Not too long ago my daughter needed some retail therapy. She works part time, had just gotten paid, and she could hear the stores calling her. The mall was the last place I wanted to be on the weekend, but I was a teenage girl once, and I knew exactly how she felt. In the absence of any BFFs, I was her default shopping partner. Now it was me, not the teenager, with the big sighs and eye rolls. 

The stores my daughter frequents don’t have a spot for me to sit while she hunts and gathers. The establishment that got most of her paycheck takes up two floors, and while it has an escalator, I just don’t want to run willy-nilly trying to keep up with her. Even with the requisite coffee stop (at the opposite end of the mall), I find I tire easily when there is nothing in the store that interests me.

On the other hand, the large department store that sells clothes I would actually wear has a sitting area outside the fitting rooms. Sometimes I see long-suffering husbands there, with their technology, to ride out the costume changes. That is a brilliant use of space and I really don’t know why other stores haven’t thought of it. Just imagine the impact in the junior department—put the football game on and dads will let their daughters shop without a care.

I also find many stores to be insensitive to the needs of people who can’t handle the sprawl of the big-box layout, or even the distance between the mall’s anchor stores. One end of the mall has the shoes, the other end, the candles. I realize that is intentional, to catch the impulse buyers, but at what cost to those who aren’t able or willing to put in the miles? I’d like to see more sitting areas (most malls do have a few scattered around), motorized scooters or shopping carts to lean on. My local Kohl’s has the right idea with carts the perfect size to wheel into the clearance corner, but it has no place to sit. Target offers enormous carts and scooters. Macy’s has sitting areas but no carts. I have rented carts from the centrally located mall service desk, but the stores aren’t set up for them and it’s hard to maneuver around the racks. Bring back the old five-and-dimes that had a lunch counter, I say!

My mother was an avid shopper, right up to the end. When I noticed she was less willing to accompany me, I knew something was amiss. It turned out that she needed a little help to traverse the square footage of the local shopping venues.  She had always been willing to take my girls out in their stroller and I realized that she relied on the extra support the device gave her while walking. So I searched out stores that offered carts, and sometimes we’d even bring the stroller just for coats or parcels (and Mom’s confidence).

Shops make many accommodations for those with physical impairments. I wish architects and designers would remember there are other unmet needs when it comes to midlife shoppers. It’s just good business to look beyond youthful clothes and youthful energy. As for me, my post-retail therapy may necessitate a foot massage and a large cup of tea.

Can you talk about your finances without feeling uncomfortable? Let's face it: some topics are still off limits, even among the closest friends. I'm going to talk about income disparity, even if it IS the last taboo. 

I am on the have-not side of this equation, and my financial status is a social handicap. I am a widow with two kids. In a story too long to tell here, I realized only after my husband's passing that there was no life insurance. No job, two young children, a mortgage. I used to be a stay-at-home mom who employed a lawn service and a cleaning lady. I was not prepared for the reversal of fortune.

Now many years have passed, and I am out of the very dire straits I found myself in, but I still can't live as I did with my husband's income. I just paid off the orthodontist, and I'll soon have one daughter in college, with the other on her heels. That is to say, things won't look better financially for a while.

The expenses of daily living take up all (and then some) of the income I make working several part-time jobs. There's nothing left at the end of the month to sock away for later life. At 58 years of age, I can't imagine reinventing myself professionally. A Social Security check is still years away and, heaven knows, I'll be working as long as I am able.

I am cautious about my spending and don't go out much. If I'm looking at Facebook and see my friends all out at a function I couldn't afford to attend, I'll be honest, it's tough. But it's also hard to have well-meaning friends pick up the tab, though I can’t expect them to always make a choice based on my needs when they might want to go someplace or do something outside my budget. There are a few people who have been very generous with my girls with gifts and checks, and for that I will be forever grateful. I know it makes them happy to give, as it would me if the situation were reversed. But it changes the friendship because I can't reciprocate—how could it not?

I've pretty much stopped exchanging gifts with anyone but my kids. When money was not an object, I really enjoyed finding perfect gifts for the people I love; by mutual agreement, most of this has stopped. I find my holiday gifts go to the mail carrier or the hairdresser, not friends and family. I miss that.

It's easy to keep in touch with email and texting. Instead of dinners out, I do coffee, and my close female friends are fewer in number. But I'm by no means a hermit and I’m not wallowing in self-pity. I am very active in my community and volunteer in ways that add meaning and richness to my life. But my social life is different than I imagined it would be because money is an issue. For one thing, it takes more planning—spontaneity can be expensive.

Maybe you too find yourself on a fixed income, determined not to outlive your retirement savings while still trying to enjoy life. Or maybe a good friend of yours is the one carefully walking the line. Either way, you won't want to suspend your friendships for want of money but you may have to find new ways to engage. Anyone up for a walk?

As I get older, I find it harder to get a good night’s sleep. I know I function better on seven (or more) hours of uninterrupted sleep, but it’s elusive. Night sweats wake me or the furry friends purr too loudly or hog the bed. I used to sleep through that. Caffeine also bothers me more. I can’t have any after 5 p.m., or I’ll fall asleep but wake shortly after. I can’t fall back to sleep as easily as I once did. 

I follow a nighttime regime of turning off screens—no computer, phone or tablet as studies show the light interferes with sleep—and take a book to bed. Heaven knows I’m tired enough when my head hits the pillow. I don’t want to take a sleep aid. Some are addictive or habit forming, while others, like an antihistamine that knocks you out, may interfere with brain function if used long term.

What’s a safe alternative? I’m using lavender essential oil. Research shows that the smell of this herb with the little purple flowers can help slow the brainwaves and allow a deeper, more restful sleep.

I mist the pillowcases with a lavender spray before bed—they dry while I read, leaving a nice, light scent. I’ve also bought lavender in the essential-oil formula and put it on a cotton ball alongside my bed. The fragrance is a little stronger. Lavender in many forms can be purchased inexpensively at a pharmacy or health food store. I’ve even seen lavender added to fabric softeners.

If you have asthma, you won’t want to use any essential oils without checking with a health care professional, and lavender is not to be ingested or applied topically. The sweet scent seems to be working for me; see you in the morning.

My friend's mom was a voracious reader. Well into her 90s, Bernice, having only recently retired, would read several books each week. When I took her to the library, she would check out a huge stack at every visit, give them a few chapters to prove themselves and continue only if worthy.

The staff at the circulation desk knew Bernice and always engaged in a little conversation at checkout. Bernice had her favorite staff members—some for a shared taste in books, but others she came to know well enough to consider friends; she'd ask about their health, their families.

When I saw how much Bernice enjoyed her trips to the library, I wondered aloud at the circulation desk if there was a way I could deliver books to the homebound. To my surprise, I was told that books were secondary to the trip—that the reason many older patrons use the library is for social reasons. 

If you think your library is just the stacks, look again. My public library has Wii bowling, yoga and posture classes designed for older folks, t'ai chi and meditation classes, knitting circles, crafts projects, flower arranging and memoir writing. There are showings of movies from the 50s and 60s. You can find computer-support classes for every skill level and need. It's conceivable that you could use the library daily and never pick up a book.

Years ago I took my kids to every read-aloud and crafts session offered in the children's area. Sometimes the only opportunity I had as a young mother to read a magazine in peace or to chat with another adult was when the librarian had the girls sequestered in the crafts room. While I still use the library voraciously to support my reading addiction—I get anxious at the thought of running out of reading material and always have several books in process—I rarely take advantage of the social perks at the library as my kids have grown. I usually just drop off and pick up at the front desk and don't venture much beyond that. But I can see why so many older people take advantage of the stellar choice of programs.

