It’s time to call out ageism in all its forms.

Yeah!! What he said!

There’s only one problem. Boomers themselves may be the most ageist among us. Think about it. We are the ones complaining about aching joints, or hearing that’s rapidly fading, or knees that need replacement, or no longer being able to race through an airport to catch a flight.

That’s right, we’re old. Not only does the rest of the population recognize that we’re old, we know it as well. You may say what about “you’re as young as you feel?” Bullshit. We are definitely feeling it. Especially when you wake up each morning. There is this brief inventory in which you codify what hurts today. The bursitis? The bad knee? The wrenched shoulder that still aches?

Holy cow! We really are old! We know it and so do the people around us. They see the gray and white hair. They see our confusion when our iPhones tell us to do something but we have not figured out what it wants us to do. They try not to look at us texting with a single forefinger instead of both thumbs.

We are on the losing side of life. Losing memory, strength, balance, cognition, and more.

But all is not loss (or lost). Some things are found. We appreciate each other in deeper ways. People, places and moments mean more to us then when we were rushing around trying to be someone and be someplace. We have the luxury of time and the insight earned by experience to more fully enjoy what’s happening around us. We take less for granted and that alone can deepen our appreciation for this time in our lives.

It’s a good time to remind ourselves of the elders who continued to exhibit vitality and artistry well into their 90s and beyond. We all know someone in this category, whether they be personal acquaintances or famous artists or philosophers (Jimmy Carter comes to my mind). They made the most of their life experiences in order to maintain mental vitality despite the physical constraints that come with old age.

Okay, we can do this. Ignore the physical decline and appreciate what we can do with our minds. Starting NOW!

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.

“How much longer do you think we’re going to let you drive?” my son asks me. Is he kidding? Well, he’s only half kidding. He doesn’t really think I shouldn’t be driving anymore. Yet. But when will he really think it?

I drive with supreme caution when one of my kids (or grandkids – the little spies) are in the car. I do everything with supreme caution when I’m around them. I walk the stairs carefully. I carry my bagged grocery items with the greatest ease. I remember to turn off the oven when I take something out of it. I exit the bathtub with extreme caution. I try to cover it when I can’t think of a word – I don’t need to do that with my friends; they get it. But my kids – in their fifties – haven’t experienced this yet. Or have they? Are they, too, beginning to feel things start to slip, and are they seeing their future in me? Or are they just angels trying to protect me? I may never know. Most likely, it’s a little of both.

And I’m not complaining. I know I’m lucky to have them. But the truth is, I’m also a little afraid. Could they take my car away? I’ve read that what most people don’t know about dementia is that it’s not all or nothing. Which means you could have trouble finding the right word at times, or forget where you put your house keys, but you’re still okay to drive. Or it could be the other way around. But often if children see their parents slipping in one area, the first thing they think is that it’s no longer safe for them to drive.

It’s a fine line to walk. For now, I’m going to continue being careful and lying if necessary – or shall we say covering a bit – whenever I’m around anyone who could take my car keys. And being hopeful that they are able to see through the cover-up if and when the time comes that I really need their help. Something tells me they’ll see through it and then some.

Norma Libman is a journalist and lecturer who has been collecting women’s stories for more than twenty years. You can read the first chapter of her award-winning book, Lonely River Village, at NormaLibman.com.

 

 

My son’s boyfriend, Kyle, recently graduated with a 3D modeling and design degree. Curiously, I asked him why he chose that degree. Kyle replied he wanted his profession to reflect his skills in technology and creativity. I understood that desire: Forty-plus years ago, I made the same attempt to connect my writing and art skills and ended up with a BS in graphic design. I asked him about his background. It included graphic design and website design. Woo-hoo! I could talk to him about graphic design. His eyes glazed over when I mentioned how I started in my profession with typesetting galleys, photostats, and paste-ups. Seeing this, I went for my sure-fire joke: I was also a stripper.

The joke fell flat, and I realized then I am a graphic design dinosaur, a dying breed that remembers the world of print before computers when comps had to be drawn out before any idea was approved. Once approved, a project cycled through the complete process. The artwork had to be sized and broken down by color. Written content had to be specced and typeset. Galleys and for-position-only art had to be pasted up. Negatives had to be made and stripped for printing plates.

When computers, like the Macintosh SE, first came out, Martha, my co-worker, returned from a trade show raving about the possibilities on the horizon. My boss, an older, former ad agency owner in the 1950s, swore computers would never replace the traditional way of doing graphic design. “The quality isn’t there.”

I progressed through my professional life and assimilated the new way of designing. I did catalogs, brochures, and all manner of print, and I was a satisfied professional, confidently navigating new computers and software until the advent of the website. I’m not alluding to the essential, informational website; I’ve done those. Spreadsheet and code-based websites were my asteroids, signaling my extinction and my hurried exit from the profession.

I was happy to see Kyle excited for his future, and I congratulated him on his anticipated future.

This morning, on the web, I saw an item about the progress made in robotics, and I wondered if the combination of mass-produced robots, with dexterity in their hands not seen before, coupled with AI, would make the field of graphic design something scientists in the future would unearth as part of an ancient era.

Maura Morgan joins the rest of us graphic designers waiting for AI to initiate our professional demise.

Yes, the world is moving on without us Boomers. Rizz was just acknowledged to be a word. As if it was so hard to say charismatic, we had to shorten it?? I want to say don’t get me started, but I’ve already started!!

