Wasn't He Famous Once?

More snippets from the land of Temp Hell ...

First of all, there have been no more prizes since the day I blew everyone else away. I have continued to sit in my stall like a veal and work like a dog but alas, no prizes! Those of you vying for the coffee mug might have to wait until next week. I need to keep my current one handy as a possible weapon.

When my little herd was hired to join the team, there were four of us who went through training (and I use that word lightly) at the same time. Of the four, Danny (not his real name but close to it) was born to be a pep squad leader. I found him annoying but chalked him up as someone who would be great at sales. Instead, Danny did not make a single sale on the first day we worked and then he never returned. I guess he was banished to the temp afterlife.

Jimmy (also roughly 12-years old) was very nervous. Once we were assigned to our stalls -- I leapt over someone to get the one in the corner -- Jimmy chose the one next to me. We can all hear each other and Jimmy used to give himself little pep talks before he picked up the phone.

"Be the man! You can close it!"

Jimmy lasted a day and a half. He made one sale and left after lunch on the second day.

Cindy (I chose this name because she has a slight speech impediment like Cindy on the Brady Bunch) is still with us. She is a single mother. She's very friendly and curious. When someone mentioned the Jerry Lewis telethon, she actually said:

"I know he was famous for something. Was he an actor?"

Cindy also asked me about my family. I was slightly evasive and just said our children are grown. Then, as if I didn't already feel older than dirt, she asked me how many grandchildren I have.

I'll have to fill you in on the rest of the herd later. Off to my stall I go, ready to defend myself in the parking lot and ready to close that sale!

"Never get into fights with ugly people. They have nothing to lose."
Unknown

A Steak and Some Rock & Roll

Today the birthday of two famous men. Rod Stewart turns 64 and he's still belting out the tunes. He's avoiding oldieville quite successfully. George Foreman turns 60 today. He's fathered approximately 120 children -- all of them named George -- while making tons of money as a boxer and then ultimately with the George Foreman Grill. (I think there are as many versions of the grill as he has children.)

I have seen Rod Stewart in concert so many times I have lost count. I still listen to him on my iPod. And of course, I love my George Foreman grill. In some small way, it's an example of how our lives touch each other.

Shut My Mouth

This is me in college. Apparently, I'm channelling Wild Bill. I have not done it well. I have not learned to shut my mouth.

Aging is supposed to bring wisdom. I'm definitely wiser but I'm also balancing when to tackle the issue and when to let it go.

I'm still learning that lesson.

Getting Caught

I'm reliving my college days through the baby and many of my friends' children. I'm also kneeling and praying a lot. (Dear God, Please keep them safe.) College is growing up, learning and making choices. It's also a wild and reckless abandon that forces you to fall back on your morals and decide which chances are worth taking.

Some people have the magician act down. They can turn a situation -- a feather boa into a dove. Others roll the dice and decide the possible repercussions are worth the risk.

One of the wonderful perks of aging is learning from mistakes or bad decision-making. I used to think I was cursed. No matter how large or small the mistake, I will be the one who gets caught. I now consider this a blessing because something fired in my brain that reminded me, "Don't do it! You will get caught." (Not that I didn't do my fair share but I almost always got caught.)

The Parade Wave

Sorry, one more Indiana State Fair story...

My mother loves to ride the train and in keeping with Hoosier hospitality, people wave at you. You must wave back. It's a rule. Any woman over the age of 35 knows this is a dangerous activity... all that skin flapping could wound someone.

People Who Don't Age

Some people got out of line when God was passing out the aging gene. I'm not talking about those with a standing date for Botox or plastic surgery. I'm talking about those people who manage to look the same (or better!) with age. They are freaks of nature and somehow I've managed to surround myself with them. They are my friends, my aunts, my cousins.

Aging is on my mind because it's my mother's birthday week. She's definitely in the "freak of nature" category. She won't stand next to me for a photograph because I'm thinner. I won't stand next to her because she's starting to look younger than me and I don't need the comparison.

George Carlin, one of my favorite comedians, died recently. My dad and I used to watch his specials and howl.

Here's what he had to say about aging:

Do you realize that the only time in our lives when we like to get old is when we're kids? If you're less than 10 years old, you're so excited about aging that you think in fractions.

'How old are you?' 'I'm four and a half!' You're never thirty-six and a half. You're four and a half, going on five! That's the key

You get into your teens, now they can't hold you back. You jump to the next number, or even a few ahead.

'How old are you?' 'I'm gonna be 16!' You could be 13, but hey, you're gonna be 16! And then the greatest day of your life ... You become 21. Even the words sound like a ceremony YOU BECOME 21. YESSSS!!!

