Cleaning in the Buff? Maybe Grandma Was On To Something

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This is the only hat I own with a feather in it. I may or may not have been wearing it this morning.

Warning: If the idea of midlife nudity scares you, you might want to turn back now.

Maybe it’s because I am now 50, but I find myself thinking about my female ancestors quite a bit lately. I come from a long line of strong women, and most of them, I am not ashamed to say, were quite the characters in their time. Today my thoughts are going to my great-great grandmother, who lived a long and interesting life. Family lore tells that she had a gift for knowing the future, but that is a story for another time. Today my thoughts are going to her housecleaning habits.

I am told that on cleaning day, she went about her chores, in the buff, except for a hat with a feather in it. This story has always amused me and I have been impressed by her confidence. As I turned 50, my mom referred to me as “Feisty.” I’ll take it. I commented that the same could be said about her and our foremothers. I also wondered if they were always as feisty as they were when she and I knew them. From the brief history I know, I doubt it. I think that these women likely hit a certain age and decided to do things their way from that point forward.

Back to Great Great Grandma. Of course I would wonder about her strange cleaning habits and wonder why.  Here are some of my theories:

She was just a little eccentric. We all have our own little quirks and ways of doing things. This was just her way of demonstrating her individuality.

She was guaranteed to get (almost) everyone out of the house. (I suppose her husband may have stuck around.) No one wants to see Mom or Grandma in that state and anyone who has tried to keep a house clean knows that it is much easier when there is no one there to make messes where you just cleaned or to have to shoo out of the way.

She hated to do laundry. It is a part of the process to get dirty when you clean, thus creating more laundry. Washing a body takes less time than washing clothes. Or maybe she just wanted that one moment of knowing that all the clothes were clean.

She was always hot. So. Freaking. Hot. (Those of you in the area of 50 know what I am talking about.) Cleaning is a physical, sweat-inducing process, especially when you hate it and want it done fast. This morning, I went to clean the kids’ bathroom. Now this is usually their task, but we have company coming and I was pretty sure it was not up to my standards – I was right and the task took more time and energy than I expected. And I was overheating. When I finished that one and went on to my bathroom, I couldn’t stand how gross I felt anymore and stripped down, since I was getting in the shower when I was done anyway. Hmm, maybe she was on to something. Naked cleaning is surprisingly refreshing.

Family stories are fun to listen to and wonderful to share. Sometimes we find that we have things in common with distant ancestors, whether it be physical attributes, common talents, skills or interests, or even similar mannerisms. I love knowing that so many strong women came before me. Women who were not afraid to speak their mind and buck conventions. I am proud to be their daughter, granddaughter, and niece and to look at the next generation and see the seeds of feistyness there as well.

 

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Midlife Revelations Found in the Wilderness

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Last week I had a much needed break from everyday life.  We spent three rejuvenating nights camping in Shenandoah National Park, where my cell phone got only spotty service, and the questions of the day included where to hike and where to go for dinner (we didn’t completely “rough it”). We hiked a bit each day, but there was plenty of time to relax and ponder. Though I did spend some time thinking about and taking notes for an upcoming project, I had time to contemplate life in general and came to some conclusions about an upcoming birthday.

I knew from an early age that I wanted to have a family young and especially now am happy with this choice. While I was too busy with life to even consider the relevance of previous milestone birthdays, I am looking at 50 with anticipation. Yes, it is a big number, but I look around and see how much opportunity still exists, as long as I slow down and pay attention. This camping trip reminded me how important it is and will be to regularly unplug and just be. While doing just this, I realized that this birthday really is different.

For my entire adult life, I have been a mom. I have looked at things through a mom’s eyes. Everything I did had a potential impact on my children. Now, my actions cause barely a ripple in their lives. I am confident that they don’t need me, at least not in the way they once did. Now my role is more to observe and advise them and to discover what else the world has to offer. Spending a few unscheduled days gave me the opportunity to think about life and to gain a new perspective.

