Born An Old Lady

"She was born an old lady and is working her way backwards." That's what my ballet teacher told my mother, about me, when I was ten years old. I had no idea what she meant at the time and I thought long and hard about it before I decided it probably wasn't a compliment.

Miss Erin, the ballet teacher, was elegant and grand and the most beautiful dancer I'd ever seen. I wanted to be just like her when I grew up. But she called me an "old lady" and she wasn't implying I was mature for my age.

After a few weeks of worrying about being a "geezer", I finally broke down and approached my mother on the meaning of the comment. Mom smiled and turned it into sweetness and nice and explained that Miss Erin thought I was a "very serious dancer". In actuality, I was a very intense kid and Miss Erin was calling me a stick in the mud.

Over the next couple of years, I made it a point to lighten up around the dance studio and especially Miss Erin. But truth be told, I was a stiff, kinda boring and an extremely serious little girl. I don't think Miss Erin noticed my new found light-heartedness but eventually I out grew it.

I think.

No, I was never a true "party girl" or the life of any party for that matter, but once I stopped studying ballet, when I was 18 years old, and started listening to rock and roll and then disco, life got more fun. In my 20s I started becoming more adventurous, saw a bit of the world and, dare I say, became slightly "hip", in a Granny kind of way.

I've thought about the "old lady backwards" comment many times over the years, especially on my 40th and 50th birthdays. The older I get, the more I like the sound of it, not that I'd ever want to be Benjamin Buttons. But, best case scenario, I figure at my current age of 51 1/2, I should be about 35 years old today if I'm going backwards. And I like the sound of that.

Thirty-five was a great age-- Actually all of my 30s were mostly good and it was an exciting time in my personal and professional life. If I had the opportunity to "get stuck in a decade" it would definitely be my 30s.

Today, news reports often talk about people living well into their 100s. Although that has appeal to many, it does not float my boat. Unless I could go back and stretch my younger years to last longer, I have no desire to spend MORE time in my "golden years". I know my health and my body and I know it's not going to be a walk in the park. Simply put, I will not be one of those 80 is the new 70s kind of gals. I'll be more like "80 is the new older than Moses" women.

Yes, life should get easier as we age because we learn from our past mistakes. Yes, yes, yes, blah, blah, blah. I get the aging gracefully concept. But what doesn't appeal to me is more years of my body breaking down, my mind fraying, my finances diminishing because I'm living longer, and the likes.

Sure I take good care of myself and do the best I can medically, but as one doctor so *ahem* eloquently put it recently, "as you age, your body begins to wear out and yours is". He was, in fact, bracing me for the possibility of a pacemaker, hip replacement, cataracts and the likes in my future-- my near future.

So much for working my way backwards, huh? Somewhere along the way I hit the "fast forward" button by mistake. Damn!

I've long since given up my little girl dream of being a prima ballerina/tap dancing teacher/fashion designer. Heck, I've given up my dream of being tall too-- A good thing since I've shrunk a full inch. But lately I've dwelled on the "old lady working her way backwards" comment that was made more than 40 years ago and I'm thinking now might be the time to finally embrace those words and start dreaming again.

Sure, my aching 50-something body is what it is, but if joints need replaced-- then thank gawd they're available! If my eyes need bifocals, at least they aren't Coke-bottle thick and come in designer frames. And, I dodged a pacemaker once before so maybe if the need comes around again, it'll be simpler than an oil change at Jiffy Lube.

No, I'm not knee-deep in a medical crisis, it's one of "those days" and this is a pep talk for myself. Sometimes a girl just needs one-- or a kick in the pants, take your pick, but today I'm going with the pep talk. Being 50-something, and the aging process often feels like a full time job. Today, this working girl is going to start thinking like a 35 year old and hope my aches and pains get the message.

How old you you feel today?

Welcome to The Fifty Factor - Joanna

Photo Credit: © Maceo - Fotolia.com

Can You Relate To This?

Is it me, or is this offensive?



I think this is just plain stupid and rude. Does Wendy's management really expect middle-aged women, or anyone else for that matter, to respond to this kind of marketing?  

Granted, I'm knee-deep into menopause, so maybe my sense of humor is melting with my hot flashes, but I'm not getting it.

What do you think?

Welcome to The Fifty Factor - Joanna

Didn't I Just Turn Fifty?

How on earth did 51 happen so darn fast?

