Aging: The Good, The Bad and Occasionally, The Ugly

I’m old enough to remember that oldie  staring  Clint Eastwood was in his prime. Young enough to  protest over the whole “aging” thing.

Here is a snippet of my old age digest:

• Got a invite this week to be the test guinea pig for a lingerie company that wants a  “midlifer” to try out one of their corsets. Of course I said yes and already have my target audience of one lined up. I don’t know exactly what they’re looking for? As in written vs. photographic review. Will be taking bids for additional viewings or play sessions. Contact me here, discreetly, with a bid!
• Recently added some exercise to my daily life…I’m swimming at my mother’s retirement condo complex. Good news is that I’m slipping in and swimming alone (rules state you must swim with resident). Bad news is: Do people think I live there? ‘Cause that would suck to know that people assume I’m over 65!  Double-edged sword here. Quasi-depressing thought. Though, maybe I’ll meet a rich old coot in the pool who will be impressed with my physical prowess and offer to pay me to be his escort!
• Sexting. It’s for seniors too. Had a rousing episode just last night. Memorable. Never assume that being over 55 signals the end of one’s sex drive! My partner? 63 years of age and closing on 64. You twenty and thirty-somethings. You’ve got nothing on us older folk. A twenty year old wouldn’t have had the endurance to last long enough to enjoy every drop of our conversation. As it turned out, we’re a perfect match, achieving a level of rapture within (texting) seconds of each other!
• The whole invasive, tubes in all kinds of places, round of medical procedures is all over. The body/throat/stomach/intestines appear to be fine and intact. Got a throat stretch in the process, not to mention a thorough, healthy ‘cleaning’.  Only damage will be to the pocketbook.  (Note to you naysayers out there-under Obama Healthcare Colonoscopys are FREE, relatively speaking!) No more crap like that for another 10 years! Yippee.

Why this expose on my life as an “older” woman? I’ll be turning FIFTY EIGHT YEARS OLD next week. Holy Crap, Batman!

Really.

How Do You Feel About Women With Long Hair?

I’ve been letting my hair grow for quite a while. It’s now well past my shoulders. I don’t color it so there is a little gray…well, more than a little.

Here’s the story that leads up to my question.

I was preparing for a photo shoot recently and an ex-boyfriend suggested I either cut my hair or color it!!!  Gasp, I thought. It was a phone conversation so I couldn’t get the full nuanced reading on him. I don’t think this was really about me, not that it would matter, but rather ‘old’ women in general.  Joe. v2 sees graying long hair as something only the religious types wear. You know the ones- long dresses, little fabric caps on their heads.

I believe he thinks I will follow his suggestion…. Well!  Sputter… I Think Not.

But, it did get me thinking about the length of my hair. And, admittedly I went to the photo shoot with my hair up! Halfway through I took it down.

I love the way I look with long hair. I love putting it up in a sassy ponytail. I love braiding it and walking around in tattered jeans and birkenstocks, braless. I love being able to shape it into a twist on the top of my head.

I then asked another man with whom I have a romantic connection (Yes. There are dozens of them floating around) In person. With nothing riding on the answer–if you get my drift. His answer was vague. I think he covered it all  his ass with a they-all-look-good kind of answer!

Saturday I got an email from guy I had been talking to on OKCupid (until he confessed to being married and living in a completely different city than indicated by his profile). He had seen the new photo and felt the need to comment on my hair. I sprang my survey question on him… First he said no. Then (thinking there was still hope) he wrote back to say, “Funny. I like some long hair. Looks good on you. It is the face that makes the hair. “

Nice recovery.

 

So? What do you think about women over 50 with long hair?

When, Where and Why?

As I was rushing out the door to my part-time job this morning (yes, boss is away and I am blogging on her dime) I grabbed a red jacket out of my closet. It’s somewhat dressy so I don’t wear it very often and can’t recall when I last wore it. But, it would have been on a fall day…it’s not summer wear.

Pulled on the jacket, reached into the left pocket and pulled out a pair of panties!!!!  Heavens. I have no idea when I did that and why.