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I noticed more bounce in my step last week, a newfound sense of freedom. While one might expect me to be more cautious than when I was young, instead I feel more adventurous. I gleefully climbed among boulders on cliff sides, seeking the best view on each hike we took (and making my husband nervous in the process). Each step made me want to take another, to see and experience more. This is not a crisis; there is no rashness to my actions. I am well aware of my physical limitation. In fact this encourages me to get in better shape so that next time I can go further and do more.

Along with this sense of adventure comes a refusal to listen to those who say I can’t. I’m not going to listen to those who may tell me to act my age, to buy into the “shoulds.” I am going to live my life even if it goes against the norm. Up until this point,  I have followed the rules, now it is time for me to make them for myself. I skipped over the party years; I was mommying in my twenties, not out at bars, staying until “last call” and dancing on tables. I’m not saying I will do that now (though I’ll leave the option open, if I find the moment is appropriate), but I don’t really care what people would say if I did. Again, this is not a crisis – I have no desire to go back in time. I am quite content here at (almost) 50. I have the wisdom and the confidence to know that age is just a number, that it does not limit what one can do. And I am finding that there is quite a lot that I want to do.

Another side effect of my half-century status:  I now have zero tolerance for bullshit. Though I believe I still have many years ahead of me, I acknowledge that there is an end. At this point in life, I don’t want to waste time on things that don’t matter. I don’t want to spend time on petty issues that divide people. I don’t have time for hidden agendas or playing games with emotions. I will always strive to be kind, but there is no need to read between the lines with me. If you want to know what I think, ask me; don’t try to divine my thoughts based on my actions (or lack thereof). If I have offended you, tell me. Since there is much I want to do, I can get hyper-focused and be rather direct in my dealings with people.  Sometimes people make things much more complicated than they are. I don’t want to waste time with misunderstandings.

As the generations below me are adding members, I am also thinking of the strong women who came before me, those who showed me that a woman can do and be anything she wants. I am thinking of the example I want to be to my children and hopefully to their children. Though I know there are still must-dos in my future, I am looking ahead to a great many more opportunities to do what I want to do. I am looking at 50 as a new beginning, a time to discover new dreams and work to meet new goals. I am looking forward to seeing how much I can do.

Why Do Old People Want to Chat, Snap and Gram?

snapchat filters are funI am seeing conversations about Instagram and Snapchat growing in popularity and outside the typical teen demographic. Since I like being seen as an adult, and not one who is trying to be cool by desperately grasping at things to regain some appearance of youth, for years I have pretty much tried to ignore the newer social media platforms (of course after learning some basic facts about them and warning my children of the dangers of misuse).

But it seems I finally do get pulled in. First it was Facebook. Then my family got Smartphones, and one of the first things my kids did was to get on Snapchat. As I struggled with figuring out the basics of my new phone, they were happily Snapping away, with their friends and each other. When I asked about all the giggling, they told me about Shapchat and asked me to join in, urging me to set up an account.

I declined. I told them I had enough to keep up with having Facebook and needed to figure out what I was doing with this new phone that did everything but make coffee. I did, however, set up an Instagram account. This was more my speed, sharing photos. With my daughter’s urging, my account is set to private, so I can control who views them (yay for having a smart kid!)

Fast forward a couple months. I know how to navigate with my phone (mostly) and I am hearing about how one or the other of my children has done this or that from one of their siblings. I had just talked to him/her and did not hear about it. How did they get this info? From Snapchat. I’ve been left behind.

So I realized, if I was going to find out more about their everydays, I needed to get an account. Well, actually, the dog did. (Snapchat messages include a photo, and I like pictures of her more than those of me. They all seem to miss her more than me anyway.) The whole process was more complicated that I had thought it would be. Snapchat is not as intuitive as Facebook and I have no patience for searching for online tutorials. I muddled through and finally thought I had it figure out. I had requested to be “friends” with my kids and sent my first message (well, to three of them, I somehow got the fourth child’s name wrong and still don’t know who got that Snap). Thankfully it was just a picture of the dog.)

