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The Write Side of 59

~ This is What Happens When You Begin to Age Out of Middle Age

The Write Side of 59

Tag Archives: The Write Side of 50

Martin Luther King Jr.

19 Monday Jan 2015

Posted by WS50 in Concepts

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Concepts, The Write Side of 50

MLK

His eyes reflected compassion, kindness, fearlessness and brilliance.

Martin Luther King Jr. would have turned 86 this past Thursday, January 15. What would he think of the state of affairs that we live with today? Would he consider his “dream” for racial equality as somewhat undone, unraveled? Or still evolving?

The eloquence of his message is as relevant in 2015 as it was in 1968 when he died. Perhaps we could honor him today by examining present-day America through his eyes.

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The Saturday Blog: Advertising

17 Saturday Jan 2015

Posted by WS50 in Art

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Hemmorhoids? Anal Fissures?

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Homeland Security

16 Friday Jan 2015

Posted by WS50 in Art, Concepts

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Art, Concepts, The Write Side of 50

IMG_1078

More and more, it feels as if our living rooms are the last bastions of true privacy, where we can uphold our rights to walk around free of intrusion.

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An ‘Exit’ Strategy for Terminally Ill

15 Thursday Jan 2015

Posted by WS50 in Men, Opinion

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Men, opinion, The Write Side of 50

Exit

BY BOB SMITH

I read an article recently in The New York Times about a not-for-profit organization called Final Exit Network (FEN), whose slogan is “Supporting the Human Right to a Death With Dignity.” Humans have a “right” to death with dignity? Tell that to the freight train bearing down on your disabled vehicle stuck on the tracks, with you inside unable to unclick the seatbelt.

Of course, the FEN’s specific focus is narrower: “to work toward obtaining the basic human right of competent adults to choose to end their lives on their own terms when they suffer from irreversible physical illness, intractable pain, or a constellation of chronic, progressive physical disabilities.”

To fulfill that mission, the FEN will tell you how to end your life. They have what they call the Exit Guide program — kind of the opposite of a life coach — where qualified individuals receive “relevant information, home visits if possible and a compassionate presence for individual and family.” First you must join FEN and submit an application, along with a doctor’s evaluation of your condition and prognosis — like a note from Mom telling the teacher it’s okay to send you home early. If you’re sick enough, and if you can attest that neither your family nor your primary caregiver will interfere, the FEN folks will assign you an Exit Guide.

From the guide, you’ll get “detailed information about the method [FEN] recommend[s], and the inexpensive equipment you will need to obtain.” Because in many places it’s a crime to help someone die, FEN never supplies equipment, but the guide “will provide you with information on all alternatives for care at the end of life, including all legal methods of self-deliverance that will produce a peaceful, quick, certain and painless death.”

And what do they often recommend? Asphyxiation by inhalation of helium.
You get a tank of helium, the same stuff they use at the party store to make festive floating balloons. You attach vinyl tubing to the tank, and run the open end into a large plastic baking or turkey brining bag. Then you securely tape the bag around your neck, and turn on the gas.

I can’t decide whether or not this is right or wrong, necessary or not. Instinctively it seems abhorrent; unthinkable. But then, I’m not living in the constant hell of pain that the people who seek out FEN’s services apparently seem to be enduring.

But I’m uneasy with the associations the helium exit brings to mind. I’ve seen people at parties inhale a lungful of helium, which allows them to talk for a few seconds in high-pitched, squeaky cartoon voices. It’s pretty funny to see a burly guy transformed into Tweety Bird at a party. But is it dignified to die that way? I guess if you’re in the bag making your exit, you’re not talking much.

And the bag itself, used to bake a roast, or to brine a turkey, is usually such a happy thing. You put something really good into it and it comes out better. When you’re done using that bag for its intended purpose, you’re warm, well-fed, and very happy. Even the vinyl tubing is a party accessory — it’s just like the tubing that attaches the plastic spigot to the beer keg at our summer parties.

Thank God I’m not in a position to consider using FEN’s services. I just wish they’d come up with a “method of self-deliverance” that doesn’t make me think of so many silly, happy things. Death with dignity? Maybe. But please, not death with Daffy Duck.

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To All My Facebook Friends

12 Monday Jan 2015

Posted by Lois DeSocio in Confessional

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confessional, The Write Side of 50

Thank you

…for taking the time to wish me Happy Birthday! on Facebook. Especially because I rarely do.

I have a love/hate relationship with Facebook. I hate it. Except on my birthday, when I love it. My Facebook footprint treads lightly. I seldom “friend” anyone. I only “like” or “comment” if I really know you and you’ve moved me deeply. (Or I’m sipping wine.) If I really want to say something to you, I will call you, text you, or send you a private message.

But this year, on the day after my birthday, I had an urge to publicly thank each of you with an individual reply. But I’m told that’s not cool.

I even wanted to take the time to write a little vignette to each of you — a skip down Memory Lane — about something we did together, but there are some of you that I don’t know.

If I wasn’t such a hypocrite, I would take my birthday down to stay in line with my Facebook disdain — the part that I see as inspiring obligatory comments and unabashed self-promotion among the best of us. But what’s not to love about the dependable randomness of the Facebook birthday?

After all, if I ran into a stranger on the street, and discovered that it was his or her birthday, I would offer an enthusiastic and heartfelt “Happy Birthday!” And I’d give a hug.

And where else, in a 48-hour span, would I be able to stock up dozens and dozens of birthday wishes from people I really miss, people I love and don’t see anymore, people I love and see all the time but can’t get enough of, men that I’ve dated, cousins, old boyfriends, the children of adult friends, adults I knew as children, professional colleagues, old friends, new friends, and even “friends” that I don’t know.

So thank you all again. Given that the Facebook-curmudgeon in me will be back soon, you may not get a “Happy Birthday!!” from me on your birthday. But that doesn’t mean I don’t wish you one.

~Lois

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I’m a Sexagenarian

09 Friday Jan 2015

Posted by WS50 in Confessional

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confessional, The Write Side of 50, Turning 60

60 candles with cake:side

BY LOIS DESOCIO

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)

candle movie

candle movie

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Eye(s) in the Sky

07 Wednesday Jan 2015

Posted by WS50 in Art

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Art, The Write Side of 50

In Romania, there are windows on roofs that “look” out:

Four eyes

Four-eyed.

Two eyes

Bedroom eyes.

One eye

Cyclops.

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A New Year. A New (Slimmer) Me

05 Monday Jan 2015

Posted by WS50 in Confessional, Men

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confessional, Frank Terranella, Men, The Write Side of 50, Weight Watchers

My Weight-Loss Chart

My Weight-Loss Chart

BY FRANK TERRANELLA

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!

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The Saturday Blog: Trumpets

03 Saturday Jan 2015

Posted by WS50 in Art

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music

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Tree Disposal, and Other Post-Holiday Musings

02 Friday Jan 2015

Posted by WS50 in Confessional, Men

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confessional, Men, The Write Side of 50

tree

BY BOB SMITH

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.

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