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 |  A Baby-Boomer STILL alive and living in senior housing...
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The random thoughts of a Baby-Boomer STILL adjusting to life in senior housing (after five years)... Almost exactly nine months after World War II ended, one historian writes, “the cry of the baby was heard across the land.” More babies were born in 1946 than ever before: 3.4 million, 20 percent more than in 1945. This was the beginning of the so-called “baby boom.” In 1947, another 3.8 million babies were born; 3.9 million were born in 1952; and more than 4 million were born every year from 1954 until 1964, when the boom finally tapered off. By then, there were 76.4 million “baby boomers” in the United States. They made up almost 40 percent of the nation’s population. - www.history.com |
| Ugh! Slow day at The Home yesterday. My allergies are in full-attack mode with sneezing, sniffling, and blowing. The older I get the more I suffer from them. When I was younger, I never had this problem. It’s only been the last three years that pollen has gotten to me. I wonder if global warming has anything to do with it…or if it’s just my body giving up (“I’m tired of warding things off for you. You’re on your own now.”). The highlight of my day yesterday? Watched a movie entitled, “The Parking Lot Movie.” Yes, that’s right – a documentary about a parking lot in Virginia. Seventy minutes I’ll never get back. HAHA. Really, though, I enjoyed it: quirky, smart, suspenseful. And by the end of it, the allergy med kicked in…so, it was a win-win. Time to hit the pavement and dodge the spores… …and look for early Easter eggs. Life is good. |
| Ugh! [feeble knock] pause [feeble knock] The sounds interrupted my viewing of the “Mister Ed” episode where Ed requests elevator shoes to impress Penelope, a filly who is taller than him. I answered my door. It was Diane, who lives down the hall. “Hi.” (me) “Do you have a hot dog I could borrow?” (her) A hot dog? “Um, no, sorry. I don’t have any hot dogs.” A hot dog? “Oh, that’s too bad. Connie said you do a lot of cooking and I should ask you.” She pulled a tissue from her dress sleeve and wiped her nose. “I’m hungry for a hot dog.” She pushed the moist tissue back up her sleeve. “Sorry.” “Okay, maybe some other time then.” Yeah, maybe some other time…like I have a spare wiener lying around as a matter of course. Not. (Mister Ed acquired his elevator shoes with Wilbur’s help; alas he couldn’t walk with them on – they were too heavy.) Life is good. |
| Ugh! On my way outdoors yesterday here at The Home for a smoke, the musk of patchouli lingered in the stairwell between the second and first floors. I surmised Mrs. Roper had recently traversed the stairs. Upon walking through the lobby, I saw a tall woman with a towering blond beehive standing in front of the mailboxes. She was clad in a bird-of-paradise caftan and long lilac scarf. It was Mrs. Roper without her red wig. I noticed something shimmered in her hair; when I got closer I saw she had two sparkly butterflies attached. She smiled at me as I went past her. I didn’t have to inhale too hard to recognize the source of the patchouli smell. It’s her. I’d really like to know her story – in particular: Why the patchouli when there are so many other scents available. Every time I smell it I’m transported back to the 1970s for a brief moment…and then it passes and I realize where I am. When I re-entered The Home after my break, she was talking to Gert in the lobby. I heard little snippets of “…wedding…” and “…royal…” and “…scones…” before I went up the staircase. Maybe they’re planning a wedding party for next Friday? Perhaps I should have stuck around and joined their conversation and in the process scored an invite. Imagine: hours of tea and scones and patchouli… Life is good. |
| Ugh! Well, I bought a new bathroom scale. My old one was mechanical and it was time to replace it. I wasn’t losing weight fast enough! HAHA! In reality, it got more difficult to read the output – the lines between the numbers blurred. So I splurged for a digital scale with a large read-out – it’s even backlit so I can use it in the dark! Yahoo! (And it was cheaper than a new pair of eyeglasses.) One drawback is that it measures poundage by 2/10 of a pound. That figures to be about 3-ounce increments. I’m not sure that will be helpful as I continue my journey to rid myself of my pot belly. I weigh myself each morning after my first walk of the day and the exercises I do once I’m back at The Home. I shower, dry off, sit at my computer to update my exercise journal/record-keeping, and blow dry in front of a fan before stepping on the scale – don’t want any stray droplets giving