But then you turn 30. Oooohh, what happened there? Makes you sound like bad milk! He TURNED; we had to throw him out. There's no fun now, you're Just a sour-dumpling. What's wrong? What's changed?

You BECOME 21, you TURN 30, then you're PUSHING 40. Whoa! Put on the brakes, it's all slipping away. Before you know it, you REACH 50 and your dreams are gone.

But wait!!! You MAKE it to 60. You didn't think you would!

So you BECOME 21, TURN 30, PUSH 40, REACH 50 and MAKE it to 60.

You've built up so much speed that you HIT 70! After that it's a day-by-day thing; you HIT Wednesday!

You get into your 80's and every day is a complete cycle; you HIT lunch; you TURN 4:30; you REACH bedtime. And it doesn't end there. Into the 90s, you start going backwards; 'I Was JUST 92..'

Then a strange thing happens. If you make it over 100, you become a little kid again. 'I'm 100 and a half!'
May you all make it to a healthy 100 and a half!!

HOW TO STAY YOUNG:

1. Throw out nonessential numbers.. This includes age, weight and height. Let the doctors worry about them. That is why you pay 'them.'

2. Keep only cheerful friends. The grouches pull you down.

3. Keep learning. Learn more about the computer, crafts, gardening, whatever Never let the brain idle. 'An idle mind is the devil's workshop.' And the devil's name is Alzheimer's.

4. Enjoy the simple things.

5 Laugh often, long and loud. Laugh until you gasp for breath.

6. The tears happen. Endure, grieve, and move on. The only person, who is with us our entire life, is ourselves. Be ALIVE while you are alive.

7. Surround yourself with what you love, whether it's family, pets, keepsakes, music, plants, hobbies, whatever. Your home is your refuge.

8. Cherish your health: If it is good, preserve it. If it is unstable, improve it. If it is beyond what you can improve, get help.

9. Don't take guilt trips. Take a trip to the mall, even to the next county; to a foreign country but NOT to where the guilt is.

10. Tell the people you love that you love them, at every opportunity.

I have never been hung up on looks -- mine or other people's. I'm more focused on brains and a sense of humor. But lately, I've been doing that thing in the mirror where you pull your face up to where it used to be. (Never going to happen.)

I'm going to skip the improvements on my looks and concentrate on making me a better me.

Body Parts

Men used to announce, "I'm a leg man." Or, "I'm a breast man." I have no idea if young men still do this -- I'll have to ask the baby -- but it always stuck with me.

Many body parts betray us as we age. Some parts get wrinkly and droopy. Others just diminish, like eyesight or hearing.

I am not a young person but I'm not an oldie either. One of my favorite things about the Belle was her absolute refusal to be old. Kicky clothes and kicky shoes made her happy. She was the Queen of Accessories. I was taking notes.

My mother asked me to stop writing about our weird legs. Sorry! You can't tell me what to write. I have been fighting these legs my entire life. Throw in a major dose of middle age and suddenly, they're not just weird shaped. Now they have wrinkly knees (too much sun) for added fun.

When I was a child, my friends Kim and Angel had beautiful legs. I haven't seen Angel in years but Kim still has them. Jan has gorgeous legs. My friends Mickey and Cynthia have serious gams. I've made the mistake, more than once, of being photographed next to one or all of them in a swimsuit.

Lately I am surrounded by young women with these gazelle-type legs. My goddaughters, my neighbors, my niece Kelly and daughters of friends. I stare. I drool. I know it's a sin but I covet them.

I still wear shorts and skirts. Leg men would run away. Deal with it.

Is there such a thing as men who are attracted to arms?

Making Cds

If you have a computer that's less than five years old, you have a CD burner. Of course, I had to ask Big Sal to help. She is my CD-burning Queen.

My gift to the goldies was a double CD with songs that meant something to us or represented our friendship. It included:

High Hopes (The Ant Song) -- Frank Sinatra
This One's For the Girls -- Martina McBride
You've Got a Friend -- Carole King
Thank You for Being a Friend -- Golden Girls theme song
I'll Be Around -- The Spinners

There are about 36 more but I won't bore you with them. I went through photo albums and made little CD covers with photos of us at various stages of life.

I made a similar gift for my father to celebrate Father's Day. Different songs and different photos but the same concept. I want my father to play these CDs and know that this woman adores him. In case he forgets, I included a couple of songs that have the name "Sherry" in them. I also added:

I Loved Her First -- Heartland
Because You Loved Me -- Celine Dion
My Girl -- The Temptations
Like a Rock -- Bob Seger

Like the other one, there are about 35 other songs. There's something about music. Some of us are lyrics people and others get absorbed in the drum or guitar solo.

