Hey – we may as well have fun as we go sliding into old age, right?

Posts tagged ‘living well’

The Three Best Products for People Who Hate to Clean

No, a major corporation has not come knocking at my door, asking for my very influential endorsement of their products.  I’m not sure why, since the several dozen people who read my blog posts every week (thank you, by the way) are clearly well-heeled and savvy shoppers who would rush to the store to purchase anything I recommended (right???). 

But I found myself in a conversation this week about Magic Erasers at the lunch table at work.  That’s not necessarily big news, but it was the third such enthusiastic endorsement of the product I’d given in two weeks.  Since I was beginning to sound like a product spokesperson anyway, I figured I may as well put it in writing.  Anyone who knows me knows that “clean” is a very subjective term in my world, and I’m not known for my Suzy Homemaker skills.  I have one hanging tile which accurately states that my idea of cleaning is to sweep a room with a glance…..

So the thought of me getting excited about cleaning products is a bit bizarre, and therefore newsworthy.  The incredible Magic Erasers are one of three cleaning products I’ve discovered that are heavenly for people like me who don’t like to clean, or don’t have time for cleaning, or have some physical limitations that prevent them from the old-fashioned hands-and-knees approach to scrubbing floors, sinks and tubs (even if that physical limitation is just that you are of Baby Boomer age or older).   

1)       Mr. Clean Magic Erasers:  This product is not only effective, but it’s actually kinda fun to use.  These little foam sponges remove dirt from just about any surface, including those that are notoriously hard to clean, like painted walls and porcelain sinks.  You just dampen the eraser and go to work.  The more you clean with it, the more it “dissolves”, until there’s nothing left.  I did a little research, and it turns out that the name “eraser” is appropriate – the product actually wears away the same way a pencil eraser does, leaving a tiny bit of residue behind (but I’ve rarely had to rinse after using it).  It’s made of melamine foam, which has been used for decades for things like pipe insulation and soundproofing.  Then someone discovered that it cleans, too, acting like really fine sandpaper to remove dirt, scuff marks, food splatter, etc.  I’ve yet to find anything I didn’t love using it on – doors, counters, sinks, walls, faucets, stove top, back splash, bathtubs, painted kitchen cupboards,  hardware – you name it, it’ll clean it.  Just moisten and go!  No mess.  No hard scrubbing required.  I love it so much that I was actually excited to see that they’ve finally come out with a Magic Eraser MOP!  Woo-hoo!  The Magic Eraser isn’t very expensive (around $3 for 2), and they last quite a while.  If you don’t use it up in one bout of cleaning (that takes a lot of cleaning, but I’ve done it), just tuck it back under the sink and let it dry.  Then pull it out and remoisten when you’re ready to clean again.   And for anyone who’s received any spam emails about this product being “deadly” and “poisonous” – it’s bogus – they’re non-toxic.  Some trivia, courtesy of Wikipedia:  Mr. Clean was born the same year as me, 1958.  A true Baby Boomer cleaner!  Mr. Clean’s first name?  “Veritably”.  No wonder he doesn’t use it much.  His name in Spanish?  Don Limpio.  Seriously – hardly has the same impact, does it?   

 2)      Scrubbing Bubbles Automatic Shower Cleaner:  Okay, this one is a little more expensive (about $23 for the starter set, and $3 for refills).  But I hate scrubbing the shower, and Hubby has a bad back and knees, so I can’t delegate the job.  And dirty showers are yucky.  And this stuff just plain works.  You hang the machine on the shower head, and push the button when you’re done showering.  Beep-beep-beep, then it starts spraying (get out of the shower first!).  Twin sprays (noisily) go around and around the shower, and as the product runs down the wall, it cleans.  This keeps the shower so clean that it always looks like you’ve just scrubbed it.  The machine will last a long time (our first lasted almost 4 years), but you’ll have to replace batteries 2 or 3 times a year, and the refill bottles have to go in every 3 – 5 weeks, depending on how often you’re using the shower (we’re  daily showerers).  So it’s an investment.  But we love it.  It’s painfree cleaning that happens without us putting any effort or thought into it.  Scrubbing Bubbles trivia?  They debuted as the mascots for Dow bathroom cleaner in the 1970’s, so they’re not as old as Mr. Clean, but they are a childhood memory.  The bubbles became so popular that the product name was changed.  The voice of the “bubble leader” in the commercials back then was that of Paul Winchell, who was also the voice of Tigger in the Winnie the Pooh animated films.

