You've got to have a plan. At least that's what I tell my friends who are approaching retirement. Without a plan - you're screwed. They don't get it...but they will.
The prospect of having endless days to do whatever you want sounds tantalizing when you're working. I "knew" that as soon as I could toss away the business suits, the high heels and the briefcase my life would improve greatly. I would sleep more (now there's a joke since I never sleep), cook exotic dishes (translation: anything that doesn't use hamburger), volunteer with meaningful organizations and, mess around endlessly with old stuff I would find at rummage sales. I would also go back to school and try something brand brand new.
I did go back to school - twice. I got licensed as an esthetician (a whole other topic) Got a master's that I never use. I volunteered at the Humane Society (worst volunteer experience ever), a Hospice (licked a lot of envelopes with invitations to fund raisers), and a food pantry (still there). I tried a handful of recipes that my family politely ate but quickly realized that if it didn't contain fat, sugar, or some other unhealthy ingredient they would never ask for it again. I still mess around with old furniture - but this is a summer activity. In Wisconsin summer blows through the state like a high speed train. A brief window of opportunity. That leaves Fall, Winter and Spring. Three quarters of the year. A lot of time to fill. And when you hit 65, you realize that time is no longer endless (it just feels that way).
Once a year we have dinner with friends who live in Illinois. We meet half way and catch up. The wife is also "retired". the husband, a lawyer, claims he will work until he drops dead at his desk. "So what are you doing?" I ask the wife. "Do you still volunteer at the school?" (She is a retired teacher) "Oh no," she explained, "We have five grandchildren now. They take up a lot of our time. And we also go to Florida for two months in the winter." (This, I later find out, costs them around $15,000 to $20,000 to pull off) Out came the iPhone with the pictures. Happy, healthy little girls. Grandma's retirement. I smiled and "ooohed and awwwwed"appropriately. I asked the right questions and listened to tale after tale of the kids' adventures, their cute comments, and their busy schedules. I just don't get this.
I have no grandchildren. In my small circle of close friends there is only one other "grandchildless" person. The rest of my friends have at least one. Most have more. This is strangely reminiscent of the time when I was struggling to get pregnant or find a child and everyone around me had at least one or two. Been here before. The prospect of grandchildren in my life is dim. I'm still struggling to get my adult child straightened out enough to have his own life. Grandchildren are not in that picture. My stepson lives in the Boonies of middle Illinois. Nothing happening there either. But all around me grandbabies are popping up like spring flowers - in someone else's garden. And though I am happy that the people I care about the most have these charming little distractions to bring them joy - I cannot see myself filling my retirement days with kids. Are grandchildren really a retirement plan?
Here are a few things I've learned about retiring. 1. Money helps. My friends who have been graced with the kind of jobs and investment savvy that allowed them to accumulate wealth are the happiest. These are the people who haven't lost money in divorces, thrown away money on tuition bills that never yielded degrees, paid for endless psychologists, lawyers, or court fees. I'm not making excuses. My life has been, to put it mildly, interesting. 2. The things you love to do on the weekends - those things you never have enough time for? They aren't enough unless you can turn them into something that becomes a fun retirement "job". These weekend things are like having a married lover. You can't spend that much time together and that makes the time you do have much much better. 3. Keep learning. School is great....but if you're looking to turn your new knowledge into a reinvention of yourself....think it through to the end. Do you love this new thing so much that you're willing to let it take over a large part of your life? Do you have the energy to struggle again? Or maybe you just like going to school (that was my realization). That's great. 4.Bliss is sometimes hard to find. How many times have you heard "Find your bliss". That's pressure. I'm still looking. In my case I've spent so many years taking care of other people I forgot to take care of me. I don't know what my bliss is. I feel pressured to find it and that sucks. 5. Your close friends are your lifeline. The older you get, the harder it is to make new friends. The good ones you have are worth more than a thousand new ones. Be there for each other. There is great bliss in friendships.
