Archives for November 2020

Puffy?

November 19, 2020 By admin

Yeah, puffy. You want to make a big deal out of it? No, not me. I was just thinking that it’s an interesting name for a mattress and décor company.

Then I was intrigued by the fact that Puffy just released results from their national sleep survey.
They surveyed over 4,400 adults from all 50 American states, asking them how they were sleeping in the time of Covid.

Surprisingly to me, 74% said they preferred working remotely from home. But, they were going to bed later and less satisfied with the sleep quality. I guess you could say they are a bit stressed out. Millennials have it the worst, as 62% of those surveyed reported higher stress levels while working remotely.

It seems that how you work remotely has a lot to do with your stress level. Baby boomers were working out of home offices, which most likely reflects the fact that they have larger homes. 54% of the boomers surveyed fell into that category, while only 20% of the Gen Z and millennials had designated office spaces. Presumably, the rest were working at the breakfast bar, dining room table or the bedroom. Home office spaces translated into lower levels of stress according to the survey.

Not surprising, 79% of boomers preferred working from home. Well yeah! They have fancy pants home offices. 68% said that their productivity level was higher than when they were in offices.

Only 20% of millennials had a home office and 42% were working in their bedrooms. 62% were feeling more work stress than they did before the lockdown. Keep in mind that these are the “digitally-native” workers who grew up with computers but are struggling with the adjustment. Housemates, young children and limited space are all factors in their dissatisfaction with work-at-home circumstances.

Bottom line, Puffy’s data suggests that sleep satisfaction across all demographics has nosedived. Older adults in particular, while transitioning well to remote work, are not happy with their sleep. Only 27% of those over age 55 were satisfied. Gen Z’ers reported the highest satisfaction (48%) and that appears to correlate with the redecorating they’ve done during the lockdown.

Aha! I think I get it now. Puffy sells bedding and bedroom décor. Better décor — better sleep! We’ll all sleep better now that we know their secret.

Jay Harrison is a graphic designer and writer whose work can be seen at DesignConcept . His mystery novel, Head Above Water, is available on Amazon and Kindle. You can also visit his author page here .

Slacker

November 19, 2020 By admin

As my retirement journey evolves, I don’t think aging badass describes me well, unlike The Widow Badass, who definitely owns it and wins the prize for best blog name ever. And then there’s cannabis. I like it and continue to use it recreationally and medicinally but not as much as I expected. It doesn’t seem worthy of such prominent placement.

I’ve come to embrace the term slacker, as in a person who avoids work. Because I am definitely done with that pesky job thing. I changed the tagline to read, “The continuing adventures of a full-time slacker.”

Sounded great to me, but as I started to share the news with you, I looked up the definition, which described people who shirk obligation, particularly military service. Well, that would not be me! Perhaps I am being too literal, but I deleted that tagline and left the space blank. Is blank best?

As for retirement, I seem to have landed in a happy place devoid of ambition. I do what needs to be done around the house and that sort of thing, but the rest of my energy is focused on activities that give me pleasure. I see myself as the face of resistance to over-engineering retirement, which isn’t a contest to see who accomplishes the most.

In retirement, there are no performance reviews.

I updated my About Me profile to read:

My full-time job is to take care of myself, be kind to others, enjoy simple pleasures and indulge in creative pursuits. I like to play golf, walk, swim, cook, read, write, watch TV, listen to music, make art and grow cannabis.

That pretty much sums it up. Maybe I don’t need a tagline.

Donna Pekar is an aging badass (for real) who lives in California and writes Retirement Confidential.

Shenanigans

November 19, 2020 By admin

The doctor asked us in the E.R. if we had noticed anything different in recent days before Daddy’s nosebleed, speech impediment, and his crippled arm that look superglued to his side and not moving when he commanded and cursed it. I was puzzled why the doctor thought that what happened before mattered. Any idiot could tell Daddy’d had a stroke. Behavior leading up to it wouldn’t change a thing.

“He seemed red in the face, was grumpier than usual, and got in a fist fight with our old neighbor, Mr. Willis,” Mom said.

“Old neighbor? How old was he?” the doctor asked.

“90.”

“Fist fight about what?” He was writing on the chart and looking over his glasses on the bridge of his nose.

“Our pear tree limb hung over in his yard. We’d always let him keep the pears on his side of the fence, but he lopped the limb off without asking. Said he needed prunes, not pears. I didn’t hear it all, but I called the sheriff to break it up. I yelled from the porch, but they weren’t stopping. Sheriff told them he’d put them both in jail if they did it again. He didn’t have time for their shenanigans with all the drugs he has to deal with.”

The doctor shook his head. “With hardening of the arteries added to an already decreased blood flow, people begin to act more like children.”

Mama leaned toward the bed and said, “Jack?”

Dad’s eyes moved toward her.

“His eye movements are a good sign. We’re going to go ahead and get that left artery scheduled. It’s like a roto-rooter going in there and breaking up that plaque, so he can get better flow. We’re like old cars. Need new hoses, points and plugs, lube job every now and then.”

