My New Housemate

I have a new housemate.

My son-in-law Jay recently decided to update my wi-fi and bought me a google nest (with wi-fi router and point). In case you, like me, had no idea what this was, it consists of two items that are about three inches high and three inches in diameter and look like big white powder puffs. Jay installed one of them (the router) in the room where we have our desktop computers, and the other piece (the point) in the living room. These will, he assures me, improve my wi-fi service on my desk top computers and improve service for anything that uses the internet, including our I-phones and Netflix. Sounds great to me. I was delighted to know that I did not have to do anything, the google nest would just bring all these improvements to my life.

Then Jay mentioned that the item in the living room could answer any questions, using google on the internet. I just needed to say OK Google and she (he gave her a female voice) would give me the answer. And I could also ask her to play any music I wanted to hear (accessed from a streaming service called Pandora).

Huh? Although a friend of mine has the Amazon Alexa app which is somewhat similar to the google nest system, I hadn’t paid much attention to it when visiting her. This new system in my home at first seemed like a stranger had come to live with us.

In the first two days I asked my OK Google for the weather several times and asked her to play 50s oldies. I also asked her the capitals of several countries, just to see if she knew them. When she answered it felt magical, as though I had a benevolent wise visitor in my home.

The first two nights I said good night when I left the living room to go to bed, wondering if she would be lonely through the night.

It’s now a week later, and I still want to say Thank You after she answers any question. Each day I try to think up questions I want to ask so she doesn’t feel neglected. And I like the feature that if I say OK Google while she is talking- she will stop. I know from experiences with past housemates, that sometimes it’s hard to get them to stop talking. And there’s no hard feelings from my google nest.

Also, as it’s only my husband and me at home, I can now enjoy having another woman in the house. She’s always there, tries to answer anything I ask, and asks nothing of me. What a wonderful gift!

But now I am a little afraid that I may be turning into my Bubba (grandmother). As I mentioned in a previous blog posting, Dora came to NY from Poland in the 1930s, and never learned to speak English. She also never fully adapted to some technological developments. When we watched TV at night, if I started undressing to get ready for bed she would become very upset, and angrily asked what are you doing? She thought that the people we were watching on TV could also see us. My initial reaction to the google nest was a bit incredulous at its capacities, although I know they have readily been accepted and enjoyed by younger generations. This reminds me of the differences in my responses to TV, as compared to my Bubba’s reactions.

Yesterday I heard my husband talking with her. We were each reading in separate rooms in our apartment. When I heard his voice, it took a few minutes before I realized who he was talking with. I asked what he wanted to know and he said it was a question that was in a crossword puzzle. So, it looks like we have a housemate who can engage with us in some of the activities we like to do. Wow- even though I have been googling on my computers and phones for many years, somehow the availability of a voice-activated responsive tool that can answer most of the questions I pose awes me.

When I think of the time spent in my younger years looking up answers in resources like dictionaries and encyclopedias… the time now saved bogles the mind. And yet when I looked through those hard-covered tomes, I often came across something I was interested in that had nothing to do with what I was looking up. I hope we can retain that capacity with our current google-like resources.

I conclude that getting older means I need to continue to learn about and use new technologies. This may mean that at times I have to stretch my imagination, and expand on the tools I have grown comfortable with. Time-saving devices are especially welcome.

I also wanted to come up with a name for her. I asked her for her preference, but she said she couldn’t answer that. Since she is a housemate for my husband and I, we both discussed it, and selected Golda as her name. Golda Meier is one of my heroines, and since my husband and I are both Jewish, it seemed like having a wise woman in our home who is familiar with our backgrounds would be desirable.

As I get older and can’t remember certain things, like who starred in a favorite movie or a figure in history, Golda is likely to be especially helpful. That will truly be a service.

I look forward to a growing relationship with my google nest. Welcome to our home Golda.

Room for One More? Not Right Now

When I was growing up there were some expressions I heard that were rules about being polite or advice about how to relate to others, and they seemed to be useful guidelines.  In the past two decades, crises in our country have led to changes in behaviors, and these expressions are no longer useful. Some examples:

1. Mind your own business

As a child, I heard this often from my mother. She immigrated to the U.S.  from Poland as a teen-ager, where she had experienced anti-Semitism, and she learned to ignore or avoid people who were outside of her immediate family and friend network. Mind your own business she would say when we were outside together and I asked about why strangers did or said certain things. I grew up believing that even if I saw someone doing something that seemed odd or that I was curious about, I should just ignore it.