 

What do you think of the picture?  I got it especially for my 51st birthday and this post. Not bad for an old broad, huh?  It feels kinda hip without trying too hard, don't you think?  I saw the proofs and thought, WOW!  "50 really is the new 40"!

Well, it's not a picture not me-- Not even close, but she looks pretty good. It could have been me, oh about the time of my Bat Mitzvah, but it sure as hell isn't me today! Oh, no, no, no.

Actually, maybe, perhaps, possibly, I could have, kinda, pulled that picture off about five or six years ago before my thighs rubbed together when I walked and I could still find the pockets in my blue jeans.  But, big sigh-- That ship has sailed, sistah.

I tried desperately to embrace turning fifty along with the body changes menopause had slapped me with over the past year. Really, I did.  But now at 51, well, the whole "fifty thing" is still... just... not... working... for me...  And it probably never will.  

Can you tell I am not a fan of birthdays?  Actually, I never liked them, not even as a kid.  The whole idea of people watching me open gifts is always embarrassing.  The blowing-out-candles ritual makes me nervous.  And the "woo-hoo you're older" part is right up there in my "I'd rather have a root canal" category.  And I have no idea why.

I envy those who can embrace their birthdays and I love celebrating with them.  I've thrown my share of birthday parties for other people over the years and they've been huge hits.  I even make homemade cakes-- not the kind from a box! Birthdays are great-- just as long as they are someone else's.

So to "celebrate" my birthday today, I'm digging in the very back of my closet to pull out my favorite jeans-- the ones like the model is wearing the picture.  You know what I'm talking about-- the skinny jeans that haven't fit in years.  I just want to have one more look at them.  You see, I may not be able to find my car keys but I can always put my hands on my precious, size four, jeans from yesteryear to remember the girl I once was.  I will never part with them no matter what my menopausal apple-shaped figure becomes.  I view those jeans, with fond memories, as the lifeline to my youth.  

Oh and by the way, the model in the picture, she really is 50-- The skinny, airbrushed, bitch.

How do you celebrate birthdays?

Welcome to TheFiftyFactor  -  Joanna

Photo credit: Copyright Yuri Arcurs - Fotolia.com

Generation What?

Recently, I came across an article online from an April, 2000 issues of Esquire magazine, by Paul Begala, who summed Baby Boomers up as "The Worst Generation" of "self-absorbed" nasty "greed is good" jerks, full of guys who "once dropped acid and now do Viagra" and chicks who used to "do lipstick and now do liposuction".  Sounds kind of harsh!

I'll admit I've been known to refer to Baby Boomers as "they", "them" and "those people" who were former hippies and draft dodgers.  I was a Disco Queen and that was all so far from my universe growing up that "they" seemed like the "older generation" to me. 

So you can imagine my absolute shock and mortification when I realized that I, was in fact, a member of the Baby Boom Generation that's constantly getting trashed in the media. How could that be?  I'm only 50 years old.  

Technically, Baby Boomers are considered those born in 1946 through the end of 1963.  They are classified as having grown up with Howdy Duty, Woodstock and anti-Vietnam War protests.  I was born in 1958 and never did any of that.  Somebody check the dates!

Seriously, I thought I was part of the Pepsi Generation ('63)-- We were born after World War II in time for, us-- the "younger generation", to take the "Pepsi Challenge" ('75).  The Baby Boom started a full ten years before I was even born!  Who do I call to file a protest?  The Pepsi Generation just sounds so much nicer anyway.  Besides, I was only 5 years old by the time the Boomer Generation ended.  

"Officially" Boomers include folks like Donald Trump and George W. Bush ('46), OJ Simpson (47), Cat Stevens ('48), Richard Gere ('49), Arianna Huffington ('50), Rush Limbaugh ('51),  Mickey Rourke ('52), Ben Bernanke ('53), Howard Stern ('54), Steve Jobs ('55), Bill Maher ('56), Spike Lee ('57), Michael Jackson ('58), Marie Osmond('59), Bono ('60), Dee Dee Myers ('61), Tom Cruise ('62), and John's son, Julian Lennon ('63).

That means Michelle Obama, Tavis Smiley, Russell Crowe and Bobby Flay (all born in 1964) are too young and just missed the "Boomer" title.  I doubt they're upset.