Daddy nodded and we said, “Thank you.” The doctor bolted, and daddy’s head turned in the pillow, his eyes closed, and Mama whispered to me: “I’m gonna go by the store and get Mr. Willis some prune juice and tell him your daddy is in the hospital and he’s sorry. It’ll make Mr. Willis feel better about it all and not be scared.”

Niles Reddick is author of the novel Drifting too far from the Shore, two collections Reading the Coffee Grounds and Road Kill Art and Other Oddities, and a novella Lead Me Home. His work has been featured in seventeen anthologies, twenty-one countries, and in over three hundred publications. http://nilesreddick.com/

What Guilt?

November 4, 2020 By admin

phonograph needle I was reading about retirement the other day. Could mean I’ve been thinking about it. Although now that I’ve read what some people say about retiring, it’s tweaked my contrarian side. One particular writer advised that by retiring, I would be giving a younger person an opportunity to take on more responsibility. Okay, that’s fine by me. They continued by adding that the younger person would get a promotion and make more money. That’s fine as well. Therefore, she/he concluded, retirement is really an act of generosity, so don’t feel guilty about it.

Guilty!! My reaction? Hit the play button below.

What the hell did he/she just say? Don’t feel guilty about retiring? Nuts to that. Guilt is the last thing I would feel on the way out the door. I’ve been working since I was 12 years old. Helping out in Dad’s business, working summers to pay for college, working in several careers and then co-founding a business that’s about to start its 35^th year.

I get that there will be a period of adjustment when the time comes. That’s why I’ve decided to ease out the door by remaining a consultant for a few years. But the pressure to start the day by checking client emails and formulating a work plan will be over. No more reacting to weekend work requests. It will be more about what I want to do that day and having a more relaxed attitude about what needs to get done versus what I’d like to do. The weekdays should melt into the weekend, so that eventually, I hope, I can’t tell the difference.

My Type A personality is not going to give way overnight, but I’m hoping some Type B traits will leach in somehow. At the very least, I’m hoping to have fewer and less frequent To Do lists. Then again, if you have a lot of free time on your hands, a To Do list might be just the ticket.

Guilt? I don’t think so. Paid my dues, put in my time. Soon, most of the time will be mine.

Letters

November 4, 2020 By admin

alphabet letters My brother recently sent me some letters I wrote to him in the 1980s. Back then I wrote letters all the time – to my parents, other siblings, friends. It was what people did, in addition to periodic long-distance phone calls on our land lines. Even my children, both Millennials, wrote me letters during their college years, but those letters gradually evolved into emails. Today, in the midst of their busy adult lives, we text, call, or FaceTime more often than we email.

I don’t want to be an elder who laments the better ways of the old days. Our current methods allow immediate contact, and sometimes a brief exchange of texts is all we need to be in touch. But as Simon Garfield asked in his 2013 book “To the Letter: A Celebration of the Lost Art of Letter Writing,” how will we be able to tell our history without letters?

As I read over the letters my brother sent, I see how rich my relationship was with my two year-old son, a bond that continues to this day. I also see how I was in denial about the depth of my husband’s issues underlying his habit of consuming too much alcohol away from home. My brother expressed concern and suggested he seek counseling; I told him we had it under control and he shouldn’t judge my husband. How wrong I was in that. So I gained something from rereading those letters – I could reexperience so much good and also learn something about myself that my memories have hidden.

One thing that is better now – we are more aware and open about addiction and mental health challenges and we are more fluent in the language of emotions. We can talk things through better, whether in person or other means. We can access resources and information over the internet, and more easily gain a sense that we are not alone in whatever issues we face. I wish I had had those resources back then.

I treasure the letters I wrote back then because they help me understand my history, but I don’t mourn the loss of the letter writing habit. However, this past summer when my 10 year-old grandson was at sleepover camp for the first time, I wrote him weekly letters, perhaps the only ones he’ll ever receive. Maybe I’ll continue that habit with him and his younger brother.

Lee Stevens is an aging Conjuress who spins magic with words and yarn in Hendersonville, North Carolina

Crumbs

November 4, 2020 By admin

I am biting into a cookie. Chocolate chip. This is back before cookies were soft and pliant and there would be no crumbs falling to the kitchen floor, linoleum covered with the faint of yellow wax.

It is Tuesday, and my father is late for dinner again. Outside the window, beyond the orange flower curtains, the trees are green and budding. It is April, and everything is young.

I hear the hallway door slam open; an umbrella being stabbed into the stand. It didn’t rain the way mother insisted it would.

I am biting into a cookie when the shadow that is my father walks in. My mother has taken the broom from the closet and is sweeping crumbs into the dustbin. She is kneeling to get the smallest crumbs, and turns her head startled towards my father.

I am biting into a cookie and my mouth freezes open into a cave as my father pulls my mother up by the collar of her flowered housedress. I’ve seen this before. His arm above his head. Tornado in his fist.

My mouth closes around a scream as he lets go of her and crumbles into himself, his arm falling to his side. His face as purple and twisted as a howl.

The grass outside a shiver in the wind, the only sound until the hee-haw of the ambulance whooshing up the street. My mother lifting up my father’s face, brushing crumbs off of his cheek, sweeping everything off to the side.

Francine Witte from New York City