Friday, January 21, 2011

Headed for sixty and staying visible ...

Had a conversation with a co-worker who had read my blog ... she feels she is becoming invisible as she ages.  According to her, no one notices her (or any older people for that matter).  I have to disagree.  It is clearly my intention to stay visible and suggested she do likewise.

One thing I've decided to do is refuse to buy "ordinary" clothes.  If it doesn't have some detail that grabs my attention ... something that says "this article of clothing belongs to Nona" ... then I don't want it.  You know, it might be that little sparkle or a touch of bling ... perhaps a color that does way more than whisper.  I refuse to wear anything that is pastel polyester.  Please ... it's not that I want to be known as the "crazy old lady with the outlandish clothes," but I'd much prefer that to being invisible.

Accessories ... aren't they wonderful?  So yes, I did recently buy a rather sedate lavender sweater.  But when the right scarf is thrown around the neck (or even better, draped dramatically across the shoulders), well, you'd never say it made me invisible.  Now that I think of it, I may start considering my hair as just another accessory.  True, I'll probably never go punk rock pink with the hair, but it might change colors occasionally.  Just because my drivers license says my hair is brown doesn't mean it has to stay brown.  After all, weight used to be listed on drivers licenses ... and that was seldom right so I don't see why hair color should be treated like it is chiseled in stone.

So ... you know who you are ... don't allow yourself to become invisible.  Enjoy being older and embrace your entitlement to be just a little "out of the ordinary".  After all, old ladies have been doing just that very thing for generations.  We have a tradition to carry on.  But, if you're not willing to take my word for it ... just ask this lady.  She certainly doesn't feel the need to dress in pastels ... and I'm willing to bet there is nothing polyester in her closet.


God save the Queen

Sunday, January 16, 2011

Headed for 60 and thinking like a dog ...

Dogs are interesting ... and seem to have thought out this whole "dealing with life" thing.  They appear to  handle it quite well.  OK, maybe not all dogs, but mine do.

Please realize - I love my dog.  Actually, I have two dogs, but I really REALLY love one of them.  OK, now I feel bad.  I love them both BUT I enjoy the company of one a lot more.  You see, there is Abby, the pedigree Chihuahua that I really thought I had to have.  She is adorable ... lots of fun.  But, as her breed seems, to dictate, she is a little crazy (I lied about that, she is a lot crazy).  Plus, being a purebred, she thinks that we are all here to cater to her every whim.  If you doubt me, check out this photo.  Abby is the small dog lying on top of the larger one.
Now we all know people who have the Abby syndrome.  It's all about "me - me - me" and their concern isn't whether or not you will object to their behavior.  Their thoughts tend to be centered on whether they can get by with their behavior.  In this case, Abby does.

But then there is the other dog ... the one that I paid nothing for.  She's the Australian Shepherd mix that Abby uses for her cushion.  Girlfriend is such a great companion.  (Yes, Girlfriend is her name ... think about a dog's name before you name them.  Going down the street yelling "Girlfriend, Girlfriend" will get you strange looks.)  She and I chat (ok, I chat and she listens ... see why I like her) and I believe her spirit is one of thankfulness.  My wonderful husband, Dennis, found Girlfriend abandoned, starving and covered in fleas and mud. Along with her was one puppy (we searched and that is all we could find)  that was still nursing on her and Girlfriend literally looked like a skeleton with skin draped over it.  She was a very timid dog, but after some confidence building, she is fun, she is loving, and she seems truly grateful for her cushy life.

Heading toward 60, I plan to think more like my dogs.  After all, there are lessons to learn from each of them.  Abby could show me the advantages of looking out for myself.  Seriously, we do need to take care of ourselves and not depend on others to do that.  Example:  I am the only one who can be sure I eat right, get enough sleep, and make it to the Y on a somewhat regular basis.