Thursday, April 25, 2013
Monday, April 22, 2013
Tree Trouble
My favorite tree is dying. According to the Tree Guy - it's dying because it is old, doesn't get enough sun and was planted too close to the house. (That tree has to be at least as old as I am.) I admire this tree. It is a regal looking pine that towers over my two- story house by at least 500 feet.. In the winter it catches snow on its layered branches, looks like a greeting card and shelters dozens of birds and squirrels. In the Spring it becomes a piney scented apartment building loaded with bird and insect nests. In the Fall it drops hundreds of pine cones and stands on a blanket of pine needles.
The tree started to die a few years ago. The low hanging branches that I used to duck under failed to produce needles - except at the very end of each branch. Self-appointed hairdresser to the tree, I would take my trusted saw and give it a trim. Branches would fall. Old vacated nests would drop to the ground. I would clean it all up and declare it "much better". My husband would grumble and haul the branches off to the dump while I tried to scrub pine sap from my hands. (Actually I smelled like a bottle of Pine Sol). This clean-up exercise went on for several summers. I was so sure I was ahead of what ever was affecting my tree that I never stopped to consider that I might be wasting my time.
Two years ago a pair of robins decided to build their nest in one of the remaining low hanging branches. This particular branch was about three feet from a window in my family room. All day, every day, for three weeks, Mr. Robin, fulfilling his mission to protect and defend, would dive bomb the window - trying desperately to kill his reflection. At times he was able to grasp onto the outside sill and tap tap tap at the window, screeching and flapping his wings in a wasted effort to get that "other bird" to go away. I put up newspaper. It didn't stop. I taped black plastic. It didn't stop him. I "soaped" the window using a bar of Dove - and that didn't stop him either. When the eggs hatched and the babies appeared he split his time between grocery shopping and enemy hunting. He must have done well at both because, in time, the babies flew away and the nest was abandoned. I cut down the branch.
Today the Tree Guy told us there is a hawk nest waaaaaaay near the top of the tree. He strongly suggested that we cut the tree down next week before the hawks settle in, lay eggs, and declare us the enemy. "That little dog of yours could disappear," he noted. "Tree's got go." I whined, "But I love that tree..."
""Yea," he said, "things get old and they die. Served it's purpose."
Thank goodness I have no idea what my purpose is....I can stick around for awhile longer even if my branches aren't quite what they used to be. I think.
.
The tree started to die a few years ago. The low hanging branches that I used to duck under failed to produce needles - except at the very end of each branch. Self-appointed hairdresser to the tree, I would take my trusted saw and give it a trim. Branches would fall. Old vacated nests would drop to the ground. I would clean it all up and declare it "much better". My husband would grumble and haul the branches off to the dump while I tried to scrub pine sap from my hands. (Actually I smelled like a bottle of Pine Sol). This clean-up exercise went on for several summers. I was so sure I was ahead of what ever was affecting my tree that I never stopped to consider that I might be wasting my time.
Two years ago a pair of robins decided to build their nest in one of the remaining low hanging branches. This particular branch was about three feet from a window in my family room. All day, every day, for three weeks, Mr. Robin, fulfilling his mission to protect and defend, would dive bomb the window - trying desperately to kill his reflection. At times he was able to grasp onto the outside sill and tap tap tap at the window, screeching and flapping his wings in a wasted effort to get that "other bird" to go away. I put up newspaper. It didn't stop. I taped black plastic. It didn't stop him. I "soaped" the window using a bar of Dove - and that didn't stop him either. When the eggs hatched and the babies appeared he split his time between grocery shopping and enemy hunting. He must have done well at both because, in time, the babies flew away and the nest was abandoned. I cut down the branch.
Today the Tree Guy told us there is a hawk nest waaaaaaay near the top of the tree. He strongly suggested that we cut the tree down next week before the hawks settle in, lay eggs, and declare us the enemy. "That little dog of yours could disappear," he noted. "Tree's got go." I whined, "But I love that tree..."
""Yea," he said, "things get old and they die. Served it's purpose."
Thank goodness I have no idea what my purpose is....I can stick around for awhile longer even if my branches aren't quite what they used to be. I think.
.
Thursday, April 11, 2013
In dog years
When we moved to our house seventeen years ago - just about everyone north, south and east of us had a dog. We had one - and quickly snapped up another. Butch and Jack. Less-than-perfect specimen Westies, but just right for us.