I do recall a summer night when I ran into a lover at the bar. He was with his buddies and I was alone, I think. We were sitting next to each other, as I know the whole crowd…but none of them knew of our connection. I was wearing a short, sleeveless black dress. I got up to go the rest room where I removed my panties. Returning to the bar I caught his eye and let him see what was clutched in my hand. Then I sat down next to him on the bar stool, crossed my legs demurely, and continued the conversation. He twisted and fidgeted the whole time. When he left , first I think, I got a text about my actions and the ensuing results. It was great fun! I loved his reaction and the sexual charge I got as well.

Those panties were black. These were nude and for the life of me I can not remember how they got there! Is this what old age is like?

I’m aging.. I’m not aging… I’m aging…

My new job is all about seniors and aging. It’s often rewarding and sobering at the same time. Today I attended a training for trainers on  Alzheimer’s and Dementia. Parts of it were downright scary.

Then I came home to my empty house.

• Learning about how the brain shrinks and becomes diseased with illness and age- Depressing

• Sitting on the back deck with shot of Knob Creek enjoying a balmy fall evening – Relaxing

• Wearing a shawl and thinking that only old ladies wear shawls-Depressing

• Thinking about Fall as a metaphor for this point in my life (shit dies in the fall, drops to the ground and rots)- Depressing

• Knowing that I’m still fucking single and without (legitimate) possibilities-Depressing

• Watching 4 young deer cavort and romp through the stream and surrounding grass- Exhilarating

• Realizing this was the makings of a blog post-Justification for a second drink.

Getting old, alone, is a mixed bag. I”m contemplating drinking my dinner. And, on the other hand, I’m thinking I could rejoice in my being alive, my ability to buy an expensive bottle of Bourbon and the absence of another person with issues- dirty laundry, aging-related problems, etc…. It’s all about balance.

This song comes to mind, for some reason. I think it’s more about the feeling of poignancy than the words.

How One Freelance Writer Goes from Granny to Cougar

It’s time for this 57 year old grandma to get hip! I got the job! It’s not as much work, yet, as I had hoped. But. Out of 250ish applicants they chose 5. I’m one of those five. I will be writing a weekly blog for a new men’s product, targeted to 18-35 year old men. Yikes! My new boss is 27. He admitted last week that he wondered about my ability to connect with his target audience, given my age. I had to go through 3 rounds of interview type questions and writings to get this gig. It’s much better pay than the writing I did for a boomer site. And, the potential for more work and even a ‘job’ with the company is a future possibility.

They plan to whittle the list of writers down, based on reader engagement and traffic, so I may be calling on some of you to help me out. One of my girlfriends offered to read and comment..but I think they’re more interested in me bringing in a younger crowd, preferably men.

This will require some research. The writing is mostly about men and self-image and, what every man wants to know, how to get the girl! Or woman.  I am thinking of late night hangouts where I can observe my prey. Maybe even a date? Whatcha think? I could contemplate an evening out with a 35 year old. Question is whether he’d be interested in me?

If you have any suggestions on where or how to research the mindset of a young adult male let me know. I’m already starting to read Detail, Men’s Health and Men’s Journal.  Phat, isn’t it!

Let Me Tell You a Little Secret

Tomorrow I turn 57 years old. And, even though I’ve had a few dates with these 3 men I’m spending the evening by myself. I dropped a vague hint about the upcoming day to one of the guys, last week… he either chose to ignore or failed to pick up-either way he’s about to be ‘out’ for other reasons. And, really I just don’t want to go out. I’ll have to tell my mom no thanks to her invite as well…that will be the challenging one. I’m not sure she’ll understand my wish for a quiet, non-event evening.

I plan to enjoy a quiet evening at home with a simple home-cooked meal of crab cakes, fettucine alfredo and a nice salad or fresh asparagus. And a bottle of dry rose wine. I’ve got a movie on the way for entertainment. It feels like the perfect evening for me. I’m not ignoring the passage of time but I’m not feeling any impetus to recognize the day either.  I’m content with my age, how I look and what life is all about at this stage.

