agingwrinklesandwondersdot.com

There are so many reasons for me to just walk on by and ignore, dismiss, marginalize, and disparage some of my fellow Americans. I know “both sides” are guilty, and I’m still tied up in knots trying to keep my mouth shut.  I can’t make sense of it, or be tolerant, so I will just walk on by the steaming hot mess for now.  Instead, I will focus on what makes me chuckle, giggle or brings a smile to my face. It’s kind of like circling the wagons and choosing to conserve my supply of tolerance and patience for the worst, which I’m sure is yet to come . Meanwhile, Fort Collins has lots of amusing quirks to bring a smile. We are a city of migrants from places like Iowa, North Dakota and Texas who come for the lifestyle and the climate. Texans and Californians are required to file for asylum. All are invited and asked to BYOB.

BYOBB.  Bring your own bike and beer. Next time you guzzle a Fat Tire (  a Mountain bike) you are drinking one of Fort Collins finest beers. There is a brew pub on every block, so if you can’t find a beer you like you are deaf, dumb and blind. Fort Collins is on the move and staying hydrated. If beer is not your thing, think “buzz” and head to one of our million coffee shops and have a Grande Vanilla Latte, 2 %,  iced. I know of a couple of “pairs” of coffee shops and brew pubs right next door to each other. Get caffeinated so you can better lift your elbow to chug beer and not fall asleep while you are imbibing. And yes, there are plenty of pot shops too, if that is your preferred way to get a “buzz”. Folks, ( Biden talk) it’s legal in Colorado.  So BYOP!

BYOB. Bring your own bike.  There are more bike lanes in Fort Collins  than car lanes. On the bike trails, “ on your left”, does NOT mean move to your left, unless you want to be run over by a bicycle.  There are more bike lanes than car lanes in Fort Collins. In the traffic food chain, bicycles rule. I have never looked good in biking shorts, but they are a necessity if your saddle is on a bike.  We even have cops whose wheels are bicycle tires. They can get around in crowds and police partiers and protesters. Don’t mess with them!

In Fort Collins,there is another BYOB— bring your own bark- bring your dog. It’s harder to get your dog into doggie daycare than get your kid into a fancy preschool. Dog trainers and dog walkers are in demand.  It is rare to see a car on the road without a dog sitting in it or sticking their head out the window. Quite a few places allow pet dogs, but if dogs are not allowed it is  likely that a dog or 2 will be waiting outside on the sidewalk for their owner. The dogs,of course, are petted by everyone passing by. You are in the minority if you don’t have your own bark. I know more dogs in my neighborhood than I know owners. Most dogs are more likeable than nasty humans. One of my dogs, who I love dearly, is an asshole,  but he is the exception.

Trails and more trails, natural areas, parks and open space— Fort Collins is all about preserving and managing recreational areas and protecting natural areas. There are rules of the trail. Bikers are supposed to yield to hikers,  but 99% of hikers yield to bikers because they are traveling a lot faster. Everybody yields to horses and rattle snakes. Read the sign dummy! “Warning. Rattle snakes seen in the area.” Or “Trail closed due to muddy conditions.” BYOB of water. Beer is dehydrating. 

Canada geese are actually part of the City of Fort Colllins logo, and if you don’t watch where you are walking they will become part of your footwear. By the way, it is “Canada” goose and not “Canadian” goose. Since they tend to travel in large flocks and have efficient  digestive systems, the quantity of geese poop can be intimidating if one is attempting to navigate the city sidewalks. Watch your step. Canada geese are much larger than barnyard geese. A hissing Canada goose who feels you are invading their personal space is worth listening to.  The best part of our wealth of Canada geese is accommodating their pedestrian crossings. They look pretty silly jay walking single file across 4 lanes of traffic. I can hear them discussing why humans don’t fly and choose to clog the streets with gas guzzling polluting mechanical monsters. “Don’t rush me”, or “Just chill”, they say.  Even if I’m frustrated by the delay I still chuckle at the scene. So why did the Canada goose cross the road? To get a beer!

