yes, yes, two heads are better than one, for sure. particularly now. between us, we can have a complete grocery list, a complete song, a complete conversation. it’s like mad-libs, but real life.
how is it that these words – practical words…not multiple-syllabic barely-used thesaurus type words or foreign expressions or highly technical jargon…just words like avocado or ravioli or well, i can’t remember any more examples…how is that these words disappear into thin air? they are seemingly irretrievable, escaping all the umms and uhhs buying time to try and unearth them.
it is fortunate that we most often choose partners who are in our approximate age bracket. for there is grace when you are both punting for a word, jaunting into the vast recesses of your brain with a flashlight and bucket – sieve-ready – like you are panning for gold in an old gem mine deep underground. only not.
instead, you are just trying to remember the round green things that go on top of chili.
i’m going to try and remember my grocery list from now on. standing there in the middle of the market – gawking at each other – blank looks on our faces – going through the alphabet, certain that the word we are seeking starts with some letter (one that turns out isn’t even in the word) – can be embarrassing. people are staring. they are wheeling their carts around us – two statues in the fresh veggie section, frozen by the broccoli and brussels sprouts. we are causing a rubberneck situation in the aisle. we are certain to remember what we need – as soon as we get home.
in the meanwhile, we know that our people are here too. they are the ones who glance over with sympathetic and understanding eye contact. they calmly – without disdain – walk around us. they smile. because they, too, have a few wrinkles and – every now and then – they stand still in some aisle, a lost look on their face, gazing around in search of some elusive item. and then – you can see it – their face lights up and you know. avocado. that’s it.
and we all skip to the check-out, hoping it is 5%-off senior day. because by now, we deserve it.
because it was supposed to be blizzarding out right now, we are blogging ahead. it is not blizzarding out, however. it is raining and slushing and windy and is completely nasty out, but definitely not blizzarding. now, since you will be reading this on thursday and this is only tuesday, i am wondering will happen between now and then. the weather app says that it will all turn into snow at 3pm. and, as i look out the window right this second, a little snow is mixed in with the rain…so it is starting…maybe.
dogdog loves the snow more than anything. he is definitely voting “yes” for snowstorms and blizzards this winter. on the day i took this photo he walked outside and laid down on the deck, languishing in his bliss. he has been a snow-dog ever since we brought him home as a little puppy.
when we lost babycat to the other dimension i spent hours looking through my photos of him. i hoped i had all of his little quirks captured, all the things that made him the cat he was – on film. but we never really do get it all though. i wasn’t video-ing constantly or taking photos of his every move. and so, many of his funny quirks and the things we adored about him – this cat that saved me – are simply tucked in, in my memory.
and so, i am trying to capture a bit more with dogga. even his sweet pawprint in the snow. he is getting older now – an australian shepherd, he’ll be 11 this year – and he has some older-dog behaviors. like you, we are in love with our dog – just as we were with our cat. and, i suspect, like you, we don’t have any idea how this time has flown by so quickly. they capture our hearts immediately and time just doesn’t stretch out long enough.
the years of covid pandemic isolation/social distancing/loss of jobs/staying at home have given us concentrated time with dogga. and he just wants to be with us. it’s mutual. the look on his face when we leave for the grocery store is heart-breaking and the greeting when we arrive back home is magical and full-body, every part of him wagging – especially the infamous aussie butt-wiggle.
so this pawprint – in the snow and indelibly in our hearts forever and ever – and his tiny old-dog groans and a little slow-down – not to mention that look on his face anytime we leave – are tugging at us. he has been with us every day we have lived together, except for the first two.
it was during those first two that we debated dog-nodog-dog-nodog nonstop after meeting him across the state at a farm on the river road in pepin. driving the budget truck across the country to move d in, we stopped at the sign that said “aussie puppies” just to see. d assured me – though we had talked about a puppy ‘some day’ – that aussies are usually merle or tricolor and not black, which was our intended puppy-color-of-choice. thus we thought were driving up the long drive not likely to fall in instant love. and then, farmer don told us that he only had one puppy left and that he had no takers because he was black. one look, one puppy hug and it was all over. we left a deposit – which we told farmer don he could keep either way – and drove away with a decision to make.
and that’s when the debate started. it didn’t stop until two days later when we drove back up that long drive and this little black puppy came running directly to us, sitting down at the side of littlebabyscion. right then, we knew it was undeniable.
