Category: Being 60

Class and Sass

Is that not the most perfect combination? There is not a woman I know who would not love that description attached to her.

Class and sass are exactly what Barbara Pierce Bush embodied. 

She was born in Manhattan and raised in the affluent suburban town of Rye, New York. Her father was the president of McCall Corporation, the publisher of the popular women’s magazines, Redbook and McCall’s. 

As a youth, Barbara was athletic and enjoyed tennis, swimming and bike riding. Her interest in reading began early in her life. 

It is no surprise that when Barbara was First Lady of the United States, she worked to advance the cause of universal literacy and founded the Barbara Bush Foundation for Family Literacy. 

Barbara met George Bush at a Christmas dance when she was 16. George was a 17 year-old student at Phillips Academy in Andover, Massachusetts. After 18 months, they became engaged, just before George went off to World War II as a Navy torpedo pilot. When he returned on leave, they were married, on January 6, 1945. 

Over the next 13 years, George and Barbara had six children, and later, 14 grandchildren and seven great-grandchildren. 

Barbara Bush was known for her candor and bluntness. She had many memorable quotes. Here is one given to the Wellesley College graduating class in 1990: “At the end of your life, you will never regret not having passed one more test, not winning one more verdict or not closing one more deal. You will regret time not spent with your husband, a friend, a child, or a parent.”

Great words of wisdom. I hope those young women took it to heart. 

In a note for the spring edition of Smith College’s alumnae magazine, Barbara stated: “I am still old and I am still in love with the man I married 72 years ago.” She continued, “Also, George Bush has given me the world. He is the best – thoughtful and loving.” So good.

Barbara Bush was what every one of us hope to be at 92; confident, perfectly coifed and dressed, wearing pearls, authentic, feisty, funny, and loving fiercely. Heck, I think most of us want to be all of those things at a much younger age, say…60, maybe. 

Here is a trivia tidbit. Bush and Abigail Adams were the only two women in United States history who were the wife of a president and the mother of a president. Just a little nugget to tuck into your brain if you happen to land yourself on Jeopardy.

Serious Sunday

I trust no one who claims to have no fears. Caught off guard and unguarded in a late night conversation, even the most self-assured, staunchest stalwart confesses to anxiety. The equalizing point is the uncertainty and fear of the unknown.

This is when we claim and cling to what can be known. There is a God who loves us. There is a power in this truth that lifts and guides us. We usually shelve and store away Jesus’ words to take no thought for tomorrow because God lives there and will care for us.

The truly brave are those who understand that fear of the unknown is 100% normal and that we are indeed vulnerable to danger. However, those courageous ones also know that we can sleep at night and have a sense of peace when we let God be God.

Beautiful things happen when we live in the oxymoronic freedom of vulnerability.

I am a 60 year-old woman (allegedly). I am supposed to be boisterous and fearless and “world-wise”. But it seems that as I age I become more aware of my lack of knowledge in certain areas, but also my desire to learn. I want my fear to be the notion that I am in full control and have arrived.

The state of being in the freedom of vulnerability is a great state in which to be. Ohio is not too bad, either

Pansy Love

I made a quick run through the grocery store today. Outside the doors, these beauties caught my eye.

Pansies are one of my favorite flowers. There are several reasons. One, the colors –  hues of purple; royal, violet, lavender, nearly black and the yellows… Ah, the yellows. Pansies also can be tricolored with tangerine orange and silky white.

The name “pansy” is derived from the French word pensèe, meaning “thought”, and was imported into Late Middle English in the mid-15th century. The flower was regarded as a symbol of remembrance. “Love in idleness” is another name for pansies. This is meant to imply the image of a lover who has little or no responsibility other than to think of her beloved.

Another reason I love pansies is that they are velvety soft and delicate but also incredibly resilient. They are hardy. They can survive light freezes and short periods of snow cover. They are not very heat-tolerant (like me). Warm temperatures inhibit blooming and hot muggy air causes rot and death (I’ve felt that way in the summer). Pansies, however, do grow well in sunny or partially sunny spots. They grow best if watered only once a week.

Pansies are not fussy. They are not demanding. They are not complainers. They seek the warmth of the sun. They love a cold drink of water. Other than that, they just sit in their simple beauty, delicately swaying in the the gentle breeze and show their chubby little faces at every opportunity. I cannot look at pansies without returning the sweet little smile they always wear.

I want be a a 60 year-old pansy. I want to not be fussy, not be demanding, not complain. I want to seek out the warmth of the sun and drink in living water. I want to sway and move with the wind and bear the coldness when I must. I want to fiercely stand my ground, yet possess gentle, beautiful, delicacy.

