How many of us have a maternal or paternal instinct that overrides our own interests?
I never thought about age differences thirty-three years ago when I married Arthur. Somehow when you are really young age difference matters, then it disappears in adulthood, and suddenly the awareness reawakens as you get older. It really is a strange dicothemy.
My husband is thirteen years older than I am and when we got married, I didn’t even think about our age differences. My parents were ten years apart and it worked out just fine for them.
It was only when we celebrated Arthur’s ninety-first birthday, that I realized how lucky I am. All of his friends are gone and he is standing alone and quite healthy in his nineties. The odds are that it could be a quite different story for both of us. Sometimes I think he has more energy than I do!
To celebrate his milestone I recently interviewed my husband about how it feels to be in his nineties.
Copyright Sandra Hart©2017. All Rights Reserved
(Author’s note: If your soul is rooted in music as deeply as mine, grab your earphones and reading glasses, if needed, and let me transport you with me to places in my past.)
“ I believe in teleportation and time travel,” he said taking a sip of his Old Fashioned. It was Friday and we were at a speakeasy watching bluegrass. I wasn’t sure I heard him correctly.
“ Not in the sensational way, mind you. But in the way a waft of a certain perfume can take you back to childhood, or a song can being back a flurry of feelings you felt long ago. Isn’t it strange and wonderful how our senses can give us context of the present, but transport us to the past?”
He whispered to the bartender who came back moments later with a mint julep identical to the one he introduced me to when we first met….orange twist and all.
“Here. Close your eyes and take a sip of this.
Tell me…..where does it take you?
Aromas and music are the two triggers that can transport me back in time. Big band music takes me back to my early childhood and our Sunday family outings to The Lotus Restaurant in Washington, DC.
Rock and roll and the music of the 50’s bring me back to my high school days when we wore pony tails and bobby socks and the worst thing the boys could do was smoke behind the building or drink beer in the coal pits.
Georgetown and great jazz wisk me back to my college years where we would spend our nights listening to Mose Allison or Dave Brubeck. I can still smell the mixture of cigarette smoke and scotch that filled the crowded clubs lining the narrow streets in Georgetown.
My child rearing years and the small tube radio that I always had on in the kitchen comes to my mind every time I hear Billy Joel and his romantic take on life. I was always dreaming through my humdrum life while being transported to somewhere beyond that kitchen and piles of dirty laundry by Billy.
Now that I’m older and have Alexa in my life, I can be transported to any era of my life by just asking. Transporting has never been easier!
Copyright Sandra Hart 2017
I have lived long enough that if I would put all of my ‘what ifs’ in writing, l would have a complete novel. Honestly, think back. How many ‘what ifs’ are in your past that if you had a ‘do over’ things would be different, or the outcome would have been much better if you had only….
Well, let me stop you right there. You are where you are supposed to be right now because the ‘what ifs’ didn’t happen. Good or bad, there is no going back, There are few ‘do overs’.
A long time ago I quit torchering myself and put all of my ‘what ifs’ in a basket and lit a match to it. I refuse to live in the past and think that my life would be so much better if I had made different decisions in my life. I decided that living in the now is what is important.
Learn from your ‘what ifs’ Burn that basket and move forward into the present and don’t look back with regrets. Your best life is now!
CopyrightSabdra Hart 2017©
” She had a womanly instinct that clothes possess an influence more powerful over many than the worth of character or the magic of manners.” Louisa May Alcott
Our clothes and style are a mirror of who we really are, aren’t they? When we wake up in the morning what we wear indicates how we feel, where we are going and our attitude about the next twelve hours.
For men more than women, I think, sometimes dressing becomes routine as soon as their feet hit the floor. They throw on their favorite well-worn jeans, T shirt, slip on flip flops, loafers or old sneakers and are ready to face the world and what is out there waiting for them.
Most women are different animals all together. We plan, organize, accessorize and treat clothes as an extension of who we are. Our clothes don’t actually make us, but we make the clothes our own.
Copyright Sandra Hart© 2017. All Rights Reserved
It was the kind of evening when the wind found every opening in my heavy winter wrappings. There was no escaping the chill that went through my bones as I sat on the deck of the Queen Elizabeth as it sailed down the Hudson River toward the Atlantic and the beginning of our 109 day world cruise.
With my beret pulled down over my ears and scarf wrapped around my neck as high as possible, I leaned against the railing facing the winds watching he magnificent New York City skyline, swimming by so slowly.
Weeks before my friends Lou and Cathy who live in the Village vowed they would add to our send-off by signaling to us from the end of the Christopher Street Pier as we sailed by.
It seemed a great idea at the time, until our sailing was delayed into the darkness and severe winter weather was moving in. So much for a sendoff, I disappointedly thought. Lou would be working and Cathy would be alone.
As we moved along, suddenly I saw a flicker…a blinking beam of bright light coming from the Christopher Pier. Once, twice, three times. She had come. She had come in the darkness and waited in the cold to wish us a bon voyage as she had promised. Cathy’s life was all about the gift of caring. I will always miss you my dear friend.
Copyright Sandra Hart©2007. From Read Between My Lines: What Was I Thinking. All Rights Reserved
Beware! This may be the most depressing blog that I have ever written, but it’s something that I’ve been thinking about lately in my over 50 state of mind.
My husband gets almost every health newsletter on the market. He reads and believes every single thing in these various publications. I know they’re important and I have gleaned a lot of information from them, but one thing I do know, genetics plays a great big part in our longevity.
Sure, how we embrace our bodies and our good health has a lot to do with prodding along and maybe extending that lifeline, but the reality is none of us have control over our expiration date.
One thing I know never to do – talk about the state of my health. No one really cares and I may be sharing my exuberance for all the healthy things that I did that day with someone that may not be in such great shape themselves, but doesn’t talk about it.
It seems that every friend I have ever had who bragged about how healthy they were, are no longer here on this planet. I had a friend who whenever we met for lunch always bragged about how great her doctor check up was and what super health she was in. Well, a week after our last lunch she died of a stroke.
Another constantly bragged about the amount of supplements he was taking, his healthy diet my hub and and I should follow and his love of tennis. Melanoma did him in.
I have several other examples I can talk about, but I think you kind a get the drift of my thoughts. If you have a trusted friend, or within your family circle that you want to share your exuberance with, hey, that’s OK. But don’t make it general conversation and part of your constant repertoire, because you may be tempting fate.
Personally I don’t want to hear how many times a week you go to the gym or how many days you run a 5K or what diet I need to follow that is perfect to live into my hundreds. Just leave me alone. I think by this time I am able to manage balancing on my toes near the edge of this fragile cliff of life we over 50 folks find ourselves. I’ll figure it out on my own and hope my expiration date is well into the future.
By the way, did you read a glass of wine everyday will extend your life? Oops!
Copyright Sandra Hart 2016. All rights reserved.