Whack a Mole and Old age

I know, I know, enough about getting older!!!  But please bear with me because all this stuff is kind of new and actually pretty hilarious to me!

I'm in the car today and it's very sunny outside.  My hubby calls me princess and the pea because I was always so sensitive to anything touching my body.  I can feel the stray hairs off my head that fall and get caught in my shirt or worse, between your butt cheeks!  Or getting short sheeted or a crumb that falls into your boot.  I can spot a grey hair a mile away!  (Okay, not really but you get the picture)

I can also feel the little hairs that have been sprouting from my chin, my cheeks, anywhere.  I am in the habit nowadays of constantly rubbing my finger across my cheek or chin for that stray, wiry hair that seems to pop up within minutes of the last hair check!

I am sure now that each time I pluck one of those little devils from my chin, it forces another one up and out of its slumber.  I was frustratingly saying that in the car when my older than his years young son said, "You know, Mom, it's kind of like Whack a Mole."  You know, that kids arcade game where you have to hit the moles on the head as they pop up from their holes. The more you hit the moles, the faster they pop up.

Wise ass son.  Okay, it's true.  The faster you pluck, the faster they pop out.  I guess that's why you sometimes see women with almost full beards and wonder if they realize it's on their face.  Not to mention, I am of Mediterranean descent, so it makes it all one hundred times worse.

Don't you want to have a tweezers handy when you see a long, wiry hair on a friend of yours face?  I do.  I just want to pluck it for them.   Wouldn't that be easier than telling them?  Save them the embarrassment and draw fast with the tweezers.  They wouldn't know what hit them.

How about those hotel bathrooms (I am thinking in particular about The W) where they have dozens and dozens of makeup lights.  I've missed dinners because of those bathroom lights.  "Be right there!  In a minute!  Just plucking a few hairs!"  And then silence when I realize my husband has taken his clothes off and fallen fast asleep.  Good, then I have more time to search and destroy.

So please, I don't want to be a bearded lady.  And I seem to be losing the battle.  So if you find one on my chin, please pluck away.  I won't get mad.  I will probably thank you and then continue my own personal game of Whack a Mole....

Now it's the Memory! Geesh!

Last night I pulled a really senior moment out of my bag of tricks.  It's inevitable that the memory fades each passing year.  When I was working as a DJ for Stuart Anderson's Cattle Company Restaurants (there's a blast from the past for ya!), I could name any song, any artist, the year the song was recorded, and all the other songs on the "album" that was spun on the two turntables in my booth.  We were also able to play music videos on our VHS player. (Hey, does anyone remember the old Betamax players?? I used to sell them at my part time video store job - where people would actually BUY videos!  They were $600 at the time (not saying the year here...).

So now I can't remember dates let alone song titles, lyrics, and forget about artists' names.  You can hear me grunting to my husband, "remember that song, it goes like, you know, by that guy, about that thing?  You know!"  And not even he can read my mind anymore as he used to.  Sometimes all I give him is, "you know, that place we go with those people!"  "You'll have to give me a bit more information this time", he now answers me.

What! My vague ramblings aren't enough now?  They worked before!  I think. And so it goes.  So last night we went to have a drink and quick snack before we were going to Fitzgerald's to check out the space for my event next month (http://www.shecomesundone.com/).  Jenna was meeting us at the restaurant and we were going to drive together.  Then my husband got the call.

He answered and said, "Oh, hi, Jamie! What's up?"  At that moment I sucked in my breath in a huge gasp and said, "Oh, shit!!!!"  There were six other people waiting at Jamie's house for dinner and she was just wondering where we might be at.  Apparently I didn't tell my hubby either.  I thought I did.  I really think I did.

Earlier that day, I was at work and as I always do, I was multi tasking, working on 3 different projects while selling bras and talking with customers.  I looked at my Filofax (did I just type that?  Does anyone even use these things anymore??) many times that day and saw the dinner date written (at least this time I actually entered it into the calender).

For some reason, my brain was not cooperating with itself yesterday.  Aw, who the heck am I kidding?  Just yesterday?  How about all the time!  I remember years ago being able to remember appointments, birthdays, everything! without having to write it down.  I also remembered my childrens' and husbands appointments as well!

When my ma got older, her "age thingee" was her purse.  "Where is my purse?  Who's got my purse?  Is my purse here?" was all we ever heard.  For me, it's my keys.  "Where are my keys?  Where did I put them?  I always leave them here!  Who took them?"

