24 Hour News is 23 Hours and 59 Minutes Too Much

It's been two months since I've written a post; the longest I've gone writing one.  A lot has happened in my life since that time: my book has been published, I've gone on public signing events

I've had a couple of new job interviews, celebrated grandbabies' birthdays,

checked out new places to live, taught history and anthropology to many, many students, and continued with my own projects. 

The world and our country has also been busy, with history-making events unfolding and having all of us glued to our televisions, watching as news unfolds, which is the reason I have been inspired to finally write another post. 

I am going to institute a ban on televised news programs and mass media entertainment sources.  Enough is enough. 

For me it end began during the Boston Marathon bombing when journalist George Stephanopoulos urged viewers to "look and listen" for the umpteenth time to the moment when the bombs exploded.  Not that we hadn't already watched in horror over and over and over already.  The station the reporter was on just needed to fill time until some new development happened.

Today, that poor young woman who bravely escaped with two others and her daughter after ten years of captivity from a Cleveland house was going to make a public appearance and a statement, until she saw the throng of reporters and neighbors outside of the house that would be her refuge.  As she made her way into the home a helicopter watched from above and I thought to myself, I doubt she'll be able to face this crowd.  Sure enough, it was her sister who ended up talking with the reporters.  These journalists acted like a school of snapping piranhas shoving their microphones into her trembling face. 

It is too much to hope for that a woman who basically has not seen the light of day for a decade will be left in peace to recuperate. 

And why have I decided to give up my guilty pleasure of People Magazine?  Because I don't want to see another repeat of Princess Diana and I can see it happening already: Princess Katherine hasn't even given birth yet and every other People cover has her on it trying to see if her belly has grown an inch. 

I have lost respect for the field of journalism.  They have become the lawyers of yesteryear.  Shame on them for their tactics and shame on us for our need to feed our curiosity. 

Rescue Them, Rescue Me

In a thrift store the other day I watched as a mother reined in her three children, a boy about ten years old and two girls, one in the front of her cart.  This mother was loudly verbal with her warnings for her children to behave.  At one point I saw her go into a fitting room, apparently not to try something on but to bring her message home to her son; when the two came out the boy was crying.  I furtively watched them because the mother made it hard not to.  I looked at the tearful little boy, in my mind hoping that he was okay.  That was two days ago and that child’s face still haunts me.  Should I have done something?  Could I have?  If so, what?  Perhaps I should have followed them outside and gotten the license plate number of the mother’s car, called it in to non-emergency police and asked them to do a welfare check on the family. 

Am I butting my nose in where it doesn’t belong?  Am I making something out of nothing?  What business is it of mine?  Aren’t we living in a society of children that don’t have enough discipline, who have no sense of consequence for bad behavior?  When does the Village that helps to raise the children interfere? 

Because I keep thinking about the little boy I tell myself that my instincts to be concerned were right, but now I can’t do anything about it.  Trying to alleviate my anxiety is not easy; when I think about it and say, “There’s nothing I could have done,” I am reminded of a story in our local paper not too long ago about another little boy who lost his life at the hands of a mother who DID not protect her son from an abuser.  That seven year old boy’s smiling face haunts me as well.  Did I ignore something I should have paid attention to and will my thrift store boy be on the front page of my paper next?

I stopped watching televised news a long time ago, my heart just can’t take the pain of watching people suffer: starving children in Africa, kidnapped kids, genocide; just a few of the topics these programs inundate us with on a continuous reel. 

For me watching programs like this is like window shopping: if I can’t buy something, why am I looking? If I can’t fix the problem, world hunger for instance, I shouldn’t watch because I lose sleep, I worry, I agonize to the point of depression. Perhaps that is why I overdo it in the animal rescue department; if I see a problem in front of me and I can do something about it, I do. It relieves some of the anxiety because I did something. When I save a frightened dog from the dangerous streets or trap a starving, mangy cat and get them the help they need, my heart warms.





"Lucky" rescued in 2010

 



Lucky today

I didn’t do anything for that little boy and I don’t open my window or my wallet to the guy holding the sign on the street corner, so I suffer the consequences of my inaction and say a little prayer for both that things will get better.  Maybe that, at least, will help me sleep at night.

 

 

Glasses Can Be Sexy, Just Ask My Husband

Dear Readers, I am among a group of women who write for the wonderful website for women over 50 called Vibrant Nation.  One of the benefits of being a member of their blog circle is the opportunity to test drive products geared for women of a certain age and then share my opinion on the quality of the product with my readers.  If any of you read my post, What Not to Wear No Matter What the Ad Says, you know I have no trouble giving an honest review.  So, on occasion I will share on my blog a Product Review.  This is the first of many to come.  I hope you will find them helpful as you navigate through the many consumer choices we have out there availabile to us Women of a Certain Age.