Among the immediate neighborhood dogs was Max the sweet faced standard poodle. Harley the happy Golden retriever. A big black lab whose name escapes me at the moment. And there was Rico. Rico was a Schnauzer. High strung. Vocal. Well groomed. And ornery. His owners walked him on a regular schedule four times a day while the rest of us relied on long leashes tethered to our porches. (Walks were reserved for "special times") He would begin barking the moment his paws hit the pavement and not stop until he returned home. It was annoying but tolerable. To us. The other dogs - they hated him. Little did I know that my sweet, well-behaved boys were planning to kill him.
Rico appeared to have a sixth sense about where he could go to piss off other dogs. He loved to lift his leg on our mailbox pole and he took his time doing it. He barked while he peed and always focused his beady eyes on our front door....where our guys were frantic, howling, growling maniacs. He brought out the worst in them. We all hated him. We called him The Yipper.
In his brief 8 years on earth, Butch managed to escape the house twice while Rico was on his neighborhood prowl. I did not know this side of Butch. Only Rico brought him out. He had teeth - big ugly vampirish fangs and a growl that could humble a wolf. Both times he wriggled loose from my husband, ran to the road and lunged at his long-time enemy. Once, he actually scored and brought blood. (Yea, we had to pay). And Rico?...both times he turned into a whiny sniveling girl, jumping into his owner's arms while she protected him from our vicious dog.
Rico's owners hated us. (They still do) When Butch died at the age of 8 from cancer, I'm sure they celebrated. JAck was more timid than Butch. He tried to kill Rico - but we restrained him. The daily bark-walks and pee-offs continued. Then we got Nathan and , just like Butch and Jack, Nathan hated Rico. The day Nathan escaped and attacked Rico we were visited by our friendly local law enforcement guys. They took one look at our little dachshund and asked, "Is this the vicious dog?" (Nathan was busy being cute and cuddly and lovin that officer up) "Yes Sir." "Well he don't look very vicious to me - I'll just give you a warning." Whew. It didn't quite end there either. Nathan (after some serious training) would run to the edge of the yard AS IF he were going to run into the road and attack Rico. Rico had developed an automatic response of jumping into his owner's arms and squealing. The owner had developed a nasty scowl. "Do I have to call the police again?" she asked one day. :"Be my guest," I responded,". he never left the yard. Can't get a ticket for pretending or barking or you'd already have one." So there. Very mature response.
When Jack died of cancer (yea, we don't have good luck with dogs) we got Rudy. Rudy hated Rico on sight. He also ran into the road one day to get him but just stood at the owners feet and barked instead. He's a coward. Our newest dog Stella doesn't like Rico - but she doesn't like any dog. It was when Stella came that I noticed something had changed. Rico still walked everyday. But he was quiet. My guys often don't notice when he trots by.
Rico has grown old. He is fifteen. His legs are spindly, his fur is sparse. Today I noticed he was unsteady on his feet. His owner had to coax him down the street.. He is very very skinny. As I sat in my car, waiting for them to pass my driveway, I felt like crying. I choked up. Rico is ancient in dog years. I don't hate him anymore. I respect him. I am growing older too and I get it. I nodded at his owner -who glared at me. (Oh well.) I am sad that Rico will soon be gone. He outlived every dog in the neighborhood including three of mine. I cannot believe I am saying this but I will miss him.
Who knew?.
Among the immediate neighborhood dogs was Max the sweet faced standard poodle. Harley the happy Golden retriever. A big black lab whose name escapes me at the moment. And there was Rico. Rico was a Schnauzer. High strung. Vocal. Well groomed. And ornery. His owners walked him on a regular schedule four times a day while the rest of us relied on long leashes tethered to our porches. (Walks were reserved for "special times") He would begin barking the moment his paws hit the pavement and not stop until he returned home. It was annoying but tolerable. To us. The other dogs - they hated him. Little did I know that my sweet, well-behaved boys were planning to kill him.
