agingwrinklesandwondersdot.com

Most of you remember a series of books for “dummies”, how to’s and do’s and dont’s on a broad range of topics, i.e.“Algebra for Dummies”, “Excel for Dummies”. “Healthy Aging for Dummies” and “ Preparing for the end of life for Dummies”. Just what we need, more books to tell us dummies what to do. I haven’t read them because I resist anyone determining what “healthy” aging is, and I’m not a dummy. There are even some books that claim to know how to stop aging. Sign me up! As a young woman I lived in the self-help section in every book store. The many years I spent as a book store  assistant manager just  fed my obsession and I read too many self help books to count. I “ran with the wolves” and “ loved too much” and “ was from Venus” and “danced with anger”. Eventually my life became more complicated , I got married, had a child and I was just too busy to read all about self improvement, but now my own aging has me asking if I really am an aging dummy. I’ve tried asking Siri for turn by turn directions to the path for positive aging and she just laughed at me and said you have arrived at your destination. No help there! On further reflection I’ve decided that Siri may be on to something, that asking someone else  how I should approach aging is indeed a dumb thing to do. The buck stops with me and I’m not sure I want to accept it.

We all know the basics eat right, exercise, get enough sleep and keep your mind active and  see the doctor for checkups and care when you are sick. The critical factor for us olders, which is  supported a plethora of research, is that social connections are central  to happiness. Loneliness shortens lives. I know all of these things, but my execution is often weak, ineffective, misguided or completely absent. I want lists, do’s and dont’s  and Step 1, Step 2 etc. and I also want someone to hold my hand and show me what to do and keep me out of danger. I’m still waiting… 

Change is constant, but I often react as if things will stay the same. What fulfilled my 60 year old self I’m pretty sure will not fulfill me at 80. I can’t hang onto the past; my present reality is relentless in getting my attention.  So I am learning to roll with the punches. If I am flexible I can adapt  to my changing body and circumstances. What worked a year ago, a week ago or even yesterday  may not work today. I can choose to explore new options. I can hire people to mow my yard and shovel snow, but I want to maintain my flower beds  because it brings me joy. I research services that can be helpful to me or provide,social connections. My exercise routines have changed but I still find ways to exercise that fits my current abilities.  

DO: Cultivate flexibility, respond don’t react. 

DON’T: Resist change, deny reality

News flash: I have limitations, some real and some imagined. I can or I can’t! The trick is to know what’s a real limitation and what limitations I invent for myself. I think I tend to put unnecessary limitations on myself because of inertia, fear and lack of knowledge. The medical community can contribute to this issue by telling us we need to see the limitations of aging and not the possibilities i.e.“This happens to older people.” Of course, our bodies age and we may have more medical issues, but I wish I heard  more of “this is what you can do” and less of “You can’t do this.”  Of course, I personally need to incorporate more of a sense of possibilities rather than a sense of limitations in myself. There is a balance between realistically assessing my limitations and needless narrowing  my options. I need to be honest with myself .

DO:Make my choices based on realistic expectations. 

DON’t: Put unnecessary limits on myself. 

There are things I know for sure about my aging. I am going to make mistakes and change my mind many times. My hope is that I will learn from my mistakes and continuously renew my sense of joy. I’ll try to remain flexible and keep my options open.  I don’t need a book to tell me how to age successfully,  I just need to consult with the expert- myself.

Dog is God Spelled Backwards

I came home one day last week and,as always, Molly was at the top of the stairs to greet me. As I gave her pets I noticed that she was holding her right front leg off the floor and not putting weight on it. Damn, she had hurt herself while I was gone, most likely by jumping off the sofa. Still she hobbled over to greet me. Humbled, I wasn’t sure I deserved her love. Roscoe is a step behind Molly, but just as enthusiastic. Molly has recovered from her leg injury. My doggies are part of  my immediate family. In honor of them and all the doggies I have loved I searched thru my past blogs to find what I had to say about some of the doggies I have loved.

Chico was a 4 pound chihuahua we found while walking on a foggy and rainy morning. No one claimed him from the humane society, so he became part of our family and he stole my heart. 

Feb. 2024  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,  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…

 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.  I loved to give him a kiss on the top of his head so my lip gloss left him marked with my kiss….

Molly let’s me know what she wants!

May 2024   I am typing this while sitting on my sofa and I just felt this light touch on my arm. It is my little dog Molly reaching out to me with her paw. She pats my arm to let me know she wants attention, and “pets” and probably to sit on my  lap. She doesn’t care how old I am, or how old I look, or how old I feel…

Covid musings.

