The "I's" of Living in the Here and Now

Old age makes for an easier time of living in the here and now.

Except for my many projects, I do not have to work towards any major life goals (except maybe health.)

I am comfortable in my condo, do not need to buy any furniture, have everything in its place, and have a housekeeper to help me keep the place clean.

I live in downtown Evanston near many restaurants, Whole Foods, an 18 screen theater, the library, the post office, two transportation lines, ice cream stores, book stores, an immediate care office, and many other shops. What more could I need.

My car is parked in a protected garage, in a reserved space, on the tenth floor where the car has a better view of the lake than I do from my condo.

During cold weather, I just turn up my heat and do not have to worry about shoveling the sidewalk or cleaning the snow off my car.

During hot weather, I just turn up my air conditioning and sit out on the balcony with an ice tea and a good book.

I do not need to worry about my career path, work deadlines, pleasing my boss, or work towards future retirement.

I do not have to prove myself to anyone (except maybe Gigi and Emma :-)

I am OK financially and it seems like I will be for the rest of my life.

I have never “lived in the past,” am not fixated on any particular time and place in the past, and while I miss Gregory, even here I think I have done a fairly good job of moving on.

I think I do not need to retell my stories over and over, relive them, or get fixated with them (except documenting them currently in my publications.)

I know that I will never get there as to my future self, one never does, but after 75+ years, I am closer to my future self than I am needing to find or work on achieving that place on earth. 

Did I miss anything?

Placing Myself

I find that as I get older, I have been "placing myself."

Placing myself in time and in location. I am not sure why this is or what purpose it serves. It is not that I do not know what time it is or where I am, this is not the onset of Dementia, this is not me being confused.

This is something that might have to do with Gregory's being gone and my living alone.

It might have to do with my aura growing larger as I gain more wisdom and become enlightened? Although just saying I might be becoming more enlightened shows I am not!

It could be that as an outgoing, extroverted person I do not have enough people around enough of the time with whom to have conversations.

I find that as I am drifting off to sleep or drifting back awake, I will shout or talk out.

Apart from sleep time, during wake time I will address whom? Myself? Gregory? Someone imagined in the room or someone in my dream? Or just the air around me?

"How about that then!" I will say. Or "What do you think about that?" "How could that be?" "Well now!" "I guess that is that." "What next?" "Yum, that was delicious."

For most of my retired life, 24 years now, I always knew what day of the week it was and weekend days seemed more important than others and carried weekend events of their own. Now I find myself asking Siri, "Hey Siri, what day is today?" Often Wednesday or Thursday afternoon feels like Saturday or Sunday morning. I seem to check my computer's calendar more often.

On the location side, some 25 years later, I will still have work oppressive dreams where my classroom is being set up in September or dismantled in June. My students and/or parents will be rude, disrespectful, angry and demanding. The principal will be chastising, criticising, or evaluating me as "poor."

Other times I will be running workshops on Alzheimer's, life skills, Buddhism. Solving the problems of the world or stating in concise theory, complex ideas. I will be unraveling truths so fast that when I do wake I no longer remember them to guide my own life.

I will say out loud, "Wow, I am in my condo and I love it here." "I am blessed." "I am fortunate. I am grateful." or "OK, Show Time," when a movie or TV program begins."

I will shout in the garage going to or coming from my car just to hear myself, especially as it echoes and reverberates off the extensive concrete surrounding. "Hello Garage."

"Wow!" as I remember an event or idea. Or "OK" loudly as I complete an idea on my blog or in the preparation for an upcoming presentation.

Recently while visiting New York City, I found myself naming the city as I walked around 42nd street or on my way to a theater engagement: "New York City, here I am!"

My friend Roger talks about "Old Man Noises." These refer to the grunting, breathing, sighing and other noises older folks seem to make when sitting down, standing, lifting objects, climbing stairs, etc. He admonishes, "Avoid making Old Man Noises!"

Maybe I am just experiencing "Old Man Comments?" When asked about my talking to myself, I am told, "As long as you do NOT answer yourself." But I do! Now what?

