Thoughts on turning eighty

I remember when my mom turned eighty. Dad had passed on by then, and Mom had moved to Fort Worth. She was active—I think that was the year she went to China with a group of women from her bank—and she was classy, a lady’s lady. We were so proud of her that we gave a small party. I remember dancing in a circle in the large entryway of our house.

Two or three years later Mom began to have those TIAs or small strokes that eventually robbed her of all her grace and dignity and ladylike charm. By eighty-five she was in a nursing home—the old-fashioned kind, not today’s assisted living with its many activities and opportunities. And at eighty-seven, she died.

I have always been afraid of eighty. But now I’m three days into it, and nothing bad has happened. I take heart from my eighty-six-year-old brother. When I talked to him yesterday morning shortly after nine, he’d already been out to move the cows to another pasture. He’d just come in for a bite of breakfast before going to clear brush (okay he has a fancy tractor kind of thing that does most of the work, but still….) He’s got good genes, that guy does, and I hope I inherited them. The women on my father’s side of the family all lived into their nineties, a precedent I intend to follow.

If nothing dramatic has happened, I do notice recent changes, mostly in attitude. At eighty, I’m not going to do things I don’t want to, just to be polite. I’ve always been quite social, rarely turning down an invitation to go out for lunch or dinner. But lately I find myself a bit less interested—my days fall into a routine that I am sometimes reluctant to break. And some evenings, like tonight, a quiet hamburger at home and a book sounds just perfect. I think tonight I’m still in recovery from my wild weekend of celebration, but I’ve stayed home and worked, in my pajamas, for two days.

I am less ambitious than I have been. All my life I’ve looked to the next accomplishment. Sort of, if this is good, what’s better? What’s next? Publish one book and be satisfied? Never. Now I’ve written over a hundred is you count the wild variety, including some work-for-hire assignments. When I turned to writing mysteries, I told myself if I just got one published, I’d be happy. When Contract for Chaos comes out in September, I will have published fourteen mysteries.

But I’m drawing back a little, not so driven to publish two books a year, a little more reluctant to jump into another book that puzzles me halfway through. I want to write something I’m passionately interested in, and so I’m taking time to explore. I still want to be active in all my online writing groups, keep up my contacts. And I won’t quit expressing both joys and concerns on Facebook. In sum, I think I’m less driven. I don’t have the feeling that every minute has to be productive. Maybe I’m finally learning to sit back and smell the roses.

I read somewhere that people over fifty should spend more time in bed. Shoot! I’ve been doing that since I retired eight years ago. A nap is a must, and I don’t let much interrupt it. I’m fortunate that I’ve come roaring back after some health crises in 2017—okay, I can’t dance like my mom did on her eightieth birthday, but the walker doesn’t slow me down much. Maybe I should practice some dance steps with it.

It’s a good feeling. I think I like eighty just fine.

Let the parties begin

Jacob and Elizabeth, probably three years ago

This strangest of years may turn out to have a sociable holiday season for me—surprise!

Sunday night, a longtime friend and former student came for a one-on-one girl chat and a light supper. I first met Elizabeth at least 25 years ago when she applied to be a student worker in my office. She worked for us for three years, and we clicked. She wrote, and one year she walked away with almost all the awards in the annual Creative Writing Competition—that gave us a basis, but the friendship grew slowly. I would tell you she was a bit shy, not an easy conversationalist. Marriage made a difference, made her more forthcoming, gave her more self-confidence. But it didn’t last—on a Labor Day weekend she asked if she could come stay in my guest apartment for three weeks. She stayed a year, and we both enjoyed it immensely. We sat on the deck with many a glass of wine, and we cooked salmon patties and ham salad and breakfast for dinner, scrambled eggs with smoked salmon being a favorite. She was then gluten- and dairy-free, and I enjoyed the challenge of cooking for her. Today she is part of my extended family and among those whose friendship I treasure.

So Sunday night we scrambled eggs and drank wine and shared girl talk. She now lives in Pennsylvania and teaches yoga. Her partner, also a yoga instructor, always feels that I am angry at him for taking her away—he should talk to neighbor Jay! But at his suggestions, they are coming for coffee, tea, whatever tomorrow morning.

Today Jordan, Subie and I had lunch at an upscale restaurant, the kind of ladies’ lunch that make you feel elegant. We had wine and lots of laughs—and I had an unladylike lunch choice, a hamburger. I’m noticing that most restaurants have some form of cheese in almost every dish on the menu. After lunch we “breezed through” World Market, one of those stores that overwhelm with variety.

Tonight, the architect who designed my cottage came to view the results. I hope he was as pleased as I am. He brought his family-wife, ten-year-old daughter, and two-year-old daughter. Precious girls, though Jacob, being in 5^th grade with the older girl, hid the whole evening. Still we had a good time, talked about everything from ridiculous building codes to the title business-and no politics.

And tomorrow my kids and grandkids all arrive. Let the good times roll!

Getting Out in the World

I wouldn’t want you to think things are going to hell in a handbasket around here, but someone just brought me today’s paper to read—only it turned out to be last Saturday’s paper. Wednesday is when they run recipes, and I’d really rather have that.

Beefing up my social life and also getting out in the world. Monday a colleague from my osteopathic college days—probably the 70s—brought me a sandwich for lunch, and we had a great, happy visit. Yesterday, Melinda, production manager at TCU Press and my dear friend, came and got me and we went to Nonna Tata for lunch. It’s our favorite hangout, and we take small bottles of wine. We’re in z rut—she has chicken limon and I have braseola. And we always have a great, laughter-filled visit. It was a trick to get into her suburban but I had a stepstool and managed it nicely. Still, making sure Sophie stays confined while I get out, getting into the car, etc. is a strenuous exercise. Melinda said she should have skipped her exercise class that morning.

Tonight Betty and I took Jacob to Swiss Pastry—they now serve a German menu on weeknights. Jacob frowned, doesn’t like that restaurant, etc. I had studied hard to find things on the menu he’d like, but he made a face at mac and cheese with bacon and potatoes—and I didn’t even tell him the cheese was gruyere and not cheddar. But lo and behold, they had a kids’ menu with a hamburger. Their hamburgers are Wagu beef and delicious. I fortunately kept my mouth shut about how good it would be, and Jacob loved it.

Betty and I split the Weisswurst platter—sliced pork-and-veal sausage and mushrooms in a wine cream sauce with mashed potatoes. Absolutely delicious. I’m anxious to go back and try some of their schnitzels. Jacob and I let our imaginations get away with our capacity, and each ordered Black Forest Cake—I brought home a full serving, and he brought almost that much. Good desserts linger in the fridge. Betty had coconut cream pie, liked it so well she took a second piece home to her husband.

Meanwhile I am overwhelmed with small chores at my desk. The neighborhood newsletter consumed an unusual amount of time, and everything I touch seems to take more time than it should. I sometimes get 250 emails a day, plus I check Facebook at least once a day. And now I have three books to read for the Sarton competition sponsored by Story Circle Network. Somehow it seems I work all morning and never get ahead.

My current project is to sort some recipes, and I did a bit today, picking out things to fix for Jordan and me since Christian will be out of town this weekend. We usually eat fish when he’s gone, so I have Italian-style tuna sandwiches and avocado/salmon/lime tostados on my list. Fun to be cooking again.

Two days and I trade the boot for a brace. I’m hoping I will make life a lot easier and so am excited. Wish me good balance and self-confidence, please.