Shooting for 90

I have always been a logophile, a lover of words. I enjoy word games, I like learning new words, and my profession, as a research scientist, involved lots of writing.

But I recently discovered that some numbers are becoming important in my life, especially the number 90.

When I was a student, getting a grade of 90 or above, an A, was what I always aimed for. As I was a good student, it was something I often achieved. And now as I get older, that number has again become important.

For example, keeping enough power in my iPhone is an ongoing concern, especially if I will be leaving my home and not sure I will be able to charge it while I am gone. So before going out, I charge it so that it is at least at 90% power.

In one aspect of my life, my husband’s health, reaching 90 has become of critical importance. He has intermittent hypoxia, insufficient oxygen in the blood, due to lung damage. He can manage quite well with supplemental oxygen, that he takes when his oxygenation level drops below 90. He uses an oximeter to identify when this occurs. Getting to at least 90 is a goal every day.

And when I was conducting research on HIV/AIDS, this number was used as an integral part of the UN goal to fight AIDS:  the 90/90/90 plan aimed to have 90% of people living with HIV know their HIV status, 90% of them to be on HIV treatment, and of these, 90% to have a suppressed viral load. These remain target numbers for many countries.

Given this importance of 90 in my life, I looked further into its general use in other areas.

In sports, shooting 90 is considered a good score for a regulation 18-hole golf course. And a football game is 90 minutes.

The 90/10 principle, popularized by Stephen Covey, states that life is made up of 10% of what happens to you, and 90% of how you react to it. I don’t know of any scientific evidence supporting those relative proportions. However, the general idea, that your happiness in life is mainly influenced by your reactions to what happens to you rather than what actually happens, makes more sense to me as I age. I think this becomes particularly important as some of the challenges of aging arise. I plan to keep this principle in mind as I confront them.

And the measurement and use of the 90 degree angle is a critical part of geometry and construction. Perhaps that’s why it is called a right angle.

And finally, as someone who values words, numbers, and logic, I have always marveled at the Yogi Berra quote that brings them all together: “Baseball is 90 percent mental. The other half is physical.”

 So my conclusion from all this is that while getting to 100% of one’s goals may be the ideal—shooting for 90 can often get me where I’d like to be.

What the Mets Mean to Me

Many  people have written about what baseball means to them. As a senior, I am finding that I have become an avid Mets fan as I age. There are several reasons for this.

The seeds for my baseball interest started in Brooklyn. Growing up there, I was a Dodgers fan, as was everyone else I knew. And we all shared a dislike for the Yankees. They seemed to have a lot more money than the Dodgers, and they often won, so we saw them as “stuck up snobs.” In addition, they were in the Bronx, a foreign land. Those childhood impressions were so strong, that when I married my husband some 20 years later — a Bronx-born Yankees fan— I thought of it as a mixed marriage.

I experienced the Dodgers’ 1955 World Series win as one of the most exciting things to happen in my neighborhood- pure joy reigned in the community for a few days.  But we all were soon greatly saddened, with a sense of abandonment, when they moved to LA, also a foreign land, two years later. When the Mets came to NYC in 1962, although some of my fan loyalty went to them, their location in Queens, and the increased activities in my life that came from finishing college and starting my first job, made them more peripheral to my life.

Over the next 25 years or so my interest continued, in part because of their underdog status and the periodic jolts of pleasure that came from their World Series wins in 1969 and 1986. But during these years, even during the Mets’ highlight times, I was very busy—I married, obtained my PhD in psychology, headed a large research center, and raised children. The Mets were less important in my life.

Now in retirement I have renewed interest in the Mets and have become an avid follower of the team. I feel my spirits lifted when the Mets win, it’s as though they were representing me and “we” did it. A loss produces a brief feeling of sadness, that quickly dissipates in anticipation of the next game. 

Watching the game itself is relaxing and enjoyable. Given all the breaks in the game, during commercials between innings and when new pitchers must be brought in, there is plenty of time to get a snack, read the paper, do a puzzle, have a bathroom break, and talk to friends. I like that. It means I don’t have to constantly stay in front of the screen for the approximately three hours it takes for most games.  The instant replays means that even if I wasn’t watching the screen when an important play happened, I won’t have missed it.