Getting Older and Travel

During the month I am in San Pancho, MX, I will post periodically about travel and getting older. Not that 72 years old is terribly old, but I do notice some differences compared to having traveled at younger ages.

I will not complain or lament the difficulties and changes, but I believe that being aware of the changes helps deal with them and provide for future travel adventures.

First of all, I find it very difficult to "distill my entire life into a suitcase." Even when I bring well chosen, multi use, layered clothing (and not too many pairs of underwear, sox, etc,) there are so anythings that one might need on a moments notice: like a heating pad, my knee brace, and medications for whatever possible.

Yes many of the medications, for example, can be purchased at the location of arrival but for example, if in Mexico and Montezuma suddenly retaliates with his "revenge" getting to the Pharmacy will be difficult when one is wrapped around the toilet.

Also, as one gets older, more prescription medicines are necessary and especially when traveling outside the country you are instructed to bring them in the original bottles and to keep them in your carry on luggage, not in checked baggage.

My sound bite to discuss the suitcase/packing situation: "The older you get, the more you need to pack, and the less you can lift!"

The good part, I guess, is that I look my age, so often people asked if they could help me. The bus drive from the airport to the car rental place helped me get my suitcase on the bus. At the other end, a burley passenger offered to help me get them off the bus.

At the hotel in Fort Worth, an employee coming to work through the parking lot helped me take the luggage out of the rental car and sure enough, another one was passing through when I was leaving the hotel and helped me put the luggage back in. Again at the rental bus, people offered to help.

Getting onto the airplane was easy on the skybridge in Fort Worth, but after landing on the tarmac in Puerto Villarta, we had to walk down outside stairs and once again I was saved by the couple sitting next to me who grabbed my carry ons and took them down the stairs.

Even with careful packing, I was lugging around some 80 lbs of stuff and the difficult of that made me feel even older, dependent, and less able to take care of myself.

As I said, "The older you get, the more you need to pack, and the less you can lift!"

M A R I O N E T T E

Walking down a distant cobble stone street in a distant arrondissement in Paris, I came across a narrow alley over which a weather beaten, powder blue, oval sign with faded black letters that simply spelled 

M A R I O N E T T E, squeaked and waved and rusted in the breeze.

I entered the narrow, dark passageway which led to a somewhat brighter courtyard area in which there was a toy shop with its dusty, dirty, fogged window filled with objects that would delight any child (or adult for that matter.)

The door to the shop was open and I could see in as the aged proprietor was bent over one of his creations trying to mend the twisted and knotted strings of the handsome male dancer marionette. He looked up and noticed me noticing him.



At first I felt embarrassed for spying on the old man at work but realized he did not see it that way. He smiled and with his arthritic hand motioned for me to come into the shop. He invited me to poke around at my leisure and to feel free to ask him or his wife any questions that I might have.

On the wall, hanging in a line behind him, were beautiful hand made marionettes including people (kings - queens - mothers - fathers - children,) performers (jugglers - dancers - magicians - singers,) animals (pets - farm - zoo - circus,) and other marionette objects as well (buildings - trees - stop lights - cars.)

To his left was an old, abused, leaning wooden workbench covered with open and closed tins and plastic bottles of paint, miscellaneous size sticks and lumbers, assorted heads of various races, various sized and shaped tools which were made of wood and plastic and metal.

To the old man's right was a shelf filled with old, well read, well worn books. I could tell by the titles that they covered everything from making and fixing dolls to creating a clay kind of putty to use for faces, to formulas for magic spells ... but that is a different story

Many of the toys in the toy shop were made by the old man and his wife. He did the carving and she did the sewing. He did the forming and she did the painting. You could tell that he was a little more organized in his work and she was a little more messy. But they were a good team and their skills complimented each other. 

Not far from the old woman, who was working at her own table doing her own fixing and repairing and creating; was acabinet containing an unorganized, stuffed in collection of hand puppets. I leaned over to get a closer look and one of the most adorable puppy dog puppets began to move closer to me. I jumped back astounded before I realized that it was the couple's real puppy dog who was just doing its thing of settling in for a nap among the soft toys.