Rico appeared to have a sixth sense about where he could go to piss off other dogs. He loved to lift his leg on our mailbox pole and he took his time doing it. He barked while he peed and always focused his beady eyes on our front door....where our guys were frantic, howling, growling maniacs. He brought out the worst in them. We all hated him. We called him The Yipper.
In his brief 8 years on earth, Butch managed to escape the house twice while Rico was on his neighborhood prowl. I did not know this side of Butch. Only Rico brought him out. He had teeth - big ugly vampirish fangs and a growl that could humble a wolf. Both times he wriggled loose from my husband, ran to the road and lunged at his long-time enemy. Once, he actually scored and brought blood. (Yea, we had to pay). And Rico?...both times he turned into a whiny sniveling girl, jumping into his owner's arms while she protected him from our vicious dog.
Rico's owners hated us. (They still do) When Butch died at the age of 8 from cancer, I'm sure they celebrated. JAck was more timid than Butch. He tried to kill Rico - but we restrained him. The daily bark-walks and pee-offs continued. Then we got Nathan and , just like Butch and Jack, Nathan hated Rico. The day Nathan escaped and attacked Rico we were visited by our friendly local law enforcement guys. They took one look at our little dachshund and asked, "Is this the vicious dog?" (Nathan was busy being cute and cuddly and lovin that officer up) "Yes Sir." "Well he don't look very vicious to me - I'll just give you a warning." Whew. It didn't quite end there either. Nathan (after some serious training) would run to the edge of the yard AS IF he were going to run into the road and attack Rico. Rico had developed an automatic response of jumping into his owner's arms and squealing. The owner had developed a nasty scowl. "Do I have to call the police again?" she asked one day. :"Be my guest," I responded,". he never left the yard. Can't get a ticket for pretending or barking or you'd already have one." So there. Very mature response.
When Jack died of cancer (yea, we don't have good luck with dogs) we got Rudy. Rudy hated Rico on sight. He also ran into the road one day to get him but just stood at the owners feet and barked instead. He's a coward. Our newest dog Stella doesn't like Rico - but she doesn't like any dog. It was when Stella came that I noticed something had changed. Rico still walked everyday. But he was quiet. My guys often don't notice when he trots by.
Rico has grown old. He is fifteen. His legs are spindly, his fur is sparse. Today I noticed he was unsteady on his feet. His owner had to coax him down the street.. He is very very skinny. As I sat in my car, waiting for them to pass my driveway, I felt like crying. I choked up. Rico is ancient in dog years. I don't hate him anymore. I respect him. I am growing older too and I get it. I nodded at his owner -who glared at me. (Oh well.) I am sad that Rico will soon be gone. He outlived every dog in the neighborhood including three of mine. I cannot believe I am saying this but I will miss him.
Who knew?.
Wednesday, April 10, 2013
So tell me a little about yourself
Someone actually asked me this a few weeks ago. She must have read that old book that Barbara Walters wrote in the 70's - How to Talk to Anyone About Anything". Barbara's advice always leaned towards asking the other person questions about him/herself. It's good advice. But, let's be honest, you really don't care what the person says most of the time....and you don't need to read the book.
Anyway - she had asked several people and I'd heard the usual ten minute excuses for lives dully lived. I'd never met this woman before and the likelihood of ever seeing her again was slim. So I answered with my oft imagined and as-of-yet -never -spoken' fantasy answer
Here goes:
Well, I'm a 65 year old woman who was born in San Francisco to a woman who was way ahead of her time and never bothered to marry my Dad so she could get away from him as soon as she'd had a baby. I lived with them in New York and supported them by modeling till I collapsed from exhaustion at five and was sent to live with my grandparents till my mom could ditch him and find someone else - whom she would marry this time. After finding a likely candidate my mother wrestled me from my grandparents and dragged me back to New York/New Jersey where I lived a sort of normal life on the surface and took every advantage of being in and around New York City.. What I didn't know was my step dad was in trouble with the mafia and they wanted to kill us. Not knowing this I went away to college at 17 while my parents were planning to flee the state with minimal help from the Department of Justice. For four years I didn't know where they were or if they were alive. They rarely contacted me. I had to find a way to get thru school on my own. I was lucky. I had guardian angels.
