My Day, My Way

Spring Cleaning - A good time to get it all out.

2010-04-08T09:42:00.000-05:00

The days have been so beautiful here that Ihad really been neglecting my inside chores butthe other day I was determined to clean out my closets. Summer is almost here in South Florida so it was pass time to store away the long sleeve shirts and slacks as it will be at least nine months before they'll be needed. The rest of the time shorts and tees will make up my warddrobe. But as Robert Burns said, "Good intentions aft go astray." Or something like that.
Anyway I had barely gotten started when I encountered the shopping bag at the very back of my closet. It was hidden under a pile of too small jeans and other discards. My heart gave a guilty start as I recognized my mother's final resting place. My mother died five years ago at the age of 93 and per her wishes had been cremated but she had not mentioned what she wanted done with her ashes. So I brought them home and stuffed them in the closet and now it was time to get her out of there.
Well that was the end of my cleaning spree. I sat on the floor and memories of my childhood and my mother tumbled out. I guess my closet wasn't the only thing stuffed with useless clutter. I talked to that cardboard sargophagus spilling out all my resentments, hurts, and regrets. Afterwards, it was as if a weight had been lifted and for first time I was able to begin to think of my mother as the strong, person she really was. A woman who had fought her way up from a hard scrapple Kentucky farm and managed to go to college when most of her family and neighbors never finished high school or even elementary. A woman who married and then was widowed after seven years and left with three young children to raise.
Talking to my mother's ashes led me to think about what I might say to her if she were able to return, and that led to writing the short narrative below. It's 95% invention but there's just enough truth that her personality and foibles would be evident to those who knew her.

Conversation with My Mother

I stare at the picture. A pretty young woman is locked in the arms of a handsome young sailor. It’s yellowed and cracked but the young woman smiling into the camera is definitely my mother.

“What are you doing with that picture?” a familiar voice demands.

I turn slowly to face my mother sitting in the chair behind me. “Mom,” I manage a startled squeak, “where did you come from?”

“Surprise!” she stands and takes a little bow and sits back down.

Truthfully I wasn’t surprised, well not much anyway, because if anyone could sneak out of St. Peter’s Golden Gate, it would be my iron willed mother. I stare at the apparition in front of me. I always thought ghosts wore sheets but my mother was dressed in an expensive black pants suit with an emerald green, silk blouse that emphasized her white hair. She sat primly upright with her legs crossed at the ankles, a model’s pose. “No, I was just startled. I always figured you’d show up somehow or someway.”

She fluffs her hair and leans forward, “Well I’m here now for a short time anyway. Those guys up there can sure get pissed if you defy them,” she confides in a stage whisper.

I look nervously around expecting to see an angry angel of death carrying a quiver of lighting bolts hovering above me. “I just found this, I hold the picture so she can see it, “who is the sailor?”

“I want you to get me out of that closet,” she sobbed. Mom used her favorite diversionary tactic, tears. “Do you know how hurt I felt when my own daughter stuck my ashes in a brown paper bag and hid them away in a dark closet?”

Surprised that she knew about that, I did as I always did when my mother confronted me, I lashed back. “What was I supposed to do with them?” I asked through clenched teeth. “I couldn’t bury you in the family cemetery where five generations of our family are buried because you couldn’t stand any of them. Daddy is buried beside his mother and father and you hadn’t spoken to anyone in his family for over sixty years and your other three husbands are lying peacefully beside their wives.”

“You know I always had a soft spot for Sam,” she got a dreamy faraway look in her eyes thinking of the past.

“Mother, if I showed up at his grave with your ashes his daughters would have me tarred and feathered.” My frustration level was beginning to show as I progressed from the informal Mom to the formal Mother stage.

“Hmmm, you’re probably right. They were a teensy bit upset when they found that he had left me all his money.”

“Teensy bit upset. Hell, they tried to kill you,” I said remembering all the craziness that had always surrounded her.

