The Saturday Blog: Ceiling Pipes
10 Saturday Jan 2015
Author Archives: WS50
I’m a Sexagenarian
09 Friday Jan 2015
Posted in Confessional
I’ve turned 60 today. And while I know it’s the de rigueur to move yourself down a few years with each birthday (Happy 35th! Again; 50 is the new 40), I’m gazing into the future — toward 70. Because it’s dwindling. Things are getting serious. Sixty was not imaginable. So it’s time to get over it, and have at it — more than ever.
And I can call myself a sexagenarian. Imagine the possibilities.
So I’m exulting without pause. I’m proud that I’ve made it this far in one piece. And I’m going to pretend 60 is the new 70. So when I’m 70, I’ll really be 60 and I’ll still feel 30, because, in my eyes, I’m always exactly the same. And if that doesn’t make any sense to anyone but me, I don’t care.
An Internet search of “Turning 60,” is rife with old-fogey platitudes. It’s described in more than a few places as the time when “things start to fall apart,” and listing seems to be the genre of choice: 60 Perfect Reasons You Should be Psyched About Turning 60, 10 Things Everyone Should Do Before turning 60, How to Turn Sixty Gracefully: 14 Steps, 60 Thoughts About Turning 60, Six Things to Start Doing When You Turn 60)
So below is my list and some accompanying scholarship on turning 60. I’ve noticed since I had turned 50 (ten years ago), that with each passing decade, clichés are less cliché and more motto:
You’re as Young as You Feel (I’m more 59 than 60.)
It Could be Worse (I could be 61.)
It’s Not Life or Death (Yes. It is.)
Nothing Stays the Same (Goodbye menopause!)
Older and Wiser (Cocktails at 4.)
Keep Your Chin Up (Get fillers.)
Age is Just a Number (I can see 80!)
Keep a Stiff Upper Lip (Never, ever! Botox.)
Beauty is in the Eye of the Beholder (I see 30.)
There’s More Good than Bad (I will not give up my thong.)
Aging Gracefully (I will not give up my push-up bra.)
This Too, Shall Pass (Even I’m going to die someday.)
Always Look on the Bright Side (Except when there are dimmers.)
Life is Too Short (Amen)
Eye(s) in the Sky
07 Wednesday Jan 2015
Posted in Art
Tags
In Romania, there are windows on roofs that “look” out:
Four-eyed.
Bedroom eyes.
Cyclops.
The Gift of Dining Out Alone
06 Tuesday Jan 2015
Posted in Confessional
Unlike most everyone I knew, I was single through my 20s, 30s and 40s. Various boyfriends and potential husbands popped in and out, but for too many reasons to articulate, I did not settle down. So now while many of my peers are celebrating 30 years of marriage, divorce, or grand-babies, I am not.
Instead, I settled down at 50 when I met Steve, and that’s the story of a happy ending. But what I really wanted to write about was the gift bestowed by 30 years of singledom.
I traveled a lot and I became very comfortable with having a drink or meal by myself in a restaurant. These days it is never uncommon to see a woman dining alone, but my prior life honed me to feel no self-consciousness when I walk into any dining establishment and sit at the bar and order a glass of wine and a bowl of spaghetti, while everyone else is ensconced in a duet.
I leave knowing Steve is at home, but I so appreciate the sense of empowerment and strength of the independence and freedom that came out of being single for so many years.
A New Year. A New (Slimmer) Me
05 Monday Jan 2015
Posted in Confessional, Men
My Weight-Loss Chart
And so another new year is upon us. To those of us in the 50+ club, all years that start with a 2 are inherently foreign. When I hear that we are now beginning 2015, it sounds to me like someone saying it’s the 45th of September. It just sounds wrong.
My 91-year-old stepfather has a similar reaction. When I tell him we’re starting 2015 he jokingly puts his hand up and says, “Check, please.”
I’m not quite ready to check out yet, but 15 years into the 21st century, I do sometimes feel like it’s getting close to closing time. Longtime readers of this blog may remember that in July 2013 I wrote that I was resigned to the Hitchcock look of a massive gut for the rest of my life. So when my cardiologist told me to lose weight or have bariatric surgery like Chris Christie, I was initially skeptical that any sustained weight loss was possible for me.
