The Boomer Rants

Perhaps healthcare will now change for all of us.

http://www.inthepowderroom.com/read/the-quickie/2013-05-angelina-jolie-is-a-lucky-lady.html

Buy now..remorse later

http://www.inthepowderroom.com/read/shit-happens/2013-05-gotta-have-it-now.html

Three Generations of Moms

As daughters we are constantly learning from our mothers. Even if it means watching them and NOT copying their behavior. Because God forbid, we should turn out like our mothers. Right?

Fact is, most of us can’t help have some of our mother in us. It’s simply the circle of life.

I’m fortunate enough to have a mom who I had no problem imitating while growing up and at a very young eighty-eight, is still someone I greatly admire.

During my formative years she taught she many things. But three of them resonate in my brain to this very day.

1. Never go to bed angry with your husband.

In my mom’s case this was easy. My dad was a very gentle, kind man.  I rarely heard them fighting. Whatever disputes they had during the day were forgotten the minute they climbed into their double bed.  For sixty-seven years they slept, spooned together. (I know because I often peeked in.)

My husband, on the other hand,  is not one to forgive or forget.  Easily. No, he still remembers things I’ve told him before we were married. And that was thirty-four years ago. Now, I may not be angry at him, but it takes to Tango, as they say. It takes two to kiss and make up.

So, even though I have followed my mom’s advice, it didn’t always work. I never went to bed angry, but he often did.

Still, I’ve passed this bit of wisdom to my daughter.

2. If you feel pretty inside, others will see you that way.

Day after day, my mom told my dorky younger self that beauty was within me. That if I went outside with a smile and a positive attitude, the world would see me as someone beautiful.

I couldn’t be inside anyone’s head but my own.  If I thought others saw me as pretty, that is how I would feel

And you know what? She is right

3.  Never leave the house in dirty underwear.

Because you never know where life is going to take you.

If by chance, you should get in an accident taking your kids to school or grocery shopping or on your way to the doctor, and you should end up unconscious, being loaded onto a gurney and you had a stain in your panties!  My God! Nothing could compare to the mortification you would feel.

Better to wear no panties at all, than wear dirty ones.

And to this day, I’ve followed that advice.

Along with a million more things my mom has taught me.  And I hope I can learn from her for many more years to come.

This is a bloghop! Continue reading posts from Generation Fabulous about what they learned from their mothers by clicking on the links below.

If you’re in your fifties and your parents are still alive, chances are this is you.

http://www.huffingtonpost.com/janie-emaus/why-i-care-for-my-mother_b_3139309.html

In celebration of National Poetry Month, I’m letting you in on a little secret of mine.

http://www.inthepowderroom.com/read/me-time/2013-04-the-poet-in-me.html

xoxo
Janie

Everything you need to know about going to a conference.

http://www.inthepowderroom.com/read/me-time/2013-04-meet-me-in-the-bar.html

This post is part of a Generation Fabulous Blog Hop on Aging Gracefully – What other way is there, really?

THEN:

NOW:

As we approach fifty and beyond, we begin to look at ourselves differently. Whereas our hands and faces used to require one cleanser, one moisturizer and we were good to go; well, now it’s another story.

Lined up on my shelf are a variety of creams, gels, lotions, vitamins and fluids with promises to firm up, reduce puffiness, erase lines, tighten skin, wipe away wrinkles, restore elasticity, hydrate, energize, revitalize and even hypnotize my face into looking younger.

You name it: I’ve bought it. If product X doesn’t take away that wrinkle under my eye, product Y is sure to do the job.

One too many times I’ve fallen for that facial trick at the mall. You know, where the cosmetician applies the miracle cream to only one side of your face. We all know that both sides of our face are not exactly the same. In my case, one eye is a little puffier under the bottom lashes. So, of course, the salesgirl applies her aging reversal potion to my ‘better side’ so that when I look at myself in the mirror, I can definitely see a difference.

And one too many times, I’ve whipped out my credit card to buy that ‘have-to-have-it-at-the-moment’ product. Thus, I have an alphabet of miracle potions to choose from each morning, with ingredients ranging from avocado juice to Queen bee pollen.