And when others believe me to be weak and soft, I want to wear a smile. The mighty pansy knows that keeping a smile on its face does not change its circumstance. It knows that true strength is found there; that true beauty is found there.

And occasionally, just occasionally, there is love in idleness.

 

Wear the Gloves

I have a beautiful pair of black leather gloves. They are buttery soft and smooth with no lines or fringe or anything fussy. The fingers do not have extra space at the end of my true fingers. They fit me like, well, like a glove.

Usually when I have worn gloves throughout this winter, I have grabbed one of my other two pairs of black gloves. I have a pair for running, that fit snugly and keep my hands warm if I venture to the park on a somewhat warm winter day for a quick jog.

I have another pair of sturdy gloves that are my usual “go to” gloves for snowy days to scrape my car windows and for carrying in groceries and other items.

And there, on the top shelf of my hall closet, sit my beautiful black leather gloves.

We awakened this morning to a beautiful blanket of Ohio snow. Yesterday was Easter and I, as well as many other women I saw at church, donned our spring dresses and bared our legs. And today I pulled the boots back out of my closet and zipped my puffy jacket up to my chin. I was heading out to meet Christoper, my middle son, for breakfast.

I was just pushing the coat closet door closed when I spied my lovely black gloves. I have only worn them two or three times this winter. I am always trying to protect them and keep them special.

But this morning I grabbed them. I wore them to drive and then on inside of the restaurant. They felt great and they looked great. How silly to not enjoy these gloves more often.

I think it may be an older person’s mindset. We keep the new, delectably scented candles in a drawer rather than burn them. We display, rather than use, our crystal goblets in the glassed front cabinets for ‘show’. We store our gifts of ‘fancy’ lotions in our linen closets. We are always saving things for special events, special moments.

On this (hopefully) last snow of winter 2018, I completely enjoyed my beautiful gloves. Lesson learned.

Enjoy the special things. Burn the candle. Use the crystal goblets and fill them with champagne. Slather on the fancy lotion.

We have these things for one of two reasons; they have either been gifted to us or we were blessed enough to be able to purchase them. Either way, they should be appreciated, embraced and loved.

Wear the leather gloves.

Peace in Decision-Making

In 2001 I visited Shaker Village at Pleasant Hill in Harrodsburg, Kentucky. This was the location of my annual cousins retreat that year.

Shaker Hill is a lovely 3,000 acre working village. It is home to the third largest Shaker community in the United States between1805 and 1910.

Though the Kentucky Shakers were poor when they started out, they were skilled farmers who made the most of their property. Even the most skeptical observed that they prospered quickly, in part because of the high quality of their products.

The Pleasant Hill community was known for its excellent livestock. They bred imported cows to improve their herd’s milk production. They practiced selective breeding and scientific agriculture well before the average farmer did. They also raised Saxony sheep for the wool, which the Shaker sisters spun into fine cloth for home use.

The Shaker raised broom corn and made flat brooms so good that that they sold for more than “ordinary” brooms. They also raised fruit and sold it dried or as preserve. Yum.

An evening of dining at Shaker Village is a verifiable celebration of Shaker Village’s roots by featuring dishes made of seasonal ingredients from their garden and local farmers. Again, yum.

On my visit there I picked up a book entitled When True Simplicity is Gained by Martin and Micah Marty. Someones likes alliteration.

A few days ago I was looking through a box and ran across the book. I sat on the floor and glanced through it. An hour and half later, I looked up to check the clock. Stiff and a bit aggravated that I had spent time reading instead of working, I got up and put the book on my desk.

However, much of what I read has stayed with me and I will share bits and pieces of it that are relatable to most likely…well, everyone. No hyperbole there.

My first posting from the book is about peace in our decisions. For me, that is a subject that instantly pricks my ears. I often struggle with decision-making.

“Not to decide, we know, is to decide. Even whether to make a choice demands choice. Serious people learn to gain perspective on the choices they must make from the experience and knowledge they possess.”

“The voice of true simplicity prompts us to discern the foolishness of looking out only for ourselves and thus overlooking both the common good and our own human limits”

False choices come from self-interest, cowardice and lack of faith in a higher power.

I was 43 years old when I bought the book. I must be a slow learner.

But bam! Perhaps you can teach an old dog new tricks.

 

Spring

It is the first full day of spring. Though, it does not quite look that way or feel that way.

Winter is coming to an end. That is good news for most people. As I have mentioned in previous posts, I am one of the few who actually likes winter.