Monday was April Fools Day and the topic for storytelling this week is “Fool me once”. I have “ fool”  on my mind and a few questions.  “Why Do Fools Fall In Love? and “What Does A Fool Believe?”. Is “Chain Of Fools” really just the Hokey Pokey for grownups? Am I on “The Ship Of Fools”or am I “ The Fool On The Hill”? Are these foolish questions waiting for foolish answers? Alas, even with all my years of life experiences “Duh!” is often the best I can come up with. Fool me once, twice, three times into infinity…

So how does the dictionary define “fool”?

fool: a. a person who lacks good sense or judgement : a stupid or silly person;  b. a  harmlessly deranged person  (Is there really a deranged person who is  harmless?); c: see Danita

Would you think I was fooling you if I told you there is a Raspberry fool and a strawberry fool? No foolin’! A dessert made with cooked fruit of your choice and cream or a thick sauce  is also called a “fool”. Next April Fool’s Day, take an Oreo cookie, scrape out the filling and replace it with a big squirt of toothpaste and reassemble . Wait for a “fool” to come along and take a big bite of the cookie so you can exclaim “April Fool”! This is a whole new kind of dessert.

I applaud  Odessa, a city in Ukraine for making April Fool’s Day a holiday, hence more time to prank, and another day off is never a foolish move. Why do we like to prank or play jokes on other people. Nobody wants to admit they are the “Butt of the joke”? Does my butt look big in this joke?  Usually it is better to be the pranker than be the prankee. I’ve had 2 surprise birthday parties in my life,  and had a wonderful time at both, but some people hate surprise birthday parties.

I’m a  bit of a cynic and it seems to me that pranks or cons can be more of a “Gotcha!” moment or delivering someone their “ comeuppance”. For example, back in the day when perms were a thing, I went to a salon to get a perm. I was excited and looking forward to getting curly hair,  comeuppance was not on my radar.  What I got was a fried Afro! The hairdresser was the best friend of a woman who felt I had stolen her boyfriend.  Pretty funny to them, not so much for me. The remedy was to get my hair cut short, but my revenge was sweet because everyone loved my new short haircut.

Ironically I was fooled  big time when a group of friends and I were  listening to “Won’t Get Fooled Again” by the Who. Headphones on for me, rockin’ and singing along to the song. Everyone else was listening and singing along too…I thought. It was silent in the room and I was the only one singing along! I can only imagine how bad I sang and how stupid I sounded. Moral of the story—make sure you are not being fooled listening to “Won’t Get Fooled Again”.

In the arena of love I’ve been the fool who waits for you. Nothing ambiguous with the song title “Lovefool” by the Cardigans. I  love the groups name and  can just see them in their cardigans…. These are lyrics for love songs for fools:

Love me, love me

Say that you love me

Fool me, fool me

Go on and fool me. 

Or:

You make me feel like a fool

Waiting for you

You make me feel like a fool

Waiting for you

How many romances have I had that existed only in my head? I could have written the Doobie Brothers song “What a Fool Believes” because I lived it.

Let’s just say I have a vivid imagination, the hell with reality. The more vulnerable I am, the more gullible I am. My college boyfriend stuck a bright yellow sticker on the back of my coat that said “Used”, and I walked around all day with that sticker on . A snarky frat boy kindly pointed it out to me on the bus. It took me days to finally tell said boyfriend what an asshole he was. He didn’t agree with me, but some people are just plain fools.

I love the Oscar winning movie, “The Sting”, an elaborate con set up to sting the bad guys and deliver their comeuppance. I  respect an intelligent con as long as the ending is satisfying. Leonardo DiCaprio played a shameless con artist in  “Catch Me If You Can”, based on fact.  Among other things,  he impersonated a doctor and an airline pilot. Fortunately, no one died as a result of his schemes. Outside of the movies,  to believe something that is false and full of malignant  misinformation is risky business. Conspiracy theories are nothing more than a con artist targeting fools, because he/she wants them to believe what they are told to believe. I like to think I engage my brain to evaluate information, but I also assume the best of other people. I  prefer to live that way. Giving people the benefit of the doubt means that sometimes my trust is misplaced, but positive expectations are healthier for me. 

Sooner or later you and I will be fooled again. In the meantime, would you like to go snipe hunting or cow tipping? Come on it’s fun!  Hold this bag and we will shoo the snipes towards the bag and you be ready to get them. Remember to put some might behind your shove to tip the cow over. Come on it’s fun!