“Dear, don’t cuss. It’s not ladylike. I know,” her face lit up and I could almost see a light bulb above her head, ”you can put me in one of those lovely vases, maybe a Chinese one with dragons and all that ornate enameling, and then it can sit on that darling fake Chippendale in your foyer.”

The thought of my mother’s ashes sitting in my foyer was so horrifying that I couldn’t even respond to the fake Chippendale jab.

“Or maybe a statue of David holding the urn above his head,” she was on a roll now, ”no, Mabel Petrella’s family put her in one of those.” Her lip curled slightly at the thought.

“Mother, tell me about the picture?” I pleaded and closed my eyes trying to get rid of the vision of Mabel Petrella sitting on David’s head.

“Oh, you are such an annoying child. You always were you know. I sacrificed so much for you. When your father died, oh that awful day, my only thought was of you and how I could ease your pain. Not like my mother who didn’t even wait until my daddy’s grave was covered before she married THAT man and had those brats.” Her voice got an icy edge whenever she mentioned what she always saw as her mother’s betrayal. “I ruined my back from carrying those brats around and spent years in pain.”

“Stop it,” I snapped,” you know that granny had no choice but to remarry after gramps died. She had you, no money and no way to earn a living. Besides, it was a good year after his death before she remarried and those brats are your brothers and sister and your back pain was caused by osteoporosis,” I angrily spit out each word. Even in death she couldn’t forgive my grandmother. I suppose a psychiatrist could write a doctoral thesis about my mother’s almost eighty year obsession but I had lived with the bitterness and self pity all my life and had no patience for it. “And as for easing my pain,” I continued, “you left me with a neighbor the day after he died while you got your hair and nails done and shopped for a new outfit for the funeral and then remarried two months later, eased my pain, HA!” Things were beginning to get nasty now as they inevitably did when my mother and I were together for any length of time.

I got up and started pacing back and forth trying to ease the tension.

“Stop that pacing and sit down this minute!” It was her no nonsense voice that I remembered from childhood and like the obedient child I had always been, I walked back to my chair and sat.

“Look at you,” she pursed her lips and gave a disapproving, tsk, “ you’re still biting your nails, and your hair looks like it was cut with garden shears and,” a look of horror crossed her face, “Oh My Lord, you’re wearing a velveteen sweat suit. I never thought that a child of mine would ever own one of those monstrosities.”

My lack of fashion sense had always been a sore spot with her. When she lay dying, she had motioned me over to her bed and I’d bent down with tears in my eyes to hear her last words.” Sweetie, “she gasped, “you’re too heavy to wear a floral print.”

Now here she was back from the grave and still criticizing my taste. “I happen to like velveteen sweats. They’re warm and cozy.” I cringe as I hear the apologetic tone of my voice. “But let’s get back to the picture. I’ve got a feeling it’s the reason you’re here.”

“What makes you say that? I had boxes of old pictures. Why do you think this one is different?” She stood and walked over to the window and sighed. “What I wouldn’t do for a cigarette.”

“This picture wasn’t in a box. I found it when I was shaking out that ratty fur coat of yours before I gave it to Goodwill. The picture just fell out through a hole in the lining. What was so special about this picture that you went to all the trouble to hide it in your coat?”

“I loved him, she blurted out, he’s probably the only man I ever really loved. I met him when I was working as a waitress and he was in training at the Great Lakes Naval Base,” she took a trembling breath. “He asked me for a date and we were together whenever he could get a pass until he finished his training. That picture was taken on our last date before he shipped out.” She was still standing looking out the window and I could hear her stifle a sob.

“Was he killed in the war?” I asked

“No, he came home but I had married your father and he went back to his home on the west coast and I never heard from him again.” The sadness seemed to have left her and anger had taken its place. “I would have left your father and gone anywhere with him but he didn’t want me. He said that he could never forgive me for not waiting for him.”

