Category Archives: aging

in the middle of it all

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In the middle of it all, my GPS gets stolen out of my car last night, my doctor has no record of my appointment when I get there today, and a lens falls out of my glasses tonight.

In the middle of it all, I’m planning to drive 5 hours to go to my cousin’s daughter’s wedding this weekend.

In the middle of it all, my cheap new small cpu arrives and is working like a charm.

In the middle of it all, my doctor takes me anyway, and I find out that my spinal X-ray showed something I can’t pronounce but has something to do with bone growth connecting my vertebrae, limiting my range of motion. The next step is an MRI. My blood test shows that I have less than half of the minimum necessary amount of Vitamin D.

In the middle of it all, I fill five prescriptions.

In the middle of it all, my grandson reads me his printing practice sheets, gives me a memory test (which I fail), invites me to play with his miniature veterinary clinic pieces, and runs over to say goodnight (as he does every night).

In the middle of it all, I have no idea how my mother is.

In the middle of it all, I blog.

Life goes.

the funk and flash of elder style

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A comment on my previous post led me to this site featuring stunningly attired elders.

Appropriately entitled “Advanced Style,” this site is constantly adding photographs that illustrate just how creative, funky, and individual elders can be in the way they dress. I can’t help notice that many of the photos are of people who live in New York City, where style is queen.

As a tease to get you over there to look around, here’s a look at three of my favorites.

The site welcomes photo submissions of elders in full regalia — or even just elders with remarkable style. Send to Advancedstyleinfo at gmail dot com.

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At some point back in the early 70s I had a book called Native Funk and Flash. I wish I had held onto it, because here on Amazon, a collector’s copy is worth $100.

I copied several of the designs in the book into embroidered embellishments on clothing. I put one design on the bottom side of a denim skirt that I made. It was called “four faithful fish feeding on the bread of life,” with a circular braided bread image in the middle and four fish facing the bread, each positioned in one of the four directions.

My most elaborate project reproduced the rising phoenix (pictured on the butt of the woman on the front cover, above) to cover the whole back of one of my husband’s muslin shirts. I embroidered it all with various colors of metallic thread.

I still have that shirt in a storage bin in the cellar. I’m going to dig it out and post a photo of it because that glowing phoenix is one of the most beautiful things I have ever created.

Ah those 60s! Even though we were married and parents, we still had a lot of funk and flash.

(For images from the book: Native Funk and Flash, link over to Knitting Iris.

and now for something completely frivolous

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Everyone seems to be talking and blogging and reporting on the most recent Wall Street scandal — the AIG multi-million dollar bonuses. No doubt about it, we all have plenty of reason to be majorly upset. Our country is riddled with thieves, and try as he might, who knows if even the president can stop them.

But enough about that.

I am looking in the mirror and wondering if I should be wearing what I’m wearing — which is just about what I wear every day, home or away: jeans, layered t-shirts, sneakers. I’m wondering what is considered “age-appropriate” dressing for someone almost 70. While this issue is of absolutely no importance in the “Big Picture,” it is one that seems to periodically rise into my “little picture” consciousness.

Even though I asked my daughter to take notice and tell me if she thinks that I’m dressing too young for my age, she hasn’t yet done so. But I’m still wondering.

The problem is that I have always loved clothes, used them more as costumes, depending on where I was going to wear them. I had my ballroom dance clothes (nothing too fancy; mostly swirly skirts and dressy but comfy and washable tops), my fashionable work clothes, and my funky other items like embellished jeans and jean jackets. Also, dozens of pairs of really cool shoes, none of which I can wear any more. And, of course, attention-getting jewelry, some of which I had made myself.

Well, I got rid of my work clothes and packed up my dance clothes. I gave away my embellished denim and my cool shoes. What’s left is rather boring and ordinary, and maybe that’s the issue. I am not used to looking ordinary, certainly not like an ordinary older woman. It’s disturbing to me that I am finding myself so awfully ordinary.

I know that clothes don’t make the woman. But they can sure perk me up.

I try to search around the Net for what striking older women are wearing and realize there are no models out there — except for older actresses. So I begin to search out photos of older actresses — the ones who don’t look all plastic.

Judi Dench is 74 and looks fabulous with her gray hair and colorful accessories.