It’s nothing short of a miracle that we humans can communicate with each other – even just a little bit.The words we use and how we talk to each other are very nuanced and driven by our intentions for speaking.  Are we chewing the fat, having a tete-a-tete? Word of mouth means “passing information between people using oral communication.” This  could be as simple as telling someone the time, sharing that you really like restaurant A, or indulging in delicious gossip. Word of mouth can equal communication and understanding, but also the opposite. I may hear your words,  but not have a clue what you mean!   OMG it can be LOL, which is whole other language to reach misunderstanding. I hope you might enjoy some of my research and  use of creative language.

Slang:  informal nonstandard vocabulary composed typically of coinages, arbitrarily changed words, and extravagant, forced, or facetious figures of speech usually used by a particular group of people. For example, in Mafia speak “ painting houses” means murdering someone.  If you don’t understand someone’s use of slang it’s hard to decipher the meaning of their word of mouth. I don’t understand some of the current slang, so sometimes I have to ask my son things like what does “bougie” means. ( Ask a teenager) Each generation has their own slang. I listen to teenagers and I hear words that sound like a foreign language to me. Is there “old speak” and “youth speak”? Or is it that kids just don’t listen, and old people have nothing important to say? How do I acknowledge these differences  and still talk to different age groups in a meaningful way? It’s my responsibility to keep learning and remain open to the  “new” news and new words.  I could discover that I’ve changed my mind on some issues or that I can laugh at my certainties or foibles and that is groovy, dope, solid and rad.

Sarcasm: the use of words that mean the opposite of what you really want to say especially in order to insult someone, to show irritation, or to be funny.  I love sarcasm except when it is directed at me! Things can get really murky with sarcasm because what I want to  communicate may well be the opposite of what I actually say.  “You are so smart.” could really mean, “You are a dumb shit.”. Do you catch my drift? (Slang for “Do you understand what I mean?”) Sarcasm can really hurt someone and the speaker can deny they said anything mean, i.e.”Get over it.I’m just kidding.”  I can escape accountability while still hurting people with my words. Experts at sarcasm can be masters in gaslighting. I am a  word person so I need to remind myself to limit my sarcasm and plainly and directly express my feelings. I need to ask others to do the same.

Comeback: a sharp or witty reply: retort. I’ve missed more than a few turns while driving because of fretting about what would have been the perfect comeback. I am not the most assertive person or quick thinker when I’m  upset, so I often have to resort to practicing comebacks alone in my car. A good comeback can be so satisfying, but the timing is so crucial. I offer you a few of my favorite comebacks with the hope you will be able to use them when the time is right:  1. If I wanted to hear from an asshole, I’d fart.; 2. Were you born this stupid or did you take lessons?; 3. Please just tell me you don’t plan to homeschool your kids.

Just in case you want to be an informed voter you should know that political speech is such a manipulative  cluster f**k.   Oh my, you’ve  got dog whistles,  propaganda, facism, racism and just plain old lies.  Don’t get me started…. And don’t roll your eyes at me, I know what you are saying! I am trying to understand your point of view, but see #3 above.

Parents all over the world admonish their children to “ Use your words.” Word of mouth starts in the crib. Say what you mean, mean what you say and try to be kind

The phrase “kitchen table issues “ is usually used in a political context, meaning issues that affect people in their daily lives. Sitting at the “table” is usually a white woman or white heterosexual couple, but maybe the rest of us won’t notice! The direction I’m going in is ”kitchen table issues” at our big table, in our house, on our farm in Iowa.

You have to have a big table to fit 13 children and 2 parents! It seemed like a football field or a boardroom table. It was rare that the table was not in use.  It was Grand Central Station, the command center for our family. Have to leave a note or check for someone? In prehistoric times, before cell phones, we could stick it in the clothes pin holder on the table. The table was where my parents read the daily and Sunday newspapers, and usually the papers remained there until  meal time. By laying it out on the table, you could see above the fold and below the fold at once and didn’t need long arms to hold it. Various family members would stop at the table, pick up a section to read, and sit for awhile. There were lots of  “Did you read that story about….?” The family that reads together at the kitchen table stays together.