I looked at the picture of the handsome young sailor and then at the picture of my father that I always kept on my desk. I was sitting on his knee in my new Brownie uniform. It was taken the day before he died of a heart attack. I was eight years old. It was a picture of a pudgy bald man who was twenty years older than my mother. I loved my father dearly. We did everything together. He took me to Brownie meetings, to see Santa, to baseball games and tucked me in at night. It was always just the two of us as mom was never home. She’d have a meeting or a party to attend. She did love to party. I knew my mother, so why had she chosen to marry that pudgy, dear man.

She must have read my mind because she turned her head slightly and said, “Look at the calendar.” Then she stepped through the window and was gone.

“Wait,” I screamed, “what calendar?” But there was no one there. She had vanished.

I sat for a long time thinking over everything she had said and wondering what she meant. Then I saw it. Hanging on the wall behind my mother and her sailor was a calendar with the famous pinup picture of Betty Gable and under the picture was the month and year, June, 1943. I was born in December 1943, all nine pounds of me.

What's in a name?

2010-01-19T17:28:00.000-05:00

There's been quite a bit of a hoohah recently about the use of the word negro. This bothers me as I wonder if we're getting to the point where we will eventually be afraid to mention anyone's race color, politics or religion. Unless the word is used in a derogratory manner I don't see why people would object. I always felt that the word negro was reference to a race the same as caucasian, Asian, etc. and I've never heard anyone complain about their use. Martin Luther King day was Monday and I wonder how he would feel about being called a negro. Somehow I think he would be proud so why not stop this silliness of labels. After all as Shakespeare said, "What's in a name?"
Well, I could go on about that for awhile but the tragedy in Haiti makes all the bickering between politicians seem so trivial.

Slogging through blogs

2010-01-09T19:18:00.000-05:00

It's cold, wet and gloomy here in S, Florida. Luckily we only get a few days like this. Bored, I decided to go blog slogging. Since I am a senior citizen I decided that I'd see what the other seniors were blogging about so I went to Google and typed in senior blogs. I found a lot of blogs about seniors. They gave advice and information on health, insurance, etc. These were all useful but what I was looking for was blogs by seniors. I wanted to know what others my age were doing. What I found was that we seniors aren't just sitting around playing bingo and griping about our aches and pains. We're traveling and boy are we ever interested in politics. There were blogs on the ecology and well, just about every subject. If you're a senior and have a blog how about telling me about it. I'd love to hear from you.

2010-01-08T16:56:00.002-05:00

I spent a lot of time looking at blogs today. Then more time filling in information to get my blog recognition. I found some interesting blogs that I think I will look at again and a lot that even made mine look interesting. I did get rather tired of looking at adorable kids and grandkids and then lengthy travelogues were right up there on my HO HUM list. I like it when people tell of the interesting thing that happen to them on their trips but I can find all the other historical and geographical info on the web if I'm interested enough. I did enjoy reading about the bloggers their ideas and interests. There are an awful lot of interesting people out there and I will continue my blogging excavation tomorrow and list the more interesting ones here.

Iguana Blues

2010-01-07T10:10:00.003-05:00

We're having a cold snap here in southern Florida and everyone is complaining about the 50 & 60 degree temperatures. I know, I know that seems downright balmy to those of you who have been suffering through severe snowstorms and freezing temperatures. Year round residents are shivering and trying to remember how to turn on furnaces, if they have one, but the tourists who have paid big bucks for a week or two of sun and fun are huddled on the beach in winter coats and gloves bravely baring their faces to the sunny but cold skies. After all at $400 a day you need a little sunburn to show for it. Farmers are hustling to save their crops and volunteers are handing out blankets to the homeless. Although the humans are grumbling it's the animals who are suffering.