3)      Swiffer Sweepers and Dusters:  Swiffer sweepers are fast and easy and effective.  What more could you want?  If you remember to use it regularly (which I rarely do), they can make a huge difference in the amount of pet hair and tiny particles on your hard floors.  Some of my pet-owning friends use them twice daily to keep up with the hair.  If the pad (dry or wet) gets dirty, just flip it over and use the other side (that’s not a corporate recommendation, but I do it all the time and it works just fine).  Then throw the pad away.  The pads (dry or wet) work well on hardwoods, too, and eliminate footprints and scuff marks on the wood.  The Swiffer duster is pretty cool, too, especially on blinds and ceiling fans.  Swiffer sweepers aren’t as exciting as Magic Erasers or Scrubbing Bubbles shower cleaners, but Swiffers are convenient, and the low profile lets you get under low objects – even the refrigerator.  They’re lightweight and inexpensive (starter kits can be found for $8).  It’s a no-brainer.  Conversely, I do not like the Swiffer WetJet cleaner – it’s clumsy and awkward and I didn’t think it cleaned all that well for all the hassle.  We gave ours away after a few uses.  A plain old mop is easier and cheaper.  Swiffer trivia?  Well, for one thing, Swiffer WetJet Cleaner won’t kill your pets, as those spam emails claimed for years (who writes that stuff, and why???).   They don’t really contain anti-freeze, and the product is actually endorsed by the “Dog Whisperer” – Cesar Millan.  Introduced in the late 1990s, Swiffer’s a relative newcomer to the cleaning business, but it’s a subsidiary of mega-corporation Proctor & Gamble, which has been around since 1837.  That’s a lot of cleaning history.

So there you have it – cleaning tips for (and from) the lazy housekeeper.  Are there any cleaning products that you just love to use that I haven’t discovered yet?  If so, please share!

Disclaimer:  These are my opinions alone.  I am not a scientist.  So don’t be stupid – follow the directions on the packages if you’re going to try the product.  It is NOT MY FAULT if you’re dumb enough to try a Magic Eraser on your grandmother’s priceless sterling silver punch bowl, or decide to use Scrubbing Bubbles in your $20,000 solid marble shower.  I am NOT recommending that Magic Erasers are edible, or that you should add Swiffer cleaner to your next recipe.  Non-toxic doesn’t mean they won’t make you ill.  If you buy one of these products and don’t like the way it works – tough luck.  I am not reimbursing your money, because it was your choice to make the purchase.  I did not coerce you into doing so.  Did not.  DID NOT!

Confessions of a Grocery Store Snob

Flowers, pottery, and fruit in fancy baskets - my kind of grocery store! (© Andrew Dunn)

A few weeks ago, I finally admitted it out loud.  I’m a grocery store snob.  I absolutely love the “high-end” grocery stores, like Wegmans in the north and Harris Teeter down south.  I love their bakeries, the coffee shops, the flower shops.  I can choose from buffet lines of prepared Chinese food, Italian food, gourmet pizzas, subs and other delights.  I love the gift shops in these grocery stores, where I have purchased (very nice) birthday, anniversary and graduation gifts. 

So when my husband decided to abandon my adored store for the cheaper one down the street, I really dug in my heels.  I was not going to leave this wondrous store that I had shopped at for decades.  But the harsh reality was that the store down the street offers a major discount on gasoline with every purchase, and it’s hard to argue with filling the tank at more than a dollar per gallon off the price on the pumps. 

I decided early on that I didn’t like the new store (Price Chopper).  Instead of being greeted with a gleaming produce department overflowing with choices, the first thing to greet me in the new store is a wall of super-sweet coffee cakes, danishes, and desserts.  It’s sort of like being greeted by the tempting, good looking, dangerous guy you know is bad for you, instead of his wholesome, fresh-faced farmer cousin.  

On my first few visits to the new place, all I did was complain to Hubby as we shopped.  My store had more choices.  I liked my produce section better.  The aisles in his store were too narrow.  I didn’t like the shelving.  They didn’t have my shampoo.  I couldn’t find anything easily, so I didn’t like the layout.  It was too crowded, and I frankly didn’t like the looks of the clientele.  I didn’t even like the other cars I saw in the parking lot.  In my delusional mind, we were “slumming”.  I turned up my nose at everything. 