The kitchen table was our game table and was the setting for many rowdy times! Card games, Yahtzee, Phase 10, dice games, you name it, were all played at the table, after the newspapers were removed of course. “ Anybody for a game of cards? It’s hard to think of that table without remembering all of the good times we had sitting around it trying to remember what’s trump? Some of my best memories of my Dad are set at the kitchen table. I “played” cards with my Dad and uncles as a little girl. I sat on my Dad’s lap and he picked a card out of his hand and told me to lay it on the pile. I often didn’t understand the good natured ribbing and laughing going on, but I knew I had a good, happy seat at the table. 

At least some of the time at big family gatherings, it was usually the men in the living room smoking cigars, and the ladies sitting at the kitchen table gossiping and discussing the issues of the day. As a girl, I  loved to sit at the table with my Mom and my aunts and Iisten to their lively discussions. I heard that the Catholic Church banned birth control pills, but my younger aunts said they were using them anyway. I heard about who was sick, who had babies and who liked to drink. I was especially excited when they disagreed about an issue and my Mom would end the discussion with some weak platitude about needing to sweep our side of the streets first, and everyone had to agree with that.   When I got old enough for a seat with the ladies at the kitchen  table, I was confrontational, and a know it all.  I missed the whole point of this gathering of women, which was to connect and be free to talk and be honest, without men in the circle and changing the equation.

Remember when you developed a roll of films and got photos that you could actually hold in your hand? My Mom had a big tin that held hundreds of photos before they were put in photo albums. If that tin came out to the table there was always filled seats around the table to look at the photos, identify people and tell stories about what was going on in the photo. The photos passed between hands at the table, and family history was passed around too. It was a low tech ancestory.com!

Weak coffee and good desserts set out on the table were part of many visits. Family members shared recipes for the desserts they brought. Time at the kitchen table was a recipe for sharing, connection  and love.

Remember those maps that say “You are here.”  This helps us get oriented, shows us where we are in context, so we can understand how the map is laid out. I’m that dot who can move this way or that way on the map. I’m just a dot and I feel lonely sometimes. This is hard for me to admit. Aren’t I too busy, involved or social to be lonely?  Weird people are lonely because they are unlikeable, nobody likes them.  People Iike me, right ? Right? It seems “ Home Alone” is  just a funny movie and a fun time for the main character, Kevin. Who has the time to miss family or feel lonely when  you are staying in deluxe hotel suites and fighting off bumbling burglars? Or can home alone carry some risks.? Even Kevin isn’t immune to loneliness.

According to the Surgeon General, America is experiencing an epidemic of loneliness. This is a health and social crisis not unlike the COVID Pandemic. In January, 2018, the U.K. named a Minister of Loneliness. It is unlikely the U.S.will create a cabinet post, Secretary of Loneliness, but the research from both countries shows that loneliness is a pervasive and costly social problem. I know it hurts to be lonely. As I have gotten older, and the U.S.population over 65 continues to increase, I’ve been thinking more about what is loneliness is. I’ve experienced my own health crisis recently and I became more isolated than usual. I  got up close and personal with loneliness and it is not my friend.  Social distancing makes sense in a pandemic, but not in everyday life. I need a hug and a handshake. A text or an email does not have skin on it. I need other humans around to help me remember what being human means. 

So and so is still living on her own at 90, isn’t that great? Maybe.  I don’t want a medal for living alone! My husband died and I am fortunate that I own my home and am able to care for myself. I also know that I am better mentally and physically if I am able to get out of the house every day and be with others. Too many sick days or snow days take their toll on my emotional well-being. Social isolation can be caused by where I and other seniors choose to live.  A majority of seniors want to stay in their homes as long as possible, but there is a risk to staying in our homes: social isolation.  When spouses , partners or long term friends pass away, staying in the home alone can be a liability. According to the experts, seniors who have the highest levels of loneliness and isolation more than double their odds of dying within six years. It turns out that loneliness can kill you. The health risks with experiencing chronic loneliness are equivalent to the risks of smoking 15 cigarettes a day. Loneliness is hazardous to your health.