Lauren Bacall is 85 and dresses with classic simplicity.


Faye Dunaway is a year young than I, and she has her own individual style. I love her long hair and wish I had the patience to grow mine. (Of course, hers could very well be hair extensions.)

In my searching for “age appropriate clothing,” I run across a few forum comments that suggest that older women look much better than younger women in eye-catching accessories. As I was watching the new tv show Castle the other night (I got hooked on Nathan Fillian in his Firefly and Serenity days) I couldn’t help notice Susan Sullivan‘s outfits. She wears
unique and colorful clothes and accessories and looks smashing in them because they are not designed for 20-somethings.

When 80-year-old Doris Roberts played Marie Barone on Everyone Loves Raymond, she was dressed in black pants with a different printed shirt in every episode — sort of the typical and ordinary outfit for many older women who are not as slim as all of the others I mentioned above.

As herself, however, and dressed to the nines, Doris Roberts chooses fabrics and colors with flair and she looks positively stunning.

Well, my body type falls somewhere between Doris Roberts and the others I’ve mentioned.

So, what have I learned?

1. Slimmer women of any age look better in any kind of clothes.

2. If you’re not slim and older than 65 and you want to look striking, cover your arms, don’t wear anything too tight, and wear eye-catching accessories.

In another couple of weeks, I’m going back to my home town for my cousin’s daughter’s wedding, and there will be relatives there I haven’t seen in a while. I really want to feel good about the way I look. One of the things I’m going to do is go through some of the jewelry pieces that I made and see what might work. I might even make something new.

Black wide legged pants, a black, light-weight, scoop-necked, 3/4 sleeved swing sweater with metallic threads, and a necklace made of amber and silver. And metallic flat shoes. That’s what I’m thinking.

I wish I had a face like Judi Dench and a body like Susan Sullivan (who is only two years younger than I). But we all have to work with what we’ve got.

family values

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No, this is not some kind of rant about that political football.

This is about my family (of origin) and how we deal with each other, the value we place on each other and on ourselves.

As I was growing up, “love” was equated with money. My parents showed they loved us by buying us things. I never refused any of their “love.” It’s all I knew, and I grew to love “things.” Until I immersed by self in therapy — years after a lot of damage was done.

I have a sibling. We have become about as opposite as two offspring from the same parents could be. Maybe because he never dealt with those warped family values.

And now I find that I am going to have to battle him for control of my mother’s assets and for her guardianship. She (93 years old with dementia) is in his care, and he doesn’t know how to care. I can’t bring her to live with me here at my daughter’s, and after the last eight years taking care of her, I need to take care of my own health and well-being.

I have avoided visiting my mother and brother for almost a month because he treats me so awfully. And I can’t stand watching how he treats her. When I go there, I wash her up so that she doesn’t smell, I change her sheets, her clothes, wash her hair. I dance with her each night before she goes to sleep. I make sure she takes her meds and eats nourishing food. I am tired, but she is being treated abusively when I’m not there.

He can use her assets to bring in professional help to take care of her. He won’t.

I feel angry and stupid and tired. I wonder where that “Kali” part of me went. I need to find that part of me to help me win the battle ahead.

I am going to be 69 in a few days. I think I need some Geritol.

cross that doctor off the list!

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After I moved here a little over a month ago, I immediately began to find a new doctor and dentist. My new dentist, a woman, is young enough to be my daughter. But then, just about every professional I see these days is apt to be the ages of my offspring.

Two weeks ago, I went for my initial visit with (what I thought would be) my new doctor. I chose him because the website of the group practice indicated that he had a sub-specialty in geriatrics, and I figured if I started now, I wouldn’t have to find another doctor when my age REALLY caught up to me. While I had sent my old medical records on ahead, it was obvious that he never even looked at those or the questionnaire that I had filled out summarizing my medical history. Instead, he began asking me those same questions, scribbling my answers in the margins of the form on which I had already written the answers. He did ask a few more questions about my education level and what kind of job I had; I’m not sure why he had to know that.

We went through my medications, and I asked for new scripts for two that had run out. He said I could pick them up on my way out. Because I have been having sinus problems and also need to get my hearing checked (again; it’s getting worse), he said that he office would make an appointment for me with an ENT specialist.