If I had to stop for something on my way home, I always went to my store, insisting that I could find things more quickly, and I just liked it better.  But after continual scolding from Hubby, and reminders of how much gas money I could have saved with each purchase if I’d gone to his store, I started feeling guilty.  And then I discovered something interesting one night as I shopped at my store.  There were products that I’d discovered at his store that my wonder-store didn’t carry!  How could that be?  My luxury grocery store was supposed to be perfect!  But they are also so large that they’ve pushed some popular brands off the shelves in order to sell more of their own store brands.  And I knew that – I’d even emailed them a few years ago to complain about it. 

So now that my eyes (and mind) were finally opening just a bit, I begrudgingly decided I needed to give the new store another chance.  I went shopping there alone so that I wouldn’t be influenced by my urge to disagree with Hubby (anyone who’s married knows what I mean).  Hmmm.  The first thing I noticed was that our five-year-old truck with its mis-matched fiberglass repair to the grill from where Hubby hit a deer actually looked right at home with the other vehicles in the parking lot of the new store.  In fact, I saw a fair share of very nice cars parked there (nicer than the truck, at least).     

While I still don’t like the temptation of the nasty sugar- and fat-laden junk food in the entrance way, there was a very nice produce department inside the doors.  So maybe it was like a test – walk past the junk, and be rewarded with the healthy bounty just beyond it.  And I found the fruit cocktails I’d come to love (the ones my fancy store didn’t carry).  And look – they had a bakery, too!  The stuff actually looked pretty good.  And over in the corner was a small coffee shop and dining area.  Why hadn’t I noticed that before?  The seafood area was far more impressive than at my luxury store (if a bit smellier), and I was forced to admit to myself that this store has always had a reputation for having the best meats in town. 

As I continued shopping, I tried to set aside my snobby attitude (hey, I’m not proud of it, but at least I recognize it!).  Okay, the paper products are in the first aisle instead of the last – is that really a big deal?  Of course not.  Yes, the aisles are more narrow than in my store, but it’s not that bad.  I can deal with it, although it remains my main pet peeve with the store.  I finally found their natural foods section, and it was impressive.  The frozen section appears much larger than in my store, and guess what?  There are more choices!  Hmmm again. 

And then I checked out at the register, and discovered that my shopping had just brought our gasoline discount up to a $1.20 per gallon.  My eyebrows shot up a bit, and I smiled back at the friendly checkout clerk.  I could get used to this. 

It was an eye-opener.  I have to admit that I was wrong (I hate that).  The new store is just fine, especially now that I’m more familiar with it.  It may not have a forty foot display of apples of twenty different varieties like the old store, but frankly, that much selection can be completely overwhelming.  It is more efficient to shop at Hubby’s store (dang it).  There may be a handful of products that they don’t carry that I really want, like my haircare product line. 

But then again, I can use that as an excuse to stop by the luxury shop every 5 – 6 weeks for old times sake.  Yes, it’s still very nice.  Yes, I do enjoy looking at all the pretty and exotic products they carry, but they aren’t saving me a buck a gallon on gasoline.  It is a nice place to visit, and I will do that occasionally, kinda like a tourist.  But I know now without a doubt that I am really a pathetic grocery store snob, and I really need to get over it.

Americana Revisited

Sun-splashed concert goers on a hot summer afternoon

As a “baby” Baby Boomer, my childhood memories are not the bucolic “Leave It to Beaver” 1950s.  But the summers of the early 60s weren’t far off the mark in my upstate New York home.  Joys were found in fireflies and dragonflies and bonfires by the lakeshore.  We feasted on corn on the cob roasted in hot coals, and played kickball while our parents drank beer, threw horseshoes and laughed with our aunts, uncles and neighbors.

Then we grew up and watched the world become so much more complicated.  We went from being hippies to yuppies to workaholics, dizzy with success (or at least the pursuit of it).  We were sucked into the crazy excesses of the 1990’s and frankly, we forgot to have fun.  Our children were driven from school to soccer to cheerleading to baseball to karate to dance to bed in a maddening cycle of tightly organized “playing”.  Fun became something to be planned and coordinated and scheduled.

The century turned, and terrorism introduced itself to us in earnest.  The economy sank again.  Talking heads worked to convince us that we are a divided country – red vs. blue, patriot vs. immigrant, liberal vs. conservative, with no hope of compromise.  You might assume the charming Americana of our childhoods has been lost to our own cynicism.  But your assumption would be wrong.  Our essential American character is alive and well.  I saw it in action over the past holiday weekend, spent in a southern coastal town.  I suspect it was occurring in other scattered towns and neighborhoods across the country.