me an untrue reading. Before hopping on, though, I do some other maintenance: floss to get rid of anything inside my mouth that might be weighing me down, clean wax from my ears with a Q-Tip (I know I’m not supposed to do that. I do. So sue me!), I go to the bathroom, trim the hairs from my nose and ears, and finally I blow my nose. Then, and only then, do I step on the scale. I like to get my TRUE weight. Since starting my walking/exercising regime on 16 March, I’ve lost 11.8 pounds. Okay, okay – I should just round it up to 12 pounds, but I’m going to believe the scale when it says I still have to work harder to lose those last three ounces. The walking every day is now almost enjoyable. Time passes much more quickly; I’m able to take in more of my surroundings as I trudge along; I no longer mentally track the ¾, halfway, and almost-home marks (although the UROLOGY sign still affects me); and I’m no longer panting and puffing when I get back to The Home. I did read online that if one does the same thing every day in the same manner, the body will adjust to it. So in an effort to keep my body guessing what’s in store on any particular day, I now mix-up my routines by reversing my walking pattern or taking a different hill or doing exercises on different days – that way my metabolism will be confused and have to work harder. I don’t expect the lard to melt away, but any little bit will be welcome. Time to hit the sidewalks! Life is good. |
| Ugh! Friday my sister called me and asked if I’d like to go to the local high school’s spring band concert. My niece plays flute in the band, so I agreed. I hadn’t been to a band concert in several years and thought it would be fun. Plus it would be a nice remembrance of my own experience playing clarinet in my high school band eons ago. She picked me up and we arrived at the school. However, we entered the gymnasium – not the auditorium. That threw me for a few seconds. The bleachers were almost filled so we had to climb up fairly high – 28 rows to be exact. Believe me – I know – I counted them as we ascended to the ceiling. I have a definite fear of heights and it came to the surface Friday evening. My sister was “shopping” for “good seats” as we scaled; she periodically turned around to me and said, “How about here?” I didn’t even look; I just nodded my assent…then she’d climb higher, turn and ask me again. I knew enough to keep looking upwards – if I turned around and looked down I would be done for. Finally after the third time of her asking me (I know she was just trying to include me in the decision-making, but for crying out loud!) I almost yelled, “Let’s sit. NOW!” And we did. I hated the sensation, but I thought: I’m a grown boy; nothing is going to happen; I’m not going to tumble forward and end up at center court (or more exact, the middle of the saxophone section), so I just tried to calm myself by reading the program. Minutes passed while young people ran up and down the bleachers without a care in the world. I was frozen in place. Eventually the lights dimmed and the announcer said, “Please all rise for our national anthem.” Uh-oh. I forgot about that. I nudged my sister and whispered, “I can’t stand.” “Why?” (her) “We’re too high up.” (me) “Seriously?” Nod. No smile. Nod. The opening strains of the anthem filled the air. I didn’t stand; I stared at the back of a Phillies jacket worn by the man in front of me who sang really off-key, but I didn’t mind. Two hours later, the concert ended with a standing ovation from everyone. But me. I ovated sitting down. Life is good. |
| Ugh! As I headed down the stairs yesterday here at The Home for my third smoke, I heard shouting from the first floor. When I got to the bottom, it was Doom-and-Gloom Earl’s voice. Before opening the door into the lobby, I listened. “It says you have to berl your water.” Unintelligible sounds. “Berl! Berl your water!” I opened the door and saw him standing at the bulletin board all alone. He peered at a newspaper clipping someone had tacked up earlier in the morning. I looked to my left and saw an apartment door open halfway down the hallway. A grey head was barely sticking out. “What?” “I said you have to berl your water!” Why he didn’t just take the article off the board and read it to the neighbor by her door is beyond me. I suppose it might have been too complicated for him. And practical… The article was about a water main break in the city and mentioned that some residents in that neighborhood (several miles away) were notified to boil their tap water before using it for bathing, washing, or drinking. Earl took it upon himself to alert everyone here at The Home (several miles away from the affected area) to “berl your water.” When I came back inside a few minutes later, the lobby was quiet. In kitchens throughout The Home water berled, er, boiled away on stovetops thanks to Earl’s misinformation. Life is good. |