Then he changed the subject to tell me about a book he had published and proceeded to read me the introduction. When I asked him if he ever loaned the book out because I would be interested in reading it, he set the book down, turned around, and mumbled something like “…well, I only have 60 copies left…” — which made me realize the book must have been self-published, and he was trying to sell me one.

He leaned back in his chair and asked me if there was anything else I needed to add. I said no. He left the room.

As I left and went to check out, I found that he left NO scripts for me; neither did he leave instructions to make an appointment for me with an ENT. They asked me to wait while they got the necessary information from him. Which I did. For a half hour. Then I left.

After three phone calls over the next few days, they finally called in my prescriptions. I just let the rest go.

Yesterday, I make an appointment at the Jewish Geriatric Services Family Medical Care located a mile from here. A woman doctor this time.

a good day for a poem

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It’s snowing outside, and I’m marooned here with my mother and brother for another day. Mom is sleeping, exhausted just by getting up to eat. My sciatica is acting up and I have a pimple blooming on my chin. (That’s such a perfect metaphor for who I am!)

Several weeks ago, I waded through my stacks of poems and picked out a bunch of short ones to blog once a week. Of course, they are waiting for me in my new home, but I won’t be back there until tomorrow.

But today seems like a good day for a poem, especially after reading my daughter’s poignant post of yesterday.

So, instead of one of my poems, here’s one of Jim Culleny‘s — because it seems like a good day for this particular poem.

DUST
by Jim Culleny

A restoration of faith
(if only for moment)
makes that moment great
and raises dust.

Dust? Don’t wait.

Dust drifts and settles but can be shaken off.
We do ourselves a justice when we shake our dust.
Once it’s shaken off, work we must
to raise more dust.

Change raises dust.

In our metier (before we return to it)
dust is a must.

Well, mom’s up. So much for engaging with the world of the internet.

elder television

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Last night, Boston Legal hit one out of the ballpark for all of us elders who are tired of television programming aimed at every generation but ours. If you missed this episode, where the firm takes on the television industry for discriminating against the oldest generation, you can watch it when it shows up here. Unfortunately, this creatively funny, poignant, and topical series ends next week, and it is going out with a bang that I wish had been postponed. Like, forever.
In the argument to the court that law partner Carl Sack (Emmy Award winner John Larroquette) makes, he asserts that, on the average, people over 55 watch about 6 hours of television a day, compared to the 3 hours watched by young people, who are usually online or texting at the same time. The case is brought to the court by Catherine Piper (Betty White), who is bored, can’t get hired for a job because of her age, can’t bike or climb mountains etc. because of effects of aging, and so she watches television. Except there’s almost no programming aimed at entertaining people of her age.
It’s impossible to capture here in words the impact of the show’s acting and messages. You have to watch it and commiserate.
And there’s no way to capture the poignancy of Denny Crane (William Shatner) as he fights for the life he loves against the tyranny of Alzheimer’s.
The characters of Boston Legal are wackily intelligent, and most of them are over 60 years old. I’m going to miss them; I never missed a show. Hopefully, they will be running online for a long time to com.
From here:

For once, though, a widely admired TV drama’s dismissal has nothing to do with ratings. Boston Legal’s imminent retirement is of its own choosing. This time, creator David E. Kelley has decided to quit while ahead. Boston Legal may not go down as the greatest courtroom drama in TV history, but when the jury’s finally in, the verdict is likely to be more favourable than most.

The only show left that I never miss these days is Brothers and Sisters. But it’s no Boston Legal.
As I surfed around, looking to see if I could find any studies on elders and television, I stumbled upon a reference to this book (preview pages here). Published a decade ago, the book includes observations that are still valid.
It’s time for some new research on television watching by those of us over 60. It still seems pretty much a wasteland for people like us.