Looking around, I also noticed that many library volunteers are themselves 65+. What a nice way for someone confident and capable to feel valued as a contributing member of the community.

You don't have to check out a pile of books like Bernice or become a chain-reader like me to benefit from regular visits to the library. Studies show that keeping active socially and intellectually are keys to a successful later life. One look at your local library calendar and you'll find opportunities to meet new people and learn new things. Best of all, a library card is free!  

Why wouldn’t I read a memoir by Joyce Carol Oates? She is a widow, as am I, she lives nearby, and books from her prolific writing career have graced my nightstand frequently over the years. So I bought a copy of A Widow’s Story: A Memoir. It seems odd to say that I looked forward to reading the intimate details of her grieving, but I did eagerly await this particular memoir, even if the sharing of our grief was to be one sided. 

While Oates’s writing is well known, she is a very private person and little had been written about her personal life. It has been said that her writing was not something she shared with her husband, despite his being an editor himself. Raymond Smith was the founder and editor of the Ontario Review. From time to time I would see him shopping at the local grocery. I met him once many years ago, when I was working for an errand-running agency in Princeton, NJ. I was called to the residence to meet the cats I was to feed while the Smiths were away. It was Mr. Smith with whom I spoke and it wasn’t until after my assignment ended that I learned he was the husband of the famous writer.

So much for my brush with greatness. Still, I knew the streets Oates traveled to be at her husband’s hospital bedside, her doctors’ names and the restaurants where she sat with friends in the days and weeks that followed Smith’s unexpected passing. I felt kinship with Joyce Carol Oates.

Reading A Widow’s Story reopened some wounds for me, as I suspected it might. Having trudged that same path, I so admired Oates, fragile yet persevering, and the beauty of her words at that awful time. My husband also died in hospital when it was expected he’d recover from a bout of pneumonia. I was awed that Oates had such vivid recall; my own first moments, hours and days remain a blur.

And so it was that I relived and reimagined those days when reading A Widow’s Story, feeling almost a partner in her recovery, her return to the world of the living. Then I segued into a search to see what was up with Oates since she wrote the memoir…and found that 11 months after her husband’s death in 2008, she became engaged, and in 2009 she remarried.

Talk about a sucker punch. While I was agonizing along with her, she was already in the throes of her next romance! She was baring her broken soul while simultaneously committing to her next husband. I have to say it—I still feel betrayed by this author.

I know I am projecting myself into an imaginary friendship. She owes me nothing. Oates is a storyteller, doing what she does best. At one point, she even wistfully recollects that a close friend said, “Suffer, Joyce, Ray was worth it!” But a few months later, her next husband comes into her life. I enjoyed the memoir, recommended it to friends—but since then I’ve often wished I could take it all back. 

I wore bell-bottoms and collected troll dolls; my mother had saddle shoes and jitterbugged. For most of my young life, I couldn’t see many areas where we overlapped. Then in my 20s I worked at a restaurant with live music on weekends. The lead vocalist was a crooner whose repertoire was mostly American classics and show tunes. I may have been young relative to the audience, but this was my mother’s music, the tunes she listened to on the radio when I was growing up, and as a consequence I knew every word. In fact, coworkers would joke that I could go on the television show, Name That Tune.

And so music became something I could share with my mother. She had come to appreciate some soft-rock hits of the day, but from time to time we would hear an oldie that would open a door for me to ask her those fun “where were you then” kinds of questions. (I couldn’t quite imagine Mom screaming and fainting with her friends over Frank Sinatra, but she claimed she did.) We both liked Tony Bennett and so I was really happy to surprise her with concert tickets when he came to a nearby theater. I don’t know which of us enjoyed it more.

When my girls were smaller, I would think of that evening and wonder if there would be a parallel for us. I believe there is: Julie Andrews. Of course the girls watched (and watched and watched, as kids do) Mary Poppins and The Sound of Music. But to my utter delight, Julie Andrews got them, and their generation, anew as oh-so-credible Queen Clarisse of Genovia in the Princess Diaries movies. If you haven’t seen Ms. Andrews mattress surfing, you need to rent Princess Diaries 2: A Royal Engagement. Gotta love a lady who does her own stunts at age 68! 

For as long as I can remember, I have loved Julie Andrews. I anguished over the botched surgery that took her wonderful singing voice in 1999 and was anxious over her return to the screen, relieved to find I could still enjoy this great actor in her new incarnation as a nonsinger. I hold nothing but fond, fond memories of times curled up in front of the television watching her movies, as a child and again with my children.

My skinny-jeaned teenage daughters find the choices I made at their age in wardrobe and toys weird and amusing, and I guess there will always be trends that will be enjoyed exclusively by just one generation. But Julie Andrews is a most precious, intergenerational gift that we can share.

I am a reader who reads all the time, for work and pleasure. I even read about what to read next so I am never caught without something to read! My idea of hell would be to lose that ability. 

I recently saw a news segment on a 99-year-old woman who loved to read and write poetry, yet glaucoma took those simple pleasures from her. When her adult children got her an iPad, the type—bold against a bright page—brought back the joy of the written word once again.

I think the iPad is so popular because it’s easy to use and customize. Other tablets offer more features but require more setup and learning time. I like how the iPad brings reading material into your hands instantly. A swipe of your finger turns the “page” with a satisfying paper sound. A backlight means you can read in bed without disturbing your partner. You can turn your text into large print and instantly look up a word in the dictionary without losing your place.

Many libraries offer free e-books and show you how to load them from your home. With wireless Internet, you can download movies and TV shows as well. Read your email, keep photos and play brain games and crosswords puzzles. Find a recipe, check the weather, plan a trip, keep your shopping lists and more. The readers are book size, easy to take with you or prop on the kitchen counter for easy access.

AARP sent an iPad to the Greenspring retirement community in Springfield, VA, for its members to explore. I was glad to see the different ways they found to use it, although some were more enthusiastic than others. Some liked it for the games, some for the music, another loved the photo storage. One new convert said it is less expensive to read books on the iPad, and no more overflowing bookshelves.

Electronic devices—not just iPads, but Nooks, Kindles and Galaxy Tabs—are being used by adults, students and even very young children. My friends lament that they can’t read their loaded e-readers because their children are playing spelling games and doing math flash cards.

Maybe for me an iPad is a luxury, but for some it can be a lifeline. Older people are using their devices to rediscover old hobbies, friends and places. There are new devices on the market all the time—maybe one is right for the older adults in your life. With the many ways they can be customized, it is easy to see how versatile and multigenerational an e-reader can be. With prices coming down and the number of features going up, there may be a time when I will consider buying one. For now, though, I’ll stick with my library card.

My mother’s safety became a concern to me as she aged.  My mom lived alone and hated to ask for help. We both wanted to keep her safe and independent.

Thinking about the problem, I remembered what a very wise pediatrician told me years ago: that babyproofing the home was not something to be undertaken as a once-and-for-all task; rather, making the home safe for my baby should be an ongoing process to be revisited regularly to adapt to changing needs. Now I know that is good advice at any age.

My husband and I added sturdy grab bars bolted into studs in the shower walls and grip tape on the bath rugs to keep them from slipping. Sometimes the latex backing got funky after a few washes, so we wanted to keep an eye on that. I used the tape again in the kitchen for the mat in front of the sink.