Big Sal made me a CD about aging. It's called, "You're An Old B**** Now." Just reading the titles makes me laugh. Some of the songs:

You're as Cold as Ice -- Foreigner
I Keep Forgetting -- Michael McDonald
Heartache Tonight -- Eagles
Doctor My Eyes -- Jackson Browne
I Go Crazy -- Paul Davis
I'm Still Standing -- Elton John

This is the CD in my car at the moment.

Jan was driving home the other day, listening to her goldies CD. She called me and said, "I want this played at my funeral." Then she called me this morning to tell me that she is getting strength during tough times by listening to the CD. She feels surrounded by us and our friendship.

Not that I ever doubted it but it's a strong reminder of the power of music.

Sex and The City

Yesterday, as part of our goldies weekend, we went to the movies. This is a huge treat for me. I generally go to the theater two or three times a year. The husband doesn't enjoy it and I always feel a little guilty about all the things that need my attention.

I used to go to the movies all the time so I guess it was my lifestyle changes in the past few years that changed that habit.

But, during our girls' weekend, guilt is not allowed. So we went to see "Sex and the City." One friend had already seen it but she was gung-ho to see it again. Another had never seen the series so she was afraid she wouldn't get it. Like a trouper, she went along. We loved it.

I did watch the series and although it occasionally made me squirm, I loved so many things:

The fifth lady -- New York City -- my favorite!

The clothing and accessories -- I do not aspire to own Blanik shoes but it's fun to watch others who do.

Their dates -- I have been married the entire time this series was on the air so I could live vicariously through their escapades and usually was very grateful to not be in that situation.

Their sense of empowerment: Whether it was jobs or men, these women were not looking for someone to save them.

Their age: These women are roughly my age. Even with their different lifestyles, I still identified with them.

Their friendship: They weren't afraid to confess failures and quirks. With all the juggling, if a girlfriend needs something -- it jumps high on the list.

It was fun to watch. It was especially touching to see it with two women who have seen me through it all.

Is It Miss, Ms. or Mrs.?

You know those forms where you have to check: married, single, or divorced? I like to check them all. I've been them all so I'm not lying. Do you think transgender people check male and female? When they give you the option of temporary address and permanent address, I like to put my current street address under temporary and then write, "Heaven, I hope" in the permanent box.


How about the salutation box? Your choices are Mr., Miss, Ms., or Mrs. Again, I have often checked all the female options. If you're a man, checking that box tells no one anything. As a woman, checking Miss says, "I'm single." Checking Ms. says, "I'm hanging onto my own identity." Checking Mrs. says, "I'm married." This is way too much information for a woman to provide when a man only has to check Mister.


I must write Miss Manners because I am very confused about the use of the term, "Mrs." My simple, but adequate, education taught me that the term literally meant "wife of..." So in those terms, this would be right:

Mrs. John Smith, (wife of John Smith)
Mrs. John Smith, (widow of John Smith)

This would be wrong:

Mrs. Susan Smith (Is she married to herself?)
Mrs. Smith (when she and John divorced eons ago.)

During our years of living with the oldies, there were two Mrs. Romans in this house and we both carried the title with pride. Callers were often confused but we got a giggle out of it. The Belle used to inspect me before a big event for the husband and say, "Remember, you are Mrs. Roman."


I won't even tell you how much I hate those boxes where you have to declare your age bracket.

Aging: A Silly Poem

The Anti-Love Affair with Aging

Your boobs start to sag,
Oh My Gosh, it's a beard.
The mirror is an enemy,
The body's gone weird.

The children are busy,
Our job is mostly done.
They may still need us but,
We're dorks; we're not fun.

The oldies are gone.
It's a jumble of emotions.
We've cleaned out the room.
It's clear of potions.

So, I start a new path,
One that's all about me.
I wipe a few tears and ask,
Who shall I be?

Should I wonder about
Every decision I've made?
Is it normal to ask,
What price have I paid?

In the blink of an eye
I look back through the haze.
What we considered normal
Was only a phase.

I spring from the bed,
Greet the husband and the day.
I have a moment where I say,
"Lookout world, I'm on my way."

The roots may be gray
The knees may be creaking.
I'm still drawing breath.
I'm still speaking.

A Degree in Political Science

The husband and I talk politics and government policies. Hangdog loves to discuss his time in the service during WWII. The Belle had an opinion on everything political. Wonder where the husband got that gene?

Geography is not my strong suit. But I have this compulsion to understand an issue and the locale. Just like my need to have a dictionary close by, I have gigantic maps -- one of the US and one of the world. (I actually bought them for the baby but ended up stealing them to my office.)