And watching each Met batter closely (I must admit, I pay less attention when the opposing team is at bat) – I can enjoy the beauty of a home run and cringe when the umpire calls a strike that was clearly out of the strike zone.  Once or twice a season I go to Citifield for a game, and I like this experience for additional reasons- watching the fans cheer for the Mets and being a participant in the crowd reminds me of how enthusiasm for sports can erase differences between people. I always have a hot dog, beer and cracker jacks, foods that I generally avoid as unhealthy, but seem necessary and I thoroughly enjoy at the ball game.  I also like singing “Take Me out to the Ballgame” during the seventh inning stretch, and at key times in the game I will stand and yell as loud as I can. There are not many places where I feel comfortable doing that.

The enthusiasm and team spirit of the players is also pleasurable to watch. I love when they get excited for each other’s achievements- be it a hit or a great catch.  I enjoy watching the hugs, the ritualistic handshakes, and in special times, like when a Met hits a home run, the pouring of Gatorade or other liquids on the head of the hitter. The players all seem truly happy for each other’s accomplishment. I know that even in the closest families there are those who don’t appreciate or may be jealous of the accomplishments of family members. This is likely true among team members too, but the team spirit and the fact that a win is something everyone can benefit from, seems to overcome jealousies and elicit happiness among them all.

There are many other joys of the game itself, including the fact that there is no time limit as in other team sports like football and basketball, meaning redemption of a losing game is possible until the last out. Also, the fact that during the season teams play almost every day means that a loss can be quickly forgotten in the engagement of the next day’s game. There’s always tomorrow… and when necessary – next year.

But many of these reasons apply to any team. Why are the Mets special to me? Each year I find that the players I especially admire change. Pete Alonzo, Edwin Diaz, Max Scherzer and Jacob deGrom are my favorites this year. But the team transcends the players, many of whom have played on other teams before coming to the Mets or may be traded away. My childhood attachment to a non-Yankees NYC home team is part of the reason for my being a Mets fan. And the ineptitude of the Mets during their first few years, followed by many wonderful players and highlights, left a lasting message that one must never give up hope for success.

But I think I have become a bigger fan because of what it has meant in my personal life. Being a fan has brought me closer to many people. My stepson has been an avid sports fan his entire life, maintaining loyalty to the Mets even after his cross-country move. When there is a good game we will text each other and he happily writes “Put it in the books” at the end of a victory. Little communication occurs when they lose, but it’s as though we are respecting each other’s period of mourning in our own way. And my doorman is another avid fan, who often wears a Mets tie pin during the season. When he is on duty the day after a game, we exchange brief comments as I walk out the front door- from “Wow-what a great game” to “tough loss,”  or “ you can’t win ‘em all.”  I think we both enjoy this connection that erases the distinctions in our roles- we are both just Mets fans.

My family knows I follow the Mets, and this had led to several birthday and mother’s day gifts, making me appreciate their thoughtfulness in selecting the gift. I have received a Mets T-shirt, jacket and mug. And a few years ago my daughter bought me a baseball cap that said “Mets” in Hebrew letters. I love wearing this hat when I go to the game and wear it with my Mets shirt and jacket.  I still laugh in remembering one day when I was going through the turnstile at the stadium and the elderly ticket checker pointed at my cap and with a smile and said “I know what that says.” I was pleased he shared my cultural background and asked what that was— “Shalom Aleichem” he proudly said— which means “Peace to You”. Appreciating the benediction, I smiled and said “Mets” and walked on.

And as my husband and I age, while his interest in the Yankees diminished, he now shows interest in the Mets and watches some of the games with me. I think for him the interactions and joint activity with me, rather than the Mets themselves, is what engages him.  Although we both have less energy at this time in our lives, we can still get excited when the Mets are in the lead. The lessons of baseball and the Mets are especially important at this stage in our lives. These include:  you can come from behind even if you start out in a weak position, take as long as you need and don’t worry about a time limit, and it’s the team camaraderie and spirit that makes for greatness, more than any individual’s performance. And there’s always the hope and promise of the next game. And on those rare occasions when the Mets and Yankees play each other, our old rivalry can still be felt, reminding us of the pleasures of watching these teams so many years ago when we were young and both teams were in NYC.