| Ugh! Read a news item about a car sideswiping a bunch of cars on a nearby street and it reminded me of the time a transit bus did the same thing one night when I lived in Philadelphia. My apartment was on the first floor in an old mansion on a busy thoroughfare frequented by trolleys and buses and lots of cars. I awoke that morning, pulled back the curtains and looked outside. I thought it was odd that the car in front of the house was on the sidewalk. I craned my neck and looked up the block – all the cars were on the sidewalk. I looked down the block – ditto. It must have made a heckuva racket when it happened, but I slept through it like a newborn, non-colicky baby. I later saw on the local news that the bus driver had fallen asleep and wiped out 12 cars while in lala-land. No word yet on what happened to the most recent out-of-control driver. I just hope it wasn’t someone from The Home. It wasn’t me. At least not that I can recall… Life is good. |
| Ugh! Well, yesterday was the second Tuesday of the month: time for Vera to show up here at The Home. The usuals (me, Angie, Irene) were there on time. A few moments before the scheduled start Heidi Hitler stomped in; Mrs. Roper breezed in behind her. It was nice to see increased participation. The minute hand on the clock slipped past the top of the hour and began its slow descent down the eastern slope. No Vera. Heidi grunted now and then – I think she was trying to clear an overcooked pork chop from her throat; she sounded like an injured calf. Mrs. Roper hummed and looked at the donated "artwork" on the walls of the room as she fiddled with her long scarf; patchouli permeated the atmosphere. After 15 minutes, Mrs. Roper announced, "I cannot wait one minute longer. I have important matters to attend to" and out the door she flowed. Heidi grunted. Angie and Irene looked at me. I shrugged. I waited 10 more minutes then got up and went upstairs to make coconut curry chicken without the coconut (I forgot to buy coconut milk in the store) (sigh) (it still turned out good using skim milk). Later in the day I ran into Angie as she walked Complaining Connie's Rascal and asked her how the rest of the session went. She said, "Vera never showed up. Irene and me left soon after you." So much for our new activities director...she was boring anyway. Weather was much more seasonable, although showery all day long – my favorite type of day. Life is good. |
| Ugh! Unseasonably warm here yesterday – too early for hot weather; spring should be enjoyable, not a sweatfest. I walk past a church close to The Home every day (twice, in fact) and they have a sign out front on the pristine lawn that reads: SERVICES FOR PRAYER, PRAISE, AND HEELING SATURDAYS 5:30 p.m. JOIN US I guess they’re trying to attract Christian disobedient dogs and their trainers… Life is good. |
| Ugh! Sad weekend here at The Home: we lost two neighbors. Doom-and-Gloom Earl delivered the news to me with wide eyes and short breaths. I don’t know where he gets his information, but I’m suspect of almost everything he says…something about Joe falling in his bathtub and laying there for a day until he was found and something else about Susanna dying in her easy chair with the TV blaring. Neither of those people lived on my floor, so I can’t attest to the accuracy; however, given Earl’s track record for fact-based information, I’m doubtful he tells the truth. I’m resolved to the fact that The Home will be my last place to live. My place is small and I don’t have a lot of things – it’s just perfect for me at this point in my life. The less one has, the less one has to fret. I possess the basics and that’s enough. Years ago I imagined how my elder years would be spent: rich, traveling the world, life of leisure – none of those things have come to bear. That’s okay – I’m happy with my lot. I only hope when my time comes I don’t go like Joe or Susanna (if Earl is to be believed): I don’t want to be found naked (not until I’ve lost my pot gut, at least) and I’d be embarrassed if I went while Judge Judy played in the background (she’s my guilty pleasure). I didn’t know Joe or Susanna – only saw them occasionally in the lobby, so I can’t say I’ll miss them. There are many here at The Home that I know only by sight and that’s fine. I’ve learned during my tenure that it’s sometimes better to nod at someone rather than ask how things are going, because sometimes my ear can become raw when I’m told in a droning voice how things are going. A simple head gesture and smile suffice. Life is good. |