But in order to comply with my doctor’s orders, I started with Weight Watchers in late June 2014. At my first weigh-in I tipped the scales at a hefty 224 pounds. Just about every week thereafter I have lost some weight. Sometimes it was just two-tenths of a pound. But by the end of December I was down to 184, a loss of 40 pounds. I have lost four inches around my waist. But I’m still about 10 pounds from what I initially set as my goal weight, and 25 pounds from the weight that the experts say is appropriate for my height and age. So it’s a process. I saw my cardiologist in December and he was extremely pleased at my reduced size and healthy blood pressure. I have had similar compliments from friends and family.
Weight loss is not a mystery. It involves simply eating less and exercising more. Anyone who tells you otherwise is wrong. I have lost weight by cutting down on sweets and hitting the treadmill on a daily basis. Notice that I didn’t say that I have eliminated sweets. Weight Watchers is not into complete deprivation of anything. In fact, we are encouraged to have weekly treats. The trick is to be conscious of everything we’re putting into our mouth. More candy and cake means more treadmill and weightlifting. So far it’s been reasonably easy to live with.
The new year is the time for resolutions and I am sure that we will be seeing new people at the Weight Watchers meetings in January. Weight loss is a noble goal because you do it not only for yourself, but for your loved ones. But like all things that are worthwhile, it takes some effort. Sustaining that effort over time is the challenge of weight loss. I fully expect that I will gain some weight back some day. But I also know that I can lose it again. I know that because I’ve done it.
My doctor has been preaching weight loss to me for over a decade and until six months ago I was not sufficiently motivated to do anything about it. What changed in 2014? The truth is that it wasn’t just the doctor and his threat of bariatric surgery. In 2014 I became a grandfather, and I realized that if I didn’t start listening to medical advice I was not going to live long enough to see Bryce grow up. And I needed to be in shape to keep up with him. Funny how a baby can change your life in completely unexpected ways.
So I don’t have any New Year’s resolutions other than to try to finally reach my goal weight and stay there (or at least in the neighborhood). Next year at this time I’ll report back. Until then, have a healthy and happy 2015!
The Saturday Blog: Trumpets
03 Saturday Jan 2015
Posted in Art
Tree Disposal, and Other Post-Holiday Musings
02 Friday Jan 2015
Posted in Confessional, Men
If Christmas is the most wonderful time of the year, as the song claims, the time following Christmas and New Year’s must be the most dreary.
The days are short and cold (in New Jersey, anyway), and any anticipation of upcoming holiday gifts and celebrations is gone.
Then there’s the Christmas tree, still gaudy and lit for a party that ended last week; a houseguest past its prime.
How long do you leave it up? The traditional date in many Catholic households is January 6, the feast of the Epiphany. But the unofficial date in our house is when the tree starts to die. Once it stops taking up water, or we stop giving it water (it’s a chicken and egg thing), it really starts drying out. So when we see a circular green halo of fallen needles on the floor, it’s time to kick the tree to the curb.
As if blindfolding a hostage, a lot of people put a jumbo white plastic bag over their tree before they drag it out for the garbageman. But what does that accomplish? The tree doesn’t need protection from the elements, and the trash collectors know it’s rubbish whether you bag it or not – it’s just a dead evergreen.
Is the big white bag just a way to avoid extra cleanup, by preventing the tree from dropping dried needles everywhere? I say put one less plastic bag into the world and sweep up after yourself. But hey, I also like the way the vacuum cleaner smells, even a month later, stuffed with those fragrant needles.
Whenever you take it down, and however you dispose of it, the tree disappears, and the ornaments and lights go back in their boxes. We squirrel them away in a corner of the basement, along with the Santa statuettes, metal greeting card holders shaped like reindeer, angels, holly sprigs, candles, and other festive paraphernalia that’s been strewn about our house for the past month.