If that doesn't surprise you, how about the folks that are too old to be Boomers-- Goldie Hawn, Bette Midler, Eric Clapton and Diane Sawyer, were all born in 1945.  George Lucas ('44), Geraldo Rivera ('43), Aretha Franklin ('42), Martha Stewart ('41) and John Lennon ('40) didn't make the cut either.  I wonder if they realize they're part of the "Silent Generation".  (1930-1945) Nice, huh?

There is a glimmer of light at the end of my tunnel.  Additional research revealed there's "technically" an in between generation that I'm a part of, even though I've never heard of it before. Does that still count?  Maybe I've lived a sheltered life, but has "Generation Jones" ever come up in your dinner conversation?  It hasn't in mine.

Those born between 1954-1965 fall into the "Jonesers" category as they apparently are known.  According to Wikipedia, we were the children raised in the "optimistic '60s before the realities of the pessimistic '70s hit".  We dealt with things like Watergate, the cold War and the oil embargo.  For many of us, Jimmy Carter was the first president we voted for.  (Um, sorry about that.) People like Oprah, Jerry Seinfeld and President Obama run in our crowd.  Madonna and Prince brought us MTV.

Where does "Jones" come from, you ask?  Think, as in, "keeping up with the Jones".  Not very flattering but we're a competitive bunch, or so they say. But I guess it's better than being lumped into the Generation X crowd (1966-1980).  They're a bunch of "slackers" according to society's standards.

So here I sit eating crow.  I admit, I have not had many nice things in the past to say about "my people"-- the Baby Boom Generation.  But I felt better learning that in 1967, when I was 9 years old, Time magazine named "Middle Americans-- The Baby Boom Generation, as their "Persons of the Year".  Although I do wonder how they feel about that today.

Pondering life as a "fifty-something" now also includes the "Baby Boomer Generation" name tag.  I'm still adjusting to both labels with trepidation.  I've long since switched from Pepsi to Coke... so I could "Teach The World To Sing In Perfect Harmony" (1971), but maybe I should reconsider and step out of denial and explore my "roots" a little deeper, this time not as judgemental in my old age.

Do you have a generational "label"?

Welcome to TheFiftyFactor  -  Joanna

What To Expect When You're Menopausing

Researching menopausal symptoms seems to be my full-time job of late.  I have a variety of other chronic illness that have accumulated over the years-- nothing major, just mostly annoying ones, so I often feel the need to compare the chronic crap to the budding menopausal side-effects now targeting my increasingly freaky body.

I thought I had a fairly good understanding of what was in store for me during "the change" but quickly realized I needed a modern day "What To Expect When Your Menopausing" type of book.  

Seriously.  If you have a baby, you can read a step-by-step narrative on what's happening to your body, practically daily, for a full nine months.  Then there's a second book to tell you what to expect, moment-by-moment, for the first 12 months of your little tike's life. That's hugely helpful!  Why isn't there one for menopause?  A simple, week-by-week wrap-up on menopausal happenings, would be a best seller!  I know it would be a much bigger book because menopause is not wrapped up in nine or twelve little months, but I'd buy that book no matter how big it was, as long as it's not a book associated with a celebrity, product or service someone is trying to hock me.  That doesn't count.

I know, I know, every woman is different, so are the drugs to take for it.  It's not cookie-cutter, I get that, really I do.  But come on-- I just want a blow-by-blow on what to expect, when to expect it, and a few pointers on when the hell it will be over! Is that too much to ask? Apparently so, because I've yet to find "the source" for all things menopause.

In my quest for answers, I discovered something absolutely shocking.  Did you know there are as many as THIRTY-FIVE symptoms of menopause?  I sat straight up in my chair when I read that tidbit of horrifying news. Until that moment, I only knew about the "top eight". (Irregular periods, decreased fertility, hot flashes, sleep issues, mood swings, weight gain, hair loss, and dryness you know where.)

But THIRTY frigging FIVE symptoms????  Who the hell counted and why didn't they tell anybody-- Like my doctors-- who continuously dismiss my whining about these wacky symptoms, or my best gal pals?  I know some things are embarrassing and potentially pretty unattractive, but really, someone could have pulled me aside and whispered the other twenty-seven possibilities that lurk in the shadow of very hot, sleep deprived, menopausal women.