I've been really really in love twice and I have been married three times. I did not marry the "Really really" guys. I've slept with over 60 men - (some while married to number 1 and number 2) I have not regretted one single time. I have many funny sex stories to share with people who need a laugh. I don't sleep around now...too tired.
My mother always told me to never have children cause "they'll ruin your life"...so I didn't want any. I got pregnant at 30 but aborted it cause the baby daddy didn't know what to say to his wife....When I decided I did want a child I was 36 and my husband was sterile. We adopted. My mother was right.
I've had great marketing and government careers that I fell into. I have no real skills. People like me and they hire me. Let me clarify - men like me. Women won't hire me. Even now when I'm so much older and my hair is grey. Women don't like me. I can live with that. I tried to reinvent myself by going back to school to become a counselor. I finished the master's and hated the work. It's been downhill ever since. Sometimes I work for a friend...I'm still figuring out what to do with the next 15 years.
Silence.
I don't think she'll ask that question again.
Anyway - she had asked several people and I'd heard the usual ten minute excuses for lives dully lived. I'd never met this woman before and the likelihood of ever seeing her again was slim. So I answered with my oft imagined and as-of-yet -never -spoken' fantasy answer
Here goes:
Well, I'm a 65 year old woman who was born in San Francisco to a woman who was way ahead of her time and never bothered to marry my Dad so she could get away from him as soon as she'd had a baby. I lived with them in New York and supported them by modeling till I collapsed from exhaustion at five and was sent to live with my grandparents till my mom could ditch him and find someone else - whom she would marry this time. After finding a likely candidate my mother wrestled me from my grandparents and dragged me back to New York/New Jersey where I lived a sort of normal life on the surface and took every advantage of being in and around New York City.. What I didn't know was my step dad was in trouble with the mafia and they wanted to kill us. Not knowing this I went away to college at 17 while my parents were planning to flee the state with minimal help from the Department of Justice. For four years I didn't know where they were or if they were alive. They rarely contacted me. I had to find a way to get thru school on my own. I was lucky. I had guardian angels.
I've been really really in love twice and I have been married three times. I did not marry the "Really really" guys. I've slept with over 60 men - (some while married to number 1 and number 2) I have not regretted one single time. I have many funny sex stories to share with people who need a laugh. I don't sleep around now...too tired.
My mother always told me to never have children cause "they'll ruin your life"...so I didn't want any. I got pregnant at 30 but aborted it cause the baby daddy didn't know what to say to his wife....When I decided I did want a child I was 36 and my husband was sterile. We adopted. My mother was right.
I've had great marketing and government careers that I fell into. I have no real skills. People like me and they hire me. Let me clarify - men like me. Women won't hire me. Even now when I'm so much older and my hair is grey. Women don't like me. I can live with that. I tried to reinvent myself by going back to school to become a counselor. I finished the master's and hated the work. It's been downhill ever since. Sometimes I work for a friend...I'm still figuring out what to do with the next 15 years.
Silence.
I don't think she'll ask that question again.
Legion Hall addendum
I keep promising that I will stop talking about my hair. But this is brief and it's been two weeks and I'm still ticked.
So - there I was at election headquarters. Stunned by what was happening. I looked up to see one of my husband's poker buddies enter with his wife. I have a twisted history with this woman and the rest of the poker wives. They decided not to like me before they met me. This would have been understandable if I had helped to break up Bob's marriage...but I hadn't. His wife left him for someone else. I guess they just didn't like my face. I am certain that neither the wives nor I suffered much of a loss.
Because I have trained myself to rise above bs, I worked my way across the room. I tapped Mrs. Wifey on the shoulder and said "HI. " She turned, her eyes flew open. She pulled her neck and head back and distorted her face so it looked like she was walking into a wind machine. Silent for just a moment she responded, "Oooooh. Diane warned me about your hair!" That was it.
Bitch
So - there I was at election headquarters. Stunned by what was happening. I looked up to see one of my husband's poker buddies enter with his wife. I have a twisted history with this woman and the rest of the poker wives. They decided not to like me before they met me. This would have been understandable if I had helped to break up Bob's marriage...but I hadn't. His wife left him for someone else. I guess they just didn't like my face. I am certain that neither the wives nor I suffered much of a loss.