It is March 21. We know that we know that we know spring is on our doorsteps. We are all bemoaning the last wisp of winter snow. But is it so terrible that we have to use our automobile seat warmers today? Is it such an egregious thing to build one more (wonderful) fire in the fireplace before you replace those charred, smoky ashes with an iron candelabra insert?

There are lessons to learn here. There is beauty in snow. It is soft and quiet and lovely and lays perfect, white fluff to every tree, every bush, every hill. There is a reverence in it.

Patience and gratitude are truly virtues. You have a warm car and a warm bed. You have hot coffee and toasty bagels in your cozy kitchen. You have fuzzy socks for your icy toes. You have a washer and dryer inside your house.

And you have spring on your doorstep.

Perhaps it is being 60. I certainly do my share of complaining about trivial things. But, oh my goodness, do not waste the beautiful breath you can see in front of you. It is your BREATH! You are a breathing, miraculously made human. Your lovely heart is staying steady at about 80 beats per minute. It’s nothing short of creation perfection.

Being a cool weather person, I may need to write another blog around mid-August reminding everyone (mostly myself) to stop complaining about the humidity. But that is a story for another day.

On this day, wait in grateful anticipation. Spring is on your doorstep.

 

Grin and Bear It

The sign is real. In my little niche of the world, a lovely suburban region about 25 miles north of Cincinnati, is this geographical intersection well recognized by all who live in the area.

Yep, to all of the locals it is known as the corner of Grinn and Barret.

It is fun to give directions to an “outsider” when you tell them to turn right at the corner of Grinn and Barret. They are usually quick to respond: “Seriously?” Oh yes, it is quite serious.

The intersection is located in a nicely established neighborhood of delightfully comfortable homes with treed yards, kids on bicycles and a community swim club.

The dictionary defines (the real) ‘grin and bear it’ this way: To accept something unpleasant without complaining. Perfect. That is exactly the way most of use the phrase.

I do sometimes wonder what responses that intersection may have brought throughout the years.

Some may see it and smile (or preferably, grin). Some may see it and feel frustrated or angry, thinking “Forget that! I don’t WANT to gin and bear it.” And I understand. There are times we want to frown and throw it, rather than grin and bear it.

Another take on the phrase came to mind the last time I passed the intersection. That interpretation was “grin and bare it.”

For a 60 year old, that may not be such a great idea, but if someone much younger than I decided to grin and bare it, perhaps it would truly make someone smile (or preferably, grin).

#notgonnabeme

 

Brain Awareness Week

Yesterday ended national Brain Awareness Week. I want to jump in on this important subject while it is still fresh.

I read a book about eight years ago entitled My Stroke of Insight. It is a non-fiction book by American author Jill Bolte Taylor, a Harvard-trained, published neuroanatomist who experienced a severe hemorrhage in the left hemisphere of her brain in 1996. She was 37 years old.

On the morning of this rare form of stroke, she could not walk, talk, read, write, or recall any of her life. It took eight years for Dr. Taylor to completely recover.

“In a period of four hours I watched my brain deteriorate. I watched as my brain functions – motor, speech, self-awareness shut down one by one.”

Dr. Taylor talks about the (temporary) euphoria she experienced. Our left hemisphere is all about the past and the future. It thinks in language. She was slowly being disconnected from the left brain talk that connects us to the external world. Her left brain chatter went silent. That nagging left brain dialogue that is running constantly; second guessing things, beating ourselves up for things, worrying about the future…all of that was gone.

Periodically during that four-hour time period, the left brain jolted her to alertness enough to send her the message to call for help. Then the euphoria would return again. Fascinating.

It is a truly amazing read. I highly recommend it.

A powerful concept that Dr. Taylor provides is that we are feeling creatures who think, not thinking creatures who feel, yet this is what our society believes and values. In turn, this is the heart of many of our issues.

Although our bodies work unconsciously, we can consciously choose to turn on our higher mind and think past fear and anger.

According to Dr. Taylor, your anger should only last for 90 seconds. Here is the science:

To feel an emotion we need to think a thought which then stimulates a message to our brain, which in turn creates a physiological response in our bodies. The time from thought to triggering the brain to a physical response to releasing the response is less than 90 seconds.

If you have anger for more than a minute and a half it is because you are replaying the story in your mind. Every time you replay the story you re-trigger the circuit and the response. Every time you choose to think painful thoughts, you create a physical response in your body. By replaying the story, you not only keep your mind in a negative space, but your body experiences the pain created by the anger again and again (and again and again).