Mom was fiercely independent and hated to ask for help, so I did borrow the ladder one day and “forgot” to return it. We adjusted the pneumatic door closer, so that her door wouldn’t snap shut as quickly, and put safety strips on the front steps too. I added stick-on clips to the baseboards and secured cords out of the way, just as I did when I had toddlers (easier to vacuum, too!).

These days there are lots of tips on the Internet about how to make a house or apartment hazard-free. I recently came upon an AARP checklist for keeping a home safe at any age.

Another tip: Has your fire safety equipment been tested? Should it be replaced? Having a smoke detector and fire extinguisher is not enough—do you know how to put out a fire? Here is a simple way to remember: PASS. I printed this out and put it on the wall next to my fire extinguisher in the kitchen. I hope I never have to use it, but I will be glad to have the reminder if I do.

Start right now. Give your home a health checkup once a year to be proactive about home safety at any age!

 

Pick up any women’s magazine or any healthy-living publication and you are sure to be admonished to eat more fish. It’s good for your brain, your weight, your longevity. I know!

But in my house of picky eaters, I can only make fish for one. Thanks to my choosey children, my healthy choice for longer life has been put on hold except when I dine out. Then a few weeks ago, my 14-year-old daughter tried and enjoyed something new—fillet of sole. This daughter sports unrivaled food pickiness. Until a year or so ago, she ate no fruit, no vegetables and nothing you would consider meat. She did eat an occasional chicken nugget, but once, when served a dinosaur-shaped piece made by the same recipe as her “approved” nuggets, she dismissed the creature as “boy food.” Having my daughter eat fillet of sole was a big deal to me because it opened the prospect of having a regular fish night at home.

The recipe was fast and simple: a fillet with pesto, baked in the oven. I put sole on my grocery list again and considered the future bright with promise. Alas, my hopes were dashed when I recounted my fish tale to a friend. She said she hoped I would be buying sustainably. Of course, I said, and went home to do my research.

To my dismay, I discovered that it’s not only important to buy fresh fish but to know its country of origin. There may well be plenty of fish in the sea, but some types are so overfished that their numbers are dwindling. Some are caught in ways that harm the environment. Some come from countries without high standards for sustainability, clean water or health concerns. It was enough to make me rethink the chicken nugget.

But I soldiered on. I found the Natural Resources Defense Council’s great website that gave simple guidelines, and I even got a little wallet card with good, better and best choices. You can download one from the Monterey Bay Aquarium. Sign of the times: there is even an app for your smart phone for healthy choosing on the fly.

I only wanted to add a little fish to my diet, but I never thought it would be so complicated. To simplify, I now try to look for labels that verify that fish are caught sustainably—insisting on wild-caught and American may be enough to get me started. Longevity expert Mark Stibich, PhD, encourages fish eating for longer life and reminds us to consider mercury levels, to shop at a local fish market and to never choose fried fish. Best advice of all: he says to add a square of dark chocolate as a reward for following all the rules.

Even better news for me—I won’t have to share because my picky eaters don’t eat dark chocolate.

 

There's an old joke that goes something like this:

The Japanese drink very little wine and experience fewer heart attacks than US or British citizens, while the French and Italians drink wine at every meal and experience fewer heart attacks than US or British citizens.

The Japanese eat very little fat and experience fewer heart attacks than US or British citizens, while the French and Germans eat a high-fat diet and experience fewer heart attacks than US or British citizens.
 
The conclusion—it’s not what you eat but speaking English that kills you!

All joking aside, the question remains: What really plays into living a long, healthy life? According to a Caring.com article I just read, there are many contributors but no single key to longevity.

The article suggests these factors are clues that you might live to 100:

• You have long-lived relatives.
• You can walk quickly and with endurance.
• You have an active social life.
• You’re young (life expectancy keeps increasing—you should outlive the older generation). 
• You’re female (women live longer than men).
• You gave birth after 35.
• You’re not much of a worrier.
• You’re normal in weight or slightly overweight, not underweight or obese.
• Your chromosomes have long telomeres (telomeres protect the ends of chromosomes; the longer your telomeres, the more years you may have ahead of you).
• You have a positive outlook on life.

According to this list, I stand to fare better than many. I have a decent clip to my walk and lots of people in my life. I bore children after 35 (two after 40, actually) and I have a positive outlook on life. Where I come up short is that I know of few family members who lived past 80, I am overweight and I probably shoulder an unhealthy amount of worry. Born in 1956, my life expectancy is lower than a girl born today, who has a one-in-three chance of seeing her 100th birthday.  

There are lifestyle choices I can make (managing stress better and dropping some pounds) to up my chances of living longer but I don't think learning a foreign language is one of them. 

Here at the Silver Century Foundation, we are all about the positive aspects of aging. That said, I confess that hope springs eternal when I read about the age-defying beauty products on the market.  I’m in my mid-50s and the laugh lines aren’t necessarily a laughing matter.

One of my first jobs as a teenager was behind a department store cosmetics counter, where makeup artists preyed on women’s insecurity about their looks, promising miracle potions and fountains of youth. I never thought I’d fall for the hype but there’s a whole new breed of face creams on the market, and I thought I’d help with the research. You’re welcome.

Last year, I tried the product women’s magazines dubbed latest and greatest—BB cream. Originally developed in Germany in the ’60s as a blemish balm, it was reformulated in Korea as a multipurpose beauty balm. It was considered a step-saver because it eliminated the many layers of product some women apply each morning. My daily ritual is just cleanse-moisturize-foundation, with SPF built in. But some women, especially overseas, follow a more elaborate morning routine: toner, sunscreen, concealer, moisturizer, foundation, powder.

The BB cream is an all-in-one. You’ll have to consider the ingredients before you buy as it’s now available in a number of brands and the formulas from one to the next are not the same. For example, some are made with blemish control in mind, and that could be drying to the skin. The reverse would be true as well—the moisturizing formula may not help those prone to breakouts. Either way, you don’t have to concern yourself with the order in which you apply, because the sunscreen, which should always go on first for absorption, is in the mix. Fewer layers, quicker application, cost savings. You can’t beat that.

Or can you?

BB cream, as it turns out, is “so last year.” Now there is CC cream, a combination of BB cream plus ingredients promising to even out skin tones. CC cream promises to tone down redness or brighten sallow hues. Have you seen women at the cosmetics counter trying green- or lavender-shaded moisturizer? That’s color correcting. Do you need to color-correct? This may be the potion for you. Its formula serves similar objectives to the BB creams, but it tends to be a little lighter, preferable in summer months when you don’t want or need the weight.

To help you choose the best cream for you, Allure.com rates its favorite BBs and CCs, focusing on specific skin trouble spots, from cell repair to wrinkle prevention. There are creams available from low to high prices; I’ve seen them selling from $7 to $48.

I have a BB cream that streamlines the morning process a little. It can’t replace my liquid foundation—not enough coverage—so I use it in lieu of a moisturizer with a light application of foundation. I find that it’s a tad too thick and my makeup slides off in the heat, so I may try a CC cream. And while I’ll be asking some questions at the cosmetics counter, I’ll read up on desirable ingredients before I go, so the options don’t overwhelm me.

What’s next? DD cream, of course—Dynamic Do-All. The claims are that DD is an all-in-one that does what the others do, only this formula also repairs skin over time. I am sure there will be more creams to follow, like EE creams for eyes, perhaps?