I worry about solitary confinement on Main Street America. There has to be alternatives to single family homes for seniors or massive golden cages of Senior living and retirement villages. Apartment living, with buildings A to Z,  separated from the rest of society, is a recipe for loneliness. Loneliness is not only an affliction for seniors, it affects people in all age groups. I guess I’m saying we need to mix it up more in our housing choices and be more deliberate about addressing the human need to be with others of all ages. I don’t want to be totally independent,I want to be inter-dependent. I am able to recognize my own feelings of loneliness and admit I feel some shame about talking about it. The first step for addressing the loneliness epidemic is for our society to become aware of the problem. The surgeon General has just begun the dialogue about the prevalence of  loneliness. We need to keep talking about it, research it and develop and execute plans to bring people together.

I’m taking tiny steps to make connections with people and confront loneliness head on.  I take the time to chat with my neighbors, ask my favorite barista how they are doing, and feel good when they know my “usual”. I smile at others even when I feel like my face could crack! I believe in the adage “To have a friend, be a friend.” and I try to make this my practice. I make sure my friends know how much I treasure their friendship. I read recently that people aren’t hanging out as much. Maybe we could hang out.

I’m positive. Positive for Covid that is. I was starting to think that I was going to escape Covid after not contracting it for the 4 years it’s been out there. II took 3 tests  before I was convinced I was positive and the line showed up almost immediately on all 3. I had a couple of rough days last week, but I was prescribed Paxlovid because I’m older than dirt, so felt better quickly. This  last Wednesday I tested negative. Covid is in my rear view mirror for now. Speeding down my life path I’ve figured out that with Covid there is only before, during and after. When did I go from negative to positive and vice versa? There must be a viral tipping point and I don’t have a clue when and how it operates. I too have changed and been changed by mysterious forces and circumstances. There are no”rapid” tests to confirm whether or not I have learned what I needed to learn. Only time will tell if I have absorbed life’s lessons and will change my behavior.

There is a big difference between choosing to change and being forced to change, but being  forced to change narrows the options considerably. I prefer to set my own timeline -thank you very much! I chose to test for Covid, but I sure didn’t choose Covid. Others may choose not to test. I can’t do anything about that!  I chose to start smoking. How many times did I say “ I’m going to quit smoking.”, before I actually did?  I lost count. I really can’t explain what gave me the courage to finally stop smoking. I simply wanted to be a non- smoker more than I wanted to smoke.  I was ready, and though I  knew it would be painful, I knew it was worth it.   All my  previous attempts to quit helped me see where I had encountered speed bumps. My experiences with failing to quit smoking taught me a lot of what I needed to know to succeed at  quitting smoking. I learned why and how I failed!  “Don’t do this” was  how I got to “Do this” and becoming a non- smoker.

I learn from experience and my experience tells me that seeing how a dictionary defines a word helps me get the true meaning of a word and helps me write with understanding.

learn: to gain knowledge or skill by studying, practicing, being taught, or experiencing something b : to come to be able <learn to dance>
c : to come to realize <learned that honesty paid>

If I’m in a classroom and studying American History my teacher can give me a test to see what I have learned about this subject. If I have a good teacher and consistently  practice my guitar I can learn to play. In life, the “Been there, done that .” principle can be a very good teacher. When I have done this, or experienced that, this is what happened, and it’s likely to happen again. “But what if?” The  “But, what if?” principle Is where I have run into a lot of trouble in my life. I’ve often believed that I didn’t try hard enough, and  if I tried  “harder”, or I was different and better it would turn out differently. I didn’t learn from experience that wishful thinking  was not reality.  I failed that test many times.

Accumulating evidence and knowledge does not mean I will automatically act differently and make better decisions. Whats the tipping point ? Is it that last little bit of knowledge or experience that finally pushes me to change my behavior?  Ironically it was often when I “gave up”, that I was able to change. I made changes in my life and behavior only when I stopped trying to change others and circumstances and only focused on changing myself. Keeping an open mind and recognizing my blind spots can help me understand better, but understanding alone is not enough to make me change my behavior. The pain I know is better than the pain I might experience if I change my behavior. Pros and cons don’t mean much either. Still at some point I decide it hurts too much to stay the same. I don’t want to test positive for pain anymore.

