I am a baby boomer, maybe what you consider the scourge of your practice. When I walk into your office, perhaps you see anemic Medicare reimbursement, knees that will soon need replacement and a don’t-tell-me-sonny-I’m-half-your age attitude.
But, I’d like to give you some advice, which my age permits. It’s in your best interest to treat me with the same respect and attention as you give your millennial patients, at least those who acknowledge that they won’t live forever.
I advise you to stop treating boomers like old people and face the possibility that we’ll be around for a long while. Continue reading “Dear Doctor”
Exercise, healthy eating and a variety of potions (which are my secret) keep me alive and kicking as I enter the years that some call “senior.” I realize that I won’t be able to hold aging off indefinitely, but I can probably drag my feet long enough that it will wait for me.
Face it. We’re all looking for the Fountain of Youth. Some of us subject ourselves to botox injections, although personally I’d rather die with my wrinkles than let anyone near my face with a needle. But that’s just me. Perhaps if I were a movie star or some other public figure I’d want my looks to take precedence over my sanity and comfort.
Continue reading “Smooth as a Baby’s Butt”
My hair will become matted and unruly like a stray dog loping through the streets of Baltimore before I succumb to the ambush of a hair stylist. My nails will curl backward to reach my knuckles before I visit the manicurist. My face will develop craters like the surface of Mars where dune buggies fall into the crevices before I contact my esthetician. Let my shoulders develop lumps like coal from the stress of living before I succumb to the laden touch of a masseuse again. These are people whom I hire to beautify, simplify, liquefy and mollify me, but they just won’t stop talking.
Continue reading “A Salon for the Rest of Us”
When I got the email announcing “Fall Prevention” I jumped into action, all set for a protest. With so many of our liberties at stake, now they want to take away my favorite season?
I marched into the meeting room ready to chant, armed with an “I love autumn” sign and my protest hat perched menacingly on my head. Imagine my relief when I realized that it was a program to teach adults of a certain age how to avoid falls in their advancing years.
My relief morphed into dismay when I learned that the simple act of remaining upright when a slight wind blows became an issue for me on my last birthday. Each year, more than one in four older adults aged 65 and older will fall.
Continue reading “Not the Trip I Had in Mind”
Ask any expert how to maintain healthy aging and they’ll tell you to eat right and exercise. I’ve read it in books. My general practitioner told me, as did the chiropractor who said I should keep training for a marathon, despite all my aches and pains. I’m not sure that his motive is pure.
So, here I am in a class called Barre Pilates, which would be better named Get Out While You Can Still Walk. I walked in here just fine, but, judging by how my nerve endings are jumping right now, I may be carried out on this beautiful blue yoga mat.
Continue reading “Geezer + Goddess”
Back when I was growing up, a waif-like model named Twiggy burst onto the scene. A body replete with skin and bones and a short haircut was uncharacteristic of the times, yet as a super-model in England in the 1960’s, her influence on teenaged girls was instantaneous.
Back then, skinny was everything. We equated over-thinness with beauty and health, in priority order. I recall making sure that my hip bones were prominent when I laid on the beach. The more pronounced they were, the more attractive I believed I was.
Continue reading “Body Image”
Having grown up at the ocean, I’ve always been fascinated by the people who cast their lines into the pounding surf.
For as long as I can remember, I’ve envied people who fish. Not for livelihood, but for pleasure. Their signs hanging on the office door when they are on vacation “Gone fishin’” filled me with a quiet sense of envy and sometimes despair that I didn’t pursue a similar activity to fill me with that much enjoyment.
On my morning strolls around the lake the fishermen and women standing by the water’s edge look so peaceful and fulfilled as they cast their line and wait, patiently for a bite. They rummage through their boxes to find just the right bait which they expertly place on their hooks with dexterous fingers. Rain, sun, crowds – none of it seems to matter as they block out the world in anticipation of their catch of the day. I often wonder if they are disappointed if their patience yields no catch or are they satisfied with just being there, united with nature, solitude and anticipation in the sheer bliss of the act of fishing.
Continue reading “How Writing Is Like Fishing”