We’d all know I was lying if I said I was 100% happy with my single status. A good seduction would be nice- some sheet ripping sex to quote “The T” (see yesterday’s post comments). But, no sense in trying to create that which isn’t happening at the moment. In past years I’ve bemoaned my single status and on one birthday felt that funk of aging combined with a feeling of inadequacy at being single. No longer.

I’m thankful to be alive and in good health, to have only slightly sagging boobs and attractively graying hair. Just a few age spots on the hands and very few wrinkles for my age. The ankles are still quite shapely and I manage quite well all alone. My roof doesn’t leak  and my sons are doing quite well. This upcoming year bodes well. I can raise a celebratory glass to that all by myself.

A Personal Story

I put on some James Brown as we packed his belongings. Rather, I packed and he watched. There we were, listening to Like a Sex Machine on Easter Sunday, while downstairs old ladies in their Easter best sat in the lobby, listening to He Is Risen as they waited for family to come and whisk them away for a few hours. It was actually pretty funny in an ironic sort of way.

We totally ignored Easter Sunday and focused on packing, day two of helping my ex-husband pack up his life, yet again, as we prepared to move him to a nursing home.  Five years ago our sons and I packed him up and moved him from my house to an assisted living facility. On Monday he’ll be moved to a nursing home,  populated by people with many more problems and less alertness than he’s now used to associating with. It will be a very difficult transition, but inevitable.

As his brother and I walked down the hall for the umpteenth time, hauling his possessions, he looked around then said to me, “there are worse things than dying.” Somehow it was a fitting statement for the day and time. A sad one and an acknowledgment of how traumatic it is to witness someone with a chronic illness. My ex-husband is not an old man, he will have his 58th birthday in a nursing home this week. And that is part of the tragedy; he’s young and a victim of multiple sclerosis… mind and body wasting away.

And yet, he’s managed to be upbeat throughout the duration of his illness, my divorcing him, our sending him off to live in a facility with others. Last week he thanked me for taking such good care of him and he told me he loved me. I got off the phone and just sobbed. For him, for me, for the whole mess. He wasn’t this thoughtful or emotive as my husband; it’s only in the last few years that he’s gained this insight. Even though his cognitive functions continue to erode he’s able to show gratitude and maintain a matter-of-fact attitude about what’s happening to him.

My range of emotions varies from day to day. I never dreamed that my life would turn out the way it has. This is not where I wanted to be at age 56 and it’s far from over. I never share any of this with him and very little of it with my children. I haven’t shared it here but it’s pressing on me tonight and it needs to be spoken.  Life as an adult is rarely all fun and games. If we’re lucky we learn to handle what we’re given with grace and we forge ahead.

I try to make light of things and I wear the mask well. I think about the future but I can’t dwell on it.  Really, there are very few other options that allow one to get through the day.

The Beat Goes On and On and On… One Woman’s Dating Life

So, I moved on and wasted little time on “Mike” who felt my sexy, divine, gorgeous 56  year old self was too young for him.  What an idiot, he has no idea what he’s missing… though I understand the reservations about age differences.  I just got back from a first date with a  man 12 years my senior. We’ve had great phone conversations, nightly, for the last week or more.  I was working hard at maintaining a sense of detachment.. not too hopeful, but not aloof. Just present and open to possibility.

He knew the age gap was a bit of an issue for me; apparently I mentioned it 2 nights in a row. Oops!  We had a nice dinner and chat, though the table of nearby disruptive children was challenging and led me to discover that this guy doesn’t like little  kids. Problem. We left without a firm second date and my guess is that he intuited my reservations. I’m sure they showed.  I am trying a new approach, old-school/old-fashioned. I’m not trying to look at chemistry but rather other areas of compatibility and be open to the idea of ‘growing’ fond of each other. But, in reality, I really respond to the chemistry, or lack thereof in a guy. And, I didn’t feel it. I want a hot sexual relationship for as long as I/we can manage it and I need to feel that chemistry as part of the full package.  He didn’t seem the least bit interested in a kiss, though maybe it was the Gentleman in him?

