Tribute to Glynne Betts

She met her oncoming death by celebrating life–lunching with friends, going to the Metropolitan Museum to see an exhibit, taking in a Broadway play. Although her legs were wont to buckle, she insisted on walking. One time walking at the Met with her brother, her legs gave way and she fell into his arms. She fell several times in her apartment in a single day, and gave me this news, nonchalantly, without self-pity, a woman of indomitable strength.

We met late in life, on a trip to India of all places. But our friendship was instantaneous and enduring and will give me nourishment for the rest of my life.

Floggers, beware!

Oops, I’ve  done it again. The headline should read “Bloggers, beware.” Blogs are rife with  typos. Here are other boo-boos.  (Incidentally, dear readers, my age has no bearing on typos–they happen at any age.)

A stitch in time saves none.

Make gay while the sun shines.

Eat, drink, and be weary.

Teach me how to prey.

Too many cooks spoil the breath.

The mighty toothbrush

It’s small things in a household that make you happy. I’m thinking of toothbrushes. Such a mundane item can unmake a marriage, depending on  how much tolerance a husband or wife has when both unintentionally use the same toothbrush.

For years hubby and I have been mistaking toothbrushes. How many millions of miniscule germs we’ve given each other can blow the mind. But I’m happy to say we’ve found a solution. Since baby couturiers decreed from time immemorial that females should wear pink and males blue, that’s  it! After 50 years of marriage, I now buy a blue toothbrush for my male partner and a pink one for me. Our daily lives have become the happier for it.

Cutting hubby’s ear hair

One of my wifely jobs is cutting hair off the insides and outside of hubby’s ears. As time passes the hair gets bushier and hubby gets testier. “Careful! You nearly nicked me,” or “Ouch! You jabbed me with the point of the scissors.” “Don’t cut near the hairline. You know my barber.”

The Sicilian barber he has gets furious. Sometimes, my hand not being as steady as once it was, I cut some hair off hubby’s head instead of the top of his ear. The Sicilian complains bitterly to Henry that I am spoiling his hairstyle and says, half jokingly (?), “Either you get rid of your wife, or you’ll be rid of me.”

So far, Henry hasn’t made up his mind.

Spanning 4 centuries

My mother who has been dead 30 years spanned two centuries, the 19th and the 20th. She was born in a small village northeast of Naples in 1895 and died in New York in 1978. Her descriptions of the Italian village, and of her relatives and neighbors who contributed to her growth, peopled my own childhood and helped me grow up. They were tales and stories of another continent and time that were not to be found in a book. They are still with me.

Having visited the village several times and met many of the people, I have the sensation of having lived not only my 70+ years but also the years my mother spent there growing up. Incidentally, my mother and I span four centuries, she the l9th and 20th, and I the 20th and 21st. We’ve touched four centuries in two generations.

Sex for babes in Babeland

I saw a piece in the Courier Journal, a local Brooklyn paper that covers the Park Slope neighborhood, called “Sex in the City of Brooklyn,” with the subtitle “New Babeland debuts in Bergen Street.” It is a new high-end sex shop, and there was a photograph showing pictures of sex objects hung all over the wall.

Oh, my God, I thought, can it be true? I know that Park Slope has a good number of young professional people with kids and they appear to be a sophisticated crowd. But even so, would such a geeky, with-it group go into a store that sells sex objects for children? You see, I was reading the word “babe” in “babeland” to mean small girls. I thought, What are we coming to?

Reading on, I realized the word babe was being applied to grown women. After the initial shock, I’m not mollified to know it applies to women. What, in heaven’s name, are they looking for?

Sex is sex.

Animals

It took me 70+ years on God’s earth to appreciate animals. Would you believe that? A Depression child, I was never given a dog or cat. What was edible went into our mouths, not a cat’s. Animals were luxuries we could not afford. Like cars, they existed to be wished for, admired, not to have.

It wasn’t til my daughter was 8 that we got a dog. It was 1976, a year of historic sentiment and we named her Abigail Adams. Abigail was a Beagle and brought joy into our lives, as well as howling and an avaricious appetite. It wasn’t til 2005 that we got a cat, a beautiful Calico. Her name is Aurora Borealis. Our daughter has now her own digs and Aurora is completely ours. My husband and I adore her. Along with the ancient Egyptians who believed cats were deities, we believe she is a deity and commands our respect.

But cats are more than pets or deities. Like St. Francis, I consider them my brothers and sisters.

Are boomers now seniors?

It’s odd that the word “retiree” now refers, not to me, but to baby boomers born in the decade after World War II. Boomers are beginning to retire, men at 63 and women at 62. As retirees, they certainly qualify to be called senior citizens

But what about me? I am nearly 20 years older and think of myself as a senior citizen. How can these youngsters be called seniors? The word needs some qualification–”young” senior citizen perhaps? I’m willing to change the label and call myself “super” senior citizen (to be applied only to those 70 or older).

Actually, they’re too young to retire. Many believe a longer worklife is needed. It could benefit everyone. If our “young” senior citizens, the boomers, worked just a few years more, two or three, it would have beneficial effect on the retirement living standards of boomers and on the economy. Gains would include more savings, more tax money and a lighter burden on Social Security and Medicare.

Any pros or cons?

McCain: Mr. AgeBuster #1

Regardless of the attack today on John McCain by columnist Charles M. Blow (New York Times, 6/28/08), in my book John McCain is Mr. AgeBuster #1.

Generally, he is being vilified for being too old. But nothing I’ve seen so far is as nasty as the Blow piece. It includes a host of negatives: he is computer illiterate, has a grandpa shtick using his age, falls far short visually alongside Obama, has a crooked jaw (a result of torture endured in prison camp), wispy hair and blank expressions.

The positives are rarely mentioned. He was in the military, he is a known quantity, he has been a senator for a long time and is familiar with heads of state, knows the ways of the US government, has a 90+ mother who is attractive and speaks forcibly.

Above everything, he is a fearless AgeBuster who does not let being 70+ hold him back. This is a big advantage because he is old enough, and experienced enough, to bring some form of stability into our lives.

Piling on the Lexington Ave. bus

They looked to be in their 70s, or even their 80s, the superactive men and women on the Lexington Avenue bus going downtown,.  It was about 4 p.m. on a weekday. They carried their shopping bags and packages of all sizes, containing what? You name it. Looking at labels and spillovers, I saw groceries, blankets, Macy underwear, sweaters, chocolate candy, McDonald chips. Many toted a cane that  has become the sine qua non of the over 70s. It’s not always used,  but it’s there in case of need. Most came in walking on their own two feet, the women barely able to span the top step into the bus.

I noticed an item that until recently was never seen in buses, a wheelchair. On the sidewalk, the owner drove it down to the front of the bus, without help, and as the bus stopped the owner shook his cane that tells the  bus driver to Stop. It also says,  “If you don’t stop, I’ll use the cane on you.” The driver lowered the front steps to a flat surface, and the wheelchair driver drove himself in. Another item now common is the shopping cart, usually of small size, but it can be big. When a 70 pluser wheels a big cart down the aisle filled with his purchases, an inattentive passenger with his foot dangling in the aisle could easily lose it.

The 70 plusers don’t  seem to stay a home anymore to do shopping by phone, or to order in. They’ve taken to the Lexington Avenue bus with their carts and wheelchairs.