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Archive for the ‘On getting older’ Category

Aging and Goofy encounters

Posted in Men, My Chinese Checkered Past, Older women, On getting older, Younger men, tagged on August 14, 2010| 4 Comments »

Me younger

After having some 20-something-Eastern-European-wannabe-porn-queen-facebook-crawler point out to me that I’m older than Ernesto, apparently thinking attempts to reveal her skanky bits on webcam will win his heart … good luck with that, Bitch … I cast my mind back to a time when I was really bloody cute — pretty much most of the years between 13 and sometime last week — remembering the effect youthful beauty can have. (Not that she’s a beauty, but she is young and has a decent enough body she exhibits indiscriminately, although with the chest of a 12-year-old boy and destined to be terminally hag-like before she’s 45 … but that’s her problem. And it’s amazing, and pitiful, how many of these sleazy bags are insistently chatty with their cyber heros).

I have no problem being who, what and how old I am; conversely, I’m rather proud of all that stuff. I am not young, and although the world is full of girls who still are, their days are numbered. I’m not saying there’s any great advantage in age, simply that it happens, as does life in the process.

As Yoda said: Luminous beings are we; not this crude matter.

Crude matter that begins to decay immediately, is subject to stresses and toxins and gravity, the effects of which have more to do with our genes than we yet understand. (“Crude” being also otherwise definable, however, we can be happy enough with our matter a lot of the time. I’m a big fan of crude between consenting adults.)

It’s true, however, that the Sandra I am now doesn’t look as much like the Sandra I once was as I might like.

Recently a story popped up that reminded me again of what it’s like to be young and beautiful … as opposed to not-so-young and beautiful.

The setting is Disney land, and the story is about a 27-year-old woman not one bit happy after Donald Duck grabbed her boob.

“Who are the strange people in the furry costumes at Disney World, and are they pervs?

I’m not clear on how boob grabbing happens with the sort of mitts a Donald impersonator must wear to pull off the look, and I’m pretty sure it takes a certain je ne sais quack to opt for walking around in a duck suit for a living. I’m also not getting why this chick is being so fowl about the whole thing, unless the fact that he never wears pants has her freaked.

But this isn’t about the Romanian tramp, the Disneyland babe, or even about ducks … it’s about me and Goofy, some guys in stripes … and a monster.

It was a while back, for sure, as my gorgeous nephew, Colin, was about 4 at the time, and I was in L.A. doing the fam viz thing. Keeping to the tradition of the day, we headed to the Happiest Place on Earth, home to Mickey and Minnie, for a day of getting nauseous in teacups and going to hell with Mr. Toad.

It was far from the realm of my personal Fantasy Land, but somewhere near the border where Frontier Land meets New Orleans Square I was accosted by Goofy. He took me in his somewhat floppy arms, shoved his gigantic plastic nose toward my chest and started mumbling something that sounded … well … goofy.

My nephew was not pleased, thinking that he should be the one with such a photo op, so we soon moved along toward the frozen banana stand. A few minutes later, Goofy joined us on the bench, moved, maybe, by the sight of me eating a chocolate-covered banana on a stick. We eventually gave him the shake at Autopia where Colin outraced me, hands down.

Eventually, it was time for our day of the Diz to end, so we headed down Main Street where my brother did nothing to defend my honor when I was grabbed by the strolling Barbershop Quartet, plopped on the knee of the tenor and had “Baby Face” belted out around me… in four part harmony … as a crowd gathered, my brother snickered and I blushed.

And you know what? I wasn’t angry. I didn’t contemplate a lawsuit. In fact, I considered the day excellent in every way.

Two days later, it was Universal Studios for us all, and there things got a bit scarier … for my nephew. Every time we got off a tram or exited from an attraction, Frankenstein was there … pawing at me … growling in his mask. For a four-year-old, this wasn’t funny, and the sight of his auntie being monster-mashed had him in enough of a panic to send us scurrying for lunch.

I’d not thought of those adventures in a while, but even though over the years there have been plenty of men who’ve pursued me … some successfully … there’s something special knowing I’ve been desired by sweaty guys in costume.

So …

My thoughts on getting groped by a Disney character? Be happy Daisy didn’t slap the shit out of you.