I suggested a matinee, Jane Eyre, for  our second date and he made a slight face. I offered an alternative but he said he’d call me.  I came home and decided to email the other guy on Match who just recently indicated an interest in me… he’s a reader, a writer, and retired in his mid 50′s. He’s only 66, so seems possible, even though he’s about 80 miles away. I liked his reading list!  Tonight’s date was there online searching as well… guess he did get that vibe.

Footnote: I’ve been wondering about how much I want to share about my intimate life here on the blog, even though it may be a little late for that. By my figuring, at least 2 past lovers are reading, another guy I met on Match but didn’t really date, maybe another guy who I slept with but didn’t manage to mate for life with (you know who you are) and possibly the most recent ex-boyfriend. Feels like too many men in bed with me all at once.  Thankfully they’re not all commenting here! Boy, would that get messy.

The Beat Goes On

His name is “Mike” ( a little anonymity here and humor as I have this thing  with men named Mike-unsuccessful ones you might note) and he’s 66.  He did take the time to respond to my email, but he thinks I’m too young for him????  Mentioned something about generational, “been there” kind of thing?    I beefed up my profile last week, moved back to the more provocative picture and added, way down at the bottom, the words good sex to my list of favorite things. I’m guessing that somehow that little word did it. He was disturbed, his words, I kid you not.

Needless to say we’re no longer communicating, though I sent him a delicately phrased email this morning describing what I felt was important in relationships, regarding sexuality:

Good sex is very important to me in a relationship; my marriage lacked that and it has been only in later relationships that I have come to value the role of sexuality and intimacy in a relationship. I hope to have that component in my 50s, my 60s and my 70′s. Eighties too, if I’m still kicking and w/ someone. What I might define as good sex will change over the years and is not necessarily, even now, the kind of activity one conjures up when thinking about 2 30 year olds. Satisfaction comes in different forms and is as much emotional as physical and is reciprocal. Giving and receiving pleasure in a kiss, a warm embrace or hand holding can be as sexual as the most intimate of acts. It’s all part of what I define as ‘good sex’.

I really am baffled by this, it is a first.  But, clearly we wouldn’t be a match at all. He is apparently into the 66 is just a precursor to the wheelchair and Depends phase of life. No thank you. I wanted to tell him that I’d recently dated a 66 year old who could fuck like a 30 year old….if he’d taken his Viagra. And, I’ve met men my age who can’t get it up. Sex as society defines it is intercourse. From my point of view that’s a very narrow definition of sex.

He doesn’t know what he’s missing!

Other delightful men I’ve seen lately. This guy’s headline reads:

I’ve met her – the one, on xyz. I’m smitten. So I’m no longer in the market to find a girlfriend. I recommend the site and would use it again but truly do not plan to need it. I found a keeper. I hope you find “the one”. Thank you for your interest in my profile. I wish you love.

I wrote to congratulate him and ask him why he was still online?

A recent wink from a guy was an unexpected delight. His online name had the word Love in it and the number 69. Original.

I look at various things when reading a profile and I love to see what books he has read, I think it tells me a bit about whether we’re going to be the least bit interested in each other. The most recent one had a line about reading books on seperation (his spelling) and divorce so he could get on with life.  Great that he’s reading and figuring things out.. not so great to be broadcasting how raw he still is to potential dates.

I’m about 11 days in my month of paid online dating and experiencing little success. But, it’s giving me wonderful fodder for thought and blogs, so what the heck.  Maybe I could call it research and count it as a business deduction?

This is the IM message I just got from a man in Louisiana, who supposed makes $ 150,000 a year.  His profile is written in a stilted language that I’ve come to recognize as that of someone who speaks English as a second language, or is just pranking me. The photos are of an all around American guy, even has the Golden Retriever by his side.

