Although I’ve been an avid walker for many years, Dale likes to run a couple of miles and get it over with quick. In the past, he’d walk only when he needed to catch his breath while running. I could rarely get him to accompany me on a walk – sometimes a hike through the woods, but that was rare.

Somewhere along the line he decided to start walking more. After all these years, it’s like a mini-miracle. We live in a neighborhood with all sorts of trails, although the maps leave something to be desired. As a solo woman walker, I’m careful and follow the advice shared with the two young lads in American Werewolf in London:

“Stay off the moors! Stick to the road.”

Of course, they didn’t stick to the road, and the rest is werewolf history. So far, I’m safe.

But Dale has been exploring. He came home all excited and said he wanted to take me on a hike that starts on an obscure trail near the end of our street. So that’s what we did yesterday. He said the narrow path was steep, and he didn’t get good traction with his running shoes, so he switched to hiking boots.

I wore my regular trail running shoes (even though I don’t run). I also took along some trekking poles to help with balance. They also take pressure off the knees.

The surprise came at the top of the ridge, where there was an old stone fence that seemingly stretched forever. Crusted with moss, we guessed the fence was more than 100 years old. Probably used to keep cattle from wandering off.

It looked like the trail continued down the ridge to connect with another trail I do frequent, but we weren’t sure and didn’t feel like hiking down there only to find ourselves with another uphill trek.

What a surprising walking buddy! I never saw it coming, although I will have to be careful and let it unfold at Dale’s pace. Note to self … this does not mean we start training for the Camino. Still, over the weekend we’re going to check out the maps and see if we can figure out where the trail goes. Or maybe we’ll just go for it.

Sometimes surprises are right around the corner. And just when you think you know a person, they change. Change is good.

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

 

On the Road Again Willy Nelson sings in my head as I enter the airport, don my mask, and prepare to fly for the first time in 18 months. It’s a glorious day, and I’m headed to Florida to see my son, my daughter-in-law, and my two grandsons. For weeks leading up to this day, I’ve heard the jets both near and far in the sky and thought soon, by the grace of all that is good, go I. And now that day has arrived and my heart sings as I go through security in the early pre-dawn hour, take my seat on the cramped puddle jumper, and start the first leg of the journey.

When I arrive in Charlotte, the first thing I notice is that it doesn’t take as long as usual to taxi to the gate. Then, once inside, the crowd is thinner and most noticeably, many Starbucks are shuttered. I was counting on that tall cup of airport coffee to help me wake up and guide me through the layover. Instead, I find my gate, and take a seat in the waiting area at a spot remote enough to social distance, but close enough that I can engage in my favorite airport pastime – people watching. The passing crowd thickens over the next hour and I see the usual assortment of humanity, this time with the added various interpretations of mask wearing – some blatantly display their noses – some pull it down to talk to their family members. No matter, I decide. I’m vaccinated.

When the time comes to board the plane to Orlando, I gladly sit between two strangers surrounded by other strangers – an experience both ordinary and astounding after so long at home. It’s only when we are landing and I choke up when I’m sharing with the person next to me the purpose of my visit, that I realize what this means for me. For them too. My son – who is turning 40 and needs to talk about that with me – for my grandsons who at 8 and 10 still love to spend time with me – and for my daughter-in-law who has always welcomed me. Those days with them are glorious medicine for my heart and soul and a reminder of what truly matters. Now on to part two of my On the Road Again tour – a drive up to Philadelphia to visit my daughter.

Lee Stevens is a writer and a Weaver living in the mountains of western North Carolina. www.strawintogoldwriting.com

 

Apparently, baby boomers have taken over e-commerce shopping. From groceries to clothing, rather than risking in-person hunting and gathering, boomers are going online to get just about everything. Peeps over 65 are the fastest-growing demo for e-commerce shopping.

And e-commerce sellers have taken notice. Retailers are jumping on the trend with 24-hour customer service and helpful videos for first-time e-commerce shoppers. The over 65 crowd on average spent $1,615 online between January and October of 2020. That’s a 49 percent increase over 2019. And that’s why they are the fastest growing bunch of online spenders.

Not just content to spend big bucks, the boomers plus group is also buying more often. Frequency of purchases climbed 40 percent over that same period in 2020.

