The mood of the country

 

President Joe Biden
Democrat

Last night, late, I looked at some election results, all what I considered good news: the re-election of Andy Beshear as Kentucky governor, the enshrinement of abortion rights in the Ohio constitution, the takeover of both houses by Democrats in Virginia, the election of a Democrat to the Supreme Court in Pennsylvania, which those in the know says thwarts trump’s scheme to take the 2024 election, the defeat of Moms for Liberty in numerous school board races. After reading in the media all day that no one should take off-year election results seriously, I thought, “I don’t care what they say. This is good news. The American people are not as easily hoodwinked as some would have us believe.” Somewhere I read the comment that these election triumphs reflected the mood of the country, and I liked that phrase. People are tired of the constant turmoil, lies, deceit, baseless investigations, vague promises and real threats of the Republican Party. They want our country back. I went to sleep, anticipating reading all about the triumphs of democracy this morning.

But a tiny corner of my mind said, “There’s a hitch somewhere. There will be something negative.” And of course there was. Early this morning, I saw a New York Times headline to the effect that Biden remains unpopular but voters like the policies of the Democratic Party. I saw red, pink, and purple. Where did people think those policies came from, if not from the president? Did they think Democratic legislators were enacting Bidenomics, curtailing the pandemic, reviving the employment rate, passing bills to rebuild our flagging infrastructure, passing the chip act, passing the first meaningful act to reduce gun violence, working to insure reproductive rights and safety for LGBTQ folks, rallying international support for Ukraine, and working toward a peaceful end to the conflict between Hamas and Israel without Joe Biden? What kind of nonsense is that? If his policies are popular, so is he.

During the day today I read in at least three other supposedly bipartisan sources about Biden’s incredible unpopularity. I was astounded and angry. But I also read two sensible arguments that the news media is wedded to a message of doom for Democrats. It makes absolutely no sense, and I hope every thinking person in America will reject that notion. The Republican party is disintegrating before our eyes, divided into warring factions, unable to agree on leadership or policy, unable even to come to grips with preventing a government shutdown, rife with accusations and baseless accusations. And yet they claim it is Democrats who are doomed to defeat? I don’t understand it, but I resent it a lot.

I don’t think it’s just ageism that is behind this. If it were and it were an equally balanced approach to ageism, trump would come in for as much negative press as Biden. He is only three years younger than Biden, is obviously in much worse physical shape (the president rides a bike, trump rides a golf cart), and is seriously out of touch with reality to the point that a cognitive assessment sems obviously called for. Those around him must be in acute denial. Biden has fallen several times, they say—so do a lot of people, though I still maintain he was set up when he tripped over a sandbag leaving the mike at the Naval Academy. Trump was scrutinized during his presidency when he appeared uncertain walking down a ramp, holding a water glass and other minor physical movements. But all that seems forgotten now.

Part of the problem may be that trump is a flamboyant, over-the-top, charismatic, a dramatic personality. He not only attracts news, he is good news copy. The more outrageous he is, the more the media hangs on his every word. Biden, on the other hand, is going quietly but doggedly about the business of guiding our country through a time of terrible turmoil, both here at home and internationally. He has a steady hand on the tiller. But he’s a low key, sometimes understated, almost quiet kind of a guy—not good copy. Do I blame major media sources for not making the distinction between the two? Yes, I do—and I want Walter Cronkite and some of his colleagues back.

Now is the time for each of us to speak out and protest this foolish blindness. Call out the negativity. If you believe in Biden’s policies say so. Write a letter to the editor, write to individual columnists, don’t let them get away with misinformation and loaded language. Many Americans will be hoodwinked by this bias on the part of the media. Don’t be one of them and do work to fight it. That’s my challenge to each of you!

 

Joe Biden and ageism in the U.S.

A good friend came for happy hour last night, and when she brought up Joe Biden’s name, the first thing she said was, “You know he fell again.” The first thing I said was, “He just negotiated a brilliant deal around the debt ceiling.” The two remarks embody a split in this country about our current president and about our aging citizens.

Since before 2020 Republicans have been crowing about Biden’s senility. I maintain that much of what they cite as senility is his style—they are used to the flamboyant drama of trump, but that is not Biden’s way. He’s a low-key guy, who keeps his head down and goes quietly about getting things done. Occasionally he falters in a speech, the result of a lifelong problem with stuttering and nothing to do with senility.