Sometimes, the purchase isn’t spontaneous, but perfectly thought out. I’ve waited an extra week to make car repairs, so that I could buy a very expensive face repair kit. After all, my face is worth the attention. My car may get me down the road, but it’s the roadmap of my face which stares at me from the mirror.

But whether bought on the spur of the moment or after months of saving, every product makes the same claim: to stop the aging process. Sometimes they even promise much, much more. Why, with my younger skin, I’ll feel better. I’ll cook better. My kids won’t fight so much. I’ll get a raise. I’ll read faster. I won’t get indigestion. I’ll have more energy. And all of these changes will take place in within twenty days after application!

Well, I’m not positive about all these creams. Last time I checked, the Fountain of Youth, still exists only in science fiction. But I do believe in the power of positive thinking. And that age is just a state of mind.

Sure, I will always worry about how I look. But when I’m eighty, god willing, I hope that younger women look at me the way I now look at my eighty-something mother. I’d like them to notice the laugh lines around my eyes and know that my life was filled with humor. And that for every wrinkle on my hand, well, there lies a story that only I could tell.

But of course, I’ll keep on applying all these anti-aging creams to minimize the effects of sun, age, Bloody Mary brunches, coffee, lack of sleep, too much sleep, worrying, laughing. In other words, to keep the ravages of life at bay.

And I’ll keep those monthly manicures hoping to recapture the youthful look of my daughter’s hand. Going for my granddaughter’s look is impossible, so I don’t even think about going back that far.

Four Generations of Hands

But we cannot freeze time. Aging is meant to be a gracefully slow process. After all, everything frozen eventually melts, and that is not how I want my face to look.

Growing old wrinkle free is as unrealistic as being young and wise. The two just don’t go together.

I’m having it out with my house.  What would you do?

http://www.inthepowderroom.com/read/home-time/2013-03-a-letter-to-my-house.html

AND THE OSCAR GOES TO….

Ever since I was a little girl, I dreamed of winning an Academy Award.  I may be well into the second half of my live, but I’m still dreaming.  And just like a good Girl Scout, I’m prepared with a fabulous acceptance speech.  Read it here In The Powder Room.

Today is Stand Up 2 Cancer Day

I wrote this post in memory of my brother-in-law who passed away last year.  Way too soon.

 

In Honor a a great man

In Honor of a  great man

The bad thing about living in a small town is that everyone knows everything about you.

The good thing about living in a small town is that everyone knows everything about you.

When it comes to celebrating graduations, births and weddings, this is a good thing.

When it comes to remembering a member of the small town community, this is a great thing.

Sadly, my brother-in-law,   (http://www.inthepowderroom.com/read/shit-happens/the-best-of-times-the-worst-of-times.html) who I loved dearly, passed away after a ten month battle with cancer.  And I have to say that the memorial in his honor was like nothing I have ever experienced in my entire life.   Every person in the town where he lived came to pay their respects and share a memory.

He was an opinionated, stubborn man. But he also gave generously to anyone who asked (and even to  some that didn’t) with his advice, time and even money.

As I stood at the bar (yes, the drinks were flowing) I felt as if I had landed in a modern day Our Town.

In one corner stood a carpenter, missing half his teeth.  In another, a tall, attractive blonde woman in a tight black dress.  Over there, a doctor in a silk shirt and dress pants.  By the door, a young man in military dress.  Balancing a plate of cheese and fruit, stood a white haired woman in a bright green golf shirt.

The rich.  The poor.  The PhDs.  The high school dropouts.

At a time like this, there is no difference between people.

They have cramed my sister’s refrigerator with “mystery” casseroles.   Stocked her bar with enough bottles of vodka to last well into the next year.   Offered to shovel snow, build fires, fix toilets.

The people of this small town, tucked into a beautiful corner in the mountains, have stepped in to fill the huge space left by my brother-in-law’s passing.

Yes, there are no secrets in a small town.

And it is no secret that he was a great man who touched hundreds of people from all walks of life.