I have solidly become my mother, something that I fought and prayed and begged the heavens not to have happen. But it has.  And my children remind me of that ALWAYS as they tell me I am getting closer to being "put out on the ice".  Well, at least I still know what my keys are used for, right?

So for anyone desiring my presence at their events, please invite me, put it in my Filofax, my Outlook calendar, my calendar hanging on the fridge and remind me the day before, the day of, and an hour before.  Is that too much to ask?

Oh, and also, please pick me up because I can't find my keys to the car.

Another Day in the Life of an Aging Woman - The Sequel

I found a grey eyelash today.  I had to nearly smash my nose up against the mirror to confirm my discovery.  Then I feverishly tried to cover it with mascara but that silver sheen kept popping through the black I loaded onto it.

That’s not to say that I haven’t found silver hairs poking out of other more discreet places.  They actually sell dye for that unmentionable place – in an array of colors.   But I’m not diving to those depths of conversation as much as I might like today.

Oh, I’ve been battling the silver head hairs for years now.   But they are gaining on me and pop through the hair color quicker.  Okay, I know.  They don’t pop out of anywhere.  It just means my hair is growing faster than the cost effectiveness of the dye job.  Okay, okay, I should be happy for that.  The last five years have seen my hair diminish to the point that baby barrettes were not holding the whole kit and caboodle together.  I was the perfect candidate for hair club for men and don’t think I didn’t do some web research on hair replacement therapies.

So, I am really happy that my hair has come back and is growing again.  Yet, I don’t get to fully appreciate the beautiful job Usama does on my hair for very long.  I don’t understand why we can’t just pay for the two inches at the roots dye job every few months.  The middle and bottom parts of my hair are just fine.  It’s just that nagging silver raccoon tail running up the middle of any part I put in my hair that pisses me off!

The one aging “perk” that I would enjoy is the slowing of hair growth on my legs and underarms.  I have aunts who say they haven’t shaved in 30 years.  And why can’t the hair on my legs go grey?  It would diminish the frequency of shaving (i.e. It wouldn't show unless you got close up to my legs.) And I don’t see anyone getting that close to my legs any time soon.  My husband can’t see that close anymore so it doesn’t matter to him.  And with the silver popping up everywhere, I don’t feel so sexy anymore so you won’t see me sashaying up to some handsome man and saying, “Hey baby, what’s your sign?”

old grey mare

Couple that with the numbed up half of my mouth day at the dentist the other day and the subsequent drooling afterwards, and all I will see are the guys back ends as they run for the hills.  Which I can now see since I have gotten my new glasses.

Men look so sexy with their graying temples.  The silver streaks through their heads perfectly like it was done in the salon.  Women end up looking like the old grey mare. Then again, guys DO start growing hair EVERYWHERE ELSE other than on their heads.  So I guess justice is poetic at times…

I don’t know what I would rather have happen – these gradual “oh, my lord” moments like today, or waking up one morning to the new and fully aged me.  If I survived the heart attack that discovery would bring, then I could concentrate on acceptance and continue the rest of the process gracefully.  And pray God still likes me during the long and arduous road trip through sags, bags and wrinkles.

Nah.  The only prayer I am hearing right now is “Get Thee to the Salon.”  Amen to that!

Another Day in the Life of an Aging Woman!

I was at the dentist yesterday.  It seems that the enamel is wearing off of my teeth.  It is not due to lack of dental hygiene.  That is excellent.  Too excellent!  Am I brushing my gums and enamel right off?  Obsessive compulsive behavior of the teeth?  Okay, come on back down to reality, lady.

It is just another sign of aging.  Gums receding and that leads to exposure of softer enamel which lead to corrosion and exposure of roots....blah, blah, blah....  Roman (my dentist - whom I've known since he was in dental school with my sister's then boyfriend) said liken it to having a tree cut down with a hatchet.  I guess one day I would wake up and my tooth would fall over.  Timber!!!!  And probably while I was in an important meeting.  I would make an important point and my tooth would fly out of my mouth.

I have no idea what it means or how to deal with it.  I just followed Roman's orders and made an appointment.  He came at me with the needle and I'm like, "Hey, what is THAT for?"  He said I might want to numb the area since there was not much in between me and my tooth roots.  He could try to be careful and not numb me....  No thanks.  I am done being tough.  Dumb ass me finally realizes that I DON'T have to deal with the pain to show the world how tough of a woman I am.  (What were we ladies thinking back then when we choose no meds for our babys' deliveries????)