My advice to slimy bitches slithering around the web, thinking that youth wins out? I don’t have any. Instead, I have my memories …

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Birthdays and tattoos ….

Posted in Hopeful thoughts, I wanna, On getting older on July 26, 2010| 8 Comments »

In less than a week, I’ll be horrified by celebrating my birthday, and although for many this is justanotherday, it’s a big fucking deal to me. After all, don’t we all deserve at least one day out of every 365 to indulge and be indulged?

That’s the theory.

As a gift to myself, I’ve indulged in a bit more body art, as nothing says birthday like new tattoos as one heads into senectitude … or something.

Sam has already presented me with a lovely card, and Cj has promised to rub my back for five minutes on the day, gestures well appreciated and counted amongst my blessings.

For the most part, however, this year’s reality involves unrealized plans and hopes that my next year see things working out a bit more favorably.

Anyone with a better idea is more than welcome to offer it …

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Life, death … and shit

Posted in Health, Loss, On getting older, tagged on January 18, 2010| 13 Comments »

Back in the 1980s and 90s, I spent a lot of my time raking up exotic shit. This is no euphemism. Elephants, orang utans, lions and tigers and bears … oh my! All regularly deposit shit by the shovel-full, and much of my job description involved seeing to it that wonderful creatures didn’t have to step in any poop piles.

The Sacramento Zoo was where I passed the hours, days, weeks and months back then, and some of my happiest moments involved the animals and the people I tagged along with and cleaned up after.

Skewed toward the old side of the age range represented by my coworkers, I was well pleased when our ranks were joined by Robbie … near my own age, we had much in common and immediately and permanently became best friends.

We’d both led life on the wild side, and had the physical side effects to prove it. I was already well into the coronary artery disease that plagues many in my family, and I smoked. Robbie already had AIDS.

Almost 20 years later, Robbie and I are still around. I’m here and he’s in Atlanta, and we’re still best friends. Sadly and unexpectedly, a few of the others aren’t.

Fit, athletic, health conscious Lee died of breast cancer a number of years ago. Kevin, at least 10 years younger than me and Robbie, was dropped by a heart attack. And we just had news yesterday that another one of our group has some horrible cancers growing in horrible places. All younger non-smoking folk with no touch of HIV. (Another friend is also facing the cancer fight now … also a much younger, non-smoking careful eater.)

It’s a funny old thing, this life and death and health and illness stuff. Twenty years ago, all predictions would have had Robbie gone within a couple of years with me not too far behind, and Lee and Kevin shoveling shit till ripe old ages.

Earlier this year, my son died at the age of 38. My mother turns 78 today in hospital.

There is no moral to this post. I’m certainly not suggesting that people take up smoking and have unprotected sex, as tempting fate is exactly that. But the fates often have their own agenda, of which we haven’t a clue.

Living life while we have it seems to be the only thing that makes much sense, even if that means spending a lot of time up to our eyeballs in shit, exotic or otherwise.

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Growing up lessons

Posted in Family, Health, Hopeful thoughts, My Chinese Checkered Past, Older women, On getting older on August 9, 2009| 8 Comments »

KeaneI’ve been spending a lot of time in contemplation of much these days, gazing at every inch of the elephant of sorrow and each cell that makes up the blue whale of regrets, trying to make this puny human learn where the process leads.

Contrary to popular opinion in some circles, this old shell has not hardened beyond the capacity to grow, and I’m finding out that I can, indeed, fit a lot more under the hood.

Although it will come, this is not to be a post about deep stirrings of my psychic soup, but rather a few shallow observations of what has risen to the surface as I attempt to suss out the makings of me. I will, eventually, I’m sure, ride the remorse leviathan and live to blog about lessons learned from the journey, but today I want to talk about eyes. Mine, to be specific, my relationship with both of them and a surprising new vision.

I have come to hear quite recently that my eyes are one of my better features. I write these words with trepidation and disbelief, having spent the better part of fifty years wishing I had a different set. Having formed much of my self-image at the time Keane art was plastered all over the place and Twiggy’s was the face to aspire to, my Hanks eyes seemed inadequate, and since that message was underscored often enough by my wide-eyed mother, I accepted what seemed fact that beauty was to evade me because I was so unowl-like.