Glasses Can Be Sexy, Just Ask My Husband

I was in the fourth grade when the nickname, “Four-eyes” was attached to me.  Near-sightedness runs in my family, but did it have to hit me so early on?  My first pair of glasses were what they call “cat’s eyes,” and perhaps back then I thought they were perfect. 

 

Eyewear has come a long way since then and so has my taste in glasses.

Laser eye surgery to correct my near-sighted vision was a blessing, but I still need glasses to read things up close.  Sure, I’ve purchased the drugstore variety of glasses but they are flimsy and most unattractive.  My husband of twenty-five years has often commented on how he likes me in glasses so I look for styles that compliment my face and encourage that familiar look of desire, even after all these years.  Icon Eyewear has a wonderful line of glasses; I know because I was one of the lucky ones to receive a free pair to try and when I put them on, “Wowza” was the word my husband used to say they looked good on me.  These glasses not only look good, they have substance to them, hugging my temples comfortably and the color and design make it clear they are not the dime-store variety. 

If glasses must be a part of my fashion accessories, then this line works for me. 

In the Middle

By 1988 I was really into my Native American phase, so when it was time to send out announcements for my upcoming wedding, I searched for a card that would be unique to me and the new life I was dreaming of with my husband-to-be. 

I went to a Native American artist's show and found the absolutely perfect message I wanted to convey in an image. 

This is a drawing by talented artist Carole Bourdo, it is called The Beginning Place.  I met the artist at that show and asked how I could obtain cards of the image; the best we came up with was 5 x 7 sized cards.  I paid in advance and had them shipped to my home only to find the artist had generously signed each one.

Next, I needed to come up with the invite and a way to get them on the cards.  This was the era when printers and operators were just getting to know one another - I was still an amatuer with all this equipment and I couldn't afford to waste one card.  After several attempts I figured it out but as you can see the end result was far from "wedding picture perfect." 

Yet, to me the invitations were worth so much more than money could buy. 

Our invitations were made with love and conveyed promise:

 

My marriage to John, like the copy on our invitations, has been through a little wear and tear, but twenty-five years later we are in the middle of our lifetime journey.  The drawing was meaningful to me at the beginning of our journey as we walked down the aisle and said, "I Do," but truthfully as I write these words and think of all we've been through so far: children growing, fights, laughter, tears, thoughts of breaking up, making up, babies born, animals we have loved and lost, youth fading, the lines on our faces becoming more pronounced, grey hairs and belly paunches, I am so profoundly touched that I have walked this road with John. 

 

Wedding Day, February 1988

 



 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

As my favorite character, Gus McCrae (from my favorite movie, Lonesome Dove) said, "By God..... it's been one hell of a party." 

 

And fortunately for me, the party is still going.



It's Time to Weed: in the Garden and in Life

Weeding is the most satisfying job. 

I love it when the soil in my garden is just crumbly enough that the shovel sinks in and loosens the offending vegetation.  I bend down and with little effort pluck the trespasser from the earth, thus giving the plants meant to be there room to breathe. 

 

 

 

 

Sure, the job comes with back-bending and heart-pumping,

but those inconveniences give me the opportunity to stand up, lean on my shovel and take in my surroundings, something I don’t think enough of us do anymore these days. 

The garden isn’t the only place where weeding becomes necessary; I have found that the task works just as well in life. 

Over the years I’ve worked at jobs that didn’t fulfill or challenge me.  So I went back to school to find what fields inspired me and left behind jobs where I had to wait on people, do what others told me to do, or sit at a desk dreaming of what lay beyond the window of my cubicle. 

From early adulthood my feet took me on the other side of that window where I discovered new places, made new friends, experienced my country’s varied environments.  I never once regretted the starting over or pined for the familiarity of what I’d left behind; except for the people.  The trouble with wandering from coast to coast the way I have is the loss of immediate connection with those I care about, those that are a link to my past. 

Weeding people and places from my life came with the adventures I sought and found.  While it was not hard for me to relinquish the place, it is a lot more difficult to throw those I made memories with, laughed and cried with, onto the heap of the discarded. 

It took me a long time to get over my high school years, the first place that I felt a sense of belonging.  Those friends I made were family – then. 

Graduating Class, 1975

But we’ve all moved beyond those connections and while I still am glad to glimpse the lives they lead now I really have no place there.  The same can be true with those I grew up with.  Weeding out people that don’t serve you well, those that are not a positive influence in your life really have no place there either. 