Southern Florida is home to hundreds of tropical birds, reptiles, insects and mammals and these are having a tough time during prolonged cold spells. Zoo's handed out blankets to primates and manatees rushed to the warm waters coming out of cooling vents at the electric plants. Butterfly World gathered up 100's of their exotic flutterers and turned them loose in a heated room. but I can't do the same for the ones who brighten my back yard. I'm afraid that they will perish. One exoctic member of the landscape that might not survive a prolonged cold snap is the iguana which has made itself persona non grata. They are vegetarians and can denude your carefully cultivated landscape in nothing flat and leave only their excrement as thanks. Unlike many of my neighbors I would miss them. A few hibiscus plants is a small price to pay to see these gentle prehistoric creatures browsing in your backyard. I'd gladly cover each and everyone with a blanket but unfortunately they roost in trees.
I'm very happy to be in South Florida and wish you were, too.
I hope you have a Happy, Healthy and prosperous New Year.

It's been awhile!

2009-04-18T09:42:00.003-05:00

I just rediscovered my blog and after rereading it I was sorry that I had stopped writing. Although I doubt that anyone else ever saw it as there were no comments, it was a good example of my thought5s and actions at a specific time. Blogging is the new journaling and unfortunately, I have never been very consistent with that either.
Anyway, I have very good intentions of continuing it this time. Now I have to get in my daily swim tso that my arthric knees won't tighten up. I shall return!

Its July already!

2006-07-15T14:17:00.000-05:00

It’s July already! The last time I wrote here it was February. So much for my good intentions of writing at least every few days. Since the summer doldrums are here maybe I’ll get caught up on my writing chores.

After all the winter guests departed and things settled down we decided to replace our bedroom carpeting with wood laminate. That kept us busy for most of April. It looks very nice and has helped with my allergies. Carpeting here in Florida is not too good of an idea as it becomes moldy. This was very good carpeting but it had been there for 15 years and you could definitely smell the mold when we tore it up. As soon as the bedroom was finished with everything washed and polished we got our suitcases and the cat and piled into the car to head north for our eldest son’s 50th birthday party. We spent 2 weeks there and enjoyed being with everyone but as so often happens the time gets consumed with family and we rarely have time to visit with friends.

The first of this month our oldest grandson and a friend came down to go sailing with us. I had decided that I was going to stay home as I’ve never been really fond of sailing and as I’ve gotten older and my knees have gotten stiffer my affection for the sport has dropped a few notches, but in the end I went and enjoyed myself although it took a couple of able bodied seamen to move me from cabin to deck and I didn’t even dare venture into the dinghy. I didn’t feel that my dignity was up to it. But we spent a week and visited a few of our favorite anchorages. I might try it again! Although there is a saying about “Old sailors never die they just trawl away.” I think that I’m ready for the trawler.

Our awnings got destroyed by Wilma last year and it has been extremely difficult to get replacements as everyone else lost there’s, too. One of the awnings was just delivered Thursday. It was a metal awning that is also a storm shutter and quite large. Since this season’s hurricane season is here, we were glad to get it but we were told that it would take another 4 or 5 months before anyone was available to install it. Dick ended up getting it and is now struggling to get it installed as I sit here in the AC typing and feeling a little guilty as I see him sweating. I am a good wife so I did take him a fresh sweatband.

Good wife that I am I think I had better think about supper.

Theres something about February

2006-02-16T17:29:00.000-05:00

There’s something about February. I’ve come to the conclusion that February is the most disliked month of the year especially by those that live in the north. No matter that it contains Valentine’s Day, Mardi Gras and the celebration of President’s Day it is still one miserable month. Now I live in south Florida and for the main part the weather in February is delightful with warm sunny days and cool evenings but February brings tourists and house guests in droves. Hundreds of the pale colored beasts descend from the frozen north and clog our highways, fill up our restaurants and beaches. I have been plagued with house guests since the end of January. I have not had time to read a book or finish an assignment for my writing class. After a few days to a week, one sunburned group will leave to be followed by another. This constant flow will continue for all of February then begin to dwindle as spring approaches. Then when the heat of summer beams down and hurricanes beat at our door and I’m lonesome for friends and family, no one can be bothered to come for a visit. The answer to my invitation is always, “We’ll see you in February!”