Not much conversation took place between the old man, the old woman, and me. They continued to work at their projects and I wandered around the shop investigating one marvel after another; one pile of puppets, one collection of tiny treasures, one rack of neatly lined up cars, one cabinet of furry huggable Teddy Bears, one box of colorful tops and striped balls, one marvel after another.

Through the open door of the shop, from somewhere in the courtyard outside, I began to hear the chiming of the clock tower. The clock first announced itself and then counted the hour at 5:00. 

"That clock is always a little off," commented the old woman to no one in particular. The old man and old woman stirred from their separate project preoccupations and carefully, slowly stood up, stretching in place. 

When they noticed me, it was almost as if they had forgotten or maybe never knew that I was in the shop with them. "Well," announced the old man to no one in particular, "Must be time for our tea."

"I guess I must be going then," I commented almost apologetically for having invaded their spaced and I began moving towards the door.

"No, no!" reacted the old woman. "You must join us for tea and some freshly baked scones. Do you prefer blueberry or raspberry? Please come upstairs and join us!"

"Well, I would be honored," I replied, "I have so many questions to ask you about all the wonderful things you have in your shop and about your loving work with the toys. Then after our tea, I will pick out a few items that I would like to purchase."

"Oh my. Oh my!" they both uttered in unison. The old man continues, "Nothing in the shop is for sale you know. Did you think this was a toy shop? Well it is a shop, but not that kind of shop."

"This place here is our workshop, not a for sale shop," continued the woman. "It is where we spend our time all year making and fixing toys of all sorts. Sometimes neighbor children bring in their broken items and we try to fix them but mostly the toys we work with are for giving away to the orphanage up the hill. The children there are so sweet and so need love and attention. We spend most of our days making and fixing toys for them."

As we climbed the narrow, creaking stairway to their living quarters, the old man whispered, "If you would like to have a toy or two I suppose that would be OK. You strike me as a person, like my wife and me, who still has a lot of the child about them. Do you take milk in your tea?"

• • •

This fiction story introduced itself to me in a dream the other night. The parts of the dream which I remembered had to do with the Paris passageway, the shop, and the live puppy which I at first thought was one of the puppets in the shop. The rest I created as a writing exercise.

This is my first attempt at this kind of writing. In my mind I pictured what each step of  the story might be like and then I wrote that paragraph. The next paragraph was created after I purposefully thought about it or after an idea that just seemed to come to me unexpectedly showed up; like the ending that the shop is not really a shop. After a paragraph was written, I either searched the internet or my own photographs for an illustration.

I created the old man and old woman and in some ways I am not only the visitor to the shop but also both of the characters I created, also I love raspberry and blueberry scones!

Post Script Comments: He was right about there being a lot of the child still in me! It is very apparent in my home as well as in my attitude. Check out my museum, Michael's Museum: A Curious Collection of Tiny Treasures, which has been a permanent exhibit at Chicago Children's Museum on Navy Pier since May of 2011. 

http://www.michaelsmuseum.org 

(opens in a new window)

Don't Take This As An Insult

Tonight I had dinner at Max's in Northbrook. You'll see extra lean brisket, cole slaw, fries, au jus, pickles, diet coke, and rolls.

The waiter was excellent but besides his service, he was cute, slim, young, short dark hair, pretty smile. Just my type.

The most amazing part was that the entire time I was telling him what  I wanted to order, he never once broke eye contact with me.

While he was writing my order on his pad, he never once broke eye contact.

I was very impressed and honestly, a little un-nerved!

He checked back several times to make sure I had everything I needed and that I was enjoying my meal.

As he was approaching my table with the check I weighed if I should tell him what I was thinking. One of the perks of old age is that you can get away with quite a bit. So I spoke my mind.

When he dropped the check I said to him, "Please don't be insulted but if I were 50 years younger I would have asked you out for a drink after work."

He replied with a smile and that intense eye contact, "And I probably would have accepted."