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the spaceship hasn’t arrived and i am still – the tiniest little smidgiest iota of a bit – procrastinating. not entirely, but yes…enough. i’m wondering if there is such a thing as an estate sale while you are still alive and well and living in the house.
tomorrow it is likely i will throw out every underwire, save one or two. i have had it. i will no longer participate in whatever torturous intention with which underwire bras were invented. done. i am convinced they are caveman mentality – with agonizing pain at its center. not one to be a prima donna about such things, i have endured – for years…no! for decades – the excruciating pain that is an underwire brassiere. i have not sought a solution until recently, when i decided i could no longer engage in the absurd wire-them-up behavior.
some chick named marie tucek invented the precursor to the underwire bra – a breast supporter that was an upgrade from a corset – good heavens! – so that we could all have “defined shape and additional support”. it’s a device. i am pondering as i write this why such a sensitive area of our bodies needs a metal device poking at it. as a woman who does not need “additional support” i am not sure that anything could provide me the “defined shape” of the idyllic american breast. for heaven’s sake, this is all insane! and so, i have finally jumped on the wirelesswagon, having asked for informant help from my sister, my nieces, my dear friend.
we shopped the other day. the older women trolling the bra department eyed david at my elbow, leering at him as if he were some sort of bra ogre, lingerie department lingerer, foundations fiend. he was stalwart, though, and stayed by my side as i sorted through hangers and sought out correct sizing. he was patient as i planted myself in the fitting room, ready for bra-war. trying on bras is trying on bathing suits to the exponential power. you out there know what i mean.
so there are wireless bras pretty much for everything…the lightly lined comfort, the no side-effects, the t-shirt, the super soft, the lift, side-smoothing, back-smoothing, non-banding, cloud-like… it is the TGI friday’s menu of bras. wayyy too many to choose from and slightly confusing. not to mention slightly terrifying. because – once you have purchased and worn this $42 miraclebreastholder, it is yours-yours-yours. and there are no take-backs, regardless of whatever bra-mistake you might have made. so this is a big decision, particularly if you are thrifty. and freedom isn’t free, as they say.
i guess my point here though, is that my new year will have at least one amazing and positive new difference. wire-free, i will walk in the world, smiling more and knowing that i will not have little black and blue marks on my body from my feminine undergarment.
it’s hard to contain the excitement of returning to a favorite haunt for dinner out. we rarely go out for dinner so any time we find ourselves being a littlebit indulgent it’s cause for celebration.
but – just as it isn’t smart to go to the grocery store hungry, it also isn’t smart to go out for dinner the day after your metabolic and lipid panel bloodwork results are posted on your mychart.
and so you read – wondering why anything marked “high” or “low” hasn’t made your solicitous physician call you at home, concern and suggestions – with an appropriate amount of reassurance – in her voice. but this is 2023 and there is no time for that and you need be happy enough with the office staff call. my recent physical with a brand new doctor-to-me – which took seven months from the time i called to book it – wasn’t even completed (thus i have to go back for the girly stuff) because i dared give a little context history and asked a few questions about things that were concerning me – and we ran out of my “allotted time”. she did inform me – on her way out the door while telling me to make a follow-up appointment to finish the (might i say – important?) girly stuff – that physicals are merely bloodwork and cancer screenings. they are not meant for body, mind and spirit check-ins to be sure you are – uhhh – “physically” ok. to say that i don’t understand would be an understatement. (let me just mention here that our healthcare totals in excess of $28,000 and that i haven’t once used it this year prior to this “physical” which makes me very fortunate – in addition to mathematically making this “physical” mighty expensive.)