And the fall? Someone had left a sandbag onstage in the path he took to exit after his speech. I fault his crew—security, medical, whoever. They should have been alert to such a hazard and moved it. Fortunately he was not hurt and bounced right back up. His quick recovery is a testimony to his wellbeing.

When I repeat to my friend all that Biden has accomplished—the decrease in jobless numbers and increase in employed, staving off the anticipated recession, lowering inflation, legislation to rebuild the infrastructure, uniting our allies to support Ukraine’s fight against Russia’s attempted takeover, better care for veterans, changing the rampant course of the pandemic—she counters with actuarial statistics. He, at eighty, is more likely to have a stroke than she, in her mid-fifties. I point out he is an actual, living being, not a statistic. Her argument is not that he hasn’t done great things for America but that we can’t count on him continuing to be able to do such.                                                                                                                                 

The whole conflict comes down to America’s continuing affliction with ageism, a fear of aging. Knowing I am almost eighty-five, my friend asked how long I intended to live. I replied that I hadn’t set an end date. I am enjoying life and as long as I am able, I don’t want to leave. I enjoy my family, my work, my dog, my cottage, my friends. She thinks eighty will about do it for her, an easy thing to say when you’re in your fifties, not so easy at eighty. I point out that Willie Nelson is going strong at ninety, and she counters that he is not responsible for a major world power.

Over 52 million American adults are over sixty-five. A recent Pew study reports that there is a huge gap between how young and middle-aged adults view aging and what aging adults actually experience. Younger people expect a much higher rate of illness, inability to live alone, depression, forgetfulness, an inability to drive, an end to sex, and other symptoms than most elderly actually experience. On the other hand, studies show that most older folks feel at least ten years younger than their actual age and experience fewer of the problems young people expect.

At my age, I come at this from a purely personal perspective. Yes, I have some of the problems anticipated: I cannot walk without assistance, I have given up driving, and I probably could not live alone without assistance nearby, as it is in my cottage. (Don’t ask about sex, but I have memories.) But on the other hand, I do meaningful work every day, I am engaged with the world around me (probably too much, some of my kids might say). I entertain friends frequently, I am (I hope) fairly cheerful and fairly healthy. I am not sitting in a rocking chair staring into space.

And Joe Biden’s senility. If the debt ceiling negotiations didn’t put an end to that speculation, Kevin McCarthy’s words should have. McCarthy, who has every reason to continue to spout his party’s line, said instead that in negotiations, he found President Biden and his team, “very professional, very smart, very tough.”

Stereotyping the elderly only makes their problems worse. If you expect the elderly person close to you to exhibit signs of aging, senility, etc. and you convey that message, either openly or subtly, often enough, it will come to pass. But the elderly are like children—stimulate them, encourage them, and they can shine.

Me? I’m voting for Biden. For many reasons, in my mind there’s no choice, but we also might remember his presumed opponent is only four years younger, in much worse physical shape, and clearly not as sharp mentally.

Here’s to growing old gracefully!                                                                                                                                                                                              

Me and Joe Biden

 

I would never presume to compare myself to President Biden, but we do have one thing in common: we are old. I am distressed though by the current controversy over whether or not he is too old to run for office in 2024. Everyone seems to be trying to make up his mind for him. Signs are that he very much wants to, but even some in his own party question the wisdom of trying for a second term. And of course Republicans are all over the “sleepy Joe image.” I even read somewhere that Dr. Jill Biden is pressuring him not to run, going so far as to threaten to leave him if he announces. I suspect that’s someone’s fabrication—whether a MAGA person or a Russian bot—because it is so out of character with what we see of her almost daily on TV. The ostensible reason is that she does not want to see him humiliated by a defeat. To my mind, Joe Biden right now is a victim of America’s preoccupation with ageism.

The president has just had a physical and been pronounced fit and healthy, a “vigorous eighty-year-old man.” In two years, much of it in the face of a Senate controlled by the opposition, he has set a course for America which differs dramatically from that of his predecessor, and he’s making progress in bringing his vision to reality. Whether you ike his vision for the country or not, he’s clearly a man who’s hit his stride. So why quit now because of something that might happen? Sure, he might develop a life-threatening illness or dementia, but elect a fifty-year-old president and they could develop a disease, be the victim of an assassination. Nobody know what’s around the corner, but age is relative. I don’t think we should look at the number of years, but at the individual—how they act and speak and think. Vigorous isn’t just an empty word.