I just learned that fewer than half of adults are getting enough physical activity to benefit their health. (Um, yes, that would be me.) According to the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention, while 60 percent of us are walking for exercise, we’re falling short of the recommended intensity and duration. (Me, again.)

The health benefits of walking are well documented. RealAge.com reports that in addition to heart health benefits, better sleep and improved mood, walking regularly can lower your risk of arthritis, macular degeneration and even cancer by an astonishing 50 percent compared with people who don’t exercise.

Did you ever stop to think how many steps you take each day? The optimum number is 10,000. That sounds like a lot, but a Wall Street Journal article reports there’s evidence that the number of steps you take each day correlates to healthy weight. In fact, obesity rates are much higher in states where 4,500 steps is the norm (Arkansas and Tennessee) versus a state where 6,500 is the average (Colorado).

The effects of increasing your daily number of steps will vary based on your weight and how far and fast you walk. A one-mile walk burns about 150 calories for someone weighing 150 pounds (a heavier person burns more calories than those who weigh less); a faster pace would increase the number of calories burned. A lengthy stroll could burn 250 calories, while a very brisk walk could burn 600.

Figuring the average stride for an adult at 2.5 feet means you cover a mile in roughly 2,000 steps—10,000 steps would be five miles. Many people are using pedometers and other fitness trackers to measure their steps. One of my daughters uses a free tracker on her iPod, while the other swears by her FitBit, which is a step counter that also logs calories burned and sleep quality. She claims that reading the dashboard of this gadget is motivating and addictive. A Google search for fitness trackers came back with many choices, from basic, paper-and-pencil charts to pedometers that wirelessly log into a computer. I was amazed at the cool technology available for walkers and the health conscious.  Read some reviews here.

Just getting started? Thewalkingsite.com suggests you try a step counter for one week to determine your average daily steps, then build up by 500 per day until you get to 10,000. If you have a lifestyle that has you on your feet, you may already be close to the target. If not, here are some easy ways to boost your totals:

• Walk the dog.
• Join a local walking group.
• Park farther from your destination.
• Take the stairs instead of the elevator.
• Walk to a postbox instead of putting outgoing mail in your own mailbox.

While all the gadgets out there are intriguing, all you really need is a good pair of shoes and enough willpower to get up off the couch. Maybe with a walking buddy and an iPod loaded with lively music, I will step it up myself.

When was the last time you thought about chicken pox? Not since you were a child, I bet. A middle-aged friend of mine was recently diagnosed with shingles. It’s caused by the same virus as chicken pox, varicella zoster. WebMD reports that your chance of contracting shingles increases when you are older than 50, or if your immune system is compromised by illness, stress or medications.

After causing chicken pox in childhood, the virus goes dormant in nerve beds, often for decades. Years later the awakened virus manifests as a burning pain, usually on one side of the chest or back, sometimes on the face. A rash or blisters follow within a few days. In some cases, the pain from shingles never completely goes away even after the rash clears up, a condition called postherpetic neuralgia. Of the million US residents who suffer from shingles each year, about 20 percent get postherpetic neuralgia.

Sometime before she developed shingles, my friend had considered getting the Zostavax vaccine. It was covered by her insurance and is administered as a single-dose shot in the arm. Research shows that the vaccine isn't a guarantee against shingles, so she felt she would wait until she was 60 or so—the age at which the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention recommends the inoculation.

Ultimately, she wished she hadn't waited. While shingles is not contagious, the pain kept my friend home from work for about 10 days. The itching was secondary to the burning sensation and she felt weak, dizzy and very sensitive to light. She couldn't even read! It was a few weeks before she was feeling better and more than a month before she was 100 percent. She was lucky not to develop postherpetic neuralgia.
 
The Johns Hopkins Health After 50 newsletter calls Zostavax “effective but underused.” Only about 14 percent of Americans 60 and older got the vaccine in 2010. There are pitfalls. Zostavax isn't always covered by insurance. There may be a high co-pay or the patient may have to pay out of pocket and then do the tedious paperwork to get reimbursed. In some cases, people need to buy the frozen vaccine from a pharmacy and bring it immediately to the doctor's office to be administered. Its fragile shelf life prevents many doctors from keeping the vaccine on hand, and that might affect the likelihood of a practitioner offering it to his or her patients. 

The next time I see my primary care doctor, I may ask about the pros and cons of the shingles vaccine to see if it's right for me. I fit the age demographic and if my insurance picks up the tab, I think I will ask for the vaccine.
 

 

I love to give books as gifts. I strive to match the book to the recipient the way some givers try to find the right scarf or tie—I want to make eyes sparkle. If you are shopping for a book this holiday season, I have a list that will please a reader in midlife and beyond. 

For the outdoorsy, adventure-seeking type: Cheryl Strayed has nothing on Emma Gatewood, who walked the 2000+ mile Appalachian Trail at age 67, without sophisticated camping supplies or even special footwear. Grandma Gatewood’s Walk (2014) is an inspiration to couch potatoes and hikers alike. 

For the historical fiction buff: the 20^th anniversary edition of Two Old Women: An Alaska Legend of Betrayal, Courage and Survival (2013) is a story from a nomadic Arctic tribe that abandons their elders as excess baggage when food becomes too scarce to sustain its members. In this case, the 80-year-old women were determined to use their wisdom and a tiny hatchet, refusing to go gently into the night. It’s a little book that packs a big punch. 

For the music lover or for old dogs learning new tricks: The Late Starters Orchestra (2014) is a good bet. Ari Goldman sets a goal to relearn the cello before his 60th birthday despite a 25-year lull. In a reclaimed factory building in New York City, Goldman finds a group of people of nontraditional age—yes, the Late Starters Orchestra—who wish to return to, or to learn anew, a musical instrument. Even the tone deaf (like me) will enjoy the self-talk that kept him on task when he felt like giving up. 

For the mystery lover: in Elizabeth is Missing (2014), Maud’s memory is failing. She leaves herself sticky notes, but they can’t stop the nagging suspicion that her friend has vanished and no one seems to care. Making matters worse are the unbidden memories of her sister who vanished some 70 years ago. Maud’s narration is brilliantly and achingly real. 

For your favorite feminist of any age: don’t miss Florence Gordon (2014), the thoroughly believable tale of a 75-year-old academic icon of the women’s movement. Suddenly thrust into the limelight while simultaneously embroiled in the drama that is her family, Florence is snarky and intelligent, a highly quotable character you can’t help but hate to love. 

My favorite of 2014: I read a lot of books, some for my job but most for pure pleasure. This year when asked for my favorite, I have no hesitation: A Man Called Ove (2014). It’s a truly feel-good read, full of charm and wit without being sappy or slapstick. This international bestseller features a widower whose attempts to join his wife are thwarted at every turn. From the orphan cat to the eccentric neighbors, dear Ove is still very much needed here on Earth. Read this one yourself before you give it away. 

Tattoos: love them or hate them? If you are like me, you shudder at the thought. The mere word can conjure movie images of bikers, sailors, trollops—not to mention the creepy, all-night tattoo parlors—and brings to mind a long-held belief that tattoos are for someone who fits a mold to which I do not aspire.

But I am starting to think my notions old fashioned. Ink is everywhere these days.

In an article in the Washington Post, I learned that boomers are shedding their inhibitions—and stereotypes—and getting inked along with the younger set. It seems many reach an age when they no longer feel society has a hold on them when it comes to appearance, and they let go of a need to conform.