but i digress.
so, on our own, we study the new results, compare them to former test results, look for trends, research what creatinine and various other tests really mean, note any “high” and “low” indicators, look up dietary choices to aid in lowering or raising these, discover (again) that proper hydration is of extreme import, seek answers to lower stress levels (which contribute to many of these results). we power through the mayo clinic, the cleveland clinic, the nih, webmd, medline, healthline, even wikipedia – trying to find information we can digest and the answers to what we can order off the menu.
today i read the doctor’s comments. with one exception – even though i had concerns with any red and green markings on my results – she wrote that it was all “wnl”. i looked that up. “within normal limits” in med-talk.
we are still going to make some changes. we want to do the best we can as we “gracefully” age – between diet and exercise and maintaining a zen-like existence. uh-huh. it’s always good to evaluate and re-evaluate our health choices.
but for now, i’m gonna skip the chia seeds this time.
“we got the chance to be young and the chance to grow old.” (kate)
in her next breath, her voice huskier with emotion, she added, “not everyone has had that chance.”
in the arc of the art of living, we hold gratitude for this very life.
and, hopefully, somewhere in there we have gained some wisdom. hopefully, somewhere in there we have held love and relationships before material gain. hopefully, somewhere in there we have chosen truth over institution or divisive politics or agenda. hopefully, somewhere in there we have helped someone else and we have tried to grasp what it might be like walking in their shoes. hopefully, somewhere in there we have stood in a sunrise or sunset, incredulous. hopefully, somewhere in there we have seen extraordinary color and shape in art, heard exquisite frequencies of pitch and timbre in music, moved in a dance, read words we store away to never forget. hopefully, somewhere in there we have granted and been given grace. hopefully, somewhere in there we have felt the flimsy threads of a floating dandelion seed, the solid rough granite, the dirt, beneath our feet, the breaking wave on a shore or a stream as it flows through our fingers, rain and sun on our faces, the embrace of a beloved, the wind carrying the love and wisdom of the arcs of all before us.
hopefully, we hold life itself – breathing – tenderly.
mama dear always wore lipstick. it really didn’t matter what the occasion or if there even was an occasion. she had her lipstick on and carried it in her purse to refresh. she came to mind the moment i saw this hibiscus. this was the color.
my grandmother had red hair – for as long as i can remember. she also had a red-hair-personality. she was sassy and stubborn, full of sisu; she did red hair proud. she was one of my best friends and we sat together and ate rye toast sipping tea talking about life in her last years. i was in my beginning years when she was in her ending years. i was just experimenting with make-up and she wore lipstick. well.
i still don’t wear lipstick. sometimes a little lip balm, but never lipstick. despite my big sister’s best efforts – for decades – to find the right shade, the best hue, the most moisturizing, the longest-lasting, it’s never felt quite right on me.
even now, as i see my lips fade a bit from my face – in the way that aging does that – i can’t wear hibiscus – or even soft peach-fuzz-rose – on my lips. though mama dear, my own sweet momma, my sister all looked and look stunningly beautiful with the added color to their perfect faces, something has always precluded me.
in the photo shoot for my second album cover, the make-up artist chose a lip pencil, carefully outlining and then filling in with – yes – deep red color. after the album was released, i had my dear graphic designer tone it down, re-releasing the jacket to resemble me a little more. for to release a jacket that didn’t hold true to what i looked like felt contrary to the release of music i had written from deep in my heart. i believe mama dear would understand.
so i guess i will stick with lip balm and the hibiscus will stay on the stem and i will have sweet memories and giant appreciation for its color in the world.
if you asked me what word best describes our up-north trips, it would be laughter. pontoon boatrides and utv drives, hikes in the woods and lots and lots of food and drink and snacks, and it is still laughter.