Let’s banish two images: the first is that of “sleepy Joe,” one of trump’s famous derogatory nicknames. Joe Biden is not sleepy, but his style is understated, calm, and slow, in contrast to the loud, dramatic rants of trump. While some criticize him, Biden goes quietly about doing what he thinks is right, getting the job done. The other is that he misspeaks—every time Biden stumbles over a word, Republicans are fast on it. The man continues to battle a lifelong stuttering problem, and his speaking ability is to be admired, not derided. He fights to get each word out. Did you hear him stutter during his State of the Union? I didn’t.

I am particularly interested in what seems to be the Biden age dilemma, because I am two years older than he is. When people express amazement that I’m still writing—with an emphasis on still—I want to say, “What else would I be doing? Watching TV all day?” I’m in good health, knock on wood, and my mind is clear (don’t ask my kids!). I like what I do, the life I’m living. Should I look ahead at the calendar and say, “Wow! Next year I’ll be 85. I guess I better quit writing?” I don’t think so.

Why we write came up as a discussion topic in a small online writing group I belong to, and the best reason I heard was, “Because sometimes the words fly onto the page.” But there is more—I don’t know any other way to live. Watching TV was a joke, but I seriously don’t know what I would do if I didn’t write and didn’t have my involvement with the writing community. And there are things I still want to write—that memoir I talk about, another Irene book (having just finished one that will be out in the spring, I already have the opening scene for the next one), the Helen Corbitt project I keep procrastinating about. I’ve always thought it would be fun to write a short book titled, Dogs I Have Loved.

So I get Joe Biden’s dilemma, or at least I think I do. I tried to keep this post non-partisan but, clearly, I think Biden is doing a good job at moving us back from the brink of authoritarianism, back to what America is supposed to be—but not back into the times of racial and gender discrimination, banned books and illegal abortions. I’ll vote for him again, given the chance—the alternatives so far are pretty awful.

Now about that book about dogs …..

Ageism, politics, and a lot of misconceptions

 

I’ve been thinking a lot lately about aging—and I’ve been discussing—arguing?—with two people near and dear to me—my wonderful son-in-law and my Canadian daughter. It all began over wine one night when Sue described President Biden as “ancient” and said he’ll be eighty at the end of his term. I heard an implied judgment that he is too old to be useful, although Christian says I am too quick to get my feelings hurt. I don’t think it was so much that I was offended for myself as it was that I was angry that Biden would be discounted because of his age.

Sue later explained in emails that yes, he has done some great things and will have a strong legacy. But she is talking about electability. Christian reinforced that later by saying people of a certain age—he chose over eighty—generally have problems and aren’t as sharp. At eighty-four, I really did take that personally, and he hastened to add, “not everybody.” But that, to me, is the problem.

America suffers from ageism, the habit of judging people by their age. It involves a prejudice against certain groups because of age. I of course see it primarily as a prejudice against the elderly, some of whom are much sharper mentally than many people in middle age. But the truth is that ageism is a factor at any point in life. Ageism does generally refer to the elderly; reverse ageism refers to the young.

I have six teenage grandchildren (one of the original seven aged out and is now in her early twenties). They are as different as can be, but each is a good kid, pursuing his or her own goals, leading a good life. To try to generalize them as teenagers would be to miss so much about each of them. Yet I am aware of the stereotypes of teenagers—lazy, irresponsible, not planning ahead, not reliable. It’s simply not true if you look at individuals and not the group.

Many of us strive daily to counter racial and gender stereotypes, yet we accept the prevailing wisdom that people over eighty are pretty much without value. When I pointed out all that President Biden has accomplished a great deal on behalf of the average American, Sue countered with, “Yes, but I see him in daily gaffes.” So today I saw a clip of a gaff: In a speech, Biden said he son Beau died in Iraq, although he fairly quickly corrected himself. Beau Biden died in Maryland, I believe, of a glioblastoma, probably traceable to exposure during his service in Iraq. The misconnection was easily made because Biden associates the death with Iraq, as do I. The thing is Joe Biden is noted far and wide for gaffes—he’s been making them all his long political career. They aren’t the sign of a failing mind or increasing dementia—they are what happens when a lifelong stutterer must weigh every word he utters and think carefully about it. Political opponents, however, have been quick to jump on his gaffes as signs of dementia or senility, and I hear it repeated, parrot-like, on social media.