Because I have trained myself to rise above bs, I worked my way across the room. I tapped Mrs. Wifey on the shoulder and said "HI. " She turned, her eyes flew open. She pulled her neck and head back and distorted her face so it looked like she was walking into a wind machine. Silent for just a moment she responded, "Oooooh. Diane warned me about your hair!" That was it.
Bitch
Wednesday, April 3, 2013
Pissed at the Legion Hall
My nightmare. I am inside an American Legion Hall in a room full of angry old white men and their dried- apple-faced wives. I have just shaken hands with two judges who - at one time or another-have sent my son to jail. They are flanked by two assistant district attorneys who have - at one time or another- helped send my son to jail. (My son, of course, has also helped send himself to jail) I am in a room full of Republicans on primary election eve. I am a Democrat. And I need a drink.
This is not a nightmare...it is actually happening.
I'll start at the end. My candidate lost. A victim of his party's guiding principle of revenge and punish. My candidate is a friend (his wife, bless her heart, is a Liberal) and he has just lost a judgeship (is that a word?) that he has had for 19 years. Was he a bad judge? Nope - even his opponent said he had no criticism in that corner. Heck - this guy was voted Judge of the Year two years ago, What then was his sin? He signed a petition a year ago to recall our Governor. The party wanted to punish him and said so. I guess they got their wish.They outspent him 4:1. They produced vile campaign literature. They enlisted the help of our equivalent of Rush Limbaugh. Roadsides were plastered with his opponent's signs. Robo calls filled the days and nights, All for revenge, And it worked. That sure says a lot about Republican values.
The winner has minimal courtroom experience.He was barely able to function at a recent debate and didn't even know the difference between "pro bono" and "pro se". Even I know that. He says he's "seen a lot of judges" so he knows how it's done. I watch Dancing With the Stars - so I guess I must know how to dance.
Absent a White Rabbit to remind me of the time or a pill to make me smaller, I do what any self-respecting Liberal would do in a room full of Conservatives - I drink. I suck at drinking. Basically non-functional after two glasses of wine - I tell my husband (a conservative by the way) to get me another. This request has irony since he is usually the one who is drunk. I warn him to stay sober so we can get home. The only thing clear to me after that is I said the "F" word a lot. I told my husband's poker buddies and their snarky wives that :I hate Republicans -" you're all stupid and mean!" (I'm good with words).
The soon-to-be ex-judge has been officially shunned - just like Chris Christie. It looks like you have to sing the company song in Wisconsin or (as Heidi Klum says) "One day you're in - and the next day you're out").
This is not a nightmare...it is actually happening.
I'll start at the end. My candidate lost. A victim of his party's guiding principle of revenge and punish. My candidate is a friend (his wife, bless her heart, is a Liberal) and he has just lost a judgeship (is that a word?) that he has had for 19 years. Was he a bad judge? Nope - even his opponent said he had no criticism in that corner. Heck - this guy was voted Judge of the Year two years ago, What then was his sin? He signed a petition a year ago to recall our Governor. The party wanted to punish him and said so. I guess they got their wish.They outspent him 4:1. They produced vile campaign literature. They enlisted the help of our equivalent of Rush Limbaugh. Roadsides were plastered with his opponent's signs. Robo calls filled the days and nights, All for revenge, And it worked. That sure says a lot about Republican values.
The winner has minimal courtroom experience.He was barely able to function at a recent debate and didn't even know the difference between "pro bono" and "pro se". Even I know that. He says he's "seen a lot of judges" so he knows how it's done. I watch Dancing With the Stars - so I guess I must know how to dance.
Absent a White Rabbit to remind me of the time or a pill to make me smaller, I do what any self-respecting Liberal would do in a room full of Conservatives - I drink. I suck at drinking. Basically non-functional after two glasses of wine - I tell my husband (a conservative by the way) to get me another. This request has irony since he is usually the one who is drunk. I warn him to stay sober so we can get home. The only thing clear to me after that is I said the "F" word a lot. I told my husband's poker buddies and their snarky wives that :I hate Republicans -" you're all stupid and mean!" (I'm good with words).
