WordSisters

Category: Baby Boomers

  • Middle Age Is The Richest Time

    When my husband said, “Middle age is the richest time,” I thought, “No way.” Too often, middle age feels like loss—of youth, of a sense of possibility, of elders I love.

    No denying, those really are jowls, and since I’m not inclined to have plastic surgery, they’re here to stay. Lovely.

    The big 6-0 isn’t that far off and I meant to have accomplished more—published more for sure.

    My 92-year-old Mom is slipping a lot faster. Her short-term memory has gone on strike, so we have the same conversations again and again. “Are you coming for the baby shower? No Mom, I can’t.  I’ll be in Arizona that weekend,” and the next day, “Are you coming to the baby shower? No, Mom . . . ” At 90, she managed her household and finances. Now her kids take care of that. To be expected, but still. I miss her smart competent self.

    As Dad, who died three years ago would say, “Aging isn’t for the faint of heart.” No kidding.

    So I had to know why my husband, who isn’t prone to positive affirmations or yippee-skippiness of any sort, would say middle age is the richest time.

    Screen Shot 2014-01-22 at 9.39.44 PM“Because at middle age, you can see forward and you can see back. We can vividly recall the experiences our kids are having and we can see how it we’ll be in 30 years.” Hmmm, maybe.

    As each of our sons approached their senior year in college, leaving college for the so-called “real world” looked scary to them. My 22-year-old self was panicky, “Whoa, I gotta get serious. I gotta get a plan. But I don’t have a clue.”

    When each son moved to his first apartment, I recalled how much fun it was to make a place my own.  Like mine, their places were furnished with a combination of hand-me-downs and the discount store shower curtain and towels they chose for themselves.

    When they talk about their girlfriends, I remember the low hum of excitement I felt when I was going out with someone new. I know what a milestone it is to realize that even though I had a fight with the guy I was dating, we worked through it and we were still together.

    So from the vantage point of middle age, I think, “Yes, it is a rich time. I’ve experienced so many things. I know so much more about life. My guys will figure it out too as they get older.”

    Then the glow of that wisdom and those fine memories fades a little. I think of Mom again and dread her loss and the loss of my own capabilities as I age. I tell my husband, “I look at Mom and I’m afraid I’ll be just like her. I forget stuff now!” He wisely says, “Yeah, but your 90’s are a lo o n n ng way off. Don’t waste today worrying about what may or may not happen tomorrow.”

    So I pull back from the brink. This man, this life. I am rich.

    How do you view middle age? If you’re not there yet, what do you expect?  If you’re already middle-aged, what’s it look like?

  • Mom’ s Closet: Treasures and Surprises

    While helping move Mom last month, I unearthed a number of artifacts from bygone eras—hers and mine.

    P1030680How can you not love polka dots? They’re whimsical. Cheerful. And in the 1960s when Mom carried this clutch bag and wore these gloves to church, they were a stylish accent to her navy blue spring coat . . . and perhaps a reminder that she hadn’t always had four kids, dinners to cook, and laundry to do.

    P1030674If you’re not a Baby Boomer, you probably don’t recognize this item. I didn’t recognize it either because math has never been my forté, but it’s my slide rule (look closely—you can see my name on it). Before pocket calculators were invented, we used them for logarithms and trigonometry—skills that I’ve completely forgotten after high school.

    When the Apollo 13 space module malfunctioned, Mission Control engineers used slide rules in the calculations needed to get astronauts back to earth. Slide rules! One of the best-known Mission Control engineers was Gene Kranz, the flight director whose famous line in the Apollo 13 movie was, “Failure is not an option.” When Mom and I were talking about slide rules and the near disaster of Apollo 13, Mom mentions in an offhand way, “Yeah, I went to high school with Gene Kranz.” What? Why hadn’t she ever mentioned that before?

    hankyMom knows I collect and use handkerchiefs for my watery eyes, so she offered me this one from my grandma. Mom never carried hankies. Instead she keeps Kleenex in her pocket. If she doesn’t have a pocket, she tucks a Kleenex up her sleeve or in her waistband—something you have to be at least 80 years old to do.

    I love old hankies. Before Kimberly-Clark marketed Kleenex in 1924, people relied on handkerchiefs—elegant linen ones for good and simpler cotton ones for everyday. But even after Kleenex became commonplace, the humble hanky remained popular, especially among little old ladies. They were an accessory carried for show, not hygienic use—something that could be embroidered or bordered in lace—a little bit of pretty in a workaday world.

    This Thanksgiving, I hope you’re blessed with the treasure of fond memories and stories shared with family over a second cup of coffee and piece of pie.

  • Yippee!!! My Book Is Done!

    I just pressed “Save” and declared it done.

    Screen Shot 2013-10-03 at 12.06.26 AMIt seems like a lightening bolt should fork across the sky. Or the aurora borealis should glow tonight especially for me. But nothing like that happened. If I’d ever pictured this moment, I might have thought it would call for Beethoven’s “Ode to Joy” or champagne. But instead I’m just quietly pleased. And tomorrow I’ll get up and go to work.

    Perhaps a more accurate statement is that the book may not be done, but I’m done with it.  I have written it to the best of my ability, and now I need to be done with this project begun in 1997. Wow.  Until I did the math I didn’t realize that this memoir (working title: Colette’s Legacy) has been part of my life for 16 years. First it was notes about a memory I couldn’t shake, next a sketchy first draft I set aside for years, and since 2009 (drafts 2, 3 and 4), I’ve made a lot of room for it in my life. I’ve worked on it nearly every weekend and on many of my days off. I’ve taken classes, worked with writing coaches, and shared it with my ever-so-patient and supportive writing group.

    I’m proud of myself for finishing it, but I’m also relieved. In the coming weeks, it may feel odd not to have it occupying my thoughts and my time. But right now, I feel so much lighter.

    After this last revision, the book is definitely better. But is it good enough? I don’t know. I can’t tell anymore. Some days, I don’t even like it. Other days, I think, hmmm. This is pretty good—better than I remembered. I do know that it’s as good as I can make it. Colette’s Legacy is a workplace coming-of-age story set in 1979. My memoir recalls a time when combining a relationship with a career wasn’t a given, and it honors the way Baby Boom women changed the world of work and family. What I don’t know is if anyone (besides 20 or so friends and family members) will be interested in reading it.

    But whether or not to pursue publication is a decision for another day.

    Today, my book is done and I’m really happy about that.