Though miles may lie between us, we’re never far apart, for friendship doesn’t count the miles, it’s measured by the heart and what you feel within you

He’s now inviting me to IM on Yahoo..I know where that’s going. I said No and cut the communication. Though I am half-tempted just to see how creative he might be! But, I have a dentist appointment this morning which is way more important than letting some guy get his jollies.  He is the 5th wink I’ve gotten since April 3.  It’s an old pattern , 3 of the 5 are from far off states and none seem very compatible at all. I think it’s my old friend at it again.

What’s a girl to do?

Feeling A Little Like Warren Zevon

Aging just sucks, there’s not much else to say about it. We are often faced with responsibilities which can wipe out that sense of freedom we’re supposed to experience in our golden years.  I’ve come to accept that I live on a rollercoaster, one that has not slowed down the least bit. I get in that long stretch, lulled into complacency when suddenly I feel the world tilt under my feet and  a lurching in the pit of my stomach.

It’s one of those times, 18 months worth.  A week from today I’m  having a minor throat procedure to widen a narrowing esophagus. It’s not really a big deal though I’m dreading it totally. The problems I’ve been experiencing, gradually intensifying this last year, have not been spasms but rather a passageway that wouldn’t allow a 2 millimeter pill to pass to my stomach. I’ll be knocked out for this little ‘procedure’, where they stick a wire down my throat and “tear” (the nurse used that word) the tissue,  and will walk out of my own accord. Figuratively. I’m sure they’ll ‘wheelchair’ me out to my mother’s awaiting car. This revelation is paired with blood work indicating low white blood cell count-unexplained and probably no big deal. It means more  blood work  in a month and maybe a trip to the hematologist. My fear? Well, aside from the mysterious diseases I found in an internet search.  All this medical crap will cause the insurance company to raise my premium, the one I pay out-of-pocket. The one that is already $713 a month.

I think I need to find a husband.

Which takes me to the ex-husband who I care for, as in caregiving. Sunday I went to visit him in assisted living. I brought coffee and a cherry turnover-his favorite, because I was there to tell him I was getting him qualified for Medicaid and moving him to a nursing home. He took it pretty well, though I cried unexplainably through much of it. Little tears, no sobs. It had been a long stressful week of acknowledging the truth of my choices and the consequences and a week of admitting that I can’t adequately provide for his health care, or my own,  in this semi-employed state I live in. Two part-time jobs isn’t enough.

I’m looking for a job as a 56-year-old woman in a young job market. I want to maintain my dignity, i.e. I don’t want to wait on tables. I don’t want to give bj’s in the alley behind some bar. I’ve given up an amazing number of luxuries and even a few necessities-and the truth is that I’m not really missing them. Though I do long for the occasional massage. But, I can’t give up much more-well, I could give up wine.  But… really? Choices, again.

My personal life has been a mix of the good, the bad, and the ugly–I’m slowly working my way through that. But it also hit a messy place recently.  So, as I came to the blank page this morning the first thing that sprang to mind, was Warren Zevon. What a musician. I didn’t really discover him until I was about 52. Werewolf in London was all I knew of the man and even then I couldn’t tell you his name. The one CD I own is full of poignant songs. This is one of my favorites, right along with Don’t Let Us Get Sick. That song always makes me cry; it triggers that longing for a companion to share this rollercoaster ride.

If you saw me in person you wouldn’t see any of this. I look healthy, a bit overweight (and believe me right now that’s on the top of my get fixed list) but basically I look pretty good for a mature woman. And, I’m not dragging my sorry butt around looking like the messy, melodramatic hag you’re seeing this morning.  But things are shifting in my body-as with all of us aging souls. My aorta is getting smaller, or was already small? And, now my esophagus. And, heavens let’s not forget the fucking broken bone in my foot that may or may not be completely healed.  I think of this time as one where I should be expanding, not contracting.  If I were a Baptist, I might say that God was calling me to …something? Or punishing me for my sins.  But, I’m not. It may just be that The Universe is gently suggesting I start making better choices.

For now, I think it’s fair to say that my shit’s fucked up.