Part of the problem with Biden is style. He’s a keep-your-head-down, plow-ahead, do-your-job kind of person. His humor is dry and understated, and he’s not at all pretentious. Americans have become accustomed to political bombast, politicians who yell and accuse and point fingers, tell outrageous lies, use fear to control people. It’s like poor Paul Pelosi being hit in the head with a hammer every day. And there is no humor or wit. But I’m afraid Sue is right. Americans won’t see this. In 2024, they’ll see an old man who should be put out to pasture.

I’m no stranger to stereotyping. I’ve needed a walker now for five years, going on six. In addition, I don’t hear well. I’ve found two distinct reactions: some people are so courteous and helpful that it reassures me that the world is still full of good people. Other people ignore me. Because I don’t drive, I usually have someone with me, and too often the salesclerk, the receptionist in a doctor’s office, the official in the DMV where I got my official non-driving i.d. talks to whoever is with me, ignoring me even though we are there because of my business. I want to wave my hand and say, “Woohoo! There’s still a pretty good, functioning brain in here.”

Americans need to get over stereotyping and profiling of all kinds. For me and my generation, ageism is especially offensive. I’m afraid a sea change in attitude may not come in time for Joe Biden and the 2024 elections or perhaps even in my lifetime. But I’m going to continue to do everything I can to fight the stereotype. And Joe Biden? Don’t count him out yet.

Just for grins, read this: 80 Over 80: ranking the most influential 80-plus-year-olds in America. (slate.com)

Thoughts on aging, independence, and who knows what

 

My generation has grown old

A friend complained to me the other night about ageism, and I thought to myself I rarely feel that. When feminism had us ladies all up at arms, I rarely felt that I was discriminated against. Maybe I’m just insensitive, but I remember Karen Perkins, founder of the Women’s Center and a real dynamo for women’s rights. I once heard her say she didn’t mind bringing the potato salad as long as she had a seat at the table. And that was me—I almost always felt I had a seat at the table. Oh, sure, at the university, some tried to pat me on the head (thank goodness not elsewhere) and tell me I was a good girl, but I knew how to use that.

But as if to spite me ageism came up the very next night after my friend brought it up. I was frustrated with a computer access problem. To this minute, I remain convinced that it was a problem of the slight tremor in my hands (Facebook wanted to photograph my i.d. card and each try resulted in the command to retake) and not of my computer understanding, but somehow my whole family got involved, it became a big issue (via telephone), and I was advised to read a book and go to sleep. My computer guru son-in-law would fix it in the morning. Let me say it outright: I was offended, probably out of proportion because my frustration level was so high. Contrary to everyone’s loving advice, I did not go to sleep. I tossed and turned and fretted well into the wee hours of the morning.

Brandon did fix it, though bless him, it took about an hour out of his workday and a long phone call. But all is well, and I am back in Facebook’s good graces—don’t judge, it’s an important part of my day. But the incident got me to thinking about independence. As Jean, who dines with me often, will testify, I’m pretty firm about not wanting help in the kitchen. I remind myself of my kids when they were little: “I do it by self!” But to me, it’s part of showing that I’m still capable—in the kitchen, at the computer.

If I need help, I ask for it. And I often do. I can’t get that bowl that is stored high in my closet, nor can my walker and I get around the coffee table to straighten the pillows Sophie has dislodged on the couch. Little stuff, but the things I can’t do. Someone asked recently if I was getting the care I need, and my response was, “Care? I don’t need much care. I just need someone to check that I’ve not fallen (I almost always have my phone with me, especially in the night on a bathroom trip) and to make sure I didn’t die in my sleep. A longtime friend recently was home alone for several days. When his wife returned from a trip, she found him on the floor, unable to get up. Best guess is that he had a stroke, fell and hit his head, and lay there for 24 hours. When you get to be my age, such is always a possibility, so I am grateful that Jordan looks out every morning to be sure I have raised the blind in my kitchen door.

But if insisting on doing what I can is part of the picture, so is accepting what I cannot do. Someone recently said unhappily that she could no longer walk a half mile—since from here to the main house stretches my abilities, I wasn’t as sympathetic as I perhaps could have been. But my philosophy these days is that in my 80+ years I have lived a full life, had a lot of wonderful experiences, and now the time is for me to treasure those memories, perhaps live on them. Oh, sure, in my dreams I am sometimes once again fleet of foot, but that’s a dream, not a reality. I probably cannot take that cross-country railroad trip I’d love to take, though Jamie insists he and I can do it, and I may or may not ever get to Santa Fe again (jury’s out on that one). I probably won’t fly again, mostly because I’m not an easy flyer and there’s no place I want to go badly enough to get on a plane. Chicago is a possible exception, especially since I’m now writing books set there. But my whole point is that I’m not going to kvetch (a great Yiddish word for complain) about what I can’t do but stress what I can do. And enjoy.