Chico only weighed four pounds, but he was a force to be reckoned with. One misty, foggy morning my husband I were out for our daily early morning walk, and as we came around a corner in the trail we saw a little, cream colored cat walking on the trail. As we got closer we realized it was a dog, a very lonely looking, little, wet dog trudging along. He stopped, and we stopped as we eyed each other. He didn’t struggle when Roger bent over to pick him up. His tag said “Chico”, such a perfect name for a tiny chihuahua like dog. Someone had cared enough to put the tag on so we were sure someone was looking for him. After checking and asking around we saw no one who looked like Chico’s owner. Chico ended up at the Humane Society while they tried to reach his owner. I couldn’t get Chico out of my mind!  I called  the Humane Society every day asking if Chico’s owner had come to get him yet.  I just needed to know that Chico was safe again. While I was at work my husband made the daily call to check on Chico and when I got home I was surprised and so happy to find Chico in our living room. His owner had surrendered him and he was ours.  We were told Chico was probably 10 plus years old and we were determined to give him the best life possible for his remaining years. And we did. 

Chico ruled our house and Roger and I weren’t even ashamed to admit it. We could tuck him in our jackets when he got tired walking, or a big dog was threatening, but he loved to cover a lot of ground in the old stadium field. Soon Chico gained quite the following among the other dog walkers and our neighbors—he was a celebrity. A little guy with a big presence! We almost lost him when the vet discovered a large tumor in his abdominal area and we decided that we  would euthanize him if they found they could not remove the tumor. We waited and agonized, but finally heard from the vet that Chico was going to be ok. We were so relieved and realized how much Chico had stolen our hearts. Before we knew it, Chico was back to taking Roger and I for our walks and all was well in the neighborhood.

Soon he was galloping again. Yes,  Chico didn’t run like a dog, he galloped like a horse, and it was so fun to watch!  When he ran down the sidewalk our neighbors cheered him on. He watched people’s feet with his doggie radar and moved quickly, bouncing around, sidestepping and evading, just like the prize fighter he was.  Nobody stepped on Chico. His doggie bed was the size of a doll bed, but mostly he burrowed under the covers to the bottom of our bed and we had to dig him out in the morning. He was a great traveling companion and took some road trips with us. He liked to hike! I loved to give him a kiss on the top of his head so my lip gloss left him marked with my kiss. What can I say? Chico had me wrapped around his little paw.

But dogs don’t live forever and after a couple of years with us, Chico developed some heart problems. We willed him to keep on fighting, we begged for a few more years. He was tired and his heart was weak. With my lip print on his head he died peacefully in his sleep.  I missed him terribly, but I believed, and still do, that we were so blessed to find each other —it was meant to be. I’ve loved many dogs, but none as fiercely as I loved  Chico.  I cry, and I smile and laugh too, when I remember my little guy, my Chico .

Some rules of the road are very simple: red means stop and green means go, but a yellow light, proceed with caution, is not so simple. What does caution look like? Should I speed up to make the yellow light or should I slow down and stop? It’s a judgement call and we all know that our judgement is not always the best. . And then we have the other yellow on the road,  lines that tell us it’s ok to pass or not. A broken yellow line says that conditions may be right to pass but an  oncoming car means “no passing” no matter what the yellow lines say. I’m a long ways from the passing zones in rural Iowa. These days the yellow line I see most frequently  is the yellow line that marks the center of the walking/jogging track at the senior center. Slow moving traffic keep left, on the inside of the track, and passing is on the right, on the outside of the track, for the speedier contingent. This sounds simple, but there are always those walkers or joggers who are not paying attention or can’t read! I may be a guilty party. I know I can be distracted while driving and walking .

I could use some road signs or rules of the road as I navigate each day. Stop! Do not say that! Go! Keep moving and don’t isolate. The toughest is when I need a yellow approach and I haven’t a clue how to proceed, much less proceed with caution. Looking at the birdie over there I can miss the herd of elephants coming right at me.  First I have to be sure that I am the driver, I make the decisions and I’m in charge of the brakes, steering wheel and the accelerator. People-pleasing puts others in the driver’s seat and me in the back seat.  Are my eyes and mind open? A blind driver is surely a hazard, but when I choose to “See no evil, hear no evil and speak no evil.”, I am living blind. How many times have I said or heard, “Hey can’t you read the sign?”  Apparently not if my mind and eyes are closed! I’m not alone out here on the road of life and other drivers really complicate things.  I can’t control what others are up to and I can get angry when things are not going my way. I’m not in charge of the world or the road.  Sometimes I get road rage and really want to flip off my fellow drivers. I suspect I’m often part of the problem and not part of the solution.