Where was I? Oh, right. The world is moving on without Boomers and the proof is right in front of us.

No one is writing checks. Really. Every bill is paid online. Sometimes automatically. It’s a miracle.

There is no need for china cabinets now. Never mind that it’s weird to call dishes by the name china, but who cares, they are out. If you still have one, you could convert to a liquor cabinet.

Landline phones. What are those? And rotary dials? Really? You had to stick your finger in there and risk getting it stuck. It’s finally time to toss the Princess phone.

News papers. I split it into two words just to remind everyone that there was a time when some kid would throw a rolled up hunk of paper at your door and that’s how you found out what the hell was going on.

Cable TV. See landline phones. If there’s no more wires, then one of these days soon, there’s no cable. Deal with it.

If you don’t recognize the phone number, you don’t answer. That means spam calls are dead. Then you only need to worry about spam emails, hacked Facebook accounts and frozen computer screens. What a relief.

Personal service? Soon we will all be saying what was that? The Japanese have been vending machine crazy for years, selling everything from ice cream and crepes, to underwear and seafood. Coming here soon in a big way. On the plus side, it should protect us somewhat during the next covid event but I’m going to miss talking to a real person when I want a piece of pie or some AA batteries. You’ve probably seen TV ads for cars sold out of a vending machine, so there’s no end to its potential.

Is this focus on how the world is changing and moving on beyond our boomerness a bit over the top? Yes. Too bad. We’re still feeling entitled.

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.

By the way, I went to look for a picture of an old Princess telephone, and almost everything that came up in the search were pictures of little girls dressed as princesses and holding iPhones. Sheesh!

This head cold or whatever it was kicked my butt. I wondered if I got false negatives on the Covid tests, but I guess it doesn’t matter now. I’m recovered, except for some lingering sinus issues. That’s probably related to seasonal allergies, which everyone is complaining about. I’ve taken to the neti pot, and that helps clear the congestion.

Dale caught my cold, and all that congestion made his snoring worse. One night it was so bad I almost called 911. But then I thought, oh, just put the pillow over his face and be done with it. I’m pleased to report he survived the night and has a bright future. The things I do for this man!

I finally felt good enough to go back to swimming. It had been a few weeks, and I felt stiffness in my left arm. I thought, kick a little harder and take the pressure off the arm. So, now I have muscle cramps in my leg. No good deed goes unpunished. It’s better today, so I assume this, too, shall pass. I’ll probably do a short walk just to keep it moving.

That’s kind of my philosophy about all these age-related aches and pains – just keep moving. Although I love to read, I start to feel sluggish when I lie around for hours at a time. I always feel better when I get outside and do something. Of course, I’d play golf if I was on death’s doorstep. And, in fact, have. I played regularly when I was on chemo for stage 3 ovarian cancer. I didn’t want to fall behind just in case I lived.

I subscribed to PBS Masterpiece. I’ve always liked my crime dark and hard-boiled, but I must be softening with age. Like a ripe Camembert. Probably more like an old cucumber. 

My sister’s goal is to watch every single Hallmark movie aired between Thanksgiving and Christmas. I might be softening up, but that is her dream, not mine. I do like Elf and Christmas in South Park, so I’m not a complete grinch.

Do you dream about work? I had a weird one last night. Six years, and I still can’t get that business out of my head. But it’s not all bad. When I was working, I put all the money I could into various savings plans, and two of them are set up to make annual distributions for five years. This was year two, so I got my little cash infusion, and I forgave them for the bad dreams.

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

Today, I had the chance to visit with a long-time friend and his wife. In this case long-time means upper seventies. In a hallway was a sweet picture of my buddy and his wife — when they were first married. He just looked like a younger version of himself. She beamed with youthful prettiness, really attractive.

I’m in their same age bracket, but I’m recently widowed. And I’m aware of a new gap in our togetherness. I’m single. They’re together. There’s a kind of solidity and structure in married couples that allows for continued friendship with now-single friends…thank god. But it really is different. I’m in a new frame, looking for something that goes beyond the quiet huddling, the bedroom cuddling, the stability of playing house with predictable chores and support like shopping together and cooking and doctor’s visits.

Similar, but in a new way, with new limits and angles. Child rearing is off the table…hopefully, if not your own then your progeny’s. Wage earning is complete. Comfort, fun, travel, gentle hobbies or just plain reading and relaxation fill the days. And if we are lucky in health and adequate wealth the agenda for our later time together slides to companionship, caring and convenience, beyond the larger life goals of family and career and solvency.

But it’s still a crap shoot beyond the wrinkles around the eyes, family longevity and the power in your golf-swing. Pairing in old age is certainly about compatibility and shared interests beyond grandkids, in-laws, religion and vegan diet. Can it work? Sure, it can. But it has the feel of a similar game…like moving from tennis to ping-pong. New partners add the joy of shared interests in special recipes and favorite restaurants and dancing and music and, and, and. We are living our life at another level of pacing and depth…scuba diving versus racing over the waves. Intense in its own way.

So, of course, there’s quite a change, I find, as I age. No longer drugged by the pheromones of early attractions, there is still, of course, very real attraction, mellowed by the life experience that we bring to the connection, and of course the shared comfort of sharing comfortably with another well past all the busy-ness of the past but rich and mellow, nonetheless.

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/