Dumbing Down Education

2006-01-14T14:27:00.000-05:00

I watched John Stossel’s report on education last night or most of it. I got so disturbed that I turned it off before the end. I’m not sure why I got so disturbed. He didn’t reveal anything that I didn’t already know. In fact I had been harping about the decline in education for years. This “Dumbing of Education.” is not a new phenomenon. I’m not sure when it began but I started teaching in the sixties and retired in the eighties, and I saw first hand in those more than two decades a slow erosion of our educational system.
In the fifties and sixties there was a teacher shortage due to the influx of “Boomers” and they were hiring anyone who walked in the door. By the sixties the teacher shortage was over but “NEW” was in. There was new math, new phonetic alphabets, open classrooms and Geography became Social Studies. Everybody was on the bandwagon to devise a “NEW” way of teaching which meant getting rid of the “OLD” which emphasized learning basic facts. Then in the seventies and eighties it was “self-esteem.” Teachers were told that no child should ever receive a failing grade as it would damage his image but they weren’t shown how to reach those children so they simply lowered their grading standards. Since some children didn’t learn to read on schedule it was deemed that the reading textbooks were too hard and the books were made easier. Then the students couldn’t read the science or other subject matter texts and they were made easier. Children with mental and psychological problems and those with learning disabilities were mainstreamed. They were tossed into classrooms with teachers who had too many students and too little training so they spent the time coloring or cutting paper anything to keep them busy but very few were taught.
A whole generation grew up not knowing how to do basic math, read a book or where or what the Great Lakes were. Then came the eighties and nineties and those children became teachers. I have walked into classrooms and there would be sentences such as: “I seen the bear.” and “Your a good boy.” written on the blackboard not by students but by teachers. A new teacher asked me what state Washington D.C. was in and told me that was a nice “pitcher” on my wall. Parents protest when lengthening the school year is mentioned and then in the late 1990’s and 2000’s the violence begins.
In Stossel’s report the consensus seemed to be that money wouldn’t cure our educational decline and that schools that were doing a poor job should be closed. I agree with both points. You hear the word accountability a lot when education is discussed but no one seems to agree on who should be accountable. Florida has the FCATS which has resulted in the teachers teaching the tests and in some cases (probably more than we know about) they give the students the answers. The failing schools are “punished” by being given more money per student. The A schools are praised. There’s nothing wrong with testing but when getting a certain score on a test takes precedence over teaching then something’s wrong. Why not test a child at the beginning of school to see where he is academically and then at the end to see how much he’s improved. This would put the accountability where it belongs on the student and the teacher.

Holiday Blahs

2006-01-10T10:18:00.000-05:00

Holiday Blahs

The holidays are over and the decorations are down. The house looks bare and dull and I feel depressed. We went north and I got my usual cold but this one struck on Christmas Eve day and continued through New Years so I spent most of the time sneezing, coughing and feeling rotten and the rest of the time trying to hide my red nose and puffy eyes from the cameras. The only high spot was that the two grandsons came back with us. They were a great help with the driving and helped with some leftover Wilma chores. They dug up stumps and planted five new palm trees. Frank is twenty and Kris is eighteen. This is the first time in years that we’ve had both of them together for a visit. I think they were a little bored with us but we enjoyed getting acquainted with the fine young men that they have become without them running off to be with friends as they do when we visit them up north. Kris is studying to be an Air-traffic Controller and is starting flying lessons this semester. He didn’t seem as enthusiastic as I would have thought. I remember when his father was taking flying lessons and that was all he could talk about but Kris has a controlled personality. I hope he learns to loosen up. Frank is a college sophomore and tired of school. He has dyslexia and school work is a drag for him. Although History is one of his favorite subjects and he’s a walking encyclopedia on World War 2, his history teacher insisted on correct spelling. No amount of reasoning would change his mind and eventually Frank had to drop the course or risk a failing grade. This failure in his best subject has left him feeling that he can’t make it in an academic setting. He’s thinking about the Navy but is a little frightened of the discipline. He has many interests and is very creative. He also has a loving supportive family so I believe that he will eventually realize his potential.