So he numbed me on one side of my mouth and then proceeded to chat with me while it was taking affect.  Have you ever tried to talk with only half your mouth?  For me, Miss Big Mouth, I need my full mouth to get my points across.  He gave me tissues to take with after it was all over just in case I drooled.

It only got numbier (is that a word?) as I drove home.  I started singing some songs that will be included in a performance next month (www.shecomesundone.com) and caught myself in the mirror singing with half a mouth.  I was horrified at the sight of a dragging left side and slurred words.  It's a wonder I didn't get pulled over for looking like a drunk driver!

Then later, eating dinner was a drag.  I couldn't friggin' chew.  Food was falling out of my mouth and my tongue wouldn't work.  My son thought I was hilarious as he watched me struggle.  I kept thinking of the years of me doing therapy programming at senior and rehab centers, where people struggled daily with strokes and other disabilities.  I had become old in that moment.  Someday I would need my son to wipe my mouth.  That stopped his laughter flat!

I bit the inside of my lip.  No pain.  I will feel that later I said.  So I took a nap.  Isn't that what aging folk do?  It took all my strength just to chew salmon!

Came to the conclusion today that I will fight this thing they call age.  Of course, with grace and dignity.  All kidding aside, I respect and admire all those who have gone before me.  They look and feel great and have a great attitude.  I will too.  After I stop complaining and whining.... and napping.

I Have Become My Mother.....

It is done, complete. I have become my mother.  Remember when we were younger and always said, "I will never be like you, mother."  Well, it is time I eat my words.  It appears that I am wired by some genetic code to be just like mom.  Damn that DNA!!!!

Okay, let's not get too worked up about this.  It has been slow to come and I am getting constant reminders of why I am becoming yiayia (Greek for grandma).  My sons call them yiayia moments.  My husband calls them Dee-isms.  And I have grown tired of them reminding me of my own request of them to put me out on the water if I ever become like Dee.

So I am driving to the gym this morning, talking to my hubby, and I notice that the workout pants I have on have holes up and down the now paper thin crotch area.  I hate to admit as well that these pants are probably as old as my oldest son (24 next Monday).  It was at that moment that I had officially become Dee.  My husband gleefully reminded me of my mother's polyester brown track suit
that she wore for years and years and years and.....well, I think you get it.....

My hubby didn't believe me when I said they were going in the garbage as soon as I got to the gym.  He said he was going to find them in my drawer and on me again and again.  Sorry, dude, they are now in the garbage can going to a landfill!  I am ashamed that I didn't give them to Goodwill, but I was scared they they WOULD end up in my drawer again so they were immediately disposed of.

But it got me to thinking more about our similarities.  I, like Mother, can no longer remember people's names.  It used to give me a chuckle when Dee would ask me who the person was that was coming towards her as she was smiling that fake, I have no idea who the hell you are, smile, at them.  I would wait till the very last minute when she was gritting profanities though that smile and then give her the name.

Not too long ago, we were at my son's gig and my brother was there.  My brother in law came in and had never met my  own brother, who asked who he was.  And at that moment, I lost the name.  It was gone.  A person I see all the time.  Just gone from my brain and nothing was going to get it back.  It didn't come back to me till an hour later in the middle of a song, when it popped out of my mouth, like turret's syndrome.  Of course, I was very excited that my brain still worked.

So, it has happened, and I now have to keep an eye out for the trip to the ocean where my sons might
offer me a solo boat ride.  I WILL fight it all the way to the loony bin, of course.  That is till I can't remember any more why I am wearing a brown track suit or sitting in a boat without a paddle.

The Old Woman I Shall Become...

The old woman I shall become will be quite different from the woman I am now. Another I is beginning.... -George Sand

As I was contemplating old age, crone hood (as I am entering it) and the prospects of saggy everything, I came across this quote. And it made me think more on the ever approaching moment of crone hood.

Each chance, each feeling, each responsibility we commit our self to adds to the richness of our womanhood. I am no longer yesterday's woman. I am today's woman. And tomorrow I will also be today's woman, tomorrow! Yikes!

The weird thing is that I'll never be able to go back to her, without knowing, that she no longer meets the needs of the new woman emerging. I will look forward o these changes, to the older, wiser, (and hopefully sexier and a heck of a lot of fun) woman I am becoming. A woman who has perspective and wisdom to see the crap for what it is and let it go, to understand that the pain that is overwhelming right now is making way for this new lady of the world who will be a better version of the first.