I continued to get frustrated with the app, since there were things I knew were possible to do, but I couldn’t figure out how. Over Thanksgiving break, they all taught me some tricks and we had fun adding to our “stories” with pictures we took of each other during a long car ride. I still don’t do much with Snapchat, except follow stories (it still frustrates me that I have to ask for help). It can be more useful than a text when I see something and want to share it with one of them, but for regular conversation, I still prefer to use the phone as it was intended, or I text for non-urgent questions or comments.

Although, now that I updated the app, (and got more “lessons”) these new filters are kinda’ fun…

The Unending Vortex of Helicopter Parenting

Publication1Helicopter parenting is here to stay. It has taken hold of society in such a way that there may be no going back. Psychologists are now calling 25 the new entrance to adulthood. For many different reasons, adult children continue (or come back) to live with their parents. College professors and administrators are reporting that students are arriving on college campuses less prepared for independent living than prior generations. Why? Fingers are pointing at parents.

It has become a common lament that parents are hovering over their children, doing for them things that their children should be doing themselves. I argue that although this is in some cases true, that we have become a society that encourages such behavior.

I have noticed a shift over the past decade. Many parents are much more involved in their children’s lives and those who are not are treated as if they are neglecting their children.

I guess I was living under a rock, but I was surprised to learn that not only were parents nagging their teens to complete things such as college applications, they were actually completing the applications themselves!  Now I have no issue with proofreading, or even editing an essay, or acting as a sounding board for ideas, but how can a parent take things this far? Setting aside the fact that you are cheating your child out of the opportunity to learn how to handle such tasks on his or her own (after all, they will have job applications in their future), you are teaching them that it is okay to cheat!

I know the intentions are good. Parents want their children to do well, to get into a good school, to get a good job. They may regret decisions they made in their youth and not want their children to mimic their own mistakes.  But the efforts are short-sighted. If they are doing so much for their child to get into college, how will their child be able to handle the rigors of college? Then there is the trickle-down effect. Parents who may not be inclined to do as much feel like they have to, or their child will be left behind.

Recently I heard that that some parents are taking steps to counteract this lack of preparedness for their children in college. I have seen multiple reports from colleges about increased involvement among parents. Parents call professors, complain about grades and even go to class to take notes when their child is ill. Here too, I think some level of assistance is acceptable. My children have asked me to read over papers and give comments before turning them in (they know the value in using available resources). Provided they give me enough notice (11 pm calls for proofreading will be ignored), I am happy to read and give input, which they are then free to accept or reject. (Yes, my comments have been rejected.) But doing someone’s work for them is cheating, and undermines their confidence in their ability to do it on their own.

How did we get here? I think it started when this generation was young. For the past couple decades, parents, not children, have been planning playdates and activities to keep children entertained, to advance their education, to give them an edge over the competition. As a result, many kids never learned to occupy themselves or even how to engage someone in conversation. To be fair, this often came from a place of love. Parents believed they were protecting their children, that the outside world was a dangerous, scary place. Twenty years ago, children would go to a friend’s house to see if they could play. Today, a child (or anyone for that matter) knocking on a door is seen as suspicious.

The overprotectiveness has gotten to a point that I think is ridiculous. The fact that parents are being forced to defend themselves against charges of child endangerment for allowing their children to play at a neighborhood playground demonstrates the societal tightening of reins. Parents who can’t or won’t be over-involved in their children’s lives are facing the very real possibility that their children may be left behind. It has always been true that making noise gets attention, but now it almost seems that it is necessary to make noise just to be seen.

This creates a problem for parents who want to foster independence in their children. Despite the fact that hands-off parents are applauded by school staff and administrators, those who are very much hands-on are accommodated and it seems, almost encouraged by those same people who complain about the lengths some parents will go to help their own kids get ahead. The idea that “This is just the way the world is today” is unacceptable to me. I want it to be different, but am not sure how to affect change, or even if I can.

