Geographically, Size Matters

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I think folks forget (or never realized) that just about all of Europe will fit within the boundaries of mainland U.S.  While there is population diversity in European countries,  it is nowhere near the complexities with which we struggle in America because of our size and because we are mostly a nation of immigrants.

For example, Poland is about the size of New Mexico. France is somewhat smaller than Texas. Germany is a little smaller than Montana.  Both Portugal and Austria are about the size of Maine.

I wonder how many folks realize that, while Russia is larger than the US in land mass, its population is about half of what we have here in America.  Smaller, less diverse, and/or less-populated countries (theoretically) are easier to govern. In terms of politics,  geographical size matters.  We used to call America a “melting pot”, but it is more like a “vegetable soup”. PBS needs to bring back it’s children’s program Vegetable Soup.

The purpose of the program was to be a television series for children to help counter the negative, destructive effects of racial prejudice and racial isolation and to reinforce and dramatize the positive, life-enhancing value of human diversity in entertaining and affective presentations that children could understand and relate to. Vegetable Soup used an interdisciplinary approach to entertain and educate elementary age children in the value of human diversity.

The show combined music, animation, puppetry and live action film, on the subject of economic, racial and ethnic diversity

Back to  size, there is even less awareness, I’ll bet, of the size of Israel.  It is about the size of Vermont.  And Gaza is about the size of Philadelphia.

I recently posted my own solution to the Israeli war, and oddly enough, Kamala Harris’ comes close.  I urge her to take it further.

Leaping into Elderhood

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The only podcast to which I listen is “Wait, Wait, Don’t Tell Me” on NPR.  It makes me laugh, and I always learn some little known, but intriguing facts.

For example, I just learned that a recent study shows that we do not age slowly; rather we age in leaps.  The first leap is at age 44; the second at 60.  They need to add one more leap and that’s at 80.

When I reached 80, my knees went and I had to have one replaced.  The other is still iffy.  Then my hips and back started aching and now I have an appointment at the pain management office because my lumbar spine is in constant pain. Of course, the “where the hell did I put my phone” syndrome is right on target as well.

Theoretically, the next leap would be at 100.  If I last that long, it will be very short leap to “can someone please adjust my pillows?” and “Please up the morphine.”

 

 

 

 

How my garden doesn’t grow.

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When I moved here, one of the first things I started to do was to plant tomatoes and flowers.  That got me through COVID.  Then my knees started going and I wound up getting my right knee replaced last year.  Now it’s my back that is bothering me, and this past summer was too humid to be outside gardening anyway.  So, this is what I’m left with — a shelf by a  window.

I have always had house plants, and I just repotted the ones that were getting out of control.  The vines on the left are the offspring of a plant I got some 40 years ago from very good friends with whom I am still in touch.  The orchid was a spontaneous gift from my daughter a few weeks ago.

While not really an altar as such, I did add my two favorite icons/archetypes:  St. Anthony and Hecate.  St.  Anthony belonged to my mother, and it is one of the few things of hers I rescued.  Hecate is made of wool fibers by an artist I found on Etsy.  She is wearing a Hecate necklace that I made but have no where to wear.

I guess I look at these archetypes as representing my animas and anima, although this male represents sweetness and caring and light, while the female is powerful in her darkness.

My space is too small for any more plants, but I’m happy with the ones I have, and they seem happy with me.

A suggestion for a solution

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Over on her WOW blog, Pat Taub posts a strong piece about “When Genocide Becomes Normalized.”  She asks for comments.  The following was my comment:

I don’t think think that most people realize that Israel is about the size of Massachusetts and Palestine is about the size of Philadelphia. So, here’s my solution if we in America really want to stop the carnage. Israel is a sovereign nation ruled by its elected government, so if it is conducting genocide, which it is, it should be left to it’s own resources to do any fighting it continues to do. We should not be sending the Israely government military aid of any kind — soldiers or weaponry. To appease the supporters of Israel, we say that we are not stopping their government, but neither are we helping them. This is their choice to wage their war the way their leader decided. There is a big disconnect between the Israely government and the Israely people. We support all Israely people.

 Instead, what we should do is send our best troops into Gaza to route out Hamas, with instructions to ensure that their tactics protect civilians at all costs and help them escape from the war zone. That’s where our financial support should go. And we should also work with — and provide resources to — all countries along Gaza’s borders to help them build livable camps for the refugees and provide them with food and water. No money to Israel. Our support should go to root out Hamas and, finally, help the Palestinians take back their own country from Israel.
 