The soon-to-be ex-judge has been officially shunned - just like Chris Christie. It looks like you have to sing the company song in Wisconsin or (as Heidi Klum says) "One day you're in - and the next day you're out").
Tuesday, March 19, 2013
Hallelujah...
Once every thirty-eight years poet/writer/singer Leonard Cohen comes to my city. He says he doesn't want to make a "pest" of himself. It's pretty safe to say I just saw him for the last time. He's in his mid to late 70's and if you add 38 more years before the next concert, we're both dead.
I was born and raised on the east coast. Living in close proximity to Manhattan gave me incredible access to
t he arts. I discovered Leonard quite a while ago and then caught him again in the late 60's at the Newport Jazz festival. I never forgot him. I buy his music.And I no longer wonder if he's dead each time he retreats to a monastery. Don't all Jewish men do that?
I must have harbored a low opinion of my fellow Milwaukeans prior to this concert. I was concerned that not enough people would buy tickets (like this was my problem?) But the place was packed. The age range spanned older teens to frail elderly. (Am I still an east coast snob? I found myself wondering) I did a lot of crowd-watching - being especially drawn to women with grey, white or silver hair. Why? Because I hate my grey/silver/black hair and I wanted to see how other women pulled it off.
AS one might expect at a Cohen gathering, there were the requisite long haired-hippie/beatnik types. They looked old and washed out (which is how I feel even though I get a $55 haircut from a really cool stylist every 10 weeks). They wore long granny skirts and - if it hadn't been snowy outside - would probably have sported Birkenstocks. But a lot of the women were simply lovely. How do they do that? They seemed comfortable with their aged locks...dressed well...and obviously were making a statement about being comfortable with this aging thing. I need to figure out how to be like them and yet still be me.
"She probably puts a toner in her hair," I remarked to my husband (who is quite tired on my whining about my hair). ":If I could use a toner maybe my hair would be nice like that." He said nothing. He gave up a long time ago. I kept it up until they flashed the lights to return to our seats..
I am inconsolable about this hair thing. At least I HAVE hair.
I am impossible. Really. Time to get over it.
Do you think that monastery would let me in for awhile??? I need to meditate and contemplate my bad attitude.
or buy a wig.
.
I was born and raised on the east coast. Living in close proximity to Manhattan gave me incredible access to
t he arts. I discovered Leonard quite a while ago and then caught him again in the late 60's at the Newport Jazz festival. I never forgot him. I buy his music.And I no longer wonder if he's dead each time he retreats to a monastery. Don't all Jewish men do that?
I must have harbored a low opinion of my fellow Milwaukeans prior to this concert. I was concerned that not enough people would buy tickets (like this was my problem?) But the place was packed. The age range spanned older teens to frail elderly. (Am I still an east coast snob? I found myself wondering) I did a lot of crowd-watching - being especially drawn to women with grey, white or silver hair. Why? Because I hate my grey/silver/black hair and I wanted to see how other women pulled it off.
AS one might expect at a Cohen gathering, there were the requisite long haired-hippie/beatnik types. They looked old and washed out (which is how I feel even though I get a $55 haircut from a really cool stylist every 10 weeks). They wore long granny skirts and - if it hadn't been snowy outside - would probably have sported Birkenstocks. But a lot of the women were simply lovely. How do they do that? They seemed comfortable with their aged locks...dressed well...and obviously were making a statement about being comfortable with this aging thing. I need to figure out how to be like them and yet still be me.
"She probably puts a toner in her hair," I remarked to my husband (who is quite tired on my whining about my hair). ":If I could use a toner maybe my hair would be nice like that." He said nothing. He gave up a long time ago. I kept it up until they flashed the lights to return to our seats..
I am inconsolable about this hair thing. At least I HAVE hair.
I am impossible. Really. Time to get over it.
Do you think that monastery would let me in for awhile??? I need to meditate and contemplate my bad attitude.
or buy a wig.
.
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