One Half Dozen Secrets to Eternal Youth

1. Never tell acquaintances that you really love prunes.

2. Never discuss the state of your bowels with anyone other than your doctor.

3. Never line your meds up on the window sill over the kitchen sink.

4. Never compare your illnesses with your friends and their illnesses.

5. Never make "old man" noises when you lower yourself into a chair.

6. Never say never!

Walgreens

Helen, Gregory's mom, lived graciously for several years in an assisted care apartment in Battle Creek, Michigan, Tony the TIger's home town. She was in her 90's and fairly healthy but had a hard time "getting around." She used to call her son Mark, who lived nearby, every day or two and tell him, "I need to go to Walgreens. When can you pick me up?" Mark, while a good and patient and supportive son, wondered why she didn't make a list and do her shopping every couple of weeks or so and all at one time.

Today Gregory and I ran errands. We made an adventure of it in our old neighborhood on Central Street, a ten minute drive from where we live currently. First we had lunch at Prairie Joe's, our favorite diner, and while eating visited with the owners. Next we stopped at Food Stuffs, hopefully to visit with Marlene, a neighborhood friend who works there, but she had already left for the day. We bought tonight's Yom Kippur dinner from Food Stuff's deli. We proceed on to Great Harvest Bread Shop where Gregory gets his Morning Glory Health Muffins. We also bought a challah with raisins for our holiday meal and played with all the different ways the name of that Jewish bread could be pronounced. Finally we stopped at Office Depot to have two copies of my manuscript spiral bound, to laminate several dozen Michael's Museum Book Marks which I made earlier, and to purchase several reams of paper.

We arrived home looking forward to our evening coffee and remembered how my dad used to announce "Cossie Tyne" when he poured his evening coffee and his dog Sandy would come running because it was the same time she got her treats. With our folding card, which we keep in the trunk of the car, loaded we took the condo garage  elevator down to the lobby, retrieved our mail, and took the tower elevator up to our unit.

While we were walking down the hall to our unit I commented to Gregory that now I understood why Helen used to call Mark every day or two for a trip to Walgreens. He agreed by saying, "Yes, it was her way of getting out." I added, "Yes, and it helped her feel that she was being productive by keeping her life in order and by running errands.

And now while I am typing this, both Gregory and I are having our Cossie.

Curmudgeon or Youth?

curmudgeon |kərˈməjən|nouna bad-tempered or surly person. often associated with old age.
youth |yoōθ|nounthe state or quality of being young, esp. as associated with vigor, freshness, or immaturity
• • • • • 
Three experiences recently led me to realize that both can exist simultaneously.

1) Bubble Bath in the Fountain

The other night G and I were on our way out to dinner. Major joy, laughter, and fun had broken out at Fountain Square directly across from our condo. Some college kids had emptied a huge bottle of bubble bath into the pool of the three connecting fountains. The force of the water spouts, as you can imagine, was stirring up huge, six foot clumps of bubbles which the wind was picking up and distributing around the entire plaza. Young people were gamboling, frolicking, and swimming through the soap suds and having a wonderful time. My first reaction was, "Vandalism! Inappropriate! Immature!" My next reaction was: "What fun! How creative! What an idea!" I guess youth won.

2) Bicycles in the Parking Garage

As I entered the parking garage on my way home from grocery shopping, I noticed six young boys, early high school age at most, hanging out around the garage elevators. When I got to my tenth floor space I realized why they were hanging out in the elevator lobby. Did I mention they were on their bicycles? They had taken the elevators to the top of the garage (twelve floors) and by the time I next saw them, they were speedily, joyfully, laughingly racing down the ramps of the garage. My first reaction was: "Illegal! Dangerous! Disrespectful!" My next reaction was: "Wow! How fun! How creative! What an idea!" I guess youth won again.

3) Cracking One's Knuckles

As I was sitting here typing this blog, I cracked my knuckles as I am used to doing. All ten fingers went at the same time to a very loud "CRACK!" My first reaction was: "Well I didn't break anything!" My next reaction was to giggle.


Hopefully youth will continue to win out.