| Ugh! I’ve gotten stuck in rut…not literally, but some of the broken sidewalks I plod along every day could be considered fodder for that. I do two walks daily – morning and mid-day. The morning one (3.3 miles) takes me up the big hill past the cemeteries (I’ve now gotten to the point that I’m not light-headed when I reach the top and can turn my head to the right to observe some things I hadn’t noticed previous – there are actually three separate cemeteries there) then down the other side of the hill back into town. Along this stretch I pass a convenience store where invariably I must dodge cars pulling in and out of the parking lot as people stop off for their daily fix of overpriced coffee. In the next block I trudge past a funeral home, which is right next door to a pizza parlor – seems strange to have those two businesses side-by-side, but there you have it – both are Italian named/owned, but not the same name. That would just be too strange. Although one is a surname and the other a first name, so conceivably they could be run by the same family. In a sense they’re both in the delivery business…one to your home and one out of your home. Once I’m at that point, I traverse the route that I take at mid-day (2.4 miles). This portion has me walking past the big hospital complex and LOTS of doctors’ offices located in myriad buildings: high-rises, low-rises, converted mansions, shacks – you name it, if it has four walls and a roof, you can bet a doctor has set up shop inside. My early walk is usually safe, but by mid-day things are hopping traffic-wise on this stretch what with ambulances and walking wounded crowding the streets and sidewalks. When I get to within three blocks of The Home on my return, I pass a doctor’s office with a big sign that reads “UROLOGY.” On EVERY walk, I get the urge to pee and have to hustle/shuffle the rest of the way back. I don’t know why my brain plays tricks like that. I don’t yawn when I pass the Sleep Clinic. My eyes don’t get blurry when I walk by the ophthalmologist’s office. My teeth don’t hurt when I meander past the orthodontics place. But the urologist? I make it a point to pee before I leave my apartment, and even though I’m only gone at the most 60 minutes, the urge to whizz becomes overpowering – so much so that when I come in the back door of The Home, I take the stairs two at a time in an attempt to reach my apartment before the flood gates open. I guess I could reverse my walk…nahh, then I’d end up holding it for 55 minutes instead of five. Sigh. Life is good. |
| Ugh! On my morning walk yesterday, I stopped at a convenience store for milk. As I left a woman yelled my name from a car. I stooped over to see who it was. I had no idea. None. Zilch. Nada. She smiled and asked me how I was. I blank-looked back at her for a few seconds…she finally said, “You don’t know who I am, do you?” I shook my head. “Sorry, no.” She told me her name. It was a woman I worked with 20 years ago – and the 20 elapsed years had not been kind to her. She mentioned she had seen me walking a few days prior. I mentioned my new regime and ended with, “Well, I should be going. Good-bye,” and I walked off carrying my milk. It got me thinking about upper-handedness…when I worked with that woman, she always talked down to me – nothing blatant, just little inflections or innuendoes. Here it was 20 years later and she still had the upper hand by putting me on the spot. Granted I wasn’t at my best brain-wise, what with the blood not reaching that high up due to my strenuous strides. I didn’t appreciate it. The rest of my walk I recalled some of the unpleasant moments we had experienced and I was glad that was all behind me now. I didn’t mention to her that her appearance had thrown me; apparently I hadn’t changed so much in 20 years that she didn’t know me, but she sure had changed. I felt good about myself. And the added weight of the half-gallon of milk added a little resistance to my walk. I sweated a little more despite the temperature being in the 20s. Here’s hoping I don’t run into her again for 20 more years…or better yet – never again! Life is good. |