Last night, Jordan had a group of friends at the house to pick up their travel documents. They are all going to Cabo together to celebrate Christian’s 50^th (other kids will babysit me and at first, I was a bit unsure about needing babysitters, but our friend’s fall has me grateful they will be here). As the party was dwindling inside, some five or six of them came out to say hello. We laughed and joked and for ten minutes or so, the cottage was the happiest place you can imagine. Jordan (and I) have known these folks since their high school days. All I could think was how lucky I am that all these years later, they still want to come see Juju, share their excitement, show a little love (no hugging—covid lurks). I am blessed, and that’s what I will continue to focus on.

Politics as usual

 

I don’t know about you and your political affiliation, but I suspect what I’m experiencing is true of you too. I guess it’s because I support liberal candidates financially, either when I’m feeling a bit flush or in some moment of political concern like the Dobbs decision, but I am deluged these days as the midterms approach with appeals for money.

Some are desperate: “We’re packing it in, giving up.” Others are bullying, “If so-and-so doesn’t win, the [other party] will be in control.” Strange how many contests, especially for the Senate, depend on just one seat. Lots of appeals cite “one-time matches” and yet I see them more than one time.

And the inconsistency: one day they’re ready to pack it up, but the next they are triumphantly reporting that their candidate is “surging,” or “gaining two points,” or even “leading by two points.” Of course, it’s too early to put much faith in polls, so I ignore these. And then I get emails that say, “We’re crying tears of joy,” or “Trump bawled when he read this.” You just must take everything with several large grains of salt.

I am leery of PACS and seldom respond to the emails, which often have blaring, boldface warnings and dire predictions with lots of exclamation points. What bothers me is that a few of them may really be doing good work, but they hide it behind the flamboyant, demanding presentation. Those are also the ones that often make you feel guilty: “We haven’t had your response!” or “Does Judy Alter not want to support so-and-so.” Katie Porter of California is one of six legislators who does not accept PAC money, and I support her.

The mailings I most dislike: polls. They want to ask your opinion on a certain topic, and I am always glad to share that. But say it’s a question about environmental concerns, you answer, even choose the dots for one or two opinions, and then the email becomes a series of such dumb questions, the answer so obvious that no one, but no one, needs a survey. And of course, finally, you find yourself confronted with a screen demanding to know if you want to give monthly (I never do, because I’ve known the bookkeeping to screw up) or a one-time gift. If I give, it’s always a one-time gift.

For years I thought I’d just wait and donate closer to the election, when who needed the most support was obvious. But lately I’ve been impressed by ads that include a reminder that giving now does much more good than the week before the election.

So I’ve settled into my routine, which is pretty unorganized. I give sporadically to a group of candidates that I think I want to support. Lately my list includes Val Demings in Florida, John Fetterman in Pennsylvania (love that he won’t wear a suit), Raphael Warnock in Georgia (can anyone in their right mind vote for Herschel Walker who gives all the signs of brain damage from too many hits in the head), Mark Kelly in Arizona (thought his emails are for some reasons particularly annoying), Michael Franken, the U. S. Navy retired admiral running to defeat the aged and infirm Chuck Grassley.

I have to remind myself that federal elections are not all that matters and to pay attention to local races, especially in Texas. Who controls our state legislatures matters a lot in daily life, and in Texas, we sure need new blood.

I’ve read lately about the divisions in both our major parties. I could not care less if Republicans fight among themselves—oh, okay, maybe I do care because it’s a sign that some are moving away from blind loyalty to trump. But I am concerned about divisions in the Democratic party at a time when solidarity seems most important.  The big concern to me is whether Joe Biden should run again. A good friend said to me tonight that after all, he is 84 and would be close to 90 at the close of his second term. I think that’s a common misconception—he is 79. No spring chicken to be sure, but he has accomplished so much for this country, that I am leery of abandoning him unless he himself decides to step down, which he had said he would do when he ran.