Saturday evening was spent in lawn chairs in the town’s waterfront park, listening to quality live music performed in the modern yet charming pavilion.  The sunlight splashed through the trees across the people gathered there.  Sitting in a variety of portable chairs, or seated on blankets on the grass.  Young adults were standing in small groups, laughing and dancing in the sea-scented breeze.  Children ran and played across the park.  Babies giggled with their relaxed and smiling parents.  Seniors tapped their toes to the music and chatted over ice-cold lemonade.  My husband and I shared a hot funnel cake buried in drifts of powdered sugar and cinnamon.  As Motown melodies filled the air, I sighed and said “This is perfect.”  And it was.

That perfection carried over to Sunday – the Fourth of July.  First was a church service filled with patriotic music, a powerful homily delivered by an Afghanistan veteran, and an interpretive dance performed by a young man from Haiti.  The afternoon revolved around the annual neighborhood picnic.  As I headed down the road in our pick-up truck to gather tables from the church, neighbors called out and strong guys jumped in to help.  People were scurrying back and forth between houses, with chicken grilling at one, hot dogs cooking at another, and the tents and chairs set up at a third.  Everyone arrived on schedule with food – good old-fashioned coleslaw, pasta salad, baked beans, brownies, pies, cakes.  Laughter and hugs.  Old friends introducing themselves to new neighbors.  The kids (young and old) played volleyball.  And as the sun began to set, chairs were arranged in a driveway so that we could re-gather under the stars to watch a movie projected on a sheet duct-taped to the garage door.   Movie popcorn and candy were served, while we laughed and cuddled.  It was perfect.

Monday didn’t disappoint.  We joined friends on their boat on a sultry afternoon, dropped anchor off a private sandy jetty, and feasted on sandwiches and sangria in the warm sun, listening to great music and enjoying catching up on our busy lives.  Perfect.

Three days without televisions or radios to tell us all about the latest scary predictions or tragedies.  Just good friends and sunshine.  And the best part?  Well, for one thing, it was basically free.  A funnel cake at the concert, and our food contributions to the picnic and boating lunch, and that was pretty much it.  It was a long way from being some upscale spa resort weekend.

But even more special than being inexpensive was that the entire hot southern weekend was true Americana – celebrated by people of different ages, different races, different religions, and vastly different political beliefs.  All those differences were set aside to celebrate America’s birthday and each other.  Our childhood summers are more than just sweet memories –  they can still be experienced today.  The challenge is to figure out how to carve out some of that perfection in the days, weeks, months to come.  A little less television.  A little less “organizing”.  A little less tension.  Less worry.  A little more appreciation of each other.  A little more laughter.  More spontaneity.  A moment taken in our oh-so-busy lives to catch our breath.  A little more focus on the quiet blessings that surround us.

If there’s one thing we Baby Boomers have learned, it is that life runs in cycles – what goes up must come down and (usually) what goes down can bounce back up again.  Political parties gain and lose power.  The economy surges and recedes.  Military tensions flare up and diminish.  That’s why they call it a “news cycle”, after all.  So let’s try to relax and remember the joys of our childhood, and give our own children the chance to experience low-pressure old-fashioned summer fun.  Concerts in the park.  Picnics and sparklers.  Boat rides and beach visits.  Americana revisited.  It’s perfect.

My Love/Hate Relationship with Zumba

In case you’re wondering what Zumba is, it’s exercise disguised as dancing.  Or dancing disguised as exercise.  Or torture disguised as fun.  It’s basically a way to sweat like crazy and cram what feels like days’ worth of exercise into an hour or so.  It all began in Columbia, South America, and has swept the U.S. in the past 8 or 9 years.

I had no intention of being dragged into the craze when it hit our area a few years ago.   Sadly out of shape, I still could not imagine myself dancing in a room full of people.  You see, I’m just not very coordinated.  I have a bad sense of timing, and a worse sense of direction.  Invariably, if my husband says “look at that car on your right!” I will immediately look to the left.  So much so that Hubby now just sighs and says “your other right, honey”.  So any kind of structured dancing, even though I dearly love music, is not my strong point.

But my friends were very persistent, and they seemed to be having fun, so eventually I found myself going to classes with them.  That was a year ago.  I hate it.  And I love it.  It’s complicated. But I won’t give it up.  Let me try to sort it out the primary issues for you.