Do my years and life experiences make me a better driver, or am I know-it-all who is definitely older and most likely slower?  Can both be true? “Been there, done that.” often works on the road and in life. I’ve experienced “this” before and I know what to do, but there are those times when I insist on repeating old behaviors because this time it’s different. It’s not. Roundabouts  are so much more efficient because traffic keeps moving and people get where they want to go —as long as everyone gets on and off the roundabout smoothly. How many times have I gone round and round unable to make a decision? Not good on roundabouts or in life. As I’ve gotten older I believe I’m more of a defensive driver and I’m also more defensive about protecting myself and my time. If the sign says, “Left lane closed ahead”, I don’t wait for the last few feet to merge right. This is one of my pet peeves—those who rush ahead and sit in the lane that’s closing so they can get ahead of other drivers because we have to let them in. This is BS. I plan ahead when I can. There may be shortcuts, but I can piss off my fellow travelers if I can’t show a little respect. 

There’s that little voice in my head that often tells me my truth and the best course for me. In the car, Siri is that little voice I listen to. She tells me how to get to my destination. Thank God for GPS!!  Even if I don’t know where I am going my car can tell me.  It’s pretty obvious how useful a GPS for life would be. I’m embarrassed to admit that I am less lonely and feel more secure when Siri is talking to me, telling me to turn right at the next light. See how seductive artificial intelligence can be? I trust Siri. If only she could answer some of my “big” questions.

My sense of  “self” has been nonsense for several months. I have been sick and scared and all of my energy has been focused inward.   No writing, no storytelling, just the need to protect myself and to sustain myself . Rest, try to eat, cry, beg for help while feeling unworthy of help . Waiting, a lot of waiting. Fear, a lot of fear. Now I’m starting to feel better and I know that writing is the key to re-inhabitating my life. My writing muscle has atrophied, it’s  stiff and weak. I’m telling myself, start slow, small steps, just get writing and remind myself that writing is one of the things I do that feels right to me. Fake it till you make it. I’ve spent months living in the land of “What if?” and today I’m beginning to ask “What now?” 

It’s simple really—begin again, renew, find the scattered pieces, old and new, and put together the ever changing puzzle of my life. I don’t get a do over to recover my “missing” months, i just need to sift thru them for pieces of pain and wisdom to keep and build on. What have I learned? The truth is that although I’ve always professed “ It’s ok to ask for help.”, I didn’t really believe that. The mountains I had to climb over were my feelings of pride and unworthiness to finally get the humility to squeak out the question “Can you help me?”.  I figured out that people aren’t mind readers and sometimes they are wanting to help, but simply don’t know what to do. Asking for help is really an act of bravery and often fear over-ruled my courage. There were times when I didn’t want to be alone and I asked family and friends to stay with me. I had to tell the voice that was telling me I didn’t deserve help to “Go to hell!”, and some other expletive deletives. What I’m telling myself when I talk to myself is often old propaganda, intended to bolster fear and unworthiness, both old friends of mine. I learned it was time to let some of my old friends behind and nurture the positive friends who sustained me and who I could sustain and nurture.

Getting old can bomb dreams into a million tiny pieces.  Illusions, delusions and dreams whither in the face of time passing. It’s not all bad news because one thing I found was a lot more clarity. “How important is it?” was a question I asked myself a lot and the answer was often “It doesn’t matter.” —and it didn’t . Order Thanksgiving dinner, make all Christmas gifts gift cards, dust around objects and DO sweep under the rug. Nobody suffered and no love was lost. My son finally won big at Zilch and that’s a great Christmas memory.  I am not going to live forever. Wow that’s a news flash right? When I hear that someone has died the first question I ask is “How old were they? Younger than me and I feel fear and dread.   I prefer the dead way older than me, 80’s and 90’s so I can think about how many years I have left. 