When I was in Journalism school, we were encouraged to have a second major. Journalism training teaches you to research, interview and hopefully, write in a coherent fashion. It does not make you an expert in anything with the possible exception of annoying people with questions.

For my second major, I chose Political Science. And, I loved it. We studied different regimes, here and abroad. We studied countries and how their governments have changed. This was 25+ years ago so we spent a lot of time on the USSR. We also studied quite a bit about the Middle East.

Fast forward 25 years. Most of these countries have changed names and boundaries. Some have been released from Communism. Some have become more communistic. The Middle East looks and acts like nothing I learned in college.

I watched the news this morning. I got out my gigantic maps. I am not educated in political science but I have a degree that says I am.

Snap Crackle Pop

Workout is an important part of my routine. If I'm being lofty, I'll tell you that I do it for my health. Arthritis runs in my family. I am a prime (Mega prime) candidate for osteoporosis. My workout girls provide comraderie. I would not bother if it were not for them. There's peer support and the laughter helps. The workout is often pure frustration for me. My body won't get in that position. I hear "Snap, crackle pop" while I attempt to find it.

I have these little reflective moments when I try to do a particular exercise or stretch and my body won't go there. As a young girl, I was a dancer. (Ballet -- not Go Go or Pole dancing.) I used to sit on the ground and wrap my legs around my neck. My father would jokingly say, "You are going to be so popular on dates!" My mother would whack him.

As many people have commented, aging is not for wimps. When I'm tempted to complain about my creaks and aches, I remind myself of all the Belle endured. I think about the many pieces of metal in Hangdog's body. (It doesn't completely nullify my frustrations but it helps.)

I will continue to lift my weights and get my heart rate moving. I will attempt to contort my body into positions that it no longer welcomes. But, I will have one eye on the clock and at 7:30 A.M., I will be the first to announce, "I all done."

On the Fast Track

I am not old. In many ways, I still feel and act like a teenager.

But, I am on the fast track to Oldieville.

I can't see without reading glasses and often when I go searching for them, I realize I am wearing three pairs atop my head. I have big hair so there's usually a pencil or pen stuck in there too.

Since my little run-in with the car (Or, as the husband likes to point out, "You weren't hit by a car, you were hit by a shopping cart.") I am constantly icing and rubbing my knee.

Due to picking up the mother-in-law repeatedly, I am still walking a little crooked. And Pamming every time I have to sit.

Tonight is the husband's office holiday party. I'll do my best to get dolled up but I'm choosing comfort over glamour.

There's a snow/sleet/ice storm approaching. The baby once told me that only oldies have an obsession with the weather. Pretty soon, I'll be calling him "That young whippersnapper."

Forget aging gracefully. I'm on the express lane.

Looking in the Mirror

I can't figure out when I started avoiding the mirror. It's been several years. I can actually do my hair and put on a slight bit of make-up without ever seeing my reflection. If eye liner is required, I can do it in 5 seconds, minimizing the mirror time.

I'm not fat and I'm reasonably toned for my age. Those three-way mirrors in the department stores are depression on a cracker. That's probably why I don't shop. I have a full-length mirror in my closet and I avoid it like I avoid birds. It gives me the creeps.

I'm not afraid of aging -- I just don't want to watch. I've earned every line. I laugh and cry often and those are the lines I'm most proud of. I could pack a lunch in my forehead but I tell myself that it just means I'm expressive.

God willing, I've got some time to go. I'm terrified of needles so I don't see any plastic surgery in my future.

Some people tell me I look exactly like my mom. They're wrong but I'll take the compliment. Sometimes, people tell me I am the female version of my dad. Ok, he's darn cute so I'll take the compliment. Once I took my Uncle Ken and Aunt Cess to the husband's office. She's my dad's sister. Everyone said, "You look so much alike. This must be your mother." I'll take the compliment.

The oldies have one of those magnifying mirrors. Can you imagine?

Glasses

There are reading glasses in every room of my home. There are several pairs in my handbag, my swim bag and my car. Just like the gray hair, it's another reminder of aging and I hate it.

The other day I was at the lake. Ponytail and baseball cap in place. The husband returned from playing golf and started laughing. He said, "How many glasses do you need?" I had the sun glass readers propped on my nose. The regular sunglasses and the regular readers were attached to my cap. They taught us in Girl Scouts to be prepared -- I'm prepared but I look like a dork.

The father-in-law pretends to be blind but it comes and goes pretty conveniently. If I can ever get the puppy trained, I'm going to work on making her a seeing eye dog. We'll both use her.