November 2021   Those of us who are lucky enough to have indoor pets have been able to feel and pet warm bodies, and I prefer my  doggies to some humans I know. So hats off to our 4 legged pandemic pets.

Roscoe and Molly have very different personalities

July 2021  Some of you have heard me say “Roscoe is a hard dog to love, and I love him extra hard.” A mix of Chihuahua, wiener dog, mini pin and ?, Roscoe is cantankerous, nippy, and a scaredy cat ( my apologies to cat lovers).Right now he is whining and waiting for me to finish my T.V. dinner and set the bowl on the floor so he can lick it clean. He doesn’t know that I always leave a couple of teaspoons in the bowl for him…Entitled and insecure, Roscoe is full of contradictions. He hogs the bed but begs for comfort when he hears loud thunder… Roscoe plays with all the dogs at daycare and has no hesitancy with getting up close and personal with the big dogs. Roscoe is a big brother to Molly,  and watches out for her at daycare. Don’t mess with Molly or you will have to deal with Roscoe. Dogs have personalities, and Roscoe has a BIG personality. He stands up on his hind legs and braces himself on my knee and looks up at me with adoring eyes. Roscoe loves me, and he loves me BIG. 

And then there’s Molly, my sweet little dog who weighs in at eight pounds. Molly has a big bark and will bark at a dog 10 times her size. A mix of Chihuahua and ?, she can run circles around Roscoe.  She spins when she is waiting to get fed and I am amazed she does not get dizzy. She’s light on her feet and moves gracefully. When she perks up her ears she seems to be all ears, and her eyes are like the eyes of a deer. She gets what she wants with honey. Belly rubs are her favorite thing, if you stop she will reach out with her paw to get you to keep going. She wiggles her way in to get a space on your lap and even Roscoe has to defer to her. Roscoe rules the roost, but Molly has her share of work-arounds…

Roscoe, Molly and Me. I’m the only human member of this warm-blooded trio. Who’s in charge? I’d like to believe its me, but to be honest, some days I’d bet on the doggies.  Roscoe and Molly  own the bed, and despite the small amount of physical space they occupy I’m the one who cedes territory.

How do I explain how much I love Roscoe and Molly? We are like the 3 musketeers, “One for all and all for one. I am fiercely protective of them. There are lots of people who aren’t as human as Roscoe and Molly. For their part, they are dogs, but dogs that seem to know when I need comforting, and comfort me, play with me when I want to play, and love me always. I don’t feel lonely when I can pet my dogs. I feel blessed. I’m so grateful to be Roscoe’s and Molly’s human.  

Mia and Hoppy were part of our family before I started my blog. Each was a treasure in their own right. Hoppy was a Shitzu who looked like a puppy until she died at 15. The meadowlarks in the field are how she still talks to us. Mia was a sweetheart.  She adored Tyler and always had moon eyes for him. She was our Mama Mia.

 2024.  Pit bulls scare me,  but like me pit bulls get old too

Pitbulls Get Old Too

This morning I was walking my little doggies and spotted a  Pitbull being walked and I held up my doggies. I’ve learned avoidance is sometimes the best response . I stood and watched as the owner led the dog up the stairs to their house.Their progress was slow as the dog had a difficult time negotiating the stairs and moved very stiffly. At the top of the stairs the dog turned and I saw a very gray muzzle, and I realized the dog was quite old. Immediately, my heart was full of kinship and sorrow.  I thought, as my eyes teared up, “Yes, Pitbulls get old too.”

For a moment, that Pitbull and I were both old souls with beating hearts. I felt compassion for the two of us with our aging bodies.   Puppies and babies are so magnetic and lovable, we gravitate to them,  but old dogs and old people are an acquired taste. We learn to love aging faces and bodies as we ourselves are aging. Like the Pitbull, I explore the world on my daily walks and often spot something ordinary that brings me awe. I move slower; this speed allows the world to rush in over my walls.  The physical, emotional and spiritual losses that come with aging keep me tethered to resistance.  How do I overcome the urge to fight aging? I’m not into overcoming much of anything, now I just want to accept. Raging at my diminishing capabilities is a waste of precious time.  I choose instead to be grateful that my hearing aides and my glasses can compensate for some of the sensory deficits I have. The kindness of the pitbull’s owner help him to take in the world, and make sure that he isn’t isolated from the great “outside” and companionship. I’d like to think we humans want that for each other too.

I get to care for my doggies, as we both age.  We can count dog years and people years,  but we all know it’s the life in those years that counts.  We both deserve “treats” and walks every day, and massive amounts of unconditional love. 