Using mindfulness to calm our minds and knowing that emotions wash over us in 90 seconds, we can stop, breathe, and then choose to think differently, ensuring we don’t make poor, muddled choices or create a lengthy period, or even a lifetime of unhappiness.

Dr. Taylor says that we have the power to choose moment by moment who and what we want to be in the world.

Oh my goodness. Ninety seconds. I have certainly wasted time over ‘valid’ negative emotions. And I have become quite adept at it over a 60 year period.

Let the backpedaling begin.

 

The Best Time to Fight Back

I read an article entitled The Best Time to Fight Back. The temptation might be to do it immediately, while the wound is still fresh, but that is not a good idea. Miriam Browning, the former deputy chief information officer for the Department of the Army suggests, “You really need a cool-down period, even if it’s only a couple of hours. The worst thing you can do is fire off an email or make an angry phone call, or, even worse, throw a punch in the heat of the moment.”

She suggests that instead, write down all the emotions, take some time to review them and then form a rational response. “That way, you can think things through and decide whether or not it’s even a battle worth fighting. If it is, you want to do it within the first twenty-four hours, but not within the first hour.”

Taking the extra time also provides an opportunity to line up some allies, people to hold in reserve, in case things do not go as well as you hope. And when you do retaliate, do it with facts, rather than opinions.

While taking all of this into consideration, there are those rare occasions when something happens that is off-the-charts egregious. At that time, an emotionally charged response may be exactly what is called for. However, Browning cautions, “You need to deploy that only after the most aggressive kind of attack.”

I have experienced typical work difficulties. I have muddled through personality clashes and minor disagreements in social settings. In those instances I have found that an apology always works wonders, even when I knew it was not my error.

Proverbs 15:1 states: “A soft answer turneth away wrath; but grievous words stir up anger.”

Softness and contrition almost always diffuse a heated situation. I wholeheartedly agree with taking time to regroup and give thought before responding.

Thankfully, I have not encountered an aggressive personal attack. If and when I do I will try to remember these guidelines and words of wisdom.

If an aggressive personal attack or something extremely egregious ever involves my children or (hopefully some day) grandchildren, control is off the table. There will be no cool-down period. There will be no waiting 24 hours.

The old adage “hell hath no fury like a woman scorned” is certainly true.

But, oh honey. My adrenaline level will kick into high gear. My eyes will turn a fluorescent white, the back of my shirt will rip apart, my long pants will suddenly become distressed-look, ragged capris, my skin will become green and I will toss anything or anyone in my way as I race toward justice.

This mild-mannered 60 year-old will be mild-mannered no longer.

There are moments in life that require us to go all-out batshit crazy. And age is non-issue.

Pondering

I’ve been thinking a lot about how people view sixty year-olds. When I was 20, I could not imagine being old 40. When I was 40, one of the worst things I could foresee was being 60. Well, crap! If that did not indeed happen.

I know…60 is the new 40 or 50 or whatever people who are 60 say. That is not encouraging to a 40 year old.

In caring for my nearly 90 year-old mother, I often look back at her life. When she was 48, her husband (my dad) died. I remember thinking that somehow that wasn’t too bad for her since she was already old. I was 18. The stupidity of youth. Perhaps more kindly stated, the innocence of youth.

Even now as I sit and type, I gaze across the top of my desk to see my mother napping, at 10:00 AM. We had breakfast and coffee and read the Bible and prayed for (many) people. She has certainly not forgotten how to pray.

Some things are intensely deeply rooted in her. It is like discovering that an old tree in your yard has massive roots beneath the ground that spread out in all directions and are nearly impossible to destroy. You can’t see them, but you know they are there.

She does not remember that we ate breakfast, yet she knows every word and every melody to every song in the church hymnal.

Last night I played a (very simple) song on the piano. Mama thought I was amazing. Which, in itself, is amazing. She often tells me I am no longer her nice daughter. After I got up from the piano, I looked at Mama and she was nearly in tears. I asked what was wrong. She said: “I’ve owned a piano my entire life and I never learned to play.”

I have had near panic attacks when I realize how quickly my mother became old. It has brought an urgency to my life.

When I was in my 30s and 40s working full-time, I remember my one week of vacation feeling stressful. It was always the sense of “hurry up and relax”, knowing it would be over in a flash.

And it was indeed a flash since my mama was helping me make window treatments and hemming my skirts and enjoying a day of lunch out and dress shopping. Those days are gone.

This is my new normal Mama. The one who dislikes me and clings to me, both within a few minutes of time.

I know one thing for sure. I am going to spend more time playing the piano.