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Should I Stay Or Should I Go

August 11, 2024 By admin

lonely elderly man looking out windowThat’s the big boomer dilemma. Should you stay or should you go. (Apologies to The Clash, 1982) Age in place or head for the hills. Not hills really; more like swanky assisted living (swanky…there’s a word nobody uses anymore, especially not when referring to average assisted living digs).

Where do you want to live in your “golden years?”  Aging in place has a multitude of pluses. It’s familiar. Your friends and family may be nearby. You’re surrounded by accustomed stores and services. But what aging in place really comes down to is maintaining a sense of independence.

Why then would you move into an assisted living residence? For many boomers, moving now, before it’s a necessity, puts them ahead of the game when the day comes that they need more medical care and caregiving assistance thereby maintaining the quality of life they want.

If you are going to stay where you are, it will most likely require some modifications to bathrooms, kitchens and lighting. A two-story house isn’t going to cut it, so that might necessitate a move to one-floor living. Three-thousand square foot homes are out of the question. Down-sizing is a must. You will also need to start acquiring a corps of workers to get your groceries, mow your grass, shovel the snow and take care of the mechanical infrastructure. Most important of all, you will want to be locking down a caregiver arrangement since that will be essential to aging in place.

Self-sufficient types may not want to hear it, but if you are hellbent on living independently, you will need to weigh the risks. The time will come when you must balance your personal freedom against your safety and health needs.

Aging in place often comes with a level of social isolation that may appear attractive to iconoclasts but if you’ve read any of the stories about hoarders who live in dreadful conditions, it should give you pause. Twenty-four seven me-time has the potential to obliterate common sense.

Lastly, how much does it cost to age in place? How much you got? It may take more dollars than you think depending upon how long you live. I don’t have the stats at hand, but one thing is clear: most people are living many years longer than their than their forebears.

The Clash didn’t have the answer and neither do I.

Darling, you got to let me know
Should I stay, or should I go?
If you say that you are mine
I’ll be here till the end of time
So you got to let me know
Should I stay, or should I go?

Jay Harrison is a writer and creative consultant for DesignConcept. You can also visit his author page here. His newest mystery novel, Rio Puerco Demise is available on Amazon. His first mystery novel, Head Above Water, is also available on Amazon. But that’s not all. You can also purchase the Best of BoomSpeak on Amazon.

Filed Under: ESSAY

Not the Worst Funeral I’ve Been To

August 11, 2024 By admin

hand on coffinMy old buddy’s heart attack—he swam laps alone in a pool—left him floating face down like William Holden in Sunset Boulevard, only without the bullet holes and sleaze. He’d been self-made, was now self-finished, and would have liked that symmetry. The living map of my world shrank. We’d run out of shared laughter. I stood on a road somewhere, waiting.

At the funeral, the priest said, “We’ll hear a poem by an old friend of the deceased.” His eighty-six-year-old mother stared at me. The poem they waited for, I didn’t know I was supposed to create. I came to the podium slowly. Incidents from my buddy’s life were all I had to work with as I improvised a stanza:

He could walk on his hands for a full city block
and leap over a couch like a fox disappearing,
but his ex-wife claimed he didn’t know how to love 
and blamed it on inappropriate child rearing. 

Mouths hung open as if people were gargling with tennis balls. “Did you hear what that nincompoop said about me?” his mother exclaimed. “That I didn’t know how to nurture. Me, who cooked my son eggs every morning for breakfast, kissed him each night before bed, and smacked him silly whenever he screwed up. That’s love, mister! The problem with my son’s marriage was not him, but that thing over there”—she pointed at his ex — “who doesn’t even know enough not to wear a beige halter top to a funeral!”

His ex shot me a look that said, You had to open this can of worms? I’d forgotten that every eulogy must be of a saint. I quickly improvised a second stanza:

You could trust him with secrets, money and jewels. 
He would tell you the truth and never tried scheming.
I miss the sides of him I knew very well,
and those I never knew that were off somewhere dreaming.

I heard some sobs, stifled my own, and stepped away from the podium. Passing the coffin, I tapped it gently. Nothingness was all we had between us now. I smiled at his mother. She glared back and said, “Wait until you hear the poem I read at your funeral.”