To make a garden thrive sometimes it’s necessary to throw out the good with the bad, as in the desired plant that is all caught up in the roots of a weed.  To allow the warmth of the sun to nurture, to allow the oxygen in to breathe, to see life flourish it’s necessary to do some weeding, both in the garden and in life. 

Yes, both jobs require some pain, in the back and in the heart, but doing so provides the opportunity to stop and look around at all the wonder close at hand; a chance to admire and enjoy the harvest.   

I’ll keep weeding until my garden and my life are full of color.   

 

 

Brain Retrain

Ouch! What did I do to my shoulder this time?  I’m having a flare-up of bursitis, making range of motion in my arm very painful.  It could have happened because I haven’t been to yoga in weeks, or perhaps because I lifted a 5-pound weight wrong.  Or, maybe it’s just this aging thing.  Whatever it is now I have to nurse the arm, and that means using it as little as possible. 

It’s no wonder that the old arm is wearing out.  For 50 years I’ve been overusing it.  I’m right-handed; why would I ever consider using the left?.  But, as I was vacuuming the house the other day I used my left hand.  It was then I realized that my left side had been underutilized all these years; it was time it pulled its weight. 

 

They say the brain needs to be challenged to keep us young.  So, Lefty, are you up for the challenge?  It won't be easy; using my left hand feels so foreign.  I started to notice that I choose sides for lots of things: I chew on the left side of the mouth, part my hair on the right; old habits are hard to break.  But the neglect of my left hand is more than just habit. 

I grew up with the impression that being left-handed was taboo.  I’m not sure where I got that message, but a quick Internet search proves that left-handedness was an undesirable “choice” and that had to be broken in children, just another example of misinformation that results in the pressure put on kids to change what comes naturally to them.







I won't mind teaching myself a new way of doing things, so while my right shoulder heals, my left hand and arm will have to chip in.  It's like having a whole new set to work with, right?  Just don't ask me to autograph my new book with the left.  I'll need plenty of Alleve for that task.

So, here's to the new me and a new brain! 

 

Where? How? Why? The Unknown Doesn't Scare Me!

I flew to Oregon last Thursday for a four-day expedition to see where John and I would live in the near future.  The lady I sat next to on the plane started in asking all sorts of questions and had a response or new question for every answer I gave her. 

Her: "Why are you going?"

Me:  "To look for a property to buy."

Her:  "What are you looking for exactly?"

Me:   "I'll know it when I see it."

Her:  "What about work?" 

Me:  "Things will fall into place as needed." 

Before I buried my nose in my work because I really didn't want to share my entire personal life with a stranger she commented that, "I always thought of myself as the ultimate optimist, but you have me beat!"

She's right about that.  Everytime I've set my mind on something, and I've made some pretty risky changes many times over in my life, I've always landed on my feet.  I believe this next chapter is one of those moments.  Except this time I'm not doing it alone; I have a partner who has a say in the outcome and I have to consider his opinion on things and his way is to proceed methodically and with some idea of where we will end up.  That, I have to say is hard to deal with for someone like me.  When something feels right, I know it - right away and I usually grab the opportunity immediately. 

This fact-finding trip has been successful.  We haven't made any decisions but I sure did find out a lot.  I looked at several properties: some vacant land

and some with homes on them I wouldn't step foot in much less live in. 

I met with or talked with a few realtors.  I became more familiar with the area and determined boundaries of where I would live and where I would not.  After many discussions with knowledgeable people I was able to come up with several promising options on how to make the transition. 

John and I are foregoing the trip back east we were going to take to celebrate our upcoming 25th wedding anniversary to come up here where we can lay some more groundwork toward our future in a new location.  I think that's a fitting anniversary present to us both.

It's back on the plane in the morning to return to familiar.  I take with me more knowledge that I gained from being, as I called it, "in the trenches;" information we just couldn't get off of the Internet.  And if my plane seatmate has a ton of questions for me, I will have even better answers to give this time around. 

Chilly, with a Chance at a Warm Tummy

It is freezing here in Las Vegas.  So many of my family, who live in the cold part of the country, are amazed when I tell them that; they assume that the desert is always warm to hot.  I love this cold weather because it makes me move; I become much more domestic, spending hours in the kitchen making yummy smells to greet my husband when he comes home from work.  Last night it was homemade pizza, bread and banana cake.  I'm pretty sure one of the big reasons he married me is because I'm one of those old-fashioned, cook-from-scratch kind-of gal.  I don't like to tempt fate or anything, so I keep on cooking and baking.

Another reason I love the chilly weather is that it keeps the outside bugs that just thrive in the heat at bay.  The cockroaches, black widows and other creepy spiders, and the scorpions. 