After 9/11, when concerns about terrorism became widespread, especially in New York City, this was replaced by signs that advised:

If you see something, say something

We were now encouraged to contact the police or other authorities if we saw people acting suspiciously, or saw an unattended package, especially in the subway or other places where people congregated. Although I have never been in a situation where I felt I needed to “say something,” I became more aware of others’ activities and had to consciously over-ride my mother’s earlier warnings.

2. There’s always room for one more

Being polite used to include making room for others in crowded spaces. If you were on a bus or train, or in a crowded elevator, and someone tried to enter, you would step back if at all possible, and say, usually with a smile: there’s always room for one more. The person you made space for often nodded in appreciation, a friendly exchange in an otherwise anonymous environment.

After the onset of the COVID pandemic, especially in New York City where there was an early spike in cases, this polite gesture was no longer welcome. While there are a vast array of trains, buses and elevators needed to move large numbers of people, this nicety was replaced by notices that said:

Maintain social distance of at least 6 feet

Trying to keep at least six feet apart from others can be a challenge in NYC. I have recently found that buses are generally not crowded since many people are not yet back to work and I don’t tend to travel in rush hours. As for elevators, in my large apartment building there is a sign recommending that not more than 2-3 people ride an elevator together, and they should keep socially distant while waiting for the elevator and within the elevator. Some people I know will only ride an elevator if they are alone, and won’t get in if someone else is in the elevator. They will also get off the elevator if someone else should enter. I no longer take this personally.

3. Keep in Touch and You Will be Welcomed with Open Arms

When expressing a desire to stay in contact with someone, or letting them know that I wanted to see them again, I would say keep in touch. Warm invitations to a friend’s home might include the phrase you will be welcomed with open arms.

Most people no longer mean these expressions literally. Social distancing and virtual get togethers have replaced in-person get-togethers. And we now hear:

Let’s schedule a Zoom call         

Interactions with others, both business and personal, are often more likely to occur now via Zoom or facetime or some other video technology. Although this can’t replace in-person time together it is one way to “stay in touch” and can be more satisfying than a simple phone call or electronic message.

My conclusion is that aging can bring changes in what we always considered the right thing to do, especially when they emerge in times of crisis. And these new behaviors are likely to be around for a long time. The “see something, say something” signs in public places are still there after almost 20 years. As for the admonitions to social distance, this may also be part of a new normal for a while. Even though I am sorry to see these changes, at least for now, they serve to protect us all. As we have in the past, we can find new ways to respect and relate to each other under our common threats.

I Can Find Happiness No Matter Where I Am

To plan the next phase of my life after I retired, I have been talking with seniors to learn about their sources of satisfaction. I thought Barbara could be helpful. She initiated and is now the guiding force for the Senior Network in my housing complex. She is energetic, fun to talk with, and eager to support others.

My greatest sources of pleasure are tennis and golf, she said, activities she missed during the COVID-related shutdown and recently started again.  Barbara enjoys the exercise and gets a sense of accomplishment when she hits a ball well. I asked how she feels if she hits a golf ball that lands in the water. I just laugh about it. This was my first clue that Barbara experiences life a bit differently than me. I feel and remember my failures more intensely than my successes. I wanted to learn more about her outlook on life.

Now 79, Barbara retired from her dentistry practice two years ago. She is average height, a little overweight, has short blond hair and a ready smile. Whenever I see her, she seems to enjoy talking with me or whoever she is with. She laughs often, with a hearty full-bodied laughter that shows on her face even while she is wearing a COVID face mask. Barbara’s main concern at this time in her life is being physically able to continue the activities she loves, as she feels these help maintain her energy and youthfulness.

After I retired, I decided that my new job would be to start a senior network. Barbara formed the Senior Network when she learned that an older person who lived alone in our complex had died and wasn’t found for several days. She wanted people living in our housing complex to get to know each other, have a sense of community, and reach out to each other to respond to health or other personal needs. She believes she provided a service to people during her professional career, and that developing a senior network was a way to continue serving others. The network has several components, including a listserv for information-sharing, weekly meetings, and monthly trips to museums or other places of interest. There are about 80 people in the network, with about 12-15 core members, who often attend the meetings and trips.