there is nothing – truly, absolutely nothing – like being with other people who are in the same – ummm – age bracket you are in.
i remember my sweet momma and poppo gathered around their pool in florida with multiple other couples. yadayadayada they’d go on and on about their trials and travails. i was stunned back then by the ordinariness of their conversations, by the chapter of life.
but i tell ya, they had nothing on the up-north gang. we will literally talk about ANYthing. any sordid detail, any grimy description, any mighty middle-age challenge, any blahblah that floats into our brains. we share life, we tell stories, we compare notes, we make suggestions, we google and sort and — yes, laugh.
the other day we took a walk in our neighborhood and met up with a couple friends walking the other way. after the initial hellos and whatchabeendoins, we took the fast track to a fascinating conversation about – drumroll, please – medicare. never would i have ever thought we would have stood on the sidewalk chit-chatting about medicare plans, but there we were – for a long time – the waves crashing on the shore next to us – comparing and contrasting information about supplemental plans and advantage plans. thrilling, eh?
it actually was. thrilling, that is.
because everyone needs to be surrounded by people who “get it”, who “get” where you are in life, “get” the tribulations, “get” the worries and the stuff you have to figure out, “get” the aches and pains and physical morphing that seems to be happening to us. together we can do this.
sometimes we get carried away. we think we are still – say – in our thirties – or maybe forties – eh, even our fifties – and we get in littlebabyscion and just driiiiive. without stopping. we love a good roadtrip!
this is no longer what it used to be.
it USED to be that we could drive looongdistance without getting out to stretch. it USED to be that we could drive looongdistance and sip on venti coffees to our heart’s content. it USED to be that we could drive looongdistance without finding restrooms. it USED to be that we’d drive looongdistance and snack our way across the country. it USED to be that we could blithely hop out of the vehicle at any point and skip around the rest area. it USED to be that we could drive late into the wee hours of the night and still be wide awake. it USED to be we could drive 17 or 19 hours in a day. it USED to be that we were intrepid.
this is no longer what it used to be.
now, we drive, still snacking our way across the country because some things never change. but after about two hours we stop. we locate a restroom. we slooowly peel ourselves off the seat of the car and unbend our bentbodies. we stretch, groaning. we ponder walking away from the car. maybe we get a lesssssliquid espresso. we study google maps. we calculate our next stop. we check on when the sun is setting. we take a deep breath. we drive again. and repeat. and we love it! even now.
it’s a true story. we’ve had plenty of heat index temperatures higher than normal. everywhere. even in wisconsin. so the other day, anticipating two full heat-dome days of feels-like temps of 110 plus, we looked at our little old a/c unit in the window and figured it was time to turn it on. ahead of time. to get a jump on the oppressive heat.
it’s an old unit – 20 years old, maybe older – and it was going to have a big job to do. the more recent air conditioners clearly are more efficient, energy-wise. they are maybe sleeker looking. perhaps they blend in better and are less noisy. they have different components than ours, different mechanisms.
our old amana window air conditioner is simply a workhorse. it cools. it is dedicated to cooling a room. it gets the job done. we have not devalued it because of the year it was built or the time it has spent as an air conditioner.
we stood in the dining room – by the window where the unit is installed – and proudly looked at our old air conditioner. in a fast and ever-changing world, it might seem beyond its time, beyond working well.
but it is dutifully unfaltering. its old-air-conditioner-wrinkles belie its steadfastness, its expertise at cooling. it has experience, history, tenure doing its work in the world. at this moment in time, to us, the people who wish it – need it – expect it – to do really good work, it is clearly invaluable.
it may not be a younger air conditioner, but – particularly on these 110 degree days – it is mighty relevant. i’m happy we are smart enough to recognize that.
and this, my dear friends, is the fable of two people in their 60s out in the heat-dome of the work world.
reverse threading 