I’ve given out, given up, given in

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In a way, it’s a relief. I don’t have to go through all the complex strategizing to get him to compromise — only, each time, to come up against a stone wall. Actually, it’s more like being dumped into a vat full of jello. Either way, I get nowhere.
I’m out of energy and stamina. I give up. He can take care of our mother any way he wants.
He has arranged with a female musician friend of his to come and stay with our mother. Every once in a while. No set schedule. I’ve met her. She’s nice enough, and, as far as I can tell, my mother likes her.
I wanted him to hire someone from an agency who is trained to deal with dementia patients. That is, who knows what kind of patience is necessary to deal with someone who pretty much lives in her own personal reality, which sometimes overlaps with a more objective reality — but even then, with her own emotional twist. But he wouldn’t agree to that.
So, I give up, and I’m intellectually and emotionally distancing myself from the situation. I will come in once a month to visit my mom. I hope that we both can take the emotional stress. It’s almost better if she completely forgets who I am.
I’m hoping to be completely out of here and out of primary caregiving by the end of the year. It seems like forever.

what the hell is that on her head?

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My mom is sitting down at the table having a cup of her fake coffee. AsI look down at her, I notice a thick smear of something light green stuck in her hair. Huh?
So, I touch it. It’s sticky. I smell it. It smells minty. Aha!

Toothpaste!

I have to admit it. I laughed a lot.

She has a spot on her scalp that always seems to itch her. When she tells me about it, I put Scalpicin on it, and that helps. I guess this time as she combed her hair in the bathroom mirror, she picked up the first thing that looked like an ointment tube and rubbed it on the itch.

The last time she rubbed something strange on her body, it was on her lips and they swelled to the point where I had to take her to the doctor’s. As far as anyone could tell, it was an allergic reaction to something, and I think she had been rubbing her 30-year-old Lancome cream on her lips. I cleaned out her beauty lotion drawer and it hasn’t happened since.

She always seems to be fidgeting. Mostly she takes sheets of Kleenex and folds them into squares and loads her pockets with them. She insists on having tops and pants with pockets. Sometimes I miss emptying a few when I do her laundry. Even if I use those scent-free dryer softener sheets, those little bits that stick to the clothes are a bitch to pick off.

She would love to fold blankets and other larger squares, but she has a torn muscle in her left shoulder. Not only can’t she raise that arm, but the whole shoulder is painful, even though she’s had a cortisone shot. After Thanksgiving, I am going to arrange for a physical therapist to come over and help her with that arm. I think I finally found a place that is certified for Medicare.

Very often, she snaps. No, literally. She snaps and unsnaps those closings on the tops I buy her so that they are easy to get on and off. Last night, she was desperately trying to snap closed the edges of a very old pillow case that she had long ago sewed snaps on to keep closed. (I guess she’s always been obsessed with snaps.) When she went to sleep, I resewed the ones that were coming off and sewed on a few additional snaps so that she could have yet another snap-happy fiddle thing.

Actually, I found a site on the web where you can buy fidget things for people with dementia. Other sites suggest these stress-reduction toys. My mom will not fiddle with toys. She will only fiddle with things that are familiar to her; things that she has used in her role as wife and mother. Safety pins are one of those things. She finds them and pins them to the inside of her slacks. The other day I found her picking her teeth with the point of a large safety pin. She has a drawer full of various dental picks that I bought her. But she uses a safety pin. Sigh.

I spend a lot of time Googling for ideas on how to calm my mother, since her fidgeting is associated with her nervousness and anxieties. As a result, I sent for a really soft furry teddy bear and made a sweater for it with a Polish logo. You’ve heard of Polar Bears? Well, this is a Polish Bear:

bear.jpg

I thought that stroking the bear’s fur might relax her. I thought the Polish theme would attract her. Nope. She knows it’s a toy. Cute, but no cigar.

Well, I tried.

In another day I’m planning to try to leave to go to my daughter’s for Thanksgiving. Actually, I’m going no matter what. I don’t know how my brother is going to manage, but I’m leaving enough food, clean underwear, desserts etc. so that my mom will have whatever she needs. He just has to make sure that she gets it all.
I can’t wait to see my grandson, who has been unofficially adopted by the guys in the local firehouse that his mom takes him to visit periodically. The last time he was there, they gave him a piece of real fire hose (including nozzle) and a door chock (whatever that is). His firefighter suit, of course, is compliments of Grammy.

firelex.jpg

He wants to be a firefighter when he grows up. Also the owner of a tree-cutting service. Or a road construction worker. Or some kind of para-medic/rescue worker.

I think he’s going to spend Thanksgiving rescuing his Grammy.