          Barbara’s work in the network changed with the COVID pandemic, when many seniors became home-bound and trips or in-person indoor meetings were no longer possible.  She is a source for referrals and accessing services and other information about the community and helped establish the weekly Zoom call and weekly socially-distanced meetings in the complex’s outdoor plaza.  She is also the central station for sharing humorous jokes and stories she receives from others, many related to COVID. She forwards them to the listserv, often with comments to point out the parts she particularly enjoyed. Laughter is clearly an integral part of her daily life and is an important network service.

As a network member I have experienced Barbara as welcoming to everyone and making each of us feel important. She encourages members to share their views and calls on them for assistance in finding and sharing information. The network is especially important during this COVID time when some of us feel isolated. We know that we can call on each other for daily needs such as shopping or escort to a doctor’s appointment. I asked if she intentionally worked to create that welcoming feeling. She seemed surprised at the question, and I think she just felt it was a part of the “job” that came naturally to her and she was eager to do.

I never have problems being busy since I retired. In addition to the sports and network activities, Barbara provides consultation for the NYS Board of Dentistry, loves traveling (and plans to return to it post-COVID), does Qigong exercises, loves to shop,  and recently started taking a course to learn how to draw. She also loves to gamble on slot machines. Her last trip, pre-COVID, was a cruise to Alaska comped by the cruise line because of her gambling interest.  She laughed when she said that her gambling losses on the trip meant it wasn’t totally comped.

I can find happiness no matter where I am seems to sum up her outlook. I was amazed and a bit jealous, since my own happiness often depends on my specific circumstances. I wanted to know more about how she became this way.  I had a good mother and am a happy, optimistic person.  Barbara described her mother as kind, easy going, you knew what you were supposed to do; she had lots of friends, had parties every weekend, liked to entertain, had her own band…she was happy.  What a wonderful legacy she left her daughter, I thought. I started thinking about my own mother’s difficult life. She came from Poland as a teenager after her father’s death and worked as a sewing machine operator during the depression, proud that she was employed. After marriage she worked alongside my father in his businesses, first as a fruit peddler and then a dry goods store owner. My mother was a hard worker, but except for rare moments in family celebratory events like weddings, I never considered her life to be happy. My legacy was that I too came to see life as often difficult, requiring hard work with many challenges. For Barbara, perhaps knowing that her mother had a happy life served as a foundation that enabled Barbara to create her own sources of happiness, wherever she was. Perhaps that’s the key to happiness— we can’t “will it,” but it can come through finding activities enjoyable and meaningful to us throughout life. 

Barbara’s message for other seniors is: Find things that make you laugh and don’t take things too seriously. This advice sounds simplistic, and it is. But it is especially useful for those of us who don’t have Barbara’s underlying optimism. Although she expressed sadness about the COVID epidemic and its consequences, she finds happiness in life through engaging in activities she enjoys and creating a purpose, and it includes sharing humor about current difficult circumstances. The lessons for me: seek out activities I enjoy and find humor where possible. I have also started thinking about creating my own new “job.” Like Barbara, that job is likely to involve service for others’ needs. I have always enjoyed helping others, and lots of research has shown that altruistic activities result in improved mental and physical health. And I am hopeful that like Barbara, all this is likely to lead to happiness no matter where I am.  

Boxed In

My move from a suburban house back into a city apartment meant that I lost living space and many closets. It was also the end of an era, as my two children were grown and living in their own homes, and I was eager to get back to Manhattan. Not only would this eliminate my long commute for work, but I missed the city, having lived there before moving to suburbia when my children were young.

Most of the furniture in our four-bedroom house was given away, some was sold, and we moved into a much smaller, two-bedroom apartment in my old neighborhood, in Manhattan’s East Side. Many boxes were packed up for the move, and most came into the apartment to be unpacked and put to use. Others were put in a storage room in my new apartment building. They stayed there until now, thirteen years later.

My husband, Doug, had a long-term hobby of making and playing miniature war games. He recently decided to give up this hobby, and needed to vacate his studio, where he created scenarios for these games. He had rented this studio when we moved back to the city, as we no longer had the needed space, since the basement in our suburban house was the venue for his building materials for his wargaming. He sold much of the materials, but there were some things he wanted to keep, at least for a while. We don’t have extra space in our apartment, certainly not for troops and war game paraphernalia. I suggested we go through the boxes that were in the storage room so we could throw out what I expected to be mainly useless things collected over a lifetime, after all— we hadn’t missed them in the thirteen years they were in storage. We could then put my husband’s war game materials into this storage area until he chose to use these materials again, perhaps to run games in future miniature wargame conventions.