It’s only been recently that I’ve stopped doing all I could to minimize my boobs, too, after years of being embarrassed by the copious chestage I developed early in life, and I do wonder what an early comfort with … perhaps even some appreciation for … my physical form might have produced in the way of positive outcomes.

Would I have made better choices in life if I’d felt more worthy? I’m fairly sure that would have been the case, since I am aware of the impact of unworthiness and where it led.

I understand well that standard beauty is a product aggressively marketed, and I also feel that no harm was meant as the underlying theme of “not quite pretty” was repeated throughout my formative years, but I am pissed off that it’s taken me this long to start feeling comfortable in my skin, especially since it’s heading south.

Lessons?

Well …

I love the fact that Sam and Cj know to their bones that they are beautiful and understand that it is my job to continue to arm them with the confidence they will need when the world hints that they are in some way falling short.

I’m also rather pleased that I can manage to feel pretty … when I take the time to fix myself up … finally.

I still have a long way to go on the “worthy” business, but realizing this does make it easier to relax the reflex judgment muscle that’s been honed over the years, and that’s an energy saver.

And although it’s neither easy, nor comfortable, I’m pleased I’m still climbing the learning curve, as resting on laurels would just give me a fat ass.

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Stay in School Now, Find Your Keys Later?

Posted in Health, On getting older, Smarten up on March 30, 2009| 12 Comments »

_45430494_dementia_466-1A new study in Britain suggests that a rise in the age of compulsory schooling there some 50 years ago may be responsible for a slow down in dementia rates amongst the elderly today.

Referring to what a Cambridge University Professor calls an “epidemic of dementia”, it is reported that around 700,000 people in the UK have dementia with expectations of the number to rise to 1.7 million by 2051. (More on dementia … fact, figures, treatments, etc. here)

The study suggests that increasing the number of neural connections in the brain in youth, a natural consequence of learning, has benefits beyond just being smarter and more interested and interesting throughout life.

Makes sense to me all the way around. After all, like Doritos in a bag, the more there are to begin with, the later you’re left with just the crumbs.

One issue is, however, the fact that people are living longer, and although the knee jerk reaction to that is usually YIPEE, the reality is less chirpy.

Yes, there are the examples trotted out regularly of the spry 90-year-old kickboxing university professor who just fathered triplets … or something like that … but those people are so far out on the fringes of the normal that, although inspiring, the impression left is misleading.

Being old is hard. It is also uncomfortable, frustrating and frightening. And no matter what, it always ends up the same way.

Why it is that our species, or at least the culture most blog readers share, has a hard time getting their heads around the fact that everybody dies never ceases to amaze me. It is, after all, the one thing we can all count on.

The most basic premise before us all is: No one gets out of this alive.

Pushing the edges of the envelope on this is futile, and although long life sounds dandy to the young and healthy, ask most of the aged how much fun they’re having and the answer will very often be, “not much”.

Exactly what it is about dead that people find so scary and has them attempting to stay off the day is puzzling for me. For one thing, it seems to get in the way of the living part that life is really about. If a person accepts the fact that life is short and then you die, they’d be far more likely to enjoy the time they do have, not procrastinate on happiness and would spend far less precious energy fretting over details that are a waste of time.

In my mind, it’s about quality, not quantity, and if my life turns out to be short in comparison to others … well, I will have given up my seat on this bus, making room for someone else to enjoy the ride.

It is my job to use my time to justify my use of resources, do what I can to make other lives as pleasant as I can and enjoy what can be enjoyed. Not an easy mandate for sure, but that’s life.

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Singapore Report

Posted in On getting older on March 5, 2009| 1 Comment »

My stay in Mt. Elizabeth Hospital is over, and all-in-all it was almost pleasant. It’s nice to be recognized and welcomed as I am there, even though that does indicate I’ve spent WAY too much time within those walls, but a friendly face is a friendly face. (The CCU nurse who brought me cheesecake for breakfast gets the special award for spoiling me.)

Dr. Leslie Lam and his wonderful staff have been, as always, wonderful.

I ended up having another stent put in, as a blockage was found, so now have a bit more hardware in this old ticker, but I don’t notice the difference.

My plan now is to enjoy this city for the days I have left here, and that’s easy to do. I love Singapore and know it well, so I’m heading out for some murtabek, a few sticks of satay and other wonders of the Asian food type.

I may even do a bit of shopping … go figure.