 So that’s what the Mets mean to me. Thank you Mets for all you give me- and as for this promising 2022 season, “Let’s Go Mets.”

Lost and Found

My husband and I were well-published research scientists in careers spanning several decades. We both headed research studies related to substance use, with my work primarily focused on HIV/AIDS, and his on topics related to criminal justice.  We have been married over 44 years, and with my recent retirement I was still in the early stages of figuring out the new activities I was interested in. I felt good about having many choices, and explored writing, seeing more of family and friends, visits to museums – all enhanced my life.

And then changes in my husband that I had vaguely seen in recent years, yet ignored, became more prominent. His forgetfulness and energy decline had been increasing, but didn’t seem to have a major impact on our quality of life.  But recent health challenges had a more profound impact. These related to diminished cardiac functioning requiring intermittent oxygen supplements, and urological issues leading to increases in medications and use of a walker for mobility. Continued declines in energy also meant that my household responsibilities, as well as responsibilities assisting with his care, had greatly increased. He had become less talkative and most of his time was spent reading or watching TV. I had become a home health aide, and he was in an assisted living situation- with me as the only assistant. Realizing that I couldn’t continue doing this myself, I began arranging for home care assistance.

I have sad and scared feelings about these changes. It felt as if my planning for my retirement years had reached an insurmountable wall that didn’t permit further development. It was as if I had entered an alternate universe from the one I was living in, and needed to figure out how to live and manage within new rules and constrictions. My life felt diminished. And I knew this trajectory was going in only one direction.

Our daughter came to visit recently and help out with the additional tasks my husband’s new health problems had raised. One evening she decided to google us and see what she found about our careers. Our work had been published in many articles, with hundreds of citations by other research scientists. And she found a tape of testimony my husband had given before Congress about 25 years ago about the effectiveness of prison-based treatment for substance users.

I eagerly watched his testimony, and it was  as though I were watching someone I hadn’t seen in a long time. He was well-dressed, hair neatly combed, with only a hint of the gray and balding areas that now cover his head. And he was confident and eloquent, drawing on the research literature and his strong convictions. I had always admired his public speaking, especially since I was somewhat reticent in public speaking and never had his unwavering confidence. And I had forgotten what he once was. Watching the tape, I remembered who he had been and how I fell in love with him, admired him, and was proud to be his wife at one time in our lives together. I felt a warmth and caring for him that I had recently lost. It gave me an understanding of why I needed to be, at least for a while, the home health care aide I had become, while at the same time figuring out how to manage this new universe.

This realization doesn’t change our current situation, nor my periodic sense of burden, nor my need to find a home health care aide who could allow me to go back to finding some of the things I wanted in my retirement. But for the first time in many years,  I remembered how I admired him and his strong advocacy for those who had experienced discrimination and needed drug treatment services. It was almost as if watching the tape had opened a box that had been kept tightly closed, and from it emerged the admiration and love I felt so many years ago. And I knew I would continue to provide and obtain the care for him that he needed, not just because of who he was now, but because of the memory of who he, and we, had once been.

Never Me

When I was in my late teens and early 20s, still influenced by romantic fairy tales, I fantasized about meeting my prince. He would be handsome and very smart. And like me, he would support liberal political views. And he would never have been married before and would never have had children. He would love me as he never loved anyone. In my 30s I fell in love and married, and yes, he was handsome and smart, and liberal… and he was divorced and the father of three children. His prior marital status was never a problem for us— in fact I liked his ex-wife, and his children have all enriched our lives together and are a cherished part of our family. But that was one of my first lessons in how ideas I had about things that were “never me” might in fact happen to me.

For those readers familiar with my blog, you know that one reason I started it was to deal with my surprise that I was becoming a senior. I always enjoyed being with people of all ages, and I never discriminated against the older ones. I just didn’t think I would ever be one of them! It was only after retiring from my career and seeing strange things happening, like developing a friendship network of other retired people, that I realized I had entered the realm of seniorhood. And I found that I enjoyed it.