We did it. After realizing that neither my husband or I had the energy or stamina to shlep so many boxes, we enlisted the help of our son and his wife. One Sunday morning they came to move the boxes from the storage room into my apartment, and then brought the boxes from the studio to store in the storage room.  

A total of 18 boxes came from storage into my apartment foyer. There were three or four with tax materials from at least ten years ago. I threw out or shredded everything that was more than seven years old (based on a recommendation I had read for how long tax returns should be kept). From the more recent tax files I threw out things that would not be likely to be needed for an audit, like electric bills, receipts. and old car insurance policies (I’m a bit of a hoarder, so I keep all bills and receipts and store them with each year’s tax materials). Going through these materials brought back memories from all these years – of clothes I bought and the special events they represented, growing children’s needs, repairs for the house and medical visits. This took many more hours than I had planned, as I savored some memories and resurrected regrets associated with others.

After tossing and shredding tax-related materials, two boxes were gone- this was looking promising. 

Then the challenges emerged.

My husband Doug has three boxes of research articles written by him and his colleagues, all more than 20 years old, from his days as a criminologist/research scientist. He saw these as a treasure trove, with many articles published before the internet, and nowhere else to be found. I thought about getting them all scanned, but knew this would be a large undertaking. Determined to find a home for them, Doug called a criminal justice university library to see if they would be interested. They were. But in this COVID time they were not accepting any new materials. My husband said they should call him when they were ready to receive them and he would bring them over. Although this means these boxes will continue to reside in my foyer for a while, I am glad for my husband, for he is reassured that part of his legacy will be sustained. 

There were lots of family photos, including the baby books I created for my son and daughter, and thankfully they will take them. There are also lots of old photos, with my children-   school photos, holidays, summer camps- where were they all to go? I can’t throw them out. I will talk to my children about this. Meanwhile these boxes will remain. Looking through them reminds me of their youth, and mine. All fond memories. There are also photos of my parents, siblings, old friends, dogs I have cherished- some of whom have died … can’t throw them away.

Memorabilia from my children has a special place in my heart.  These include years of Mother’s Day cards and letters from sleep away camp. I even found an envelope with short curly dirty blond hair, from my son’s first haircut. He’s now 41. I showed him some of the letters and the beloved blond locks, but there was not much interest. I can’t throw that wonderful treasure box away either.

Sightseeing photos fill another box. For many years, pre- phone cameras, I took and developed many pictures when I went to interesting places for work or vacation, often in Europe. The photo development shops where I brought them provided two copies of each photo, and I kept them all, and the negatives. Many are of places I don’t remember, but they are lovely statues, churches, fields, bodies of water. I could throw out the duplicate copies, and the negatives… but that still leaves a boxful. It’s not going anywhere yet- memories of places I traveled, when travel was possible years before COVID, are important reminders of what life was once like.

And I don’t know what to do with the box full of VCR tapes – some are classic movies (like Star Wars), some are tapes of family parties, including Bar and Bat Mitzvah tapes mainly filled with scenes from the parties we had after the religious ceremonies.  All these will have to be turned into discs to be viewable. I will do that sometime. For now, they can stay in the same box with the photos.

Then there are the tchotchkes that decorated my environments- three boxes full. These are mainly travel memorabilia like little statues (I collected Mother and Child figures, Russian stacking dolls), and framed family pictures- I had many places to display such things in my house and in my office. My diplomas are in this box too.  I packed up my office things when I retired over a year ago and the books and papers I still use as a consultant are now in my apartment study, the tchotchkes went into the storage room. It’s hard to know what to do with them and other work life materials. They represent an important part of my life’s identity, and I’m not ready to part with that yet- neither the objects nor the professional identity they represent.

So of the 18 boxes, I am down to 15. Not much progress for two months. All are sitting in my foyer. Some are made of tan cardboard, about 1.5 feet square, some are white file boxes about the same size, and all are a little crushed. They sit piled two or three high, leaning against each other and the foyer wall for support. They are waiting for me to decide their fate.

Although the storage room is almost totally filled with what was in my husband’s studio, I think a few boxes can go there. But I don’t know what to save, nor what to do with the rest.

But I don’t need to decide right now, as I am not too concerned with the unsightly piles they create.  During COVID time we are not having guests at home, we only see family and friends in outside venues. Since no one is coming to our home I don’t care if it looks messy, so the boxes are safe for a while.

Also, I recently visited my daughter in her new home, a large house in Virginia. She has lots of storage space in her basement, and when I told her about the boxes she offered to store them there for me. Now there’s a thought.