I think Biden has a magnificent vision for this country, one that would restore us in the way that FDR’s New Deal did in the thirties, restores the middle class, give every American a chance, not just the one percent. But he’s been stymied by a Republican congress and one recalcitrant Democrat—Joe Manchin. Biden has faced a looming economic recession, a pandemic, our destroyed international reputation, the Russian invasion of Ukraine, a near crisis in the environment, domestic terrorism, a rogue Supreme Court and the destructive Dobbs decision, and he’s dealt effectively with each of them. His rising employment numbers have kept us out of recession, his diplomacy has managed to restore out international reputation left in shatters by the former guy, and to contain the Russian invasion by assembling European nations as allies.

I also think that Biden’s own low-key personality betrays him. He hasn’t been as forceful in the public eye as even Obama. He makes me think of a guy who goes quietly and efficiently about his work, ignoring criticisms. But he ought to get before the public more, and I think he’s beginning to do that.

Before we succumb to the stereotype of ageism, let us look long and hard at the individual and his accomplishments, not his age, and make a rational decision.

And my question: who would the nominee be if not Biden? It’s time for Democrats to stop bad-mouthing their leader and pull together.

Oops. I’ve preached far too long.

Sitting on the sidelines

Jordan and Jacob went to Bag It! Night at our church tonight, where we load backpacks with school supplies and add appropriate size clothing for needy kids. I was delighted when I heard they were going, because I want to be more involved in the church beyond sitting in a pew every Sunday. So I was dressed and ready to go when Jordan came out for a quick glass of wine. She said she’d find me a place to sit, and I replied that I thought surely there was something constructive I could do seated at a table. She said no. Everything is laid out in piles, and you take your list and a plastic bag and walk around collecting things. A lot of walking which, of course, I can’t do. She thought I wanted to go watch, and she thought that was sweet.

Sweet or no, I did not want to be a spectator. I think that’s part of ageism, not aging. Senior citizens are sidelined to watch, not participate, and I didn’t want to be in that position. I don’t want, at my age, to watch life go by me. I want to be part of it. So I’ll just have to find another way to put my talents to work for the church. I stayed home, defrosted some leftover turkey stuffing and gravy, and had chocolate for dessert.

Ageism is defined as prejudice or discrimination based on a person’s age. It is, however, an insidious thing that can make a person feel older. We take our signals from those around us, and if they treat us as elderly, we feel that way. I think nine times out of ten, it’s unconscious. In an effort to be protective, friends and family sideline a person. I see it happening to me, even with the best of intentions. Jordan and a neighbor talked last night about whether I would do well on a cross-country railroad trip—navigating the links between cars, etc. Without meaning to, they talked as though I were not in the room. They had the best of intentions—seeing that I was safe, comfortable, and happy, but I wasn’t part of it. I was a spectator.

Three small errands today—the cleaners, the podiatrist, and the TCU hearing aid clinic—were my way of saying, “Hey! I’m still an active part of life.” I shared a good laugh with the owner of the cleaners, the podiatrist and I had a jolly conversation about good, old-fashioned, practical medicine, and the admin assistant at the clinic talked with me about falls. She called me a tough lady, which boosted my ego greatly, in spite of my ghastly appearance. If I had asked Jordan to do those errands, which she doesn’t have time for, I’d have missed all that interaction. The day may come, but by golly it isn’t here yet, and I’m not ready for the sidelines.

Speaking of sitting, I have a rollator, a walker with a seat, that I use all day everyday in the cottage. As much as possible, I use it as a walker. But although it firmly warns against sitting in it while moving, I do that a lot too. How else would I carry dishes from kitchen to desk and back? Cook? Carry clothes around? There are countless chores that no one thinks  about that I can’t do walking. So it’s a mainstay of my independence.

We put a new seat on it last night—at least the sixth seat in three years. And before I went to bed, I heard the seat crack. It’s simply padding over a cheap piece of plywood. I tried so hard to be careful, but sitting in it at the bathroom sink, I reached to turn on the water and heard that unmistakable sound. Heard minor versions of it throughout rest of the evening. So I announced this time that instead of saying Judy must be careful, we were going to say that the rollator, a lightweight version, is simply not sturdy enough to do what I need it to do. Colin and I are going to go someday soon (I hope) to a store that sells them, talk with what I hope will be a knowledgeable salesperson about what I need. And we’re going to the Apple store to find out why my watch didn’t alert people when I fell. All part of keeping me off the sidelines.

Sweet dreams, everyone!