| Ugh! The forsythias are blooming in the neighborhoods I trudge through – a sure sign of the change of seasons...and I sweat a lot already (not a good thing) – it's only the first week of April, for crying out loud! On the other hand, maybe the sweating is a positive sign that I'm pushing myself. Nahhh, it's the thermometer. My doctor a while back suggested I take fish oil, so I went out and bought a bottle of pills. Those suckers are HUGE! I dreaded taking them, and eventually just stopped. Since I've been walking, though, I can feel stress in my ankles and knees, so it's back to the fish oil. But I found a product on amazon called Coromega – it's fish oil in a pudding-like consistency. It's orange-flavored – actually it tastes like the old Creamsicle pops from my youth. Each little packet contains a daily dose. It's much easier than trying to swallow those gigantic pills. Fish oil is supposedly good for brain activity, among other things. Maybe I'll be creative now while I walk instead of fretting about falling or falling victim to someone/thing. The trick will be remembering whatever genius idea I have long enough to jot it down when I get back to The Home. I suppose I could carry a little pad and pen with me to note stuff, but once I get my pace going, there's little that can stop my momentum – besides I don't like to be loaded down with accoutrements while ambulatory. I have a hard enough time going uphill and then down again – the sudden change in pace is jarring. Life is good. |
| Ugh! On my afternoon trek yesterday, I came up behind a woman walking two dogs on one leash. From a distance it appeared to be two small canines: one black and one white with black spots. As I got nearer to them, I realized she was walking only one dog – black. The “white with black spots” turned out to be a stuffed zebra the dog was carrying in his mouth! I guess leaving the toy behind at home was not an option for the little beastie…or he wanted to take his striped companion for a stroll, too. Went to the benefits check-up session that was advertised last week here at The Home…turns out I’m not eligible for any of the programs offered. The woman doing the presentation was very generic with the information, telling those of us in attendance that more specific information would be made available in private, individual meetings in the future if we qualified for anything. That didn’t deter some from blurting out their own financial situations in front of the whole gathering, which could lay the building blocks of resentment. It got uncomfortable so I left and came back to my apartment and made apple crisp. I don’t have a desire to learn intimate details of my neighbors’ lives. I get enough of that walking through the lobby… Life is good. |
| Ugh! Fairly quiet here at The Home over the weekend: no wild get-togethers, no police activity, no stripper-pole mishaps. Senior living as prescribed... Yesterday I made pork and sauerkraut with apples and onions. My apartment smelled Pennsylvania-Dutch-ish when I returned from one of my walks. I can tell spring is trying its mightiest to come into the neighborhood: I saw numerous robins, the crocuses and daffodils are blooming, and the flowering trees have buds on them. I wish I could take in more of my surroundings as I trudge here and there, but I'm still getting used to the idea of walking for health/fitness. It sounds silly, but I have to keep my eyes on the broken sidewalks, crosswalks, bicyclists/joggers/walkers, and money. (I've found 37 cents so far...) I don't carry any sort of ID with me when I venture out for my neighborhood perambulations. I suppose I should in case I pass out or am attacked or run over. Carrying my wallet is definitely out – I don't want to risk losing important stuff. I could carry my driver's license, but that has my old address on it (I don't get my new one until this summer) and I don't want to carry the change-of-address addendum...too cumbersome. So, I printed out a little piece of paper that reads: IF FOUND, RETURN TO: And then I list my address, phone number and an emergency contact. I carry it in my shirt pocket. I figure they'll check there first as they're applying the defibrillators to jump start me again. That is unless I'm flattened by a city bus. It could happen. Life is good. |
| Ugh! I started my walking journal mid-March. After my trips of yesterday, I finished the month at 50.47 miles in 16 days. The last two days, I exceeded my goal of 10,000steps/day. My goal for April is to walk 10,000steps/day for 30 days. And to lose 18 more pounds. The poundage goal is long-term – not for April. However, if it does drop off in April, I’ll be happy. Not likely to happen though with Easter coming up. I can’t resist chocolate bunny ears. Dee-lish! Walking through the lobby yesterday for my celebratory smoke after completing my 50th mile, I sensed Mrs. Roper had been there before me. Patchouli lingered in the atmosphere not quite overpowering the scent of camphor. Hoping for a quiet time at The Home this weekend…it appears we dodged the snow! Life is good. |