Successful Aging

I have always been achievement oriented. As a child I worked hard to get good grades. As an adult I tried to be successful in the many roles I had – student, parent, wife, research scientist, friend, and others.  Perhaps that’s why when I heard about the concept of “Successful Aging” it appealed to me. Now that I am fully along in the aging category, I certainly want to make a success of it.

But what is success in aging? It seems to me that it’s one of the few things that you shouldn’t have to work hard at to be a success… just keep living. No need to cram late at night like I did for school grades, or write research proposals like I did to be a successful research scientist, or make sure my children had their homework done as I needed to do as a parent. I just need to wake up in the morning, and know that if I make it through the day, I had another day of successfully aging.  

But wait—there has been a lot written about successful aging, so there must be more to it than that. Maybe I can learn something to help me be even more successful. Looking through some of the writings on this topic, I found a book on Successful Aging by Rowe and Kahn, and three components were described:

(1) absence of disease and disability— I agree with that. So far I am successful in this component, although  doctors’ visits and medical tests seems to be taking more of my time. But I can keep that up.

(2) high cognitive and physical functioning—“High” is relative, but I do a lot of reading, some writing (like this blog), and can discuss the terrible state of the country with knowledge of the latest outrageous headlines. In terms of physical functioning, I exercise almost every day (ok, maybe 3-4 days/week), and go for long walks several days each week (ok, once or twice).

So far, I’m a big success. That wasn’t hard.

(3) active engagement in life—I think this is a big one, and for me it is my main source of pleasure. In this time of COVID this has been challenging and changing. Visiting family and friends has been replaced by Zoom or Facetime calls. Trips to explore other countries or parts of the US have been reduced to local bus travel to shop for necessities. Enjoying the theater, museums and other entertainment in NYC has turned into Netflix, TV, and on-line shows. 

Does this mean I am a failure in this component of successful aging? No! I have redefined engagement in life as something I can do from my desk chair. That will have to do for now, and hopefully not for too much longer. So I declare I am being successful in this last item too.

But wait—success should also be sustainable. What will happen as I continue to age? I am likely to have diseases or disabilities of aging (and maybe get some that have little to do with aging). My cognitive and physical functioning may decline, as may my engagement in life, especially since it is somewhat dependent on my health and functioning.

Also, since people close to me who I love are getting older too, if they need my assistance I want to help take care of them. This no doubt will reduce the time I can spend on some of those activities that have made me successful in aging so far.

But maybe providing this care for aging others who I care about can also be part of successful aging. Also, while my activities are likely to change over time, for example trips to other countries may have to be taken virtually, I can still find many that are meaningful to me. But I think I will also hold on to my initial idea—that simply being here, every day, and looking forward to a new day doing things I enjoy, will mean that I am mastering successful aging.

BRIDGES

NYC had been closed for more than three months due to COVID, and I was feeling confined. Living near the East River, I noticed that the commuter ferries were still running, although they seemed empty most of the time. I decided that a ferry ride would give me a long-missed sense of freedom and being outdoors, and would likely be a safe activity. I know some New Yorkers who fear leaving their homes during this COVID time, but I had no concerns about making this outing. With a mask and gloves, I have gone for walks and shopped in supermarkets, and I was ready for a new phase in my own opening. And although some of my friends consider me brave (foolish?) for my activities outside of my apartment, I was ready for a new venture.  Years ago, when I was in therapy, my psychologist said I was “counterphobic.”  I liked that, since it helped me understand that doing things I was afraid of, either in social or work situations, actually helped me manage the fears. I think this leads me to take on activities during COVID time that others might consider brave, even if I take appropriate precautions.

 I invited Ellen, a friend and neighbor, to join me on the ferry going from East 34th Street to Wall Street.  It was mid-day on a friday, with New York City still in Phase I of reopening, and I was surprised to see so many people on the ferry. I had no concerns, as all were masked and socially distanced. Some of the passengers had beach clothes on and were carrying blankets, so I assumed they would be taking another ferry at Wall Street that went to Rockaway Beach. It felt good knowing that despite the COVID sadness and limitations hanging over the City, some folks were out to enjoy this lovely summer-like day. This raised my own expectations for having a good time.