Douglas Collura lives in New York City

Filed Under: FICTION

Mind Over Machine 

August 11, 2024 By admin

battery replacementI asked my grandson to help me sort out some computer frazzles. I had to admit to myself that we can’t all be technological super stars forever. Just think if Olympic athletes could push speed, endurance and flexibility into old age. Still, it was embarrassing to realize that the digital train had just left the station and I was stuck at the gate. I wanted to tell him that a lot of my fix-it knowledge had passed an expiration date—that I had had my day, in my day.

Like the time I was substitute teaching in a lab class. There was a young female ‘assistant’ who seemed to resent an old fart needing to supervise her obvious skills and familiarity with student lessons and experiments. I quietly sat back and watched when a student when up to her complaining that a battery powered scope wasn’t working. The instructor, after poking and prodding with no results, told the student to wait till the regular teacher returned the next day. I walked over pulled the back cover off the machine, pulled out the two batteries, licked the posts and put them back in. The gizmo popped into gear and the experiment went on despite the sidelong glance from the assistant.

Another time, in the era of stick-shift cars, my brother stormed into the house grousing that he couldn’t start his car, somehow the battery had run-down and he was going to be late for work and maybe fired. I went out to the garage told him to get behind the wheel, flip the ignition on, depress the clutch and wait till he was at the end of the driveway to pop the clutch. I gave a running push until he was rolling good. Waved my arm. He lifted the clutch and the car roared to life.

Lately, I can’t say that I’m quite on top of current technology. Sometimes, though, I can still improvise. For example, the other day when my grandson complained that his mother’s cell phone had been left behind, charging, and he needed to let her know he had football practice after school and would be late getting home. I pulled a sheet of paper out of the computer, handed him a pencil and suggested leaving a note on the kitchen counter. He gave me the same eye torque I got from the classroom assistant.

We cope.

Retired trainer, and writing instructor, Joe Novara lives in Kalamazoo, Michigan. Writings include novels, short stories, a memoir and various poems, plays, anthologies and articles. Read more at https://freefloatingstories.wordpress.com/

Filed Under: ESSAY

Boommates!

July 28, 2024 By admin

moving boxes in bedroomYou’re living alone in 3- or 4-bedroom house. You hear about boommates. Single boomers are renting out their spare bedrooms. The boommates also share food and utility costs.

Would you do it? Seriously. Maybe a spouse or significant other has met their demise. You’re by yourself for the first time in a long time – or ever. It can be lonely living in a big house by yourself. The large house is getting more difficult to justify the expense of upkeep and rising insurance rates. Many years ago, single women took in boarders who paid for room and board, so why not baby boomers? Perhaps more common in Europe, it still was popular here in the larger cities. Single men came for work and needed a place to stay and decent meals. I believe one of my grandmothers owned a multi-story building and rented out the apartments and this was in the 50s. She did it for the income to remain self-sufficient. How is that different than what some boomers are looking for today?

According to research, the average income for a housing provider looking to share a home with a roommate is just slightly over $46,000, while the income of an average housing seeker is around $40,000. That’s how-you-say – an ideal match.

So, I’ll ask again. Would you do it? Assuming you’ve done record checks and you get a security deposit and all the due diligence is done, would you rent one of your rooms to someone you’ve just met for the first time? If you’re still paying a mortgage, it’s most likely at a low, low interest rate. If you sell and downsize to a smaller home, the rate will skyrocket. Housing costs are rising much faster than incomes, which is the primary reason boomers are sitting tight (and why younger generations cannot find homes). Keep in mind, for the most part boomers are living in large 3 to 5 bedroom homes.

For the last time. Would you do it? Me? If my expenses were getting higher and higher, if I was tired of talking to myself, and knowing there were other humans around gave me a greater sense of security. Yep. I would do it because I think it’s an old idea that still works in sketchy financial times. It may be a decision many boomers will be making in the very near future.

Jay Harrison is a writer and creative consultant for DesignConcept. You can also visit his author page here. His newest mystery novel, Rio Puerco Demise is available on Amazon. His first mystery novel, Head Above Water, is also available on Amazon. But that’s not all. You can also purchase the Best of BoomSpeak on Amazon.