For some, the midlife tattoo is a liberating statement that says they are their own person. I’ve seen prayers, inspirational messages, birds, flowers and religious icons on people my age and older. I know a woman who has a pink-ribbon tattoo to acknowledge her sister’s battle with cancer. Another friend sports a butterfly to say she is free from the bonds of her unhappy marriage. 

Memorial tattoos span the ages too. The old image of a “Mother” tattoo on a muscled arm has given way to a rose for the first grandchild on grandmom’s shoulder. Some memorial tats feature the date of a loved one’s passing. People even incorporate cremains—ashes from a cremated loved one—into the ink. 

Tattoos today can have practical purposes. In an article in the Atlantic, I learned that tattoos can provide medical information for doctors, such as DNR (Do Not Resuscitate) tattooed by the heart. For women who require reconstructive surgery after a mastectomy, tattoo artists can ink a realistic areola and nipples where there are none. Watch an inspiring video here. 

A Pew Research study from 2006 shows that while a younger person is still more likely to get a tattoo, 15 percent in my age bracket now have them. A tattoo parlor in a DC suburb claims that three or more 50-plussers a week come in for a first-time inking. 

My 16-year-old daughter has many friends with tattoos. Their parents are well aware of these permanent designs—in my state, minors must be accompanied by a parent, who is required to show ID and provide written consent.

When I counsel my kids about the permanence of ink, I admonish that the tattoo won’t hold up as they age. I remind them that designs could stretch or fade over time. 

I know a mother and daughter who both got tattoos on the same day. But even with my more enlightened view of tattoos, I’m so not ready for that!

 

Tags:     families    creativity    you aging 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I heard a voice from my past when I stumbled upon an interview on National Public Radio with the legendary singer Tony Bennett. It triggered many happy memories.  I would know that voice anywhere—singing or telling a story—and it always makes me nostalgic. Bennett was a constant in my house growing up, as well as music from others of his generation, like Sinatra, Goulet and Como, to name but a few. My parents had a respectable collection of LPs under the turntable. This was the background music of my young life, and it stuck with me even as my tastes changed over the years. 

I have a clear memory of my mother especially enjoying an iconic Bennett song called “I Wanna Be Around, ” which she’d sing with gusto. She loved his music so much that years later I was happy to surprise her with tickets to see Bennett in concert. I remember how much we enjoyed the show. I wish she’d lived long enough to experience his 2006 CD of duets with contemporary pop singers. He released this collection to coincide with his 80^th birthday, entertaining yet another generation of music lovers.

So you can see why I experienced a “driveway moment” sitting in my car, listening to Bennett being interviewed on NPR regarding his memoir, Life is a Gift: The Zen of Bennett (2012). Bennett told Neal Conan, “I’d like to prove that if you take care of yourself, you can actually not regret the fact that you’ve become an old-timer, but you can just still improve and actually get better.”

Bennett’s zen seems to come from his never-quit attitude. He continues to practice singing scales every day. He considers himself a student as well as a teacher, always learning and tweaking. 

There is little revealed in the memoir that hasn’t been told before, but I found it full of examples of how Bennett epitomizes successful aging. If you are anything like me and share a sense of connection to this accomplished artist and remarkable human being, here is my suggestion: grab a copy of this book, but on a Tony Bennett CD and enjoy reminiscing with this 88-year-old national treasure.

I recently read two nonfiction books about soldiers from World War II. One was the memoir Breaking the Code: A Father’s Secret, a Daughter’s Journey, and the Question That Changed Everything by Karen Fisher-Alaniz (2011). It is the story of a woman my age who gets to know her father as a soldier by reading the letters he wrote during his tour of duty in World War ll. Coincidentally, a long-awaited book I had on hold at the library came into my hands right after that: Unbroken: A World War II Story of Survival, Resilience, and Redemption by Laura Hillenbrand (2010). It tells of the remarkable fortitude of one soldier fighting in the Pacific and his tumultuous life after he returned from the war. 

Reading these stories made me think about my father, gone since I was in high school. My dad was a quiet, unassuming man, a decorated veteran of World War ll, yet I know virtually nothing about his time in the military. I took so much for granted, never asking for the history behind the medals in the box hidden in his dresser drawer. 

Not too long ago, one of my father’s few living cousins visited. She had a small collection of her childhood photos to give to my brother and me, including some of our dad, and she alluded to his time in France. France, we asked? We thought he was in Germany. France, she insisted. No one pursued the issue, but now I am convinced there was so much more to his story than either of us knew. But there is no one left to ask. 

When we were growing up, my friends also had dads who were decorated veterans unwilling to talk about the war. None of us knew about our fathers’ patriotism and sacrifices. These are pieces of personal history that shaped our parents’ characters and, ultimately, our own. What a shame their stories so often were left untold. 

I understand now that my father took war secrets to his grave, leaving me with the sadness that I didn’t get to know him as a young man, soldier and patriot. I envy Fisher-Alaniz. When her father gave her his wartime letters, it started a conversation between them that I never had with my dad, one I long for deeply. But I am ever grateful for the stories that other soldiers have shared, which give me a hint of what helped to shape my father’s life.

According to a story on National Public Radio, people 65 and older are more likely to go to the ER than any other age group except babies. It may be time for hospitals to consider changing to accommodate the people they serve.

The idea of an emergency room specifically for older patients was featured in a post at the New York Times New Old Age blog, and it blew me away. But why not? We have pediatric ERs because we know how stressful and frightening a hospital can be for kids. It makes sense on so many levels to have a senior-friendly ER. I wish there had been one locally 10 years ago when my mother was alive.

While generally in good health, my mother did need, from time to time, the services only an ER can provide. The rushing of the triage nurse would unsettle Mom, and rapid-fire questions asked with impatience could have her near tears. The sound track and racket that accompanies the ER chaos—and the lack of privacy—made our visits unbearable. And sensitivity? I would get so frustrated when a nurse spoke to me as if my mother weren’t even in the room. I can only imagine how frightening it would have been for Mom if she had to go alone.

Bill Thomas, MD, a world–renowned eldercare expert and advocate for better quality of life for older people, was instrumental in setting up the first emergency room for older patients at Holy Cross Hospital in Silver Spring, MD. And he did it for just $150,000. There, you find walls painted in warm shades, not stark white, and floors resembling wood, not shiny and slippery looking. The passageways are easy to navigate even with a walker or wheelchair, offering handrails and softer, glare-free lighting.

I am happy to report that Thomas sparked a trend. An online search revealed more than a dozen such emergency rooms. In Houston, Sacred Heart hospital’s revamped ER reaches out to local care facilities to provide continuity of care, and in Michigan’s St. Joseph Mercy system, eight hospitals have added ERs just for those 65 and older. 

Beyond aesthetics, the biggest change in the new ERs is that staff is trained in the medical, emotional and social needs of an older patient. Employees learn how to talk to older people—more slowly, nonjudgmentally and louder, if necessary. They learn how to scale their pace to meet a patient’s. The medical staff is taught to look beneath the surface for issues common to older individuals.

While each hospital’s ER is unique, all are tuned in to the needs of elders, and they strive to prevent repeat visits. A social worker might be assigned to identify the cause of the problem. For instance, if prescription drug overdoses or interactions sent the patient to the hospital, a system can be put into place to simplify the management of medications. Is the patient there because of a fall, maybe on a rug or an electrical wire? The staff is trained to make follow-up calls and visits to address this type of situation, to keep the patient from coming back with the same problem.

