Seventy-five years ago, on a cold and snowy New Years Eve, Mom was keeping warm by sitting on a radiator at a party with her friends. She was pregnant and told them she felt like she had “arms and legs all over.” Little did she know that she was one week away from giving birth to twins. Mom wasn’t expecting her baby for another month, and she had no idea that she was going to have twins. We were a big surprise, and she told us the story of our entry into the world many times.
It’s hard to believe I have been around for three quarters of a century. It’s actually not a big deal in my family where several of my relatives, including my Dad, lived to be over 100, but it’s a major milestone for me. As a kid, the number 75 conjured up images of a hunched over, gray haired lady with a cane. My hair is more blond-ish than gray and I can get around just fine without a cane. Although I call myself a little old lady, I don’t feel like the image of one that I had in my childhood. At 75 I have a different perspective on life. I am keenly aware that I won’t be on this planet forever. I am the only remaining member of my immediate family, having lost my Mom and Dad and both of my sisters. If I am lucky I could have another 25 years, like Dad, but he was in a lot better shape than I am. I hope I can at least make it into my 90’s like Mom, but there are no guarantees. I am starting to see that we really do only have one day at at time. So what am I going to do with this day? It’s raining. I can hear a soft sprinkle as it hits my deck. The sliding door is open so my Abby cat can go out. She is playing with the rain by running zoomies in and out of the door and making little whiny sounds with each pass. I suppose I could play with the rain too. I could put on my new super-waterproof raincoat and go out for a walk. It might be an adventure. I need adventure in my life. Not the big dramatic kind like mountain climbing or bungee jumping, just something new and different like taking a walk in the rain. I decided to put on my raincoat and head out for a stroll around the neighborhood. It wasn’t exactly the adventure I was looking for. I didn’t run around like a little kid, stomping in the puddles, or swing around a light post like Gene Kelly in Singing in the Rain, even though I had imagined myself singing and skipping along the wet sidewalk. I am not very good at skipping anymore. The rain was more of a mist, and the coat that I bought for a trip to Washington, where it is actually cold, was a bit too cozy for California winters. I was working up a sweat just shuffling along at a snail’s pace. I haven’t been walking much lately because I have had some knee pain and my stamina isn’t what it used to be. Still it was nice to get out and move my body. Maybe I will try it again later and stomp on a few puddles. Perhaps it’s not adventure I’m looking for. Taking that walk made me grateful that I can still put one foot in front of another and embrace life one day at a time. At this stage of my life I feel lucky to be alive. I can appreciate the beauty of watching the rain from the comfort of my recliner as much as walking through it, but it made me think, “What else can I do with this precious day?” I am open to the possibilities..
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![]() Although this photo looks like a senior from one of those commercials for medic alert devices who has “fallen and can’t get up,” it is actually me making a snow angel. This was the last time I visited the Midwest in the winter and although it was a wonderful trip it made me realize that winter for a little old lady is a whole lot different than winter was as a little kid. Having grown up in Minnesota I learned the art of making snow angels early in life. Protected against the cold by the multiple layers of wool clothes, mittens, and scarves that our Mom dressed us in to play outside, my twin sister and I took great pleasure in flopping down on the ground spread eagle and waving our arms and legs back and forth to create the angel effect. It was what you did with snow, in addition to snow balls, snow men, and snow forts. Winter meant sliding down the big hill in the front yard on our flying saucers and skating with our friends at the local rink that doubled as a baseball field in the summer. There are a lot of things about Minnesota cold that I don’t miss, but I do miss the snow. I remember walking home from school in the early twilight listening to my boots squeak with each step, surrounded by an eerily still, sparkly white world with the muffled sound of people shoveling their sidewalks in the distance. I loved the silence of winter and the way it made me feel safe and protected. I also remember looking out of my bedroom window at the stark blue cloudless sky on a bright January morning. The chimney smoke from the neighborhood houses was going straight up so I knew the air was very still and very cold. Despite the fact that the sun was glaring on the snow, it was -30 (yes, 30 degrees BELOW zero). Knowing how cold it was, I had a wonderful feeling of being inside looking