I was glad to make this trip with Ellen. Although she and I lived in the same apartment complex for many years (she was there before I got there about 13 years ago), we had only recently become friends. After retiring from a busy career about one year ago, I wanted to make some new friends, especially some who shared my interests, including exploring NYC. I consider myself a bit shy, and felt awkward about how to make new friends at this time in my life. I decided I would seek out opportunities. I met Ellen at a meeting of a senior network in my apartment complex, and her comments about the city indicated that she loved it too. Tall, thin, and energetic, she had retired from her career in advertising several years ago. It seemed strange, in my 70s, to be developing a new friend, but I believed the relationship would grow. We previously took a walk together over the Manhattan Bridge, and talked about other places we wanted to visit. She was glad to join me on the ferry ride (perhaps she is counterphobic too).

Ellen and I both wanted to sit on the ferry’s top deck—to get the best view and feel the breeze. As we left the dock, I was excited to have this adventure together. Heading south to Wall Street, I especially loved going under the three bridges connecting Brooklyn and Manhattan. They were strong and majestic, as always, waiting for city traffic to start up again. 

These bridges were built around the turn of the 19th century- the Brooklyn Bridge opened in 1883, the Williamsburg Bridge in 1903 and the Manhattan Bridge in 1909,  and they led to the subsequent growth of the borough of Brooklyn. They have a special meaning for me as I was born and lived in Brooklyn until I was 23. While growing up, I was eager to go into “the City,” as Manhattan was called, and when I see the bridges they represent my growth into adulthood. It was in Manhattan where my career developed, I met my husband, and my children were born. They still represent successfully crossing barriers into a fuller life.

We got off the ferry at Wall Street and as we walked inland toward the huge granite office buildings something felt odd— there were very few people. Rather than a midweek lunchtime it felt more like a deserted Sunday morning. Realizing that many people were still working from home, and others were temporarily out of work, I hoped that this emptiness would not last long. The energy and stimulation I love and always feel walking in the City was not there. I wanted the crowds back.

We walked past One Financial Square, a large office building, and I noticed some larger-than-life bronze statues of women in the archways that form the street level of the building. I pointed the statues out to Ellen, and we were both surprised and delighted to see statues of powerful women and read about them on the nearby plaques. There were ten in all, and we eagerly moved from one to the other. I knew some of them, like Jane Goodall- primatologist and Oprah Winfrey-entertainer, and others I didn’t, like Tracy Caldwell Dyson- astronaut and Janet Mock-writer.

It was especially wonderful to see them in what is the location of male-dominated industries. Recent reports on the status of women on Wall Street found that women account for less than 17 percent of senior leaders in US investment banking and 18 percent of total employees in private equity.

I later learned that the statues were part of a “Statues for Equality” exhibit by the sculptors known as Gillie and Marc, and were developed to counter the gender inequality in statues. Only 3% of NYC statues were of women. Gillie and Marc Shattner are an Australian couple known for their public sculptures and activism. After display in lower Manhattan these statues would be placed in permanent locations around the country. I left the statues feeling that progress for women was underway, and could be found even in this time of COVID and of a “pause” for so many parts of our lives.

We continued walking, looking for a place for lunch, and found a small shop open on the street level of one of the huge skyscrapers.  It seemed to be a shop from another time and place. What an unusual array of items— big glass jars with candy, boxes of teabags, a tall cooler with drinks, a tray of muffins, and a cash register that appeared to be from the 1950s. This all seemed out of place in the modern glass building surrounding the shop.

The elderly, short, hunched- over proprietor was masked. Dark-haired and swarthy, he reminded me of an Italian “old world” shoemaker I knew from my neighborhood in Brooklyn when I was growing up. Not seeing any lunch food, we asked where we could buy a sandwich nearby. He told us that nothing was open since there were no workers there, but that he could make either ham and cheese or tuna sandwiches. Not much choice there but we were hungry, and as he was masked and gloved, we felt comfortable having him make our sandwiches. He took the ingredients from a refrigerated drink case, painstakingly made the sandwiches, and carefully cut and wrapped them. We selected chips and drinks and the total came to $18. As he had no credit card machine, I gave him a $20 bill and said keep the change. He didn’t hear me, and began taking out two singles from the register. I repeated – that’s ok, keep the change. His eyes looked up, surprised and pleased, as he warmly said God bless you. Because of the mask, I couldn’t see whether he had a smile on his face… I’m sure he did. We may have been his only customers that day Ellen said as we walked away, and we were pleased that we provided him with some income.

We found a nearby bench to have our lunch, and I felt that although this vibrant part of the city was virtually empty today, its life would return. Those bridges were waiting to bring people back to lower Manhattan, the powerful bronze women were keeping watch over the empty streets and held the promise of progress in reaching gender equality where little had been found before, and the deli man optimistically tended the store with few customers for now. I felt confident that they would all be there when the city opened up again.

The ferry ride back up to 34th St had many fewer people on board, and we again enjoyed the sun and the views. As we walked home Ellen and I began talking about our next venture and settled on another bridge walk, over the Ed Koch Bridge at 59th Street. It seemed this would be just the right thing to do—representing new crossings and hopes, and new phases for the city and our friendship.

More or Less

As I get older, I experience changes in my body that all come down to More or Less

MORE

Growths

I used to be proud of my skin. Somewhat dark-complexioned, as a teenager I loved lying in the sun during the summer and getting tanned. I had a few dark moles on my body that my mother called beauty marks. I never minded them. Anything I had called beauty was fine with me. Forward about 50 years, my body started having many add-ons, some even look like what used to be called beauty marks. But according to my husband, they are called tags. TAGS!- like something found on an object in a yard sale and sold “as is.” I seem to have reached a new stage of fertility.

Extra Skin

I was never overweight… OK, maybe a little. But still, where did all that extra skin on my arms and thighs and face come from? I never could have filled in all that space. And who would have thought that gravity, an abstract concept, would play such a significant role in how I look.

Weight

Talking about weight, who ever said what goes up must come down? Weight loss plans work for my husband, but not for me. Between Ups and Downs, Ups are far ahead.

Comfortable Clothes

While all these changes are taking place, I have also found that comfort in clothes is more important to me. So no more high heels (except for very special occasions), and no need for tight-fitting clothes or short skirts that keep me from crossing my legs when sitting down. And I have come to appreciate elasticized waistlines, especially in this COVID time.

LESS

Hair

I always had thick, dark curly hair, typical of my eastern European Jewish heritage. It was so curly that as a pre-teen I had what was called a “poodle” cut, and in my 20s, in line with the fashion, it became an Afro. As I grow older my hair is thinning. My kindly hairdresser tells me that it was too bushy before, so now it is an improvement, but I know better. Sometimes less is not more.

Energy

I used to have three young children at home, a full-time job, and a long commute to work. Life was busy, but I had the energy for it all. Now retired, living in New York City, and with just my husband at home, I anticipated that my energy would be used for extensive day-long explorations of the city. It hasn’t turned out that way. Pre-COVID, when the City was open, I found I had less energy than I expected, and mid-day naps were sometimes needed. I expect that I will again find this post-COVID.

Acuity of senses

Vision and hearing have been declining for several years. Thankfully, unlike the energy loss, there are tools to help restore them – like glasses, hearing aids, cataract surgery, etc. Perhaps the results will make these senses better than ever, and I can move this item from the Less to the More category.

Multi-tasking

I remember days when I would push my body to exhaustion- there’s much less of that now. With children and a job, there were numerous activities to be done outside of work, sometimes two or more simultaneously, like walking the dog, helping children with homework, preparing a paper or presentation needed for work, making meals, shopping, and many more. No more- I can often plan a more leisurely day, including scheduling time for relaxing. 

So, if you ask me how I am managing the aging process I would say overall it’s not bad. Most days I feel pretty good – More or Less.

Under New Management

My views about my health care management started changing a few years ago. Until then, whenever I had a health problem, I felt confident that with enough rest, or medication, or even surgery, the condition would be cured, and I would return to my usual worry-free health status.

That’s not true anymore.

It started a few years ago when I went to a doctor about the pain in my right arm and shoulder. After examinations and x-rays, confirmed by a second opinion, I learned I have a torn rotator cuff that could not be repaired. As other muscles had come into play to compensate for this tear, I was advised to simply avoid heavy lifting and activities that caused pain. Although briefly sad that I was permanently  “damaged,” I was gratified by my body’s ability to adapt, and have readily followed this advice.

That was my first clue that with aging came bodily changes that might not be fixable. But I could adjust to these changes if I incorporated new management strategies.

This new view of my health status was reaffirmed when I went to physical therapy for lower back pain.   After a few sessions I asked the therapist how many more sessions were needed, and how long I would need to continue the exercises she had taught me. She responded that: The problem doesn’t really go away, you just learn to manage it. The exercise regimen would need to be incorporated into my life from then on.  As I was working with a trainer already, I integrated these exercises with my existing routine, and also do them in-between sessions.