From Girlfriend, I can learn the act of humility and kindness.  She really doesn't seem to mind being Abby's soft spot to sleep.  Giving a smile or a kind word to those I meet every day is thinking like Girlfriend does.  Girlfriend is thankful ... I love the brisk swishing of her tail when I come in the door from work.  From Girlfriend, I can learn to be thankful to God for a warm (or cool, after all this is Texas and the weather can change on a whim) home, a soft bed, a loving family, and the list could go on forever.
But what about this dog?
I don't know this dog ... but I think I'd like to.  Don't you think this dog has stress conquered?  It just makes me laugh.  When I saw this picture, I decided to think like a dog and never take myself too seriously, trust those around me, and accept the love that is available to me everyday.  This dog doesn't seem to have a care in the world and ... in dog years ... may be well past the age of 60.
You go dog ... you're my Rock Star!

"In order to really enjoy a dog, 
one doesn't merely try to train him to be semi human.  
The point of it is to open oneself 
to the possibility of becoming partly a dog."
~Edward Hoagland













Wednesday, January 12, 2011

But this is still Texas ... right?

I am a Texan.  I wasn't born a Texan, but as the saying goes, "I got here as fast as I could".  I tell people that shortly after I was born (in Arkansas), I spoke my first word.  "Move."  My parents took that as a sign to take their little princess to another state.  They picked Louisiana.  I quickly realized that I needed to expand my vocabulary, so I tackled the art of stringing words together to make a sentence.  "Move to Texas."  Ahhhh, they realized the princess wasn't happy and so we moved again.  And not only did they move to Texas, but they moved to north central Texas ... the very mecca of all things wonderful.  (Maybe that isn't really why we made those moves, but if it had been in my power, that's how it would have happened.)

What do I love about Texas?  Just about everything.  But one of my favorites is the fact that it doesn't get cold here.  Right???  Uhh, wrong!  On Sunday, we started the week with snow - huge, white, freezing flakes falling right out of the sky.  OK, I'm not a total curmudgeon and I will admit the snow was pretty.  I even walked through the parking lot of Central Market trying to catch snowflakes on my tongue.  But I still don't like it.  As I related to a friend the other day, "I think I'm 'lergic to snow."  Fortunately, with our warm ground from the 60+ degree weather we had the week before, the snow vanished almost the instant it hit the ground.  Yeah!!!

Maybe if I could sit in my house curled up in my Snuggie and read a book, the cold outside would be tolerable.  But alas, that is not to be.  To endure the cold this week, I have bundled every part of my body that could be bundled for my trek from the parking garage to my office building downtown.  But there are parts that can't be bundled.  Each morning so far this week, my forehead has hurt because it was so cold and windy.  No exaggeration on this one, it was really painful.

The snow on Sunday should have been more than the quota for Texas.  But NOOOO.  On Monday afternoon, driving home, more snow!  Seriously, this is Texas.  We rarely get snow and when we do, it's AGES before we get more.  But - but - but this was two days in a row.  I seriously felt betrayed.  Maybe it isn't the snow that I dislike so much, but the unreasonably cold temperatures that accompany it and the fact that it melts then freezes during the night into hazardous black ice.

But what if it didn't have to be cold?  Work with me on this one ... imagine a gorgeous 85 degree Texas day with ginormous white snowflakes drifting down ever so gently.  (Hey did you know that ginormous is really a word ... when SpellCheck didn't have a temper tantrum at me using it, I looked it up.  It's really there.  Who knew?  OK a few of you total word brainiacs probably did.)  OK OK back to our fantasy snow day.  Little children along with their aging grandmothers could go outside and build snow people without being wrapped in layer upon layer that renders their appearance similar to the Michelin tire dude.  Snowball fights could be much more fun if it weren't such a horrible shock to your face when the icy cold white blob hits you.  After frolicking and running, a snowball splatting on you might feel refreshing.  Am I right?

Who's with me here?

Sunday, January 9, 2011

Decisions, decisions, decisions ...

Well, what do you know ...  I'm back.