I had “never me” ideas about my weight too. Before giving birth to children I had a stable weight, that never wavered over about 10 years. But even with an understanding of hormonal and psychological challenges to weight loss, I still wondered why people who were overweight didn’t just make the effort to take off a few pounds. I believed that if I were ever above what I considered my normal, somewhat slim weight, I would simply find a diet and take off the extra pounds. After each of my children were born, I was surprised that the weight gain during pregnancy far exceeded their birth weights.  Efforts over the years to return to my former weight were never successful. Again, I experienced another example of “never me” coming to be. Now I am moderate in terms of my diet and alcohol  (most of the time), I exercise regularly, and I have learned to accept the new me.

But the “never me” syndrome, part denial and part hubris, is still difficult to overcome. For example, I am generally healthy, and have not been subject to health problems that I have seen occur to others. I have no chronic illnesses, and rarely even get seasonal flus. After two years of the COVID pandemic, during which I continued meeting friends and going to NYC museums and other locations (usually masked if it was indoors), I began thinking I was impervious to this virus. Until I got it! Doing a home antigen test in preparation for a family get-together, I tested positive for COVID, later confirmed by a PCR test. I had only mild symptoms and have full recovered, but this experience reminded me that the “never me” mentality means I might not have been as careful as I needed to be.

My husband recently had some health issues, mostly related to aging, and for a time I became an intensive home healthcare giver.  The activities involved were so “never me” that I hadn’t even thought about them as a possibility— it was out of the realm of my life space. But I have found unexpected sources of support and assistance in providing these new needs,  providing me with comfort and strength.

All this serves to remind me that what happens to others can also happen to me, and my beliefs about “never me” should be open for unexpected possibilities.

And sometimes these can lead to good or even pleasurable outcomes.

Career Paths Not Traveled

I had a long successful career as a research scientist, lasting over 40 years. But before I got started, I had some short-term job experiences where I learned what I did not want to do. For example, when I was in graduate school, going for my Master’s Degree, I got part-time work so I would have more time to study.

My first job while I was in graduate school was as a substitute elementary school teacher. Hey, I figured- you’re done with work at three, you can have summers free- and how could it be hard to work with cute little kids?

I was wrong.

I took some education courses over the summer so I could get a substitute teacher’s license. I was then assigned to a class on the lower east side of Manhattan, and voila- I was a 2nd grade teacher.

First I had to study the curriculum- OK, there was not much work in understanding the basic reading and math skills that my students were to be taught. Understanding the science concepts and general social skills required of 2nd graders were also not brain busters.

But the curriculum was not the challenge.

I remember being eager to get started that September morning, and most of the kids were excited to be back in school, although some were reluctant to leave the freedom that the summer break had allowed them.

It was an immigrant community, and some of the children spoke only Spanish or only Chinese. This probably accounted for about half of my approximately 30 students. Although one of the things I love about NYC is its diversity, I didn’t know how to handle the language barriers in the classroom. Also, some of the children, I suppose those who were unhappy giving up their summer freedom, obviously needed more physical activity than provided for in a classroom with only one break for running around during a 6-hour day. So they took their own breaks in the classroom. “Sit down” and “sientese” were among my most frequent pleas, I don’t think I had to admonish the generally more compliant Chinese students as often.

I decided that visual aids, like those attractive displays that other teachers had hanging in their rooms, would help me to get the attention of the students, and would overcome language challenges as well as high energy levels.

So most days after school I reviewed the materials to be covered the next day, and then spent hours creating big oaktag posters with things like: the children’s names (so I could place stars for good behaviors or other accomplishments), information about weather, student assignments for the day, and basic concepts related to numbers and words.

Those visual aids didn’t accomplish the goals. The classroom remained somewhat chaotic. And I didn’t have as much time for studying as I had hoped.

And parents created another challenge.

A few of them asked to meet with me to complain that their children were not learning as much as their peers in other classrooms (for the most part, these were parents of the children who had the difficulties staying in their seats during class).