Now, as far as Kamala is concerned. Before she can do anything positive, she has to get elected. That’s politics, and politics requires compromise. I don’t like her sending resources to Israel and I don’t like her approving the continuation of fracking. What she does with those issues after she is elected remains to be seen. In the meanwhile, she has my vote, for sure.

Life’s Third Act

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Jane Fonda, who is exactly my age, has given any number of talks about life’s “third act”, which, as in theatre, is the last act of a production.  Billionaires like Fonda have the financial resources to live in a comfortable environment, meet their health requirements, and hire whomever they want to take care of whatever other physical needs they have.  But most of today’s elders are trying to figure out how to play out their last acts in more than just survival mode.

Even Fonda is confronting the problem of feeling isolated and extraneous as the major activities that gave her previous two acts meaning, purpose, and community slowly disappear.  Still in relatively good health, Fonda has taken to being an activist for various issues that are important to her as a way of continuing to feel useful and connected.  Good for her.

But what about the rest of those middle class retired seniors who struggle with feeling isolated and purposeless because of health issues, lack of financial resources, and inadequate living conditions.

Under these circumstances, what are their choices for how they perform in this last act of their lives?  How we elders live depends and awful lot on where we live, and our choices are limited.

I am fortunate that I live in my own rooms in my daughter’s house.  We are three generations in this house:  my daughter and son-in-law, my grandson, and me.  I contribute financially each month to offset the my share of the costs of utilities, phone, cable and streaming television, and food etc. I’m responsible for my breakfast and lunch food, and my daughter cooks dinners for all of us.  Luckily for me, my daughter is a born caregiver and my son-in-law is an easy-going guy.  He even does the dishes.  I am one of the fortunate ones.

A recent post on theseniorlog.com links to an article on the growing trend of intergenerational living. At its best, intergenerational living

brings together people of all ages in an environment that encourages interaction, socialization and activities that are beneficial for all.

But many families, for various reasons, can’t pull this off.  As reported in the Jesuit Review

Many of us in the current generation of senior citizens also must cope with our family members’ living far away. According to a study from 2019, about one-quarter of Americans live more than 30 miles from their nearest parent or adult child, but that share is higher for college-educated individuals, who often move away from their hometowns to pursue their careers. Migration has always existed to some extent, but until recently, when families migrated, they often included adult children, grandparents, cousins, nieces or nephews. The current ease of transportation and communications has actually resulted in limited, non-physical connections for a significant portion of society.

It has also destroyed much of family life. Family elders may end up removed from close contact or routine communication with younger members of their clan.

So, what are the other housing options for playing out your last act? You can either “age in place” or pay enormous fees to live in an assisted living facility — both of which come with their own major problems.

Assisted living monthly fees run from $3000 a month to over $10,000 a month, depending on the level of services you will get.  One place I found online — an innovative and progressive living situation for elders that offers individual cottages and apartments in a community-based setting — does not even bother providing information about cost on their website.

Aging in place is also not as good an answer as you might think, either.  According to a an article on Housewire ,

Aging in place is seen as a leading “social barrier“ to healthy aging in America in 2024, according to a new survey conducted by Alignment Health. The survey was first reported by McKnights Senior Living.

“As more seniors choose to live independently and longer in their own homes, aging in place brings its own set of challenges: nearly seven out of 10 consider aging in place a top social barrier to their health and well-being,” the organization said of its survey findings.

I don’t know if the new administration is prepared to tackle the issues that are preventing most elders from having a successful Last Act.  Maybe we all need to band together somehow (like the supporters of reproductive rights) and organize some sort of protest. How about our rights to live before we die? I wonder if Jane Fonda might be interested in taking the lead.

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My son Bix tells me that blogs are back.  This blog never really went away; I just did.

The odd combination depression and the peculiarities of my personality negated any effort at creativity.  I just wanted to sleep; nothing caught my fancy.  But ending my brief (1 1/2 years) relationship and getting on more effective meds did the trick.  (I think that he ultimately hoped for companionship, while I hoped only for a final romantic adventure.  We were both disappointed).

But now blogging is back, my son says.  And because mine has never gone away, many of  my posts still get read when somebody googles a topic about which I posted.  For example, my son recently posted this:

Tfw you’re googling for what was in the Greedy Bastard at Mad Dog in the Fog and on the first page of results is a blog post by my mom referencing one of my own where I talk about heading down to an antiwar protest that I have no memory of attending.