Big man, big heart. Tiny dog, big heart.

a Wrinkle #26

Forever, and ever. Amen. I’m ____ and I will always be _____.( sad, happy, fat….) Just fill in the blanks. Is forever really a meaningful concept? On the one hand, we say nothing lasts forever, yet we often act and think as if “forever”can happen. I know, as a teenager, I believed on some level that I would be forever young. Jokes on me!  When I was told the universe was infinite I tried to imagine what that would look like, and I simply couldn’t do it. I couldn’t imagine my own end either, but now I can and I do. Many of my anxieties come from trying to hold onto things and people. Hold on tight and nothing will change, all evidence to the contrary. When things are good I can be afraid that things will change and when times are bad I can be afraid that things will never change. Friends die, or leave to move closer to family, and I feel lonely. My body suffers illness or injury and it feels like I’ll never get well. My neighbors are the best I could hope for and they move across the country. I love my yoga class and the instructor is changed. Life does not come with guarantees. I fell in love, got married, there were good years and then my husband got sick with dementia and died.  That was not supposed to happen to me. Grief does not end, but it changes with time and healing.   I thought I would have so much time with my son when he was young,  but I turned around and he was a young adult leaving home. I’ve cried myself to sleep or couldn’t fall asleep many nights. I’m afraid to do any “happy dances” for fear I’ll jinx myself.  How can I feel secure if the truth is “This too shall pass.”?

 a Wonder #26

I’ve lived the last 10 years in the shadow of Trump, who blocks the sun, so I need to believe that “this too shall pass “. My fear is that Democracy will pass! When I’m in despair about what Trump is doing I chant “Trump is temporary”, and sometimes this helps. I get sunny days and stormy days and there is not a damn thing I can do about this. If I think it will always be sunny then I’m wrong . If I think it will always be stormy then I’m wrong. Give me the good, I want more  sunny days and show me how to avoid the bad stormy days. I’ve come to believe  that “Shit Happens”, be grateful for everything, and “This too shall pass”. One of the advantages of my age is my perspective of powerlessness. I can’t control much of anything but my attitude, which is my secret weapon.  I try to adopt the Buddhist principle of non-attachment to outcomes, and remember that “unanswered prayers” may be the best kind of prayers  for me. Whenever I  protest that this “shouldn’t” be happening to me, my sense of entitlement is no match for reality.  Philosophically I get that everything is temporary,  but in the nitty gritty of life I want to ignore this fact. I’ve decided to be slower to decide or judge whether something  or some situation is good or bad. I guess I don’t always know. And “This too shall pass”…

Molly in all of her cone glory. My hero.

A Wrinkle And A Wonder #24

a wrinkle

Molly, my little doggie girl, had surgery this week. She had a couple of growths removed from her leg, so they could be  biopsied. Doctor doesn’t think it’s cancer,  but wants to confirm what it is. So we are dealing with the necessity of her wearing a Cone of Shame, an Elizabethan Cone, so she can’t lick the surgery site until it heals.  It hurts me more than it hurts her I think, but after desperately trying to get it off she has now called a truce . She’s adapted to the awful thing and has learned how to eat with it on, go up and down stairs and jump up and off the couch and bed. I step in to help her, but she probably doesn’t want me to hover over her. Damn! I think she’s better at this adaptation and resilience thing than I am.   A few years ago I had extensive surgery on my right hand. Unlike Molly, I had the awareness of what was coming so had the “luxury” of worrying about what was to come. Healing and getting mobility back was a long painful process and I am not the most patient of patients. So I figured some things out to take care of myself, gratefully accepted help from others and whined.  Limits and changes to  my ability to take care of myself really piss me off.  Although I know that change is inevitable I still tend to dig in my heels and protest a bit when I need to adapt to new circumstances. Road closed signs  irritate me, and when my favorite coffee shop closes early desperation sets in! Move the clock and I still look for it in the same place for too long! I’m not totally averse to stepping out of my routine or trying new things, but I prefer routine unless I’m highly motivated. I say old lady things and I hear myself say “ That’s the way I’ve always done it.” or “ What do you mean you’ve changed your patient portal!?”  I’ll deal with it, or I won’t.  