The Principal visited my classroom on a couple of occasions, and to my surprise commended me for my work as a new teacher. But I didn’t enjoy the experience, and I felt I was failing my students. I lasted through the end of the semester, mainly because I felt I had a responsibility to do so. I was so relieved when I announced that I would not be coming back after the Xmas/New Year break. I gave as the reason that being a teacher took more work than I anticipated (part of the truth) and I needed to have more time for my graduate school studies. The Principal seemed generally disappointed and said that I showed a lot of promise as a new teacher and that it would get easier, with less work over time.

I wondered after I left- would it have gotten easier? Would I have made a great 2nd grade teacher- one who students would come back to thank for awakening them to the joys of learning?

I will never know.

So then I decided I would get a really easy job. One where I could work whenever I wanted to and I wouldn’t have any homework- I would be finished when I left the job.

Being a cab driver sounded good to me. I enjoyed driving, and I could choose the days I wanted to work. Also, I had never worked in a job where I could get tips… and I thought that could be a nice way to enhance my income, with some earnings directly related to the quality of my work.

As part of getting a taxi driver’s license, I had to take a test to show I knew the major NYC attractions and how to get people between locations, for example, from LaGuardia Airport to Grand Central Station. I don’t know if they still require this, as GPS systems can tell you how to get anywhere.

I passed the test and got my license. And I easily found a taxi company in Manhattan looking for drivers. Only yellow cabs were available then, as this was before the Uber era.  But some friends and family raised concerns about my safety – then, as now, there were not too many female cabdrivers. I combed my hair back so that the curls were flattened, and with my glasses and no makeup, I felt I would lessen the chances of being harassed.

As it turned out, that wasn’t the problem. Other issues emerged.

To be a successful cabdriver in Manhattan – the borough I wanted to work in – you have to hustle. If you are cruising down the middle of a street, you need to scan both sides of the street to see if anyone is trying to hail a cab. And if you see someone, you need to get there quick, as another cab driver might be cruising nearby. If he or she spotted the fare before you did- they would rush over, often cutting you off- and you might lose the ride. I learned to do this too, but never enjoyed the chase, and was angry when someone else got to a fare faster than I did, even though I saw the fare first.  

The other challenge I faced was that although I passed my test to demonstrate knowledge of NYC locations, I would periodically get fares who wanted to go somewhere I didn’t know how to go, especially in what are called the “outer boroughs.”  And sometimes they didn’t know how to get there either! I would drive up to another cab driver and ask for directions – but never felt comfortable doing this, and I am sure it impacted my tips.

And I didn’t like finding out that the size of the tip had little to do with service- that is, with how quickly and skillfully I got folks to their destination, nor with how friendly I was. I also found that my income, based on a percentage of what the meter showed and on my tips, was not really dependent on me. I didn’t control how many fares I could get or how much (or if) I was tipped. I never knew how much I would make each day.

I think that with GPS, I could now readily find almost any place where people wanted to go, and so the work would be easier. But unlike my 2nd grade teacher experience, I never wondered if I would have made a great cab driver and earned lots of money or even owned my own fleet. I found that sitting and driving for hours, sometimes just looking for a fare, and sometimes in heavy traffic, was not something I enjoyed. I also found that studying psychology and conducting research studies was of much greater interest to me.

Several months after finishing my Master’s degree I got my first job as a research scientist. That was the beginning of a career that spanned the rest of my work life. I think it was the right path for me.

And based on my experiences I developed a greater appreciation and admiration for teachers (I support efforts to improve their working conditions) and for cabdrivers (I’m a good tipper).

Airline Boarding: Rethinking the Need for Special Assistance

I recently took Delta flights to California and Florida, to attend family events.  I was eager to board, to get settled for the flights and to find overhead space for my carry-on luggage. I have not flown very often in the last few years, partly due to concerns about COVID, and I was surprised at what has been an expansion in the boarding categories. I never saw the need to pay extra for being able to board earlier, but with so many boarding classes, I now find that I am one of the last to board the plane. I don’t like that.