1a.   SWEAT IS BAD –  You know that old saying that ladies don’t sweat, they perspire?  Well, not doing Zumba they don’t!  It’s definitely sweat that rolls off in buckets.  Your hair sweats in Zumba.  Just this morning, I went to brush my bangs off my face in class, and a shower of water sprayed out in front of me.  Surprised, I put my hand to my head and realized my hair was completely soaked with sweat.  That much sweat is disgusting.  It’s uncomfortable.  It’s cold and unhealthy in the winter when you walk outdoors into below zero temperatures.  It requires washing of workout clothes, including my expensive athletic bra, after every single class.  Sweat is not pleasant.

1b.   SWEAT IS GOOD – Sweat is empowering.  Sweat tells you you’re really doing something.  Sweat tells you that your body is working – hard.  Sweat tells you that you’re building muscle and burning fat.  That’s a really good feeling.   Sweat is powerful.  Sweat is good for women.

2a.  MIRRORS ARE BAD – Most Zumba classrooms have at least one wall of mirrors.  They’re scary.  They show EVERYTHING to EVERYONE.  You see everything you’re doing wrong – every time I turn right instead of left, the mirror lets me know about it (as does the unsuspecting classmate to my right!).  The mirror also shows me how bad I look in workout clothes.  Just when I’m feelin’ the music and thinkin’ I’m really jammin’ to the song, I get a glance of myself in the mirror – lumpy, puffy, in pants that are too short, with a blotchy red face, and my mouth gaping open like a flounder, gasping for air.  So much for confidence – I look like I’m ready to drop!  Mirrors are not helpful.

2b.  MIRRORS ARE GOOD – There’s always the practical purpose of mirrors – they allow you to see what the instructor is doing, and they show you whether you are doing a move properly when you compare your moves to hers.  But there are other fun things about mirrors.   The mirror teaches us to avoid that gasping flounder look as we struggle for air, and to instead purse our lips like we’re just blowing off a little steam.  Lips together, mouth more closed than open – “whew”.  Trust me – it’s much more attractive than the gasping flounder look.  Mirrors can boost your Zumba confidence when you realize that many other people in the room are making even more mistakes than you are!  Or when you realize that everyone looks weird in workout clothes.  Mirrors show you that most women (and men) in class are really not concerned with how they look – they’re just throwing themselves into the dance moves the best they can.  You want to be fearless, like them.  Mirrors also show you when you finally get that complicated step right, and you’re smokin’ it, keeping up with every move the instructor is making.  Thank goodness for mirrors!

3a.  HIPS ARE GOOD – Moving and swinging your hips with the beat of Latin music is very seductive.  I’m not talking about being seductive to an audience.  It’s seductive to you.  I’m talking about the feeling of letting your hips sway to the rhythm of drums and Latin words.  Whether it’s a belly dance to a Shakira song; or a samba to the rhythm of an island beat; or an aggressively low hip swing to a naughty Notorious lyric, you feel the power of music.  You feel the power of your own body, moving with the music.  It’s a beautiful thing for your soul to feel that kind of synchronicity.  It makes you appreciate your body, rather than criticize it.  Whether you’re full of curves or skinny as a rail, feel the rhythm and MOVE.

3b.  HIP IS GOOD – Look closely – this isn’t a bad/good comparison as with the first two topics – it’s just two positive takes on “hip” and Zumba.  Moving your physical hips is good.  But so is BEING hip!  Some of you may have teenagers who keep you in the loop on the current entertainers, but Zumba saved me from a life of being one of those boring old people who say  “who’s that?”  “never heard of her!” when we watch the MTV Music Awards.  I know who Lady Gaga is, I dance to Shakira and the Black Eyed Peas.  I can do the “Beyonce bounce”.  I groove to Pit Bull, man!  In my real life, I listen to country music and oldies, but in Zumba, I am crankin’ it to lyrics I (probably blessedly) don’t always understand.  Some are in Hispanic, and some are being ground out in rap.  I am in a room with women (and men) smaller and larger than me, older and younger than me, and we are all yelling and cutting loose to a song that I’m pretty sure is talking about posing “like a pornography poster.”  Do I have fun being just a little naughty and working out to that infectious hip hop beat?  Oh, yeah!  Being hip makes young co-workers eyebrows raise when you stride past them humming “Let’s Dance”.   Being hip is cool.  Being hip keeps you young.  Zumba makes you hip.

As with any workout, it can be torturous while you’re doing it.  But the afterglow is well worth the effort, and the changes in my body, stamina and confidence keep me going back for one sweaty, torturous, exhausting, exhilarating class after another.  Hating it.  And loving it.