a wonder

A friend of mine asked to interview me after my husband Roger died, and I had had time to adjust and see what I may have learned from caregiving and grieving. She was researching what resilience meant and how I might have  demonstrated resilience. We concluded that caregiving and grieving Roger’s dementia and death was a massive learning experience, and it hadn’t destroyed me and actually made me stronger. Basically “What doesn’t kill you will make you stronger.” theory . Yes, I was a stronger more adaptable person, more confident of my strength and ability and clearer on what was truly important and what was not. Caregiving put holes in all my theories about  love for others and self-love  and each day was different with new challenges. You would think that nothing would shake me after surviving this, but time forgets as well as heals. So today I’m remembering these lessons and thinking WTF how could I now react to the trivial matters I face today with so much consternation, but I have to remember that I am human and can react quickly without thinking. If the Internet is out, my first reaction could be uttering a barrage of obscenities and maybe some handwringing if I knew how to wring my hands. As a young girl, when I was learning to ride bike and sucking at it,  I threw the bike to the ground and blamed the bike for not letting me ride it. I can still get very angry at inanimate objects that don’t cooperate with me. I do try to put the square peg in the round hole. I know that if I give myself time to think I can remember that I am resilient and steady and I can respond and not only react. Imagining  myself wearing a collar like Molly’s,  I am humbled and respect her ability to deal and to go with the flow. I need to remember this lesson.

a wrinkle

Trump and the Pope are feuding, actually it is really only Trump who is feuding, and the Pope who is sharing the theology of the Catholic Church with compassion and patience. All I know is that if I was marooned on a desert island, I’d pick the Pope for my theological roommate.  I would certainly commit murder if I was marooned with Trump. I do know that murder is a sin, but maybe God would pardon me.   I admit I’m a fair-weather Catholic  who “gently” accepts some Catholic teachings and rejects others. As I age, I value simplicity and clarity. I like to take short, little quizzes that I can use to judge my progress.  For simplicity and clarity in Catholic theology, it doesn’t get better than the 7  Deadly Sins: Pride, Greed, Lust, Envy, Gluttony, Wrath, Sloth.  Each of these have caused a lot of wrinkles on my face, in my soul and in my life. It all adds up as my years add up. I’ve always struggled with comparing myself to others and I usually come up short and asking why. Don’t I deserve more( greed), deserve what they have ( envy) or deserve revenge (wrath)? I may be old enough to know better,  but I do behave badly at times. Still it is hard to be humble when I can do it all or believe I can.  Pride is a sin that elevates the self above others and even God. Pride is considered the gravest of the seven deadly sins. The 12 Step programs put it this way “There is a God and I’m not it.” When I forget that I am not God and attempt to control other people and things I cannot control, I’m pushing God out and putting myself in charge. This behavior has my name on it more often than I want to admit. With my vast experience and advanced age I hope I’m wise, but not too proud to admit I’m not infallible like the Pope. My score on the 7 Deadly Sins is classified.  Yes! Trump is a perfect example of Pride, the gravest deadly sin. His “hair-do” proves it!

a wonder

What about the seven virtues? Prudence, Justice , Fortitude,Temperance and Faith, Hope and Charity. Surely I will score very high on all the virtues, because since I’ve passed 70 I have evolved into a paragon of virtues.  Oops, there is some of that Pride I need to rein in!  Am I  a prudent person who makes good decisions and discerns information? Lately I’ve “decided” to practice decision making without people pleasing and over-explaining. I give myself a good score on gathering and evaluating information.  One of my all time favorite movies is “And Justice for All” and Al Pacino’s closing arguments monologue is exactly what I wanted to say!  I”m obsessed with rendering justice, so if there is a wrong I must right it. The problem with all that fierce passion  is that I must win the battle over evil and injustice at all costs, and if I fail, look out for the sin of Wrath. With temperance, I think I’m getting more patient and mellow in many areas of my life. Althou gh, if a trigger is strong enough I may need to count to 100 to maintain self control. I also think being quiet and nice is not a virtue. I use my loud voice if I need to. I look at Fortitude as feeling brave enough to make noise and to stand up and be counted. I resist and I protest. In short,”If not now, then when?”,and I’m running out of whens’, so it is now!  Faith,Hope and Charity { Love} are the core virtues focusing on our relationship with our fellow human beings and a power greater than ourselves, which many call God. My faith in, and my concept of God is fluid and I’ve now accepted that I can trust a God that I define differently as I’ve gotten older. I believe in a greater power that may change daily and that’s ok with me. I think of Hope as my  expectation that I am worthy of good things and blessings in my life. I trust that God is a positive force in my life, but struggle to accept that I am worthy of blessings. My score on the 7 virtues is also classified. As for Charity, I aspire to love and be kind to everyone except for stupid people. 

A kind gesture can reach a wound that only compassion can heal.” – Steve Maraboli

a wrinkle

Yesterday I was taking a nickel and dime walk, which is what I call a short walk in between  events on my schedule. i.e. “ I have 10 minutes before my next commitment so I’m going to walk for 10 minutes.” I have been doing the nickel and dime walks more often recently as I am recovering from a hysterectomy. I was walking briskly and thinking that there is really little hope of good news while Trump is president. And then the sidewalk rose up to meet me, and bam my face was in contact with the concrete. My glasses flew off and I thought “ This is what a face plant feels like”.  Too late, I saw the uneven sidewalk that had tripped me up. I reached up to touch my face as big drops of blood fell on my hand.  I realized my face was cut and bleeding, but I didn’t know where the injury was. I struggled up to my feet and the bleeding was pretty heavy . Quick check, I wasn’t knocked out, not dizzy when I stood up and needed to assess what my face looked like. Meanwhile the bleeding continued and my hand was not absorbing the flow. So, of course I cried! I berated myself for not paying enough attention to the condition of the sidewalk and not being able to stop my fall. Just for fun, I also had  lots of fear about how I would heal. After all, I’m old and falling apart and my fall proved that. I started to walk…

a wonder

So where was I ? What was the closest place to get help? I remembered there was a health club around the corner and headed that way. I walked in and up to the front desk and said” “I need help. Can you help me?” I’m sure that I presented as an older lady who was bleeding  all over the place. Which of course was exactly what I was. I was given a towel to use and their first aid kit was pulled out.  And then I heard, “I’m a nurse. I can help.” and she did . She sat me down and cleaned up my face to see what was bleeding and checked me over for other injuries. She put pressure on the source of the bleeding and confirmed it was not a deep cut on the bridge of my nose. She was very comforting to me and  took me to the bathroom and helped me wash off the blood on my hands.. She offered to drive me to Urgent care,  but I said I was ok to drive. She gave me a hug and told me her name was Paige, and I introduced myself too. After all, it was important that we learn each others names as we had shared this raw adventure.  I went back to my car and drove to Urgent care for a closer  check up.  I was full of gratitude and understood that the good news is there are caring people. I want to be one of them, part of the caring and hope. This is true in spite of Trump’s evil control. I still get to decide how I will act. This part is up to me. Thank you Paige.

A Wrinkle and a Wonder a week #19

The world breaks everyone and afterward many are strong at the broken places.” — Ernest Hemingway, “A Farewell to Arms”

 A wrinkle 

So I’ve found myself feeling like Humpty Dumpty lately with broken pieces that I can’t put together again. A hysterectomy has removed some parts of me like my uterus, my ovaries, my fallopian tubes, etc..(in case I’ve forgotten something.) I don’t have any kings men or kings horses to put me back together again. Besides the pieces that are gone need to stay gone so cancer does not try  to put them back together again. When my body hurts the pain can consume me. I am only the pain I feel. The reality is my body is older and heals more slowly and I get angry at this reality. This anger is not productive energy that gets converted to healing energy, so it just diverts the energy into mental and emotional pain- a vicious cycle. Like the kid in the back seat I’m asking are we there yet and how much longer?  When will I feel better.? Now would be nice. I am so grateful that pathology and prognosis are all good. All’s well that ends well right? Not so fast! I feel more vulnerable living in my aging body. The odds are high that I will experience more illness and injuries the older I get. My response and reaction times are slower and I can’t pretend otherwise or I’ll increase my risk. I worry about facing the perfect storm of injury or illness, loss of mobility and being wrapped in isolation. I tell myself to deal with my anxiety by insuring that I am taking care of myself, planning for and making adaptive changes  in my environment and building a good social support system. On good days things seem to be working, but of course life is not pulling punches. Sometimes it just hurts.

a wonder

I amuse myself by imagining I’m like the Michelin man, protected by rolls of tires padding my body. Just try and get me! Reality is I have more in common with Wily E. Coyote who keeps getting clobbered, but I don’t have an  animator to “fix” my critical injuries.  Laughter is a great healer, so I’d rather my stomach hurt because I laughed too hard than because a medication I need to take upsets my stomach. I need sleep, exercise, mental and physical, good food and lots of love. If I hit my thumb with a hammer it hurts and I may let a few expletives fly to express myself and release my anger. There is nothing like a few very good swear words to release tension. My favorite refrigerator magnet says: “Some days the supply of available swear words is insufficient to meet the demands.” If I get poked at enough I may crawl inside my shell to rest and heal and this may be the best decision I can make. I remember as a child how  people wrote on casts to lighten the drudge of healing. Wish it were that easy! I stock up on books, crosswords and movies to distract myself from time that crawls. No matter how well I deal with illness or injury- sometimes it just hurts.