| Ugh! The weather people are teasing us with the threat of an April 1 snowstorm. Oh, the cruelty of Mother Nature… On a happier note, on my return from my walk yesterday, I ran into Mabel in her wheelchair at the front door of The Home. I see her there every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday awaiting the bus that delivers her to her church’s senior day care program. We got to chatting and I asked her how she likes the place. “It’s good for me to be out among people.” I like that attitude. It’s important not to stagnate and she is doing something about it. Mabel related last week they had an Elvis impersonator as entertainment. I asked if he was the fat Elvis or the thin one. She beamed, "The thin one!" In the past they’ve had a magician and a juggler. The church folks provide a hot meal and an afternoon snack for participants. It sounds like a nice program and I hope it’s available if and when I need something like that. In the meantime I’m going to continue my walking and meager exercising in an effort to stave off inactivity and the depression that can set in as a side effect. I want to remain independent for as long as possible. I might do some extra walking today in case I’m prevented from doing so tomorrow because of the white stuff… Life is good. |
| Ugh! Well, Doom-and-Gloom Earl was at it again yesterday here at The Home. An announcement was posted in the lobby about a “Benefits Check-up” session to be held next week. Topics to be covered are myriad; mostly things I’m already aware of though Social Security and various state agencies. Thank goodness for my computer and Google! Those without those means might benefit from the session. Earl made the rounds saying “I heard Social Security is going to be cut.” I asked him where he heard that; he replied, “I have my sources.” And he half smiled. Confrontation is not my way, so I let it slide. As you can imagine, his pronouncement set tongues wagging on all floors. Residents were lined up outside the management office for a good portion of the afternoon. The poor property manager must have been silently cursing Earl as senior after senior filed inside. It’s a shame that some people speak whatever is on the mind, without a care for the consequences. And it’s sad that people like DandG Earl have no idea what their words mean to others. I’ve encountered him enough to not believe half of what he says; not sure how to get the rest of the populace to do the same. In a place where the high point of each day is the mailman’s arrival, his actions create chaos. Somehow I think he gets joy out of it. Oh, well, there’s not much I can do to change peoples’ minds. I’ll just live life for me and not be concerned about the words of others. I’ve lost four pounds since I started my walking/exercise regime on the 16th of March. Life is good. |
| Ugh! A notice went up on the lobby bulletin board here at The Home yesterday about a “new prescription program” to be held in our community room later this week. It’s sponsored by a local pharmacy. Every few months one or another local pharmacy comes inside here and tries to get us all to change our prescriptions to their stores. What I’d like to see is a new program that would cut the costs of prescriptions – not merely offering free delivery or free blood pressure checks with each new prescription. The “lure” for the session this week is free Italian ices will be provided – not exactly an oh-I-can’t-miss-THAT come-on for the month of March in Pennsylvania. July or August maybe, but not right now… When I made it to the top of the hill yesterday, I noticed there is still snow on the ground up there. Even still, I was sweating a bit from my strenuous strides. I’m toying with purchasing an iPod to listen to as I walk each day, but then I talk myself out of it by stressing it’s more important that I be aware of my surroundings as I’m strolling along and not distracted by Patsy Cline. Life is good. |
| Ugh! Party Central here at The Home over the weekend: 1) Birthday gathering for a lady on the second floor Saturday afternoon in the community room. I wasn’t invited, but I could hear loud Latin music blaring off and on throughout the day. 2) Later Saturday night there was another get-together in the community room for a whole different group of people. I wasn’t invited to that one either; lots of laughter heard – no music, though. Sunday was quiet (probably nursing hangovers)… …until I was outdoors enjoying a smoke. A taxi pulled up at the front door. Mrs. Roper came out, replete in red wig, flowered caftan and LONG scarf, got into the back seat, closed the door and the cab took off. As it drove down the street, I noticed the tail end of Mrs. Roper’s scarf blowing in the wind. She hadn’t collected all of it inside before departing…shades of Isadora Duncan. Off to tackle the hill with the cemetery atop… Life is good. |
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no pun intended!
or just need to keep the old frame greased and moving more. Otherwise, the rust sets in and gravity is like a magnet on the iron joints constantly pulling down.