I've always handled the first two well enough, but when the scorpions took up residence, well, that was the straw that broke my patience. They are all hibernating right now but by May I can expect to go on patrol once again, careful about where I place my foot or hand, scanning the walls inside and outside the house for that now all too familiar shape. I have not been unfortunate enough to be stung, but this is Las Vegas and the odds are against me.  Do you know there is little that can be done to exterminate scorpions?  We've had the professionals out here, yet, the creature prevails. 

Our cold spell is due to break this week.  We'll go back to temperatures where I don't have to bundle up to get the mail or feed the chickens, a necessity that reminds me of living in New York where five layers of clothing are required just to go turn on the car to warm it up.  I will welcome the warmer weather, but it's still just chilly enough to keep my oven on and the bugs in slumber.

Hope the rest of the country is enjoying their winter in the comfort and warmth of their family and homes.  If not, come on over, I have a pot of something simmering and you are more than welcome to have some!

Perhaps a Singing Career is in My Future?

I thought I would provide an update on the nose situation.  If you haven't already done so, read "Oh to Breathe Freely Again!"

On Monday, Dec. 17th I went in for surgery. Three different procedures were scheduled: to straighten a deviated septum, add cartilage to my collapsed nostrils and a cleaning out of the sinuses. My best friend Nancy, was there when they took me away and when I woke up again. Husband John had to work and frankly, it's not a sight a husband should have to see. It was bad enough he chased me around the house before I headed to the surgery center, wanting a "before" picture of my nose. I did take "after" photos, but, ummmmm, they aren't for public viewing.

The days following the surgery were, to say the least, awful. With some contraption up the nose to keep it open and the other yucky side effects it wasn't pleasant, but I won't go into detail, especially on behalf of Linda Lou, who can't tolerate any mention of such things. I finally felt better on day #6, but then it was holiday time: driving to Los Angeles, arriving late at night, unloading the car, saying hello to those that waited up, and then trying to settle down enough to get some sleep before waking on Christmas morning to excited kids and all the chaos of the day. That was a quick trip, back to Las Vegas in 48 hours with two kids in tow for a grandparents/grandkids visit. Such excitement just days after surgery is not conducive to rapid healing, but I am pretty resilient and have fared pretty well.

The worst of it was the pressure in one eye; it felt like a migraine headache and I had to walk around the house with my hand over my eye and not turn my head too quickly. On top of it, the page proofs for my soon-to-be-published book, Showgirls of Las Vegas (which is, by the way, on pre-order sale at Amazon); which were not supposed to arrive until after Christmas, came three days before surgery and was expected to be back in the publisher's hands within seven days. Not one to call attention to myself, I did not, but should have, altered my editor that I needed more time. But, no, I got it done despite the one-eyed vision and the frequent need to take lie-downs.

This morning there was the follow-up doctor visit for a "proper cleaning" and I don't mean the kind the dentist provides. While really uncomfortable, it was a great relief to have the pressure removed from my clogged sinuses.

Was it worth it? Right off I can say that I believe I am breathing properly for the first time in my whole life. I never broke my nose so the crooked septum must have been a part of my anatomy all along. It takes some getting used to having this much air flow into my nostrils; sometimes I have to cover my nose with hand or scarf to warm the air as it enters. I am told my voice has changed somewhat; I sound different than the nasally voice that my seventh-grade chorus teacher tried to desperately to fix all those years ago. Maybe I can hit those musical notes now, after all.  I can’t wait to hear my voice on my next oral history interview.

So, the verdict is this: I’m glad I did it and here’s to modern medicine.  By the way, my doctor, Dr. Vincent Nalbone, is a great surgeon.  And, it helps he reminds me of my very first crush; he looks just like Andy Coppola, the boy I made a fool of myself over when I was a freshman in high school.

Happy New Year to everyone, and Happy New Nose to Lisa

Oh, to Breathe Freely Again!

After years of fighting a chronic sinus problem, which it turns out is not a result of allergies but due to the structure of my nose, inherited from the Italian side of my family, I am about to get relief.  I wrote a post about the situation, A Necessary Nose Job some while back, never really expecting that a nose job was in my future.  But, here I am about to go in and have "work" done. 

The doctor guarantees that 1) the nose I've come to love will not be altered in how it looks and 2) I'm going to feel a whole lot better (not right away, apparently this surgery takes a lot to recover from.  I'm in for several days of looking and feeling pretty gross.  I'm willing to go through it though; this persistent sniffing, hacking, blowing, and inability to breathe has worn me out. 

Until later...............  Have a great day!