In the past, when traveling alone, I would wait until my assigned category was called. But when I traveled with my husband, he worried about getting space for our carry-on luggage and wanted to get on as soon as possible. So as soon as the boarding process began, he would come forward, and when the agent announced boarding for those needing special assistance, he would get on the plane. Never liking to go ahead of my turn, it made me a little uncomfortable. But I would go with him, sometimes mumbling something like –I’m with him – I don’t need special assistance, but he does.

Delta now seems to have 8-9 boarding categories, plus pre-boarding and early boarding. They all sound like boarding categories to me… since they all involve people getting on the plane. The Delta categories, according to my experience and what I found on their website, are:  

Pre-boarding (for customers needing special assistance, including people in wheelchairs), active members of the military, Delta One, First Class or Delta Premium Select, Early Boarding (not sure who they  are), Delta Comfort +, Sky Priority, Main Cabin 1, Main Cabin 2, Main Cabin 3, and Basic Economy. I have found that my tickets are most often a Main Cabin or a basic economy.

In these recent flights, as I waited to be called, I felt strange, almost abandoned, seeing so many board ahead of me. The main reason they were able to precede me was that they paid a few dollars extra for their ticket. And as I looked at those remaining with me after most of the boarding was done, I felt a kinship, we were all second class —no, actually 7th, 8th or 9th —class citizens.

I believe this multi-tiered categorization was developed to encourage flyers to pay a little more, to up their “status” and be able to board sooner. But the airlines have carried their desire to maximize income too far. Not only is the extensive categorization of flyers offensive, but this is added to the reduction in amenities provided. Providing only a meager pack of nuts, pretzels or cookies, and recently raising air fares,  further reduces what used to be enjoyable flights, especially for those in the “lower classes.”  

To see if the Delta boarding process was unusual, I checked boarding categories for American, United and Southwest, the three other major airlines in the US. American has 9 (with preboarding, Concierge Key frequent flyers, and five additional groups before getting to the Economy categories), and United has 5, plus pre-boarding for military and anybody who needs extra time. Southwest has a unique boarding process. It is organized into three groups (A, B and C), with a 1-60 numbering system. Each passenger gets assigned a letter and a number, and the lower your letter/number combination the sooner you board, and that’s where the multiple boarding categories arise. If you are assigned A 1-15 you have “upgraded boarding”, and you are among the first to board. These include Business Select, A-List, and A-List Preferred statuses. In addition, you can purchase several types of upgrades as well as an early bird check- in capability, and these improve your boarding position. So other airlines have multiple, sometimes confusing, boarding categories too.

What do I conclude from this exploration? First- there is a pseudo-caste system in boarding planes, one based not on birth or position, but mainly on how much you are willing to pay. This is not very different from what we see in our society generally: paying more gets you better seats in almost any venue, providing better views of any entertainment provided. But there’s little or no viewing advantage in sitting on different seats on an airplane. I suppose this is simply capitalism in action, and applies to many areas of life.  I never had concerns with the distinctions between first, business and main cabin seats, and accepted that the services and amenities of the last category were less than the first two categories. But the finer distinctions required in 6-9 categories elude me and have little to do with the services provided.

So perhaps my husband was right. And although I am quite healthy, I think I will start needing “Special Assistance” in boarding flights in the future.

Anticipation

Anticipation is under-appreciated as a source of pleasure. Sometimes the anticipation can even be more pleasurable than the experience anticipated. For several years I looked forward to retirement, anticipating that I could plan and do more of the activities I was always too busy to do when I worked- like visiting new places in NYC and spending more time with friends and family. I enjoyed planning the things I was going to do, and have come to realize that there are different kinds of anticipation.

There are the things I have control over. For example, I enjoy reading new authors, and have discovered that I like Philip Roth novels, Alice Munro short stories, and biographies. The pleasure starts when I buy the book, before I even read it. 

I also enjoy good food and drink, and can anticipate an upcoming meal with pleasure, especially at a restaurant or at someone else’s home (so I don’t need to do the work myself).  Sometimes, if I have difficulty falling asleep, I think of having a favorite breakfast in the morning, like an omelet with toast, and find that the pleasure I feel is helpful in drifting off.