My deepest appreciation goes to all of you who have sent wishes, energy, prayers and humor my way. Thank you!

I am one lucky woman.

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Coming up … not a fun 10 days …

Posted in My Chinese Checkered Past, On getting older on March 1, 2009| 6 Comments »

I’m off to Singapore tomorrow and will be gone for a bit more than ten days. This is not a pleasure trip by any means, and is, in fact, one I’m not looking forward to in any way.

Due to issues that have more to do with money and timing and the end of an era that saw me insured, I’ve scheduled a visit to my cardiologist who just happens to be in Singapore.

Certainly a case of BTDT when it comes to procedures and process … angiogram that requires a night in hospital, and whatever other treatment might be necessary (hopefully none, thank you) … I have never done this alone before.

Not much still lingers around the edges of Mark … or at least not much pleasant … but I have to admit that I will miss having a face behind the glass as dye and camera are threaded up to my heart through my femural artery and tinkering happens.

I’m so loopy when going through this all, due to the drugs they give me, that every time I’m in Mt. Elizabeth hospital is like the first for me … I remember almost nothing one trip to the next … so I had to call Mark for a rendition of what’s happened before to prepare myself for what happens next.

So …

I’ll be away for a while, but will post again when I can.

I’m a big girl and can do anything, and do it alone when need be, but I will appreciate all good thoughts and energy coming my way.

You all are a huge part of my support system and are much appreciated.

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News, nonsense and music

Posted in Adoption, Expat Living, Older women, On getting older, The USA from the outside in, World politics, tagged , , , , , , , on December 5, 2008| 1 Comment »

When it comes to news sources, I use many. From the Huffington Post (a fabulous online publication with the good sense to employ my brilliant niece), to the Adoption Institute, from the the BBC to CNN and back again, there’s a world of info at our fingertips, and anything that must be known can … with a good salt shaker in hand, some common sense and a willingness to learn and listen carefully.

That said, I must admit that one of my daily “must reads” has little to do with learning, but everything to do with a shaker full and common sense.

Yes, that would be The Onion … the premier site for satire dressed in news clothing, and every bit as biting as such an animal should be.

Take, for example, this article, titled: Study: 38 Percent Of People Not Actually Entitled To Their Opinion.

Now if it’s not a sticky bit from my own brain extrapolated out into three paragraphs of undiluted poetic slap-upside-the-head-with-a-sackfull-of-nickels!

In a surprising refutation of the conventional wisdom on opinion entitlement, a study conducted by the University of Chicago’s School for Behavioral Science concluded that more than one-third of the U.S. population is neither entitled nor qualified to have opinions.

Well … yeah …

Living internationally, as I do, I personally wouldn’t limit the “study results” to Americans, but since The Onion is US based, I’ll leave them to it.

Read it and weep … and laugh … and question just about everything about the world making any sense at all.

And … when you’re done … eat a piece of my history with this vid of the Byrds, recalled with fondness — the moment I saw it can be placed in context — doing a TV version of bible verses with “Turn Turn Turn”.

Enjoy …

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Life … that bumpy ride

Posted in Friends, Older women, On getting older, Writing for fun, WTF?, Younger men, tagged , , , on December 3, 2008| 5 Comments »

Life is a funny old thing, isn’t it?

Ups.

Downs.

In between ups and downs.

Way up ups and way down downs and everything in between, like a perpetual elevator ride with a lunatic at the controls.

From sub-sub-basement (heartbreak, betrayal, misery, pain) to penthouse (rapture, joy, dizzy love with icing on top), we traverse at the whim of the insane controller up and down the shaft … often getting it as we do.

All I can say is … THANK GAWD FOR ELEVATOR MUSIC!!!

A few months back, when my lift was just beginning to emerge from the depths far beneath the earth’s surface, my dear friend Tisha put a CD together, and posted it to me. She titled it “Lowdown, Cheatin’, Lyin’ Man Music”, and included on it 18 songs specially selected for their capacity to either commiserate with my pain or prompt a new search for my own bootstraps.

Carrie Underwood’s, Before He Cheats is one in the latter category, and playing it full blast in MY new car … emphasis on MY … and singing along at the top of my lungs still makes me smile every time.

My great bud from back in high school days, Virginia, with whom I’ve had the amazing good fortune to reconnect after 30-something years, today sent me lyrics to a tune from “Phantom of the Opera” that she knew I’d find poignant this week:

Child of the wilderness,

Born into emptiness,

Learn to be lonely,

Learn to find your way in darkness……

Who will be there for you?

Comfort and care for you?

Learn to be lonely….

Learn to be your one companion.

Ever dreamed….out in the world,

There are arms to hold you?

You’ve always known,

You’re heart was on its own.

So laugh in your loneliness,

Child of the wilderness,

Learn to be lonely,

Learn how to love…

Life that is lived alone.

Learn to be lonely,

Life can be lived,

Life can be loved…..alone.

I’ve already posted the vid of my theme song when I start doing the Country show on Paradise FM next year … a song I listen to often that makes me laugh every time, and I can’t tell you how good that feels.

There are penthouse songs, too, of course, but I’m not quite there right now, although when my friend and co-worker on Adoption Under One Roof, Julie, sent me this link to an ASL version of “So Are You To Me” by Eastmountainsouth today during a long chat, I felt a jolt upwards.

As Bette Davis said in “All About Eve” …

Hold on!

We’re in for a bumpy ride …

This trip we’re on may not always be fun, but at least we can sing.

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Old Rockers … and I ain’t talking chairs, no matter how much we need ’em!

Posted in Friends, Fun, NaBloPoMo, Older women, On getting older, Seychelles, The USA from the outside in, tagged , , on November 12, 2008| 5 Comments »

I seem to be focusing a lot of my writing here on men these days … Gee! Go figure … and continue to be in the mood to do so.

So …

For NaNoWriMo, I’m working on a semi-autographical novel … to be tied to the one Stan is writing when November is over, if I manage the deadline, which I’m doubting … and in the process of constructing the bones of the book I’ve come to the point in my life, in my early 20s, where I worked as a roadie for a rock band in California.

Spider Kelly was a talented collection of smart, bitingly witty … for the most part … beautiful men, with whom I lived and worked and traveled for the good part of the 70s: Michael, John, Tony, Kit and Dusty … and to a later and lesser degree, Jeff.

With my well-known prodigious memory, I have no problem conjuring accurate images from the time … conversations, addresses, names of pets and girlfriends, clubs we played, insults we slung like grenades (all HiLarryUS!), lyrics and bass riffs and the heft of a Hammond B3 and its companion, the Leslie.

For additional inspiration, I pulled out a DVD sent to me by one of the guys a few years ago of a reunion they had, and I missed, dammit, back in 2004.

Wow.

I’d not watched the thing in at least 2 years, but was once again transported to the days of my misspent youth. At more than an arm’s length past 50, John still swings his bass and crouches above the mic just like he did at 20-something, and underplays his tremendous astuteness with the same shy-guy shade of a smile. Michael steps up to his vocals with the same sexy casual swagger and belts out those familiar words with every bit as much heart. Tony’s fingers haven’t slowed down one bit, and his “concentration face” … and smart-ass comment look … still flickers with the bloom of youth. Jeff still can’t remember the words to songs (and he’s the lead singer). Dusty, finally in ear protection, stretches between songs with the same arms-to-the-heavens reach and misses about all of the banter … due to lack of said ear protection back when it would have made a difference.

Prompted by this trip down musical lane, I wandered back to their website, gazed at photos from another life, listened to songs I haven’t heard for yonks and signed the guestbook.

I have, over the years, been in touch with Dusty and Tony by email, but lost all my addies in the latest ‘puter crash, so was right pleased when I thought to look up my boys on facebook and, lo and behold, found Dusty.

Amazingly … and I’m so far past doubting the fates that I’m more pleasantly surprised than actually amazed … Dusty had joined up just that morning! Of course, I friended him, and we’ve been catching up. (He actually emailed me, too, AS I was watching the DVD! How much do I love the times we live in?)

Michael, bless him, emailed me the same day, and to be sharing life details with him again is just too wonderful for words.

We’re all getting old now, but still rockin’ … and, more importantly, still friends, and how great is that?

I am now, and always have been, one lucky girl with the great proportion of men in my life. Sure, I’ve had my share of assholes and heartbreak, but weighed against the lifelong connection to so many wonderful friends of the male persuasion? I win, time after time after time.

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