In my community, we have several hospitals within easy driving distance, all high tech. But maybe what we need is low tech. If I had a choice, I would choose the ER that meets my needs or the needs of the person in my care. Wouldn’t you?
 

A friend received one of those worst-nightmare phone calls. Her husband had had a skiing accident out West and was about to undergo emergency surgery on a very smashed-up knee.

Another friend took her mother, who had trouble walking, to a family wedding across the country. What did these friends have in common? Air travel with a wheelchair. 

As a care provider, I have had some experience with wheelchairs and transport chairs. While both can move a seated person from place to place, they are actually two different pieces of equipment. The biggest difference is the weight. If the rider has enough upper-body strength, he or she can self-propel the wheelchair, giving that person some independence. The lighter-weight transport chair is a better choice if the rider needs to be pushed. It maneuvers better in tight spots and over curbs, and it’s easier to get in and out of the back seat or trunk of a car, but it isn’t designed to be self-propelled. 

If you find yourself traveling by air with someone in either type of chair, your best bet is to enlist a driver to drop you both off at the airport entrance. That way you won’t leave your chair-borne companion unattended while you search for long-term parking. Call the airline ahead of time to evaluate your in-airport transportation options at both arrivals and departures. The airport may have an electric cart driven by an attendant to take passengers to and from the gate. Ask about stowing the chair on the plane as you board versus checking it with luggage.

When you book the trip, tell the airline you will be traveling with someone in a chair. This will help you avoid unexpected problems on the day of travel. My friend whose husband smashed his knee learned by calling that she needed to reserve (and pay for) three seats in a row to accommodate his leg cast. Other helpful booking tips: try to travel off-peak and reserve what’s called an “aisle chair”—a narrow wheelchair that can transport your companion on and off the plane, as well as to the restroom in flight. Airlines and airports vary, so you will need to gather information to ease both your departure and your arrival. 

The complexities of traveling with someone in a wheelchair are just as important to consider for everyday journeys on the ground. Not long ago I took a woman in a wheelchair to a doctor’s appointment and was surprised by how hard it was to get her from my car to the examination table because of the narrow halls and standard-size doorways. There are laws in place that require buildings to be accessible for wheelchairs but it seems to me they sometimes fall short, especially—and irrationally—in medical buildings. 

You may not realize it, but pushing a chair is more complicated than it looks. There are safety issues. You need to know, for example, when and how to use the hand brake and the proper way to lift a person in and out of a chair if a transfer is necessary. Do wear nonskid shoes. You also need to know how to fold the chair to transport it and how to set it up securely. Drugs.com offers a Q&A with invaluable advice for you and your passenger.

I suggest that first timers get familiar with the chair ahead of time—test drive! And if it’s a transport chair, provide a seat cushion for the rider because those chairs lack padding. Try to keep a sense of humor, because you are going to need it, and, above all, always allow more time than you think you’ll need!

What are you eating for breakfast these days? Green tea and a protein bar? McSomething? Coffee and a doughnut?

Seeing Michelle Obama with the new USDA food plate (replacing the old pyramid) has me rethinking how my own food habits stack up. I’ve decided that at midlife, I can’t afford to be careless about my diet choices.

I usually have a yogurt with some chopped almonds or walnuts. It’s fast, heart healthy and satisfying. But maybe it’s time to shake it up a bit. The weather is warmer, and I don’t want that same old cereal weighing me down. But what else is there? As a former caterer, I read recipes like some folks read magazines. Often I turn to the Internet for inspiration, and recently I stumbled upon an idea that might just change my morning routine: breakfast salad.

I got the idea from behavior-change expert Mark Stibich, PhD, who blogs at  About.com/Longevity. He suggests that a salad is a great way to get our vegetable servings early in the day and to avoid that midmorning slump from carb-heavy breakfast alternatives. His go-to morning meal includes greens (bagged to save time) and a hard-boiled egg, with some almonds and red pepper strips. Easy enough.

In a few keystrokes, I discovered many breakfast salads from which to choose. One recipe I can sink my teeth into—pardon the pun—from the Food Network is spinach, egg and lean Canadian bacon. I could put this salad into a half pita if I need to eat on the go. (OK, I know I should be sitting at the table to eat. . .)

One common theme I notice about the breakfast salads is that they try to start with familiar breakfast fare—a citrus or a granola, and an egg, either hard or soft-boiled. The greens are a main ingredient, but how about cinnamon croutons or a maple-walnut dressing? The possibilities are mouthwatering.

I usually associate blueberries with breakfast, but often they end up in pancakes or muffins. To get a healthy dose of fruit and vegetables by 7am, I may try a blueberry and orange combination on top of spinach with a quarter cup of granola for crunch (recipe below). When blueberries are in season, try using fresh instead of frozen in the vinaigrette recipe below.

I feel better all day after eating a healthy breakfast, and I want to add fruits and veggies to my daily intake. If breakfast salads have worked for your healthy lifestyle, please let us know.

Blueberry Breakfast Salad
(Adapted from fruitandveggieguru.com)

Serves 2

Ingredients
Blueberry vinaigrette (recipe below)
½ pound mixed, torn salad greens
1 cup blueberries
1 cup orange sections or canned mandarin oranges, drained
½ cup granola
 

Preparation
Toss greens with 3/4 of the blueberry vinaigrette. Divide the dressed greens between two plates. Arrange 1/2 of the orange sections and 1/2 of the blueberries on top of each salad. Sprinkle each salad with 1/4 cup granola. Drizzle remaining dressing on top. Serve immediately.

Blueberry Vinaigrette
Ingredients
¼ cup olive oil
¼ cup blueberries
1 tsp Dijon mustard
2 tbsp brown sugar
½ tsp minced shallot
Pinch kosher salt, ground white pepper and paprika

Preparation
Combine ingredients in food processor or blender. Process until smooth. Chill 30 minutes to blend flavors.

 

I recently picked up Katie Hafner’s Mother Daughter Me: A Memoir (2013). All it took was a glance at the book jacket for me to know that the author was telling part of my story along with her own.

Like Hafner, I’m a widow in my 50s with a teenage daughter (actually, two). Like me, Hafner is a dutiful daughter with a conflicted relationship to an alcoholic mother. Hafner’s mother stopped drinking on her own; mine enlisted the help of a support group. 

What happens when our mothers move into our homes is where we diverge.

It was easy for me to relate to Hafner’s emotions.  Her mother, Helen, independent at 77, was living in an unsustainable situation, and Hafner would not abandon her in her time of need. They decided to live together; they’d give it a year.

Hafner and teenage daughter, Zoë, had already had to regroup after Hafner’s husband (Zoë’s dad) died. They had moved forward, leaning on each other, and enjoyed an enviable mother-daughter bond. They both optimistically assumed that the move with Helen would be beneficial to all concerned. Wishful thinking, for certain—in less than six months, Helen and Zoë were barely on speaking terms. 

Neither Hafner nor her often-estranged sister ever challenged their mother on their upbringing—the unmet needs, the instability or the ultimate abandonment as Helen forfeited custody when Hafner and her sister were 10 and 12 years old. Indeed, Helen lived most of her life ignorant of the truth of her daughters’ childhoods. It was not until living with Helen again as an adult that Hafner really addressed the root causes of her often-strained relationship with her mom. 