If only I could trust and accept these lessons, to understand the words I have said myself - without the discomfort of pain, change cannot occur. Trust in the path I am on is what I need to believe daily. And look forward to the peace that comes with becoming.

Dumping

Tonight I gave away more supplies from my last incarnation. Boxes and boxes of dried herbs, candle making supplies, pots, dried flowers, left out the back door and entered into a car that would drive them to a not-for-profit organization who would recycle them into the same crafts I originally bought them for.

It's funny how life cycles, down to flower picks and adaptable tools from 20 years of horticulture programming. It made me feel good to know that these items wouldn't go to a landfill, that some child or person with a disability would benefit. And so my work continues, work that I left behind two years ago now.

Work that I will probably go back to some day. Don't' we all do that? In some form, in some recycled way. Life keeps turning itself over and over. Nothing is new. It may look and feel new, but if you look closely, it is just a shiny new coat of paint over an old and comfortably worn job, or idea, or hobby. That's why it is so comfortable and feels like home.

And when we learn something new, it is woven into our old, comfy ways of doing things. It all becomes part and parcel to our wonderful selves. Yes, aging can have it's aggravations, like stiff joints and a few extra whiskers where there once were none. But it also gives you more patience, more wisdom, more skills.

So now, as I wake each morning with unease, I know I've been there before. Oh, yeah, transition. Done that before. Yeah, it's tough. It doesn't feel good, this out with the old to make way for the new. But I know it will pass. It always does. So now I look at it with wonder and excitement (after I've dealt with the early morning panic!) and know there is some exciting new stuff that is out there brewing. And it's brewing with some of the old stuff, which seasons the pot and makes for a better outcome.

I'm just one big recycled life. But no one picked up my old life in their car tonight. Just some old stuff pushed out of an old life.

Funny Times Ahead!

So four of us have decided to create a performance group, kind of a spoken word type of group. And word has it we will take it to the streets, so to speak, and do live performances. I really don't have an issue with this as I have performed most of my life, some in ways I would like NOT to remember!

What is interesting is there are four views on each topic. We all put ideas in a hat and have chosen (from that hat), which topics we will address. One word - four voices. And in a way, we have begun learning about one another. It seems that my life is a tragic one, full of bad mothers and abusive fathers. While I can laugh at all the "tragedies" now, it wasn't always that way. I survived, have lived to tell the next tale, and have made lemonade out of the lemons that were tossed into my cook pot.

It has also made me think about how those stories created themselves and more so, about those that affected them. Yes, we can all say we had terrible upbringings, full of dysfunction and drama. But if you look deeply at the people whom you'd like to blame for that dysfunction, you will also see the sadness and tragedy that formed their lives and souls.

Of course, there are some people who are just evil and brought to this earth to mess up those closest and dearest to them. I lived with one. But can I be so cliche to say that she helped make me the person I am now, more soulful, more compassionate of those closest to me? I think I can. So I can say a thank you now. The difficulties have passed. I can laugh at them. I can also cry at them still. And they continue to shape my ever changing being.

Stir Krazee these days!

I got the chance last night to introduce two comics at Molly Malone's in Forest Park as part of an event that didn't quite go as planned on Madison Street. The whole idea of Stir Krazee came out of my comedy class with Cameron Esposito from Lincoln Lodge. I took the class last fall and unfortunately I didn't graduate becasue life's stressors at work and home got too great and adding one more stressor of writing a comedy sketch for graduation and then performing it made me one anxious person. Not that I back away from any task because it is too great. I have come to the realization that I CAN say no, not right now, thank you, and come back to it at a later date when life allows it. And I want to enjoy comedy when I do it and not feel stressed about it. I have done every other type of performance - theatre, live music, poetry, and now I wanted to try my hand at stand up comedy. Not getting off track, I invited my teacher to perform last night. I told her I would probably have to introduce her and she told me it would be good to get experience on a microphone! Ha! I spend most of my days "on stage", "performing". I did get the chance to loosen up a bit more during the introduction and "yuck it up" a bit. It made me feel a bit better about doing stand up comedy. I continue to write sketches and I know that when the time is right, I will take that new path onto a different stage. And love it... And then....who knows what will come next. Aging is a pretty cool thing these days. Yes, I am stir krazee in that I want to do so many things yet in my many years on this earthly plain. Call me "krazee". Go ahead. I'll just write a comedy sketch about you.