That referenced post of mine was from October 2002.  Yup.  Once something can be caught by google, it’s there for eternity. It’s one way of getting a feeling of leaving some kind of legacy, I guess.

It’s almost October, and if I look back in this blog, I find that October is when I come to life creatively.  I am looking back on my life in general quite a bit these days — finally recognizing the times that I was my own worst enemy.

There is much to write about these days.  I wish it were 20 years ago and I could be back with those folks in the old blogging community and get into those ongoing conversations we would have about life, the universe, and everything.

But that’s OK.  I’ll just continue here anyway, because when I talk to myself, I tell the truth.

 

Wiser Than Me

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Julia Louis Dreyfus is doing a podcast called “Wiser Than Me”, interviewing elder women about their lives and their attitudes toward aging.

After unclenching my teeth over the grammatical error in the title (the correct wording is “wiser than I”), I tuned in to the first two sessions with Jane Fonda and Isabel Allende.  The secret to having a successful “old age”, according to those octogenarians, has to do with good health and enough money.  Duh. Aren’t those things at the basis of every comfortable life, no matter what your age?

What has enabled these two women to truly enjoy this final chapter of their lives is their passion for what they love to do.  For Fonda, it’s activism and acting;  for Allende it’s writing and her recent remarriage.

Fonda has opted to live alone, deciding that she would rather not have to be nude in front of anyone at this point in her life.  She has let her hair go gray and wishes that she had not opted to go the plastic surgery route. Her friendship with women is most important to her at this stage of her life, as is her activism on behalf of saving the planet from fossil fuels and other pollutants.

Allende, on the other hand, is still comfortable with her sexuality (she remarried three years ago) and spends most of her time writing, which is her passion and purpose.  She says that she writes because she has to and loves the process.

Both consider themselves feminists and live their creative lives with that as an underlying philosophy.

Listening to these two women talk about their lives, past and current, I envy their passion and purpose.  Somewhere during the pandemic, I lost touch with mine, and I’m still floundering around, trying to recreate myself.  Maybe I can get inspired by continuing to listen to these podcasting women, who are so much wiser than I am.

 

I Miss Having a Tribe

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There is no specific definition for a tribe because each tribe is unique in some way. They generally may be a group of related individuals, but one tribe may have a different purpose or different practices than another.

As a child, my tribe was my extended Polish family. In high school, my tribe was my group of close friends. In college, my tribe was my sorority. In the job I held for more than 20 years, my tribe was comprised of the women in my office. Also, as an adult, I was a part of two socially active tribes: a group of five women kindred spirits, and a larger ballroom dance community.  In each case, creativity was valued and nurtured.

According to Psychology Today, joining a group and finding our “tribe” can improve our happiness and emotional resilience.

1. Belonging to a group and feeling identified with those in that group is an important aspect of our identity and sense of self. In fact, having a strong sense of group identity can actually help buffer us when we feel wronged or attacked…..

2. Our group identity often gives us a sense of common purpose around the pursuit of common goals…..

3. We are not only more likely to get support from people within our “tribe,” but we are likely to experience their support as more valuable and more meaningful. This happens because we believe fellow “tribe members” are more likely to truly “get” how we feel so their support and validation resonates on a deeper level than support offered by those who are not members of our “tribe.”

For various reasons, I have been unable to find my tribe, mostly because: I am not a morning person, I don’t drive at night, I do not subscribe to any specific political party, I am limited physically by the effects of arthritis, and I moved to a town that has limited creative opportunities.

What I really miss is being in the company of women who are kindred spirits.

For a time pre-Covid, when I organized an afternoon writing group of elders, I was able to generate a sense of community for myself. After six years, the pandemic and other circumstances brought an end to that tribe. I do not have the energy to try to start another writing group.

I have tried some activities at the senior center that were not scheduled for the early morning, but I just didn’t “click” with the offerings or the people. I could not get over the feeling of being an outsider.

I fear that it’s just too late in my life to find the wherewithall to create another tribe, and I can’t seem to find an existing one that matches my values, interests, and needs.

Mostly, I really miss being part of a group of female kindred spirits.

 

My Pitch for a Movie: a true story

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A Love Story for the Aged (and the ages): two divorced and discouraged octogenarians find each other through an unusual internet glitsch. A true story.