Remember how often you read opinion pieces in the news about how the pandemic might change things forever? Online purchasing might be one of those habits that does not go back to the way things used to be. No longer shy about buying online, the 65 and up demo would rather stay out of the grocery and mall, and that could have real lasting impact on the brick and mortar sector. As in fewer stores and malls. Every day it seems you hear about another shopping mall being converted into apartments and condos. Expect that trend to continue as more of us beyond age 65 are content to get everything shipped or delivered.

According to AARP, consumers 50 and older spent $7.6 trillion in 2018. That was 56 percent of ALL spending in the U.S. You know the old saying about the 800 pound gorilla. Early adopters are no longer influencing the greatest change when it comes to how people are shopping.

We can look at this again a year from now, when pandemic fears and behavior modification are hopefully behind us. But it’s a good bet that many of baby boomers will continue to find online shopping less of a hassle than in-store shopping. Except when it comes to buying bananas. You’ve got to see the bananas in person if you want the best.

Jay Harrison is a writer and creative consultant for DesignConcept. His mystery novel, Head Above Water, is available on Amazon and Kindle. You can also visit his author page here.

It’s true that old friends can be gold, especially in our golden years. Many studies demonstrate the value of a social network to our physical and mental health, and it’s true, but a friendship that has endured for 62 years is something else entirely. I met Vicky when I was five and she was six – playing at her house I remember the calendar on the wall – 1959. She was a tall and skinny kid, infinitely kind, and bookish like me. Together we climbed trees, swam in the river, played in the woods, and rode our bikes to get to the library in our small New England town. We were freckled and bare foot each summer, and as we morphed into teens, we stayed close, looking like sisters with our long brown hair, embroidered shirts and hippie skirts. Together we learned about the adulthood that lay ahead of us, sharing knowledge, secrets, and even the first boyfriend each of us had. When her mother died, I was 21, going to journalism school in Oregon. Vicky was home in Rhode Island trying to keep her family together. On the night she died, it was I who dreamed of her, with a glowing light around her and loving smile on her face. Though Vicky wished she had had that dream, my own mother stepped up her role in Vicky’s life, staying in touch and visiting her over the years.

While we didn’t remain literally close, and there were years we forgot to be in touch, the bond remained. When my husband died in 2010, Vicky showed up to see me through. A year later I visited her in Vermont. More recently, during the long year of the pandemic, when we’ve all had time to mull over what matters most in life, Vicky and I started a habit of monthly FaceTime sessions. We are two old childhood friends on the screen laughing about our aging selves, and talking, for hours, about books, about the men we love, our grown children, and our plans to get together when we can once again travel. Gold indeed.

Lee Stevens is a writer and a Weaver living in the mountains of western North Carolina. www.strawintogoldwriting.com

There was an older woman in the grocery store. First impression…a contemporary. But you know how it is sometimes when you’re shopping, how you keep criss-crossing a person as you cruise from aisle to aisle. About the fourth time we passed, I said, “Excuse me. I can’t help noticing that we keep passing each other. Are you stalking me? Or is that just wishful thinking on my part?”

The woman bowed her head a moment, revealing a thinning spot in her died-red frizz of hair. When she raised her eyes, which was all I could make out above her Covid mask, I had a flash of recognition. She looked familiar. Her eyes smiled. I think she knew me despite my mask.

“Don’t I know you?” I asked.

She lowered her mask past her nose and the oxygen tubes in each nostril. “Tom,” she said.

“I’m sorry,” I apologized, “I just don’t remember your name.”

“Cary, from Sault Ste. Marie.”

Then I remembered. We had rented our beat-up old house in 1974 to a group of college girls. Cary was one of them. Back then, my wife and I identified more with them than, say, our parent’s generation. We wanted to give some sweet girls a break. Won’t do that again. After they slipped home, below the Mackinaw Bridge, that summer, we did inventory. A candle had dribbled down the back of a dresser and all over the bedroom wallpaper. There were nail holes all along the ceiling and down the wall where they had nailed up a curtain to accommodate a stow-away tenant in the hallway. And in the backyard, there was a mouse decaying in a fishbowl. Cary was the only one still in town. Left facing the rap, she made an effort to clean up and explain that her roommates thought it was cruel to use a mouse trap and then forgot to feed the mouse…apparently.

So, now there she was standing in front of me. Cary. We hugged. Sometimes you gotta live dangerously despite the plague.

On the way home, I calculated she had to be twenty years younger than me. But, at first, I took her for older…at least my age. Hell, I must be an old fart when a kid, a generation younger than me, looks old. Damn. My mirror’s been lying to me.

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