When I decided to blog, it didn't occur to me right off the bat to decide how often to blog.  Seriously, do I blog daily as Julie did in the movie Julie and Julia? Seems systematic and orderly, but systematic and orderly isn't exactly my cup of tea.  Julie, the movie character ... well also the real person because she was more than a character -- you know, the book being based on a real life person named Julie who really did blog her way through Julia Childs' Mastering the Art of French Cooking one recipe (or sometimes more than one as the book includes 536 recipes) a day and blog about it.  Really, how did she have time for anything else?  After working, in her own words, as a "Government drone by day", her evenings were devoted to all that shopping and chopping and measuring and cooking those complicated recipes every day - then eating them - and then sitting down every evening to blog about it on a very full tummy when we all know that full tummies make us sleepy!  But, I digress.

So do I blog every day?  I really don't see that happening.  Seems like a lot of pressure to be under and goodness knows, life has enough pressure without the self-induced variety.  I really don't want this to be a bothersome task.  So maybe once a month?  I'm not sure that's even blogging ... but rather semi-blogging.  Why bother if, in a full year, you only come up with 12 entries?  So once a day is too much but once a month is not enough.  Maybe I'll blog once a week.  But what if I have a phenomenal idea (hey, it's possible) mid-week??? What then?  So in my usual non-systematic and not at all orderly way I've decided that I'll blog whenever I feel like it.  OK, I do work best under a little bit of pressure so I promise that I will blog every weekend (either Saturday or Sunday) ... even if I have nothing to blog about.  But, for the most part, you may expect a mid-week blog as well.  There.  Rule established.  Wait, I don't want there to have to be rules.  Perhaps I should say "semi-structured, non-systematic, totally without order guideline established".  Ahhh yes, that is much better.  I feel like I have accomplished something now.

Well, what am I going to blog about?  Hopefully things that help me have fun during this crazy "not quite 60" year that I've entered.  I'll talk about things I discover about myself that I really like and maybe, just maybe ... if I'm feeling very trustful of you ... I'll tell you some things that I'm really not happy with.  Whatever I blog, I really do want your feed back.  If I hit a nerve or a funny bone, let me know.  If you enjoy my blog, please feel free to share the site with others.

Let all who read my blog feel welcome.  By sharing this journey with me, hopefully you'll learn something about yourself as well.

Bunches,
Nona

Friday, January 7, 2011

I knew this day would come

So ... today is my 59th birthday!  How did I get here and why is this bothering me?  When I turned 25, I freaked out.  I told everyone that I would be 24 for a year and a half and then jump straight to 26.  But, for legal purposes, my age had to be revealed as 25.  I hated it ... quarter of a century.  YIKES!

But it passed, and I survived.  Birthdays of note came and went ... 30, 35, 40, 45, even 50 ... I wore them like a badge of honor. When the big milestones (40 and 50) came, I had a specific person to honor; someone who died just short of making that specific birthday.  With 40, it was a neighbor, Zella, who didn't have the privilege of living that long.  Even tougher was my friend Carolyn, who died before she made 50.  In a year, when it is my 60th birthday, I'll honor the best friend I've ever had, Jayne.  She died too young and left such a void in my life.  But, that's a year away and I still have a year to prepare for that.

Perhaps this aversion to 60 began simmering a while ago.  But it came to a full rolling boil when I recently watched an Oprah re-run with Raquel Welch as the guest.  In Raquel's words, she considered birth to 29 as Act I of your life ... 30 to 59 as Act II ... and 60 on as your Final Act.  SERIOUSLY ???  I'm entering the final act of my life.

So with that said, I guess I really need to make this Final Act count.  Otherwise, the critics will have a field day when they write my review.  I'm going to make this year my "practice year" and have fun.  Don't anticipate me going totally wild ... that's not my nature.  But I do plan to start enjoying everything more.  Join me as I begin preparing for my Final Act.

Bunches!
Nona