I notice more about my world. I stopped to watch a whirling funnel of leaves and thought about how many people just walked on by. The geese are really pretty funny to watch, such an attitude!  When I’m inside and it’s cold and the wind is blowing, it’s  warm and cozy because I am not homeless and I have 2 little doggies to cuddle up with. I guess noticing is how I get to gratitude. I don’t want anybody to tell me to be grateful, but a lot more gratitude would have eased some of the angst I’ve felt in the last few months.

Thank you seems like such a puny thing to say to my very special friend, M, who saved my ass in the last few months. Day and night, over and over she was the best friend I’ve ever had. I can’t possibly find the right words to say how very grateful I am that she did not run away. I was so sick of myself, I’m not sure how she did it. Thank you my friend.

It feels good to finish this mediocre post because I’m writing for my life.

I was a travelin’ woman last week. One morning I went for a walk in my sister’s neighborhood. The air smelled like Eau’ de  Cochon. Sounds really pretty, but it is French for the smell of pig shit! My sister has some porcine domiciles (pig barns) on their farm , which house some 4000 pigs when they are fully occupied. The air on that morning was more like a hint of pig so I actually found it comforting,  it was a smell from my childhood. The rub is, of course,  the excrement has to be hauled away and spread on the fields at some point.  Luckily, this is not a  weekly task. OMG, the smell  the next night was awful, burning and nauseating. The short run from the car to the house almost required a gas mask. The smell of money as Iowans say. If you survive it to collect your money! 

Did you know that smell is one of our most powerful senses and has a direct connection to the brain? Smells ignite powerful memories and influence our mood and behaviors.  My poor mother got a bottle of Evening in Paris every year for Christmas, because when we were kids that’s the only perfume Wessels Variety store stocked. Our Christmas shopping venues were very limited. It is featured in the American Museum of History so check it out. It was discontinued in 1969,  but I wish I had the bottle which was  a beautiful dark blue. I could find a place to display it in my home. Moms’ wore perfume and red lipstick so Evening in Paris it was. I wonder how much it cost then? A whiff of “Old Spice”and I’m with my Dad in a nano second. He’s holding my small hand in his large calloused hand and we’re walking along. I loved that scent and still do, it’s a classic.  I smell it with my heart.

Do young people today know the smell of pepto-bismal pink bubble gum or root beer barrels candy? I think they may be smell deprived, except of course for the smell of coffee. Now that’s a  smell that evokes strong positive feelings for most of us. We remember sitting with friends or family drinking coffee  or brewing a morning  cup at our campsite. Coffee shops thrive because coffee tastes great, but mainly because it’s an excuse to sit and talk. It’s a place where people congregate and share thoughts and feelings. There’s little distractions, it’s just coffee and us. People who say, “Why would I go out and get a cup of coffee when I can make one at home?” just don’t get it at all! I kinda feel sorry for them. In my opinion, if you put a good coffee shop in the middle of the dessert people would find it and hang out there. It seems coffee is a good excuse to come together and be human. We need help to do that in our world that seems so very random and often painful. Coffee shops and world peace! Now that’s a wonderful slogan.

Of course, there’s always those awful smells that bring us back to memories and places we may not want to be. If I catch a whiff of something that smells a bit like the bottle of mag citrate  used to do a colonoscopy prep, I’m immediately sick to my stomach and desperate to get away from it. A dirty diaper smell is not pleasant, but we are certainly encouraged to change it and make baby and others around more comfortable. We care for our fellow humans by keeping them clean when they can’t do it themselves. What’s that bad smell? The smell of “clean” ,like Lysol, is not exactly wonderful, but we like it a lot because it helps us get rid of bad smells. Bad smells give us a lot of information and can save our lives at times…the smell of gas, the smell of fire, a skunk, a stink bug…rotten eggs….sour milk and ad nauseum.  However, a bit of caution is needed so we don’t over- sanitize our world. We need to be exposed to some germs and we need smells for our noses to smell. The cloying scent of some smells, created  to cover-up natural smells, can be too smelly!

Pepe le Pew, a very cute cartoon skunk,  is one of my favorite characters from my childhood. He was French and liked to wrap females in his arms,profess his love for them by declaring “My Cherie” and trying to plant a big kiss on them. I was too young to know about sexual harrassment…. He smelled like a skunk so his paramours resisted him. It was kinda touching how oblivious he was.  So I’d like to remind you how important smells are and ask you, “ Do you smell that?”