Okay, so only 5% get the "burning tongue" thing, but a heads up would have been nice.  Same goes for the ringing in the ears.  Or how about the "itchy skin" which usually turns up early in the change process?  I just read it's associated with the loss of collagen and makes you look older.  So that explains it!  

And like a late night infomercial-- Wait, there's more! Pass the tissues because some experts say menopause "increases allergies" which is not to be out-done by tingling extremities and the feeling of ants crawling all over your body.  Nice, huh?  Or the whole bleeding gum thing--  I can't even go there!

But my personal, mind-blowing, fave, has to be the peculiar "electric shock sensation"-- like a rubber band snapping on your muscles-- That's a red alert for an impending hot flash.  Did you know that?  Think of it as your body's very own early warning system of a flood about to rush from your head to your toes.  Not one single person mentioned that to me-- ever.  See what we have to look forward to?!?!

No wonder menopause is kicking my ass!  And according to my research, I'm just getting started.  Damn!  It's going to be a bumpy ride.

How are you doing?

Welcome to TheFiftyFactor  -  Joanna

The F-Word At A Birthday Party

There is only one reason, and one reason alone, that I would travel from sunny Southern California to freezing Cleveland in the dead of winter and that would be for a loved one.  

I lived in cold weather country for half my life and I am done-- finished-- not interested in-- boots, slush, shoveling snow, ice scraping or freezing my ass off again for as long as I live.  Yes, that's a problem for my mother and family who all still live there, but I make up for it and visit plenty of times when the weather is hot and humid, and the Ohio mosquitoes are the size of New York City cockroaches.  I think that makes up for it. Nevertheless, I was going to Cleveland for a party in the winter, which is like saying "when hell freezes over" and well, in Cleveland, it kinda does.  But I digress.

My oldest friend and gal pal extraordinaire, Kay, was celebrating her 50th birthday.  Again.  In Cleveland.  But Kay is like a sister to me and I would not think of missing it.  Guys may become "blood brothers" but Kay and I are true sisters who made a vow, as we crossed our hearts and our push-up bras when we turned thirty, that we would never, ever, mention the F-word in public. That's "F" as in Forty and Fifty.  We were going to stay thirty-something Forever.

Last year, for Kay's 50th, she was laid up in the hospital going through a nasty spell the likes of which would have sent me to the pharmacy for industrial strength Prozac. Since then, the past 12 months, and the C-R-A-P she has endured (medical and otherwise) is mind-boggling to the point that if I told you, the list would be as long as your arm, and you'd think I indulged in one too many martinis at lunch.  It's been a relentless, bazaar, and seemingly never ending year of wild roller-coaster riding.  Let's just say, the afternoon of the spectacular Hudson River plane crash landing, I literally called to make sure Kay wasn't flying that day.  With all that had happened in 2008, it would not have surprised me one bit, that early January, 2009 day, if she'd been standing out on the wings flagging down a tub boat.   Anyway, I digress again.  Back to Cleveland.

Kay's beloved husband, Vince, and their two beautiful, college age daughters, decided to throw a surprise birthday for her 51st to make up for the big plans they had to cancel for her 50th. Pulling off a surprise for Kay was a very tall order.  She's one of those babes who is everywhere and knows everyone and everything.  And I mean that in a good way.  We thought for sure, out of the 75 invited guests, someone would spill the beans. But, nope!  She was 100% blown-away-surprised.

For her poor husband, keeping the secret was tough.  A sell-professed "bad liar", he found himself spending much longer than usual shoveling snow from the driveway, walking the dog, and pretending to prepare their taxes just so he wouldn't slip-up in front of her.  It got to the point that he was so stressed trying to make excuses for his undercover actions to Kay, that one day, after filing the dog's dish with water, he put it in the refrigerator instead of on the floor for their pooch.  The poor guy was ragged by party night.

But daughters, Ella and Melanie, had it the roughest. They were doing the bulk of the planning via email from college, each in different states.  Arriving in Cleveland, three days before the party to prepare, meant sneaking in and out of the hotel their parents are living in so their Mom didn't see them or their cars. No small feat. (Remember all the crap I mentioned in the last year? One had to do with their house burning down and now living in a hotel for 6 months while it's rebuilt!  I wasn't kidding. Someone needs to call Ripley's.) 