Free-spirited and agnostic, she had been divorced and actively single since her forties. A buddhist and divorced four times, he is just getting over a bankruptcy. He occupies a room in the home of his daughter, who is a naturalist specializing in wild edibles; she has two rooms in the home of her family (daughter, son-in-law, grandson, two cats, and golden retriever).

Each had subscribed to internet dating sites, she out of curiosity and boredom, he in search of a Pisces soul mate, no farther away than 25 miles. Each had given up and canceled their subscriptions.

Then, one day she gets an email from Match.com saying that they have found a match for her in the next town. When she clicks on the link, unbeknownst to her, it takes her to some other website profile. Still thinking he is a neighbor, she is intrigued by how he describes himself. And he says he plays the djembe, which she does as well. So, she sends him a Match.com response, citing things they have in common and telling him a little about herself.

The next day, she receives an email from him sent to her personal email address (something Match.com doesn’t provide). Intrigued by her response and wanting to confirm that she was an actual person and was really born in March, he used his search skills to track her down.

A few emails later, they discover that they are both Pisces, born 32 hours and 150 miles apart, she one day before him. Now they live a driveable 50 miles apart. Their likes and dislikes mirror their Pisces designation, so five days and 120 emails back and forth (escalating to bordering on lasciviousness), they decide to meet in person at a state park near where he lives. Delighted with their mutual honesty, he saves all of their emails.

How two elders, who live with their families an hour’s ride apart, and who no longer drive at night, manage to escalate their relationship into a committed one is a story for the aged (and the ages), with afternoon meetings at a mall, intimate conversations on the front seat of his old Subaru Forester, and, finally, navigating cheap motels and experimenting with her medical marijuana.

It is a story full of humor and heart as these two elders create ways to overcome the obstacles of circumstance and physical limitation to embark on the last intimate and romantic adventure of their lives.

Copyright 2003

all rights reserved

Elaine Frankonis

 

Like Lazarus

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Like Lazarus, this personal blog periodically comes back to life. This time in the midst of major world crises — war and death, planetary destruction, political insanity.

I am feeling lost in the middle of all of this — tired, unconnected, useless.  The tiredness is overwhelming.  Nothing inspires me.  So I sit down to write to try to tap into that place deep within me where there must still be signs of life.  It takes an effort just to do that much.

I  continue to struggle with the inability to fall asleep.  A combination of Abilify and Melatonin seems to have begun working.  Time will tell.  The Abilify was prescribed (added to my depressive meds) because last year I was diagnosed with Bipolar 2, which means, while I don’t get manic, I do have periods of significant mood swings that affect my life.

But I am still tired during the day, and nothing seems to pique my interest — no crafts, no projects…  I only occasionally leave the house.  It doesn’t help that the magnificent maple tree outside my window is intently shedding dry brown leaves instead of turning its usual Autumn color palette. The brittle leaves are piling up in inches-thick mounds.

Notice that none of my neighbors have leaves in their yards.  It must annoy them to have the breezes send some of ours onto their well-manicured lawns.  My son-in-law usually mows the fallen leaves into mulch as the season progresses, but this pile-up is overwhelming.  When he has time, he will figure out what to do with them.

I have plenty of time, but I can’t seem to figure out what I want to do.  I check the calendar my senior center and circle programs to consider.  But all I do is consider.

The one thing that keeps me going is my relationship with the man to whom Match.com accidentally sent me, even though I canceled my subscription years ago.  The same age as I am, and a fellow Pisces, he amazes me with his perseverance and positive attitude. We both struggle with health issues (I had my right knee replaced last June), and we live an hour’s drive apart. So getting together can be a challenge, but we manage.  And having lunch every other Friday with him and his sister is also an incentive.

I saw something on the senior center page that I am considering.  They are looking for town residents to help “build an age-friendly community….help shape the future of an Age and Dementia Friendly East Longmeadow”.  Well, I sure know about age and dementia, and I sure would like to become part of some community.

Meanwhile, the poor Palistinian people are being annihilated.  Where is there justice in all of this? Gaza is about the size of Philadelphia; Israel in a little smaller than Massachusetts, but has a strong military.  Although Israel is fighting Hamas, it is killing  ordinary Palistinians who  have nothing to do with Hamas. Looks like David and Goliath, and Goliath is going to win. Why isn’t neighboring Egypt offering to take Palistinian refugees, who are caught in a cage with no way out?  Gaza and the innocent people in it are fodder. And America is backing Goliath.  At least, why aren’t we working with Egypt to rescue the women and children of Gaza?