It seems I had an easier time with my multigenerational household. I married later in life than Hafner and my husband and I bought a house that would accommodate my widowed mother when the time came. It came sooner than expected when, after a couple of fender benders, Mom gave up driving: she moved in when we did. Our property had a two-car garage that the previous owners converted to a charming cottage with an inspired floor plan that made the most of the small space. The cottage was a stand-alone building with its own address and utilities. 

By the time I married, I had put my own alcoholism behind me, was living the examined life and was enjoying a harmonious relationship with my mother, even though we didn’t always see eye-to-eye. Having her next door in her last decade of life brought us closer. When my daughters were born, our living arrangement provided my mother with what she claimed were the happiest years of her life. 

Now I am in the age bracket Hafner was in when she embarked on her experiment.  I am also a woman who juggles work and the girls’ incredibly active school and extracurricular activities. We also circled the wagons when the girls’ dad died, and today we are a tight-knit, mutually supportive family of three. In reading this memoir, I wondered if, for my mother, I could compromise the safe haven I created for my daughters, as Hafner did. That we’ll never know, but I am glad I don’t have to make that choice.  

Katie Hafner earns my admiration for what she did. I felt the same sense of obligation to my mother. I am in a position to understand and appreciate the potential risk and reward Hafner assumed. The three women didn’t escape unscathed, but enlightened and content to live apart. Despite knowing how their story ends, right up to the final page I rooted for their living experiment to work.  

My sister-in-law took a tumble down a few steps the other day, ending up in the ER with a badly sprained ankle. Claire is my age, mid-50s, and she is in good physical health. She even does Italian folk dancing for fun. She was doing some chores around the house, not in a rush, not dizzy, just a little preoccupied, and fell with her laundry basket. I don’t often hear of 50-somethings losing their footing on the stairs, but I’m sure it could happen to anyone. In fact, I worry that it will happen to me!

I recognized my own fear of falling a few years ago. It was subtle, but despite many winters of recreational figure skating with my girls (and years of experience from my own youth), I was no longer skating without anxiety and hesitation. Fear of falling crept in during outings until I found myself on the sidelines as a spectator. It took a few weeks for me to understand that at some level I worried because as a widow with two young kids, I could not afford to be incapacitated by a broken limb. Skating wasn’t fun anymore; I gave it up.

My mother also had a fear of falling in her later life. She always kept a healthy weight and seemed fit. In her 60s and 70s, she enjoyed a walk around the block. One day she tripped on some uneven sidewalk. To break her fall, she put her hands out; they were scraped up and her knees were bloodied, but the worst damage was to her confidence.

I noticed almost immediately that her walking routine changed. She was hesitant—very careful on curbs and the few steps to her front door. I tried to encourage her to get back to the walking that I knew was good for her and that she seemed to enjoy, but something was lost. I teased her that it wasn’t the fall that was stopping her but the doubt.

I now recognize, because of my own fear, that this was truly the reason; she no longer trusted herself, and uncertainty had crept in. Afterward, Mom loved to walk my girls in a stroller or push a shopping cart—she had something to hold onto and it seemed to restore some lost confidence.

Falls are a major cause of emergency room visits for older people. As we age, it is vital that we maintain our balance to avoid falls. From what I read, once lost, balance can be hard to recover, so I do some very basic things every day to keep mine. I do nothing so conventional as an organized routine, but I stand on one foot for several seconds each morning as I get dressed.

If you are concerned about falling, the Elder Gym website offers some great advice for balance training at home—at any age. I like this site because it discusses reasons people may fall and recommends preventive measures, such as removing throw rugs and stowing away power cords. It offers suggestions to improve posture and to increase range of motion to prevent stumbling.

After her fall, my sister-in-law lost a week of work, and the rest of her Italian folk-dance season. That’s my inspiration to keep myself on my toes and to add a few more balance exercises to my morning routine.

 

News reports alleging that the NSA has been collecting mobile-phone data have brought to mind a creepy feeling I sometimes get when I am online. Someone is “reading” my mail and likely yours too. Email, that is, as well as your online searches. The proof? Those ads that pop up on the right side of your screen, echoing the email you just wrote a friend about your new diet or the search you just did for sneakers. The ads are not coincidence.

I asked some folks in the know, who tell me this is called “scraping,” done by computer programs designed to identify key words to link to ads. These reader/scanner programs don’t read the content of your email, but they do collect the words you type in messages or in searches.

Here is PC Magazine’s definition of scraping:

Extracting e-mail addresses or other data from a large website or search engine. Bots are used to cull the data, which may be reorganized and presented in a unique manner that attracts visitors, the purpose of which is to make money on ads. The data might also be used for nefarious reasons, such as selling the information to spammers and cybercriminals. 

Unless you have been industriously removing tracking cookies, chances are the ads you see when you are online are based on your browsing history. That’s what tracking is—the method used by advertisers to study your online browsing habits. Having your email hosted by free services like Gmail also opens up your mailbox for scraping.

For instance, I wanted to get a camera for my daughter for Christmas. As soon as I started researching online, I noticed ads for cameras in my screen’s right-hand column. Sony, Nikon, Best Buy. They popped up for weeks until stopping on Christmas Eve. 

According to the New York Times Magazine, Target—one of my regular stores for groceries and household goods—has figured out a way to so finely tune its tracking that it might know you’re pregnant before the grandparents do, and it knows when to start sending ads for baby formula and diapers based on your previous shopping trips.

I confess this tracking unnerves me. It feels likes stalking. An article in Time suggests we are being profiled based on our online clicking and surfing and we don’t know what conclusions are drawn based on the collected data. Additionally, the industry is so unregulated that lawmakers are now asking companies to explain what kind of information they’ve collected and how they intend to use it.

There is legislation pending to allow users to see any information that has been gathered, correct what’s wrong and stop the collecting from that time onward.

Meanwhile, there are some solutions you can try. The newest version of Internet Explorer has Do Not Track as a default setting. (I installed this on my desktop.) Or you can visit www.aboutads.info/consumers, a kind of “do not call” site for ad trackers. 

I considered installing a backup antispyware program, but I learned that I might just need to clear my browsing history and remove tracking cookies regularly. I found this comprehensive list of instructions on how to remove cookies from different browsers at wikiHow.

It may not get rid of them all, but if you are diligent, it should keep the stalkers at bay—at least for a while. As for alleged government eavesdropping, that’s a whole ‘nother story.

Sometimes fiction is so spot-on believable, I am convinced the author must have walked in the shoes of a particular character. I recently read Emily, Alone (2011) by Stewart O’Nan and have come to believe that he was once an 80-year-old widow.

I should not be surprised. My introduction to O’Nan’s work was Last Night at the Lobster (2008), a novel about the final shift of a seafood restaurant before it closed for good. It really resonated with me as a long-ago waitress and barkeep. Years after reading Lobster, I caught myself thinking that I once worked at the Red Lobster, so impeccably detailed was O’Nan’s portrayal of the place and staff.

With Emily, Alone, I had this déjà vu feeling. A widow in her 80s, Emily lives independently; her sister-in-law, Arlene, lives nearby. Emily lost her confidence behind the wheel and now Arlene does the driving. When Arlene faints one day while they are out, Emily has to drive home. Having the use of Arlene’s car for a few days inspires her to get her old vehicle out of the garage. After a few weeks and much thoughtful deliberation, she goes on her own to the dealership to buy a new car. With that, Emily’s independence, like her driving skills, is renewed with an almost ironic sense that she is reversing her dependence on others at this time in her life.