There are several people I enjoy seeing and talking with, and when I make a date with them I eagerly look forward to it, often thinking about the topics we will talk about. In the case of my two-year old grandson, just the anticipation of seeing him- as conversation is quite limited-  is enough to fill me with a sense of joy.

But infrequently, the anticipation of something I look forward to results in disappointment: my favorite authors have written pieces I don’t enjoy, a meal is tasteless, or a conversation with a dear friend results in an unpleasant disagreement. But I still look forward to these events in the future, and know I can choose another book, try a different food, and make up with a friend in an upcoming conversation.  Anticipation for the next time is still pleasurable.  

I can also have positive anticipation about things I have no control over.

Sometimes I buy lottery tickets, especially when the media has drawn attention to an upcoming big payoff. As a scientist, with some knowledge of probability, I know that the likelihood of my winning a lottery is infinitesimal, and is not increased if the payoff is greater. And yet, from the moment I buy the ticket until the drawing I feel a little shift in my mood. I could win, wouldn’t that be something! What would I do- would I share most of it with my children, would I give most of it away to worthy causes, would it make my life easier or would I be inundated with requests for monies from a wide variety of people? I enjoy these thoughts… although I know that a big windfall would also bring stress about spending decisions. I have concluded that when I buy a ticket, it’s not for the win, but rather for the anticipation itself – for the period between the time of purchase and the time when the winning number is drawn.

I have become more aware of the role of anticipation during COVID time when I lost control over some of my plans. When threats of the pandemic were elevated, I felt I had to cancel many things: plans to visit new places, dates with family and friends, and even a trip to a wedding. Now, with my fears somewhat reduced due to vaccinations and lower hospitalization/death rates, I have begun planning some of these trips (not the wedding- thankfully it took place and I watched it on zoom). But I was disappointed that some events, like shows at local museums, are no longer available.

 I now find that the COVID-related pauses or delays of events have increased my pleasure in thinking about and planning activities I want to do. I have even started to anticipate enjoying these anticipatory periods, they add another layer of pleasure. And I know that sometimes that may be all I will have.

ID Cards

My passport and driver’s license are my most frequently used documents to prove my identity – generally used for things like checking in at the airport or cashing a check.  And they have other uses.

I went to a baseball game recently (the Mets, my favorite team, at Citifield) and when I bought a beer I was asked for an ID card as proof of age. Being well into seniorhood, I smiled as I looked for my driver’s license. And so did the senior-aged woman who sold me the beer.  I think it is policy to require proof of age for anyone buying alcohol at certain athletic events, to reduce potential disagreements with those who may not look old enough. But it seemed a waste of time.

On the other hand, when I took an Amtrak train a couple of years ago, and requested the senior rate, I was asked for an ID to prove I was old enough to qualify.  I enjoyed that request. It seemed a fine use of my time.

I have other ID cards, with photos, that I use to get benefits I am entitled to. I have a NYC senior citizen metro card that allows me to take buses or trains at half fare. That’s great. And I have an EasyPay account, which means my metro card is tied to a credit card, so that when the balance gets below $10, it is automatically replenished. This means I don’t have to wait on lines to refill my card. Nice.

But the card has another benefit.  It has an expiration date, and I am sent a new replacement card, automatically, approximately every two years. I have often wondered if anyone checks whether or not I am still alive, and still living in NYC – but I am happy to get it, as it involves no effort on my part.  And the newly issued card uses the same photo I submitted when I first applied for the metro card, more than ten years ago. I appear to have been a little plumper in the face than I am now, but otherwise it’s just a younger version of me. And I have another ID like that- a card issued by the apartment complex I live in, that gives me access to enter my building. When new cards were issued several years ago, they used the same picture I took when I first moved in, more than 15 years ago. My hair is no longer that color… but so what? Whenever I use these ID cards I feel my age has been fixed at an earlier time in my life. I don’t mind that.

I also have other ID cards that are no longer of any use, but I keep as documentation of parts of my past. These include the ID card issued by New York University during my career as a research scientist there, and the one I had when I was a NYC cabdriver (during my graduate school days). The most cherished one is the ID I was issued when I worked at Two World Trade Center, I was there until 9/11/01.  I will keep all of these cards even though they no longer generate benefits. They evoke memories of my history, and of a day that I was fortunate to survive.