Thankfully, the Christmas carols and pop songs that have been playing ad nauseum on every radio station, elevator speaker, and department store Muzak track since Black Friday stop dead after Christmas Day, not to be heard again until next November. But in the lull between Christmas and New Year’s, the popular radio stations trot out and overplay a 1980 Dan Fogelberg song called “Same Old Lang Syne,” in which he describes a chance Christmas Eve encounter with an old sweetheart.
The song depresses the hell out of me, mainly because it’s snowing in the beginning of the song. But by the end, when the former lovers have reminisced until there’s nothing more to say and he’s walking home alone, the snow turns into rain. And following that lyric, the song trails off into a lonely saxopohone solo of “Auld Lang Syne.”
New Year’s Eve comes and you have a date or you don’t. You stay up until midnight or not, drink or abstain, and, with varying degrees of conviction, make resolutions that for the most part evaporate like hoarfrost on New Year’s morning.
By the time January 2 rolls around, I’m quietly glad it’s all over, even though this signals the start of months of bleak weather with no major holidays in sight.
But in the end, it’s all good. Whether you’re looking back at the old year with regret or fondness, or forward to the new with anything from trepidation to boundless joy, be grateful – you’re still looking.
Happy New Year
01 Thursday Jan 2015
Posted in Art
When Noon is Midnight
31 Wednesday Dec 2014
Posted in Entertainment, Food
Just before noon on December 28, 2014.
Julie usually spends New Year’s Eve doing things like taking “the 7 train to Astoria, Queens with a couple of buddies to eat Greek food …” before they try to “grab balloons caught in the trees.” Or maybe she and Steve will “… make dinner and drink champagne and perhaps manage to hang out until the ball drops.”
This year she said she wants a New Year’s Eve party.
I arrived at Julie’s beach house on December 28 promptly at 10:04 in the morning. Since we are both busy tonight, we put together a celebration when it worked for both of us — a Sunday morning. No one else was invited.
10:14 (a.m.). It’s officially a party.
We glittered. Her dining room table hosted hats, horns, sparkly 2015 sunglasses. Vodka iced in the freezer. Champagne chilled in the fridge. The cheese was creamy and smelly. Fig jam sweetened up the saltiness. In between pumpernickel bagels, we pulled and gnawed at a loaf of French bread. We even had a log of salami. And cookies.
We splurged. Julie scrambled up some eggs, over which we grated a whole, pungent, earthy, magnificent white truffle. (Thank you, Anita.)
This is how Anna Magnani would smell a truffle.
We overindulged. And partied hard. We tooted horns. We drank (just a little) too much. We ate a lot. And we ate a lot of food that we usually try to not eat a lot of. We said goodbye five hours later, both of us feeling fat. Bloated. Fulfilled. And 9 p.m. that night became my “morning after.” Wide awake at midnight, it felt like noon.
Julie and I wish you all a celebratory night, a glorious day-after, and a 2015 full of smelly cheese, a toast or two, a splurge or more, white truffles, salami, sparkles, horns, daylight, friendship, love, a wad of good fortune, and a clean bill of health.
Happy New Year.
Anna Magnani Defines Sexiness
30 Tuesday Dec 2014
Anna Magnani
Have you ever wondered what makes a person “sensual?” I don’t mean the superficial qualities of figure and face.
I am referring to elusiveness — a mysterious attractiveness, unforced; a wise naivité. It’s the enigma that arises from the inner core. For me, it can be summed up in two words: Anna Magnani, the Italian film actress. She died the year I turned 18. She was only 65, nine years older than I am today, but in her movies she lives on.
She seems to always portray women who are primal and of the earth. Whether she was the garrulous prostitute in Mamma Roma, or the overburdened widow in The Rose Tattoo or the actress desperate for a good time on New Year’s Eve in The Passionate Thief, her sexiness exudes: her humanity and her voluptuousness; her smile and her vulnerability; her compassion. She may be an over-the-top volcano, but she is never unreal. So what if she was merely a figment of someone else’s imagination. She never could have been as sexy as those characters are unless she possessed it.
And so my New Year’s resolution is to see more Anna Magnani movies.
The Write Side of 59 