Then I had a problem with foot pain. This led me to a podiatrist, who diagnosed plantar fascia. Injections helped the pain disappear, but he also fitted me with orthotics – inserts to put in my shoes to prevent a recurrence. And I would need to wear them from then on. They don’t fit into most of my shoes, but when they do, I wear them. So far, no pain recurrence.

So I am taking care of myself. I won’t lift heavy items so that I can avoid further shoulder problems, I will keep doing exercises to strengthen my back, and I will wear my shoe inserts when possible. So far, all these efforts have been successful. I anticipate that more adjustments and adaptations will be needed as time goes on, and I will welcome them when they provide relief from pain or keep my “equipment” in working order. It is clear that “Under New Management” has become a new way of life for me.

Vestigial? Maybe Not.

vestigial, adjective- retention of structures or behaviors that are no longer useful. Most often applied to biological structures such as an appendix.

During this time of COVID-19 I am doing some things that appear to be vestigial:

Zoom call preparation

  • I put on perfume before a Zoom call.

This helps me feel I am ready for the call, and I do it for personal or business-related calls. I used to think of perfume as something I wore for others… I guess not.

Attention to weather reports

  • I listen to the weather forecast every evening, sometimes checking it on my iPhone.

Pre COVID lock-down, I did this to know how to dress the next day. But most mornings now I don’t leave the house. Maybe I do it to remind me that there’s an outside world.

Carrying useless items

  • I carry my purse when I go for a walk. I always liked organizing the multiple compartments, and they include credit cards, discount coupons and a metro card.

None of these items are useful now but I take comfort in having them with me.

Keeping things neat at home

  • I make my bed every morning, keep my mail and magazines organized into neat piles, and put away all groceries (even non-perishables) as soon as I get them home.

Since I am having no visitors, I don’t have to do these things. I guess keeping my things neat and organized isn’t just for others to see.

Wearing makeup

  • I put makeup on every day, even when I am not planning on leaving the house.

After wearing makeup my entire adult life, I can’t go without it. I even refresh my lipstick before I leave the house. I realize this is of no use as I put on my facemask, and that it will just result in lipstick smears on the inside of the mask. But I can’t give that up either.

Smiling

  • When walking in my neighborhood, I still automatically smile to acknowledge someone I know. I quickly remember that they can’t see it through my face mask, and I wave instead.

I hope smiling doesn’t become vestigial. But in the meantime, I am working on developing more expressive eyebrows.

What’s to be done with these vestigial behaviors? I will keep doing them because they make me feel good (like the perfume) or they will be useful again (like my stuffed purse).

And perhaps they all do have some utility now- they keep me tethered to a past that I hope will soon be restored.

Almost Never On Time

Being “on time” is usually considered desirable, but that’s often not possible.

When I was a child, my family celebrated Hanukkah. The holiday always came around Christmas Day, but it fell on a different date each year, in accord with the Hebrew calendar. And each year my parents would say Hanukkah was either early or late. I don’t remember it ever being “on time.”

I graduated college a month before I turned 19 – that was early. I got married a month before I turned 34 – that was considered late.

Being born in July means your birthday happens about a month after many important events, like June graduations and weddings. It also means that when you are young your school friends usually aren’t around in July to come to a birthday party, so you need to have your birthday celebration in June or September… early or late.

I had two children, my son was born when I was 35 and my daughter just a few days before I turned 38. For both children, I was told that I was having them a little late in life. But since then times have changed, and having children in one’s 30s is no longer considered “late.” By the way, in terms of their due dates, my son was born just on time, but my daughter – she came early.

I had a long and productive research career, generally getting my projects done early. I recently retired, in my early 70s – which many considered late. Since retiring I have learned of people working into their 80s- so maybe I wasn’t late for that either.

All these activities in my life were completed and successful, and being early or late didn’t matter much. But there are judgments attached to these words.

Being an early riser or an early bird is generally commendable- but not if it’s because you can’t sleep. Being a late bloomer is often seen in a positive way- but maybe not if you missed out on some opportunities.

There are also some times when the words early or late are not greeted happily. Many women know the fear that can be experienced when they think their period is late. No one wants a medical diagnosis that starts with the phrase “early onset” or “late stage.” And no one wants to be known as “the late Mr or Ms… .”

So what does this all mean? Maybe just that being early or late doesn’t matter much by itself, it all depends on the circumstances. But remember, just in case, if you have things you want to do you better get started. It’s probably later than you think.