out, basking in warmth and coziness. My Mom and Dad moved to California when the reality of dealing with winter as oldsters became overwhelming. It wasn’t fun to be cooped up inside, afraid of falling on the icy sidewalks. I felt the same way on my last winter visit back to the Midwest. The joy of playing in the snow as a kid was replaced by the fear of falling, the frustration of delayed flights, and the penetrating cold that makes your face feel like it’s going to crack and fall off. Now that time has passed and memories of those winters have faded, I have decided to spend Christmas in Washington with a friend. There will be snow. It won’t be below zero, but it will be cold. I probably won’t be making any snow angels. It’s a lot harder to get up off the ground as a little old lady than it was as a kid. I am a bit nervous about making this trip, remembering past winters where flights were delayed, but I am looking forward to being with my friend and sharing some adventures. Whatever happens I know I will be OK. I have a lot of snow angels in heaven watching over me. You would not think that I am someone who puts things off until the last minute. I start prepping for Christmas in October. However, buried under that obsessive compulsive person who is ordering Christmas cards before the trick-or-treaters even show up at my door, lies a master procrastinator. My main area of procrastination lately has been writing my blog. Yes, Christmas is a busy time of the year, but I seem to find plenty of time to scroll through Facebook and read all the crazy AITJ (Am I The Jerk) stories. Does this give me any writing ideas? Noooooooo! It just keeps me from looking at my own foibles. Like most other bad habits, there is a redeeming side to procrastination that seems to justify it’s existence in my psyche. As I have gotten older I find that my reasons for procrastinating are more thoughtful and sometimes even purposeful. I call it waiting. Sometimes the issue just disappears if I wait long enough. There is a subtle difference between waiting and procrastination, however. It doesn’t work for things like putting off getting my hedge clipped until it’s starting to invade the driveway where I park, but sometimes it gives me space to let different possibilities bubble up. I always wait when I am writing. I put stuff down right away because a good thought can disappear very rapidly in my senior brain; then I let it sit and rest. Sometimes when I come back to what I have written, everything looks completely different. My rule is to write down the words and get the thought out, and then sleep on it. The emotions of the initial thought can cloud my perspective. I see my ideas through a different lens after a time away from them. I guess that’s what I have been doing about writing my blog. I have been waiting for the right idea to inspire me. Luckily, I did a little writing too, and even though I rejected it as not worthy of sharing with the world, it popped up again when my frustration with procrastination finally got the best of me. Ironically, once I decided to write about procrastinating over writing, my mind shifted and I managed to actually put down some words. They are not the words I was hoping to find by waiting for them, but they are the ones I needed to find. I miss my sister Linda. I thought I was writing about procrastination but it turned out that I was writing about the feelings I have been trying to avoid. This is the second holiday season without her. I thought the pain of loss would soften over time but it’s still there, just deeper. I want to escape, in a non-productive way. I want to ignore some of the more difficult thoughts floating around in my brain. Writing forces me into reality, the reality of my feelings and fears. The holiday season is full of sadness and loss as well as anticipation and joy. Expectations for a “White Christmas” experience are high but not likely to actually happen, particularly in California. There are no snow covered trees to lighten my mood. The dark, cloudy, rainy season is here and it makes me want to sit in my recliner with a blanket over my head. Even though I have been avoiding them, I know it’s OK to embrace these feelings. At least they are out in the world and not hidden under a blanket. Was it worth the wait? Yes. It opened up the possibility of seeing the beauty in a rainy winter day and the joy in the mixed feelings of old memories. |
Leslie Masona woman in search of her post-retirement future Guess what! By subscribing, you get notices about the latest Little Old Lady with Cats posts sent to your mailbox!
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(from an entry posted on 5/1/2015) “I definitely fit some of the characteristics of a little old lady with cats: Retired - check, Single - check, Like to knit - check, Have cats - check. . .I do not want to get stuck in my Little Old Lady persona, however. In fact, this blog is a risk taking experiment in exploring and redefining what I want my retired life to look like.” Categories
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