I’ve been sorting pictures of my mother and trying to arrange them into a photo journal of her life. Microsoft has a new program that is easy to use and it lets you add narration and music to the pictures. It’s coming along nicely but hasn’t helped my depression.

Now I have to start sorting through bills and receipts to get ready for taxes. Talk about depressing!

Christmas Tree Memories

2005-12-07T19:33:00.000-05:00

I’ve been busy decorating the house for the Holidays. This might seem a waste of time as we always go north to be with our boys and grandchildren but I love holiday decorations. My widowed mother never did much for the holidays as she didn’t have the money, energy or inclination. She came from a poor family in Kentucky and holidays and birthdays were never observed. Money was scarce and presents and a tree were not necessities. When we got old enough my older brother and I earned money by running errands or doing small chores for the neighbors and would pool our resources and get a small tree which we would decorate with popcorn chains and homemade trinkets. Many times our tree would make Charlie Brown’s look lavish but to us it was always the most beautiful tree we had ever seen.
After I got married and had a family we always had a real live tree. Those trees have become part of our Christmas tradition. As we sit around the tree somebody always starts telling about the time we bought a tree full of pine cones. It was a lovely natural touch but as we were entertaining family and friends at our annual open house on Christmas Eve things really started popping and I do mean popping. The heat had caused the cones to open and start shooting their seeds across the living room. Our guests thought that they were under attack by some unknown enemy. Everyone was dodging and the children were rolling on the floor in imitation of war casualties. Then there was the time I was having a party for the faculty of my school and I had taken great pains in decorating the tree. About half hour before the quests were due to arrive we heard a horrible bang and when we investigated we found the tree on the floor with the cat struggling to get himself untangled from the mess. With guests due to arrive any minute all we could do was prop the tree up and toss the ornaments on haphazardly. It was one miserable looking tree.
Everyone’s favorite story is the year mom returned the tree! I had stopped at a tree lot on my way home from work and I saw the perfect tree. It was tall and slender with perfect needles. The lot attendant held it up and it stood tall and straight or so it seemed. When I got it home and my husband tried to put it in the stand it kept listing about 45 degrees to port. No matter what we propped it up with it still leaned like a drunken sailor. We sawed and propped and sawed some more but nothing was going to make that tree stand straight. Finally I grabbed all the sawed off limbs and threw the poor thing into the back of the truck. That sucker was going back to the lot and I was going to either get another tree or my money back. My husband said he’d drive me but there was no way he would get out of the truck. You simply did not return a Christmas tree. It was unheard of but I had paid $35 for that tree and there was no stopping me. The lot attendant offered me another tree but they were all in worse shape than the one I was returning. At first he refused to return my money. You didn’t return a Christmas tree. He wasn’t obligated to warranty trees he said. It took a little persuasion and the threat that I would let the children in my classroom know that his lot didn’t carry Santa approved trees but I got my $35 back and he let me keep what was left of the crooked tree.
Now my tree is artificial and very bedraggled and it is decorated with ornaments that bring back memories of people and Christmases past. The best are ornaments from children I’ve had in my class. Some have the child’s name and the year. They aren’t shiny any more and some are cracked and frayed but each one has a story to tell.

Merry Christmas to you and yours!

Predjudice Rears its Ugly Head

2005-12-03T16:07:00.000-05:00

The other day a friend stopped by and we began discussing the pros and cons of a new development that will be built at the entrance to our neighborhood. That particular piece of real estate has been an eyesore for over fifteen years. We had hoped and campaigned for a greenway but that fell through and now a developer had bought the property and was proposing to build an office condo complex or residential condos. The neighborhood association had recently done a poll and the results had been in favor of the offices with small businesses such as coffee shops, barber shops etc. on the bottom level. So this was what we were discussing but it was what came out of my mouth that has me wondering about my prejudices and values.