A Family of Feisty Women

On the eve of Mother’s Day, I have to pause to pay tribute to the many strong and feisty women in my family.  I come from a long line of fine women, and I’m proud of all of them.  It bodes well for my adventures in aging, since both sides of my family feature classy, long-lived women who enjoy life to the fullest, whether they’re in their 70’s, 80’s, or near 90. 

I stopped by my mom’s apartment a few weeks ago to pick her up for dinner.  At 84, she handily qualifies for her apartment at a “55-and-over” complex.  She found the place on her own, arranged her own move, and settled in very nicely last year.  She drives (and drives very well), but evening driving isn’t her favorite thing.  So I swung by after work, and called her on her cell phone as I neared her place so that she could meet me in the parking lot. 

As I pulled in, there she was.  Striding out with confidence, looking trim in tailored trousers, a fitted corduroy jacket, bright green top and a brilliantly patterned silk scarf.  Every inch of her was stylish.  I was reminded of a former pastor who once told me that my parents had forever redefined the term “senior citizen” for him, because they refused to fit the stereotype of the “little old couple”.   

Back in the day, when I was but a child (yes, that was back in the late-1960’s, as difficult as it is for me to admit), my mom was one of the first working moms in the neighborhood.  My big brother had gone off to college, and that was long before every kid in the world qualified for student loans.  Tuition had to be paid, and dad’s income wasn’t going to cover it easily, so Mom was off to work full time.  She worked for a printing company, out in the physical plant.  And she wore dresses.  Every day.  Dresses.  Sitting next to a huge printing press – in a dress.  It was actually forbidden for women to wear trousers of any kind at most companies in those days.  Can you imagine???

Anyhow… as fashions went topsy-turvy that decade, polyester pantsuits became all the rage.  They had long tunic tops over bell-bottom pants.  Mom’s employer came up with a creative dress code: it was okay to wear trousers, as long as you were wearing a tunic top that was long enough to be worn alone as a dress.  Seriously.  It was like saying “sure, you can wear pants if you want – just wear them under your dress.”  Mom made most of her own clothes, so it was easy for her to comply.   But as time passed, her tunic tops got shorter and shorter.  Enough so that Big Brother and I used to tease her that she’d be in a whole heap of trouble if they ever made her take her pants off and wear the top as a dress. 

Mom made it work, and set an example for her daughter.  By the time I started working for the same printing company 8 years later, I was heading to work in jeans.  Mom came from good stock – her own mother was a feisty, hard-working farm wife who raised three strong daughters in the middle of Depression-striken Iowa.  Mom and her older and younger sisters still get together every summer for a “sisters’ reunion” in Iowa, and she travels regularly with her younger sister, including a trip to Ireland last year. 

In fact, as I think of my aunts, I realize that both sides of my family provided me with fine examples of strong womanhood.  My aunts on both my mom’s and dad’s sided are each independent, active, positive ladies.  Like Mom, they are all widows now.  My dad’s mother was the toughest of them all.  Her husband died when Dad, the only boy, was around five years old.  They were poor farmers in far northern New York State, near the Canadian border.  A single mom in the 1930’s, raising four kids on her own on a rocky scrap of farmland?  It was unheard of, but she did it.  Not only that, she lived to see all of them successful, happily married, with families and very good lives.  She knew several of her great-grandchildren, and her great-great-grandson is being raised in the house where she once lived.  That’s quite a legacy.

What’s the moral of the story?  The best gift a mom can give her children is to set a fine example.  To live a good life, full of responsibility, love, fun, and security.

As I stumble along trying to figure out how to negotiate my way through the aging process, mourning the loss of a little memory here, or fretting over a new wrinkle there, I just need to think of the stubborn, funny, strong, and thoroughly modern women of my own family tree to gain a little perspective.  I don’t have children to teach their stories to, but I hope I can be a “cool” Nana for our grandchildren, and perhaps show them how to age well. 

Aging gracefully is for wimps – aging well means having lots of laughs, being well-seasoned and sun-kissed, having good friends and close family.  My two departed grandmothers and one deceased aunt knew that.  My four surviving aunts know it and live it.  My mom personifies it with her own unique style.  Happy Mother’s Day, Mom.

And to all the moms reading this – please set the right example for your daughters (and sons) by living your own life well.  Happy Mother’s Day!

Tag Cloud

%d bloggers like this: