so happens, many of us take periodic inventories of our lives – where we’ve been, where we are, and where we are going. These should be productive inventories, not great ruminations on past blunders and mistakes. I like to think of it as a take stock time when I can tally my new skills and see how they can benefit me as I move forward in life.

Today I discovered one such skill that I’d not previously recognized in proper context.  What is it? The art of picking up dog poop in a grocery bag during my twice-daily walks with my Boston Terrier Brinkley. (Aside: Way back when I had 4 other BTs, someone asked Brinkley’s name, and when I shared it, they said, ‘For God’s sake, don’t go out and get Huntley.’ It’s been 7 years: so far, so good).

Anyway, back to poop-bagging. Today, when I grabbed Brink’s poop in the used Wegmans  grocery bag, I used a smooth flicking motion with my wrist – it was almost poetic in its grace — deftly turning the bag inside-out, complete with poop inside. A single motion: swish and plop!

Maybe this is my new career: Poop bagging: a way to be a responsible dog owner/walker and a Zen type practice in wrist flicking. Face it, poop bagging is a hell of a lot better than shoveling all that shit you find in so many other (corporate) jobs.