Filed Under: ESSAY

A Little Therapy

July 28, 2024 By admin

golf trophy with blur gold light shotIn the category of strange but true, I won a golf tournament! Previously, I’ve placed in my flight and stuff like that, but this is the first time I’ve finished first overall. The prize was $40 and bragging rights.

Regular blog readers will know competition is my nemesis. I usually have this sense of being judged and struggle with confidence, especially after a poor shot. It’s like, oh, yeah, I knew it all along. You suck. At everything. You’re not worthy.

Nothing a little therapy wouldn’t help, but I believe retirement has helped me overcome my fears. With no job status to bolster my self-esteem, I’m learning that being a decent human being and living a good life is plenty. I’m more comfortable with myself and with the ups and downs of the game. I even said to Dale the night before the final round, you know, I’m not scared. I’m just going to play the best I can and enjoy the challenge of trying to make that ball do what I want.

For me, that’s progress.

I’ve always said my brain is the weakest part of my game, so I definitely think the change in mindset helped me play better. I’m also giving credit to the physical therapy regime aimed at strengthening my core. I’m guessing you are all sick of hearing about that, but seriously, this is a big deal for us aging Boomers.

Although I’ve exercised regularly for many years, I never paid attention to the core. Cancer and two major abdominal surgeries didn’t help. But I’m 10 weeks into working with a PT, who gave me a series of exercises to do at home, and it’s life-changing.

Not only is my lower back and knee pain pretty much gone, but I feel more stable even when I just move around the house. I’m definitely stronger in the water when I swim, and now I’m seeing results on the golf course. I’m not sure how it all works, but I guess a stronger core increases stability, and that translates to more power in the swing.

I get it – not everyone is a golfer, but I’m starting to believe a stronger core is the secret to any kind of an active life as we age. The exercises are tough but worth it. I’m 68 and think of this work as an investment for my 70s and 80s.

All this learning did not prepare me for the photo opp. Granted, this was after 18 holes of golf, but a blow dry in the morning with a little product would have fixed that frizzy hair. It seems I will have to make more of an effort in the future.

You never know when you’ll win something.

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

Filed Under: ESSAY

Gunfighter vs. Uric Acid Stone 

July 28, 2024 By admin

male surgeon in operating room with mask onMy urologist straightened up out of his distracted slouch and got excited. “The procedure that I propose to do to you is the fun part of my job. I’ve performed it as least as many times as, say, I’ve made love to my wife in the last year, and let me tell you, my wife and I, we still have the magic. Do you read me?” he said. “Almost more than I want to,” I said.

“I’ll snake a laser into you, aim and blast that bad boy to smithereens. I never miss. Around NYU Hospital, I’m known as the Wyatt Earp of the bladder,” he said.

“I hope you’ll leave the O.K. Corral intact. I’m not finished with it yet,” I said.

“A sense a humor. Good. In the short run, you’ll need it. In the long run, you’ll be singing my praises in toilets all over the East Village,” he said.

Coming out of the anesthesia in the hospital, I muttered long remembered sonnets, as if I could put myself back together word by word. “Would you like some apple juice and graham crackers?” a nurse said. I thought, what a disgusting combination. Then I remembered: that’s what they used to give me as a snack in kindergarten. My teacher wore her brown hair wrapped up atop her head and skirts that ended above the knee. She had her own name early on, and a married one later. I hadn’t really looked into any blue eyes before. I can still see hers.

I went to the urologist for follow up. He was in a mood. “One of the tragedies of our time is that patients are over informed about the procedures I do. You should hear the questions. One clown asked me if he might be left incontinent,” he said. “That was me!” I said. “Oh. Well, then you know what I’m talking about. I’ve never left anyone incontinent. I repair the human plumbing using tools that Einstein himself would have marveled at. These hands” — he held them up in front of him — “aren’t here. They’re ahead in the future,” he said.

“Shouldn’t you keep them close in case your wife comes looking for the magic?” I said. He ignored that comment.

Halfheartedly, he said, “I can give you something for pain.” My pain bored him. He’d done his job. He peeled off his examination gloves and tracked each toss into a pail across the room.

Douglas Collura lives in New York City

Filed Under: FICTION

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