I preferred the upscale residential condos and went on to explain that since the area surrounding us was predominantly Hispanic that the offices and businesses would cater to that cliental and I could visualize young hoods hanging out at the stores and the possibility of gang activities. I presented my viewpoint in a clear precise manner and promptly forgot about it until a few days later when I was passing the proposed site. Then I suddenly remembered what I had said and worse, I remembered with a jolt and utter shame that my friend is Cuban American and his wife is from Ecuador. He and his wife are good friends and the thought of their ethnic backgrounds never occurred to me. If anyone asked me if I was prejudiced I would have answered a resounding NO but those words were definitely prejudicial. Although I would never judge an individual by their race or ethnic background I had a preconceived view of a group of individuals. It’s a preconceived stereotyped view of certain ethnic groups fed not only by my WASP heritage but also by the media. When a crime is reported, the news media will invariably mention the race or ethnic background of the perpetrator if they are other than white. A criminal is a criminal no matter his race so why mention it.

Unfortunately, I am not the only one who is inflicted by this insidious form of prejudice. I see it and hear it frequently usually prefaced by; “I have some very good friends who are black, Hispanic etc.” Some might call this benign prejudice as these are people who would never discriminate against an individual for their race or beliefs. These are people who would never participate or condone active racism – would they? I wonder how many of those who stood by and let the holocaust happen were inflicted with benign prejudice?

Although, I always speak out when I hear any type of malicious prejudice, I’m usually silent when I hear someone stereotype a particular group. So I’m apologizing for my part in this and plan to watch what I say. Prejudice in any shape or form is dangerous.

I'm old but am I different?

2005-11-15T10:06:00.000-05:00

Until a few days ago I had never read a blog. Then I saw a reference to one in an article I was reading and decided to check it out. This led to my browsing through different blogs. Some I found interesting and thought provoking and others of interest only to the writers but one had a sentence that immediately caught my attention and led me to pondering about people's perceptions of others and that ultimatly led to my deciding to start my own blog.

The blog I'm referring to was by a thirty something soccer mom and she was talking about some of the blogs that were written by senior citizens. She was saying how interesting they were and she recommended a few that she had enjoyed. Now there's nothing wrong with that but it was her statement that others should read these blogs by senior citizens if they wanted to learn about a different lifestyle. Now, admittedly, I'm a little sensitive about my age and her attitude is one of the reasons. What makes her think that just because I've gotten to be seventy that my lifestyle is that much different than hers .

Maybe my appearance is different as the perception is that age brings wrinkles, sags and gray hair, but gray hair doesn't always mean advanced age - Steve Martin for example, plus I bet there's a bottle of Clairol in many a thirty-something's bathroom. As for the wrinkles etc botox and plastic surgery have eliminated that perception look at Joan Rivers, Burt Reynolds and more than likely your neighbor down the street. The blue-haired bingo goer isn't even used as a steretype in ads anymore. In fact if Demi Moore and Mary Tyler Moore are any indication of what's going on out there we could well end up being your kids' stepmom.

Let's get back to lifestyle. This perception that my lifestyle would be so different just because I'm a senior citizen that it would be of interest to others to study has me stumped. Too bad that Margaret Mead didn't know about this wealth of anthropological studies in her own backyard. It would have saved her from having to endure all that discomfort in Samoa. Now it's true that Soccer Mom's life revolves around her job, her kids and maybe a husband but according to statistics an alarming number of children are being raised by grandparents and even great-grandparents who shuttle children back and forth to activities plus they have gone back to work to put food on the table and clothes on the backs of these children. Even if we do not have the burden of grandchildren we are very likely caring for OUR parents who are living into their 90's and 100's. My mother is 93 and my husband's is 100. There is not a lot of difference in caring for a 3 year old and a 93 year old with dementia. So Soccer Mom enlighten me. How is my lifestyle so different from yours?

Hello

2005-11-14T15:44:00.000-05:00

Hello, I'm new to blogging and I'm still trying to sort everything out. I'm looking forward to sharing my thoughts and ideas with anyone who happens to stumble upon this blog. If you happen to be the stumbler, I hope that you'll drop me a note and let me know something about you or direct me to your blog.