Emily is someone you may know. For me, she is my grandmother, and Arlene is my Great Aunt Anne, Gram’s sister-in-law. Gram and Anne lived in neighboring garden apartments in East Orange, NJ, when I was growing up. While they did not enjoy Emily’s longevity, to me they were just as remarkable. Like Emily and Arlene, my grandmother and great aunt did things together out of habit and convenience, and because so many of their friends had died. They were just as frugal, enjoyed order and routine, and cared only about their children’s happiness.

The charm and richness of Emily, Alone is in the details of her life. This novel made me wish I had known my grandmother and great aunt better. After reading the book, I feel I have had a second chance to see the world from their point of view. If I loved Last Night at the Lobster because it took me back to my happy restaurant days, I loved Emily, Alone because this insightful book takes me back to my grandmother and great aunt and helps me learn a little more about who they might have been to each other and to me. Thank you, Stewart O’Nan, for this glimpse into the life of Emily, aging successfully, independent and strong.
 

It’s been in the headlines of weekly magazines, on the television talk shows, in the book clubs. I am talking about E.L. James’s best-selling novel, Fifty Shades of Grey (2012). And just when I thought we were so over that, the movie casting calls, and the speculation and hype that go with that, seem to be never ending, putting the provocative book in the news again. 

When I heard the subject matter, it sounded like erotic fantasy, a genre that doesn’t interest me. But the buzz was unrelenting; even midlifers like me were devouring this book and passing their copies to friends. Eventually I caved and put my name on the waiting list at the public library. My number was very high, which indicated many borrowers were before me, but in just over a month, I had my library copy.

I asked one of my librarian friends if she’d read it. Oh yes, she admitted, she had read the entire trilogy. I offered that I understood it to be quite explicit with not much of a story. But she felt it was not so raunchy as I might think. I also had heard many libraries refused to purchase it because of the graphic sex, but she said libraries didn’t want to stock it because people steal books of this nature, being too embarrassed to check them out. Perhaps because folks are unwilling to be “caught” buying this book or checking it out from the library—or maybe even reading it—the book has impressive e-reader sales. In fact, half the trilogy’s total sales have come from e-books. 

At its core, Fifty Shades is a romance. Christian Grey is an arrogant, wealthy, young bachelor with kinky sexual needs. Spunky-but-innocent college girl Anastasia Steel is inexplicably drawn to him and becomes his submissive lover. Whipping, spanking, bondage, he’s an über-control freak, if you get my drift. Who do you imagine would be reading this? Teenagers and college-aged readers are on the young end of the spectrum but the book is reaching male and female, straight and gay. And, clearly, midlife women like me. 

The plot is virtually nonexistent, and the characters, one-dimensional. Yet in the United Kingdom and the United States, Fifty Shades of Grey topped best-seller lists and is the fastest-selling paperback of all time. Why? It’s simple. Sex sells. 

If you see a woman sporting a shirt that says, I ♥ Christian, she’s likely not referring to her house of worship. The marketing madness associated with this phenomenon might surprise you. Not just lingerie, garters and stockings, but sex toys, vibrators, handcuffs and the like, with and without the Fifty Shades brand name.  

I am not a fan of this book. I am neither shocked nor disgusted; romance novels and erotica are just not my thing. I read enough in the first volume of the trilogy that I didn’t need to seek out the other two. But I am intrigued by other people’s reactions to these books. Polite women are talking about sex instead of about the weather, and women I know who say they “don’t have time to read” made the time for this trilogy and are raving about the books and speculating about the movie. And feminists want to know what’s happened: all of a sudden, women are asking to be submissive, dominated by men.

I just don’t see it. I guess I’m the anticulture like the folks who produced this flow chart, “101 Books to Read This Summer Instead of ‘50 Shades of Grey.’”  

Where do you stand on Fifty Shades? Are you turned off, impartial or eager to hear the casting call answered? 

 

Ok, we can have it all—but must we carry it all?

Noticing that I use a very small purse, my daughter’s chiropractor commented that I wasn’t likely to need her services for the many aches and pains caused by women’s larger pocketbooks. I had to laugh. When my daughters were small, I had a diaper bag that must have weighed 20 pounds. I swore that when I no longer needed all the baby supplies, I’d carry the smallest purse I could find.

The chiropractor told me just how often she sees women with fashionably enormous bags. They’re good for her business—back, shoulder and neck strain are the consequences of a large, over-filled bag. Carrying your life around on your shoulders changes your posture and gait.

The security of knowing she can handle any emergency with the contents of her purse keeps many a woman attached to her baggage. But there are some options that can help her shoulder the load:

• Alternate the bag from one shoulder to the other frequently.
• Try a backpack or messenger bag.
• Carry a flat-bottom bag so contents don’t shift.
• Carry two bags to distribute the weight.
• Choose a bag with wide straps.
• Fill the bag with necessities, not extras.

A good article at EveryDayHealth.com suggests that carrying more than 10 percent of your body weight is too much. It points out that airline personnel use wheeled bags to prevent back problems.

I feel tempted to carry more than ever before—technology, water bottles, the works. To keep my load light, my current solution is a very small and unforgiving handbag—phone, credit card, license, a little cash and that’s about it. I carry a briefcase or a tote if I have papers.

But, pockets—can’t live without pockets, and the more, the better.
 

“You will get paid to read and review current fiction if it has a compelling story with an aging protagonist.” Sounds like a good news-bad news joke, right? I love fiction, I told my boss, but the thought of reading novels starring an older person was filling me with dread. I’m in my mid-50s. I found the assignment depressing.

“You want me to read hen lit?” I asked Kay Klotzburger, president of the Silver Century Foundation. Hen lit is women’s fiction not unlike chick lit, but written for women of a certain age. If you think that term is bad, in the United Kingdom, light narratives with a female protagonist 40 and older are called matron lit—as if I’d be reading that.

My hesitation was not only my very slight case of snobbery when it comes to my fiction choices, but because I just could not imagine how a plot centered on the life of an older man or woman could be remotely interesting.

And that, my fellow readers, is where I was so wrong. In fact, I have thoroughly enjoyed several books that my heretofore preconception would have had me miss.

Olive Kitteridge (2008) by Elizabeth Strout was the first one. Olive is cantankerous, but not to the point of ludicrousness. I hate to admit it, but I have more than a little Olive in me. She touched on those personality traits I’d rather not own.

I would propose marriage to the retired military man of Major Pettigrew’s Last Stand (2010) by Helen Simonson. I could live a quaint life in his very British country home. Defying stereotype, he falls for a woman from Pakistan and irks his ungrateful, pretentious son.

I rooted for Percy Darling in Julia Glass’ The Widower’s Tale, (2011); he deserved better. And I was 100 percent behind John and Ella as they went AWOL for one last RV ride in Michael Zadoorian’s The Leisure Seeker (2009).

An author brave enough to write about a woman slipping slow motion into dementia took me by surprise. I thought Turn of Mind (2012), a thriller by Alice LaPlante, would be too depressing to read, yet my heart ached for the protagonist, so real was her fight, courage and grace.

I couldn’t imagine how the minutiae of the life of an 80-year-old widow would be worth my time. Emily, Alone (2011), by Stewart O’Nan, truly moved me. How does a 50-year-old engineer nail a character as complex as Emily?

These authors—and, I am now convinced, others—have done what I thought was impossible. They opened my eyes to the richness of later life. I have been left with an idea of what my older friends and family members are going through or what they may have already experienced. Perhaps I can say I know them a little better for the reading I have been assigned.