For the Duration

Sometime in her 50s, my mother started using the expression “for the duration.” She used it when referring to something that she purchased that she anticipated would last the rest of her life, like a piece of furniture. It helped her justify the cost, as she would never need a replacement. It made me smile when she said it, because we all knew that she only said “for the duration” to allay her discomfort in buying something expensive. But both she (and I at the time) never expected that the end of “the duration” was anywhere in sight.   

I first started using the term in my 60s, when I needed some expensive dental work, including implants. The cost seemed quite high to me, but I readily agreed to the procedures once I realized that they would be “for the duration.” I knew the implants would be useful to me for the rest of my life.

And I have been thinking about this phrase even more since retiring from my full-time work as a research scientist. Not anticipating any more major life changes— like career changes or household moves—I sense I am now living in “the duration” for me.

 I have decided to view this as a time of opportunity. I had a successful professional life and made some important contributions to my field, and I raised children who are happy and productive in their lives. So I am done with some of life’s major milestones. My husband and I are in good health and financially comfortable, so I can see “the duration” as one with many possibilities and choices.

Not to be somber, but at the very end of her life, my mother lay in a coma for over a year, with a feeding tube going directly into her stomach. This was her final “duration,” but unfortunately one in which no more choices could be made.  I have decided to welcome this time in my life, a time in which I can make so many choices- including about the work I do, people I am with, and places I go.

There are some things that surround me that I hope will continue to be there, like dear friends and family, and good health. And I will no doubt lose some of these. There are other things likely to be there for the duration that I will always cherish- art, photos and books that I have collected over the years. And there are even some things likely to stay with me that are no longer of any use –like favorite clothes items that are too small, fancy dinner serving pieces and old tax documents.

And there is a Yiddish expression that my mother used that I find helpful – khap arayn (kh pronounced with a guttural kh sound) – that literally means “grab it in” or colloquially, “seize the opportunity.” In other words, enjoy the good things in life while you can. So that’s where this takes me. I plan to do that for the duration.

“You’re Three Versions Behind”

When I worked as a research scientist, one day I had some problems synchronizing my iPhone and my desktop computer, so I called the IT service at my College. When the young man who came to help me started checking my iPhone he said “you’re three versions behind.” Although I had upgraded with a new phone within the past couple of years, I hadn’t realized that three updates had already happened, although I knew that two years was a long time in technology development. Since I didn’t like the bigger screens I had seen recently I had put off buying a new phone, but I asked if that’s what he recommended.  His suggestion was that I should wait, since a new system using the smaller screens would be coming out later in the month (meaning that I would soon be yet another version behind)! I bought a new phone shortly after his visit.

This experience recently led me to think about other areas of my life for which I was several versions behind, especially in the current “smart” technology era.  

There are now hundreds of what are called “smart” products- like TVs, watches, telephones and home appliances. They are connected to other devices, usually through the internet, and they can use data to react to the environment they are in, talk back to us, and adapt to the desires of their owner.  Many people work to have the smartest home they can create. It’s not easy for me to say, but in terms of this arena, I am not as smart as some others. My wristwatch and my telephones – I even have a landline in addition to a cellphone – are not smart. And my apartment building provides central AC and heating, so even if I wanted to be smart about that, I can’t. And in terms of my TVs- I have one that is smart and one that’s not, and requires a Roku device to access Netflix. Thankfully, the two TVs don’t get into conflicts about their intellectual differences, as they are in separate rooms.

What is the message here? I conclude that it is to accept that technology and capitalism will continue to bring forth new versions of lots of things. Accepting that and learning to use the newest ones are important parts of staying engaged, and can make life easier. Although I am at times reluctant to abandon older versions of things that work well, I am resolved to make continued updates or replacements when needed. I remind myself that at least I will still be the only version of myself that is available- maybe not too smart, but certainly unique.

(PS- The term “smart” originally was an acronym for “Self-Monitoring, Analysis and Reporting Technology”, and also became known as “smart” because the technology allows what were previously inanimate objects to talk to us).