Kay's daughters were troopers and had obviously learned a lot over the years watching their multi-tasking, super-mom plan parties on the spur of the moment for the masses.  They pulled it together, delegated when necessary, and had arranged for more than enough food and libations.  Entertainment included every "oldies" song from our generation along with a hilarious slide show, complete with Kay smoking a bong in college and other embarrassing bad hair photos from the past half century.

By the end of the night, as the party wound down, Kay had mascara tear-stained cheeks and was absolutely joyful.  Despite an entire room of people cheering her on for her Fifty-first, I never once saw her cringe at the mention of the F-word.  She was Fifty-one, madly in love with her husband, beyond proud of her daughters and happy to have her Fifth year behind her.

How do you celebrate birthdays?

Welcome to TheFiftyFactor  -  Joanna

Fifty-something Dating: Chapter Two

Single, fifty-something guys... 

One dynamite woman, Marilyn (53), spent $1700 on a dating service that sets you up on "pre-screened" dates to "do lunch".  She thought her initial interview with the matchmaker went well and that she had articulated her "wish list" in a man.  

Or, maybe not.

Her first lunch was with a guy (52) who'd been divorced for more than 20 years.  He was attractive, employed, and didn't eat with is feet.  Good start, she thought-- until he mentioned that, since getting divorced, he hadn't been in a relationship for more than two years-- And he'd been in several relationships!  Yep, the guy was a hit and run dater-- The ultimate 24 month revolving door of love connections. Check please....

The second date was equally unimpressive.  Mr. Man (56) rode up on his very loud, Harley Davidson-- dressed head to toe in leather. His bike was decked out in chrome, so were his front teeth.  She shamelessly hide in the bathroom until he gave up and rode off into the sunset.

Third date was a Mama's Boy (52) who brought his poodle, Gigi, with him.  The dog ate off his plate-- and hers.  Marilyn speed dialed the matchmaker from the parking lot to share the pain. What part of a "normal, healthy male, looking for a long-term relationship" didn't Miss Matchmaker understand? 

Two weeks passed before Marilyn ventured out to "do lunch" again.  This time, Mr. Right (55) appeared at her table with flowers in hand.  Now we're talking!  Lunch was fabulous; they had so much in common and they laughed and laughed.  It ended with a sweet peck on the cheek and the promise of another date.  She never heard from him again.  

Up next, Mr. Sweet (51), and that was the problem.  He was "sweet" which ranked him right up there in the "nice personality" department.

By now, lunch was taking up too much time so Marilyn decided to cut-to-the-chase and switched to coffee.  Cup, after cup, after cup-- of coffee.  Date, after date, after date.  Nothing.  No one. After twelve dates, not a single interesting guy with potential in sight.

As of this writing, Marilyn is anticipating her 35th class reunion and the possibility of her also single, high school sweetheart (54) sweeping her off her feet-- again.  Not likely, but a trip down memory lane might be interesting. After that, she's taking a break from dating and going with the old line "what's meant to be will be".

I'll keep you posted.

Have you made a fifty-something love connection?

Welcome to TheFiftyFactor  - Joanna

MEN-o-pause

If men went through menopause would it be a pretty picture?  Consider some of our most well-known hunks doing the MEN-o-pause thing...

• Daniel Craig:  Imagine junk in his trunk!
  
• Simon Cowell:  Sobbing uncontrollably over a mushy love song.
• George W. Bush:  "Wanted Dead or Alive" would have a whole new meaning.
• George Clooney:  Sexy and sweaty.
• Spiderman:  I'll never wear spandex again!
• Gordon Ramsey:  In prison for torching the kitchen.
• David Beckham:  Where's my soccer ball?  I had it just a minute ago.
• Patrick Dempsey:  Please god, do not touch the hair!
• John McCain:  Had a menopause moment when he picked Sarah Palin.
• Leonardo DiCaprio:  King of the Insomniacs.
• Robert Downey Jr. aka Ironman:  I'm too bloated to wear that-- and fly!
• Pierce Brosnon:  Lifestyles of the rich and sleep deprived.
• Tiger Woods:  No golf today, I have a headache.
• Bill Clinton:  What happened to my sex drive?
• Brad Pitt:  Does this stroller make my butt look fat?
• James Gandolfini aka Tony Soprano:  Now he's really !@#$%^& psycho!
• Tom Cruise:  Last seen roaming the vitamin aisles mumbling to himself.

Do you have any male menopause suggestions?

Welcome to TheFiftyFactor.com  - Joanna