I am thankful that I made it through the early years before the madness took effect and that I was confident enough to maintain my “old school” beliefs. I do, however, worry about how my children will manage parenting if this trend continues. Even the business world has seen a change in recent hires and is offering special training in interacting with the new generation of workers. I find this all baffling, but think there may be hope. I am seeing a rebellion of sorts: terms like “free range parenting” and articles lamenting the effect “helicoptering” is having on young adults indicate that there is indeed a problem here.  Until there is a societal change, I guess I’ll just keep on shaking my head.

Old People Have All the Fun

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I recently went to see My Big Fat Greek Wedding 2. At one point in the movie, Yiayia is dancing in the street, dressed rather oddly.  This made me laugh, perhaps more than it should have and I leaned over to my daughter to warn her, “That will be me in 30 years.” Later that week, we went to a college performance of music inspired by Disney movies. While the band played an arrangement of “Bare Necessities,” I thought (as I frequently do when hearing live swing music) of my grandmother and her love of dancing. I thought it would be wonderful if she were there to enjoy it with me and wondered if she would have tossed convention aside and danced in the aisles in appreciation of the music. I continued my daydream that we would all join in and how much fun it would be for spectators and musicians alike.

If you know me, you would realize how fanciful these thoughts are. I am and always have been a rule follower and generally shy from the spotlight. I love to dance, as long as no one is watching. I wonder if as I age, this will change, if much like my verbal filter has started to fail, my self-consciousness will begin to fade away.

Pondering this more (yes, sometimes I think too much) I realize the blame for this rests on societal expectations as well as my own insecurities. Why do we concern ourselves with what others think? Maybe because sometime people tell us what they think, and it is not always kind. There are expectations of how people are supposed to behave and, like it or not, our age (or the age we appear to be) influences these expectations.  A tantrum is understandable when one is 3, it is shocking when one is 8. In the same way, an older person can get away with speaking her mind or bending the “rules,” while one who is middle aged is expected to behave.

I guess as I approach my second half century around the sun, I am considering age more and what it means to me. I was raised to respect my elders and value the contributions they have made. I think that if one has lived well, there are certain privileges that come with the territory. I know many people fear the big 5-0, but I am ready to embrace it. My future is very different from my past, in some ways, I will have more freedom and I plan to enjoy it. Years ago I discovered the Red Hat Society, a social club for women over 50. Based on a poem, the idea is that the women get together, wearing a purple dress and a red hat. This type of zaniness sounds like fun to me, anyone want to join in?

And So The Dinosaur Years Begin

I am turning 50 this year and am beginning to see disturbing signs. Despite the fact that I am college-educated and see myself as an intelligent person, I am more and more being frustrated by what I don’t know, specifically with regards to technology. This is amplified by the ease with which some other people pick these things up.

I remember as a child being puzzled at my grandparents’ difficulty with technology. It was all rather simple. Technology made things easier.  I know that these things come easiest to those who are younger; I have been tech support for my parents who, although they use computers regularly, sometimes need a little help. There are some programs I need to relearn each time I use them, since I do so infrequently, but computers and technology don’t scare me. I use them regularly, so why am I now struggling with what the rest of the world seems to find easy? The joke about asking a five-year old to help is no longer a joke, so it is not at all funny.

My first experience working with computers was working with my college newspaper. I was handed two floppy disks and sent to the computer lab with printed instructions:  insert the DOS disk, turn on the computer, wait, insert the PC-Write work disk, create a file and start writing, then save and remove disk. By today’s standards, this was a lengthy process. At first, I was a bit intimidated, but it was really pretty straightforward and easy. No problem.

After college, I worked for a computer trade magazine, where we wrote about what was then very cutting-edge technology: the idea that computers made by various manufacturers were now able to work together. In our office, we used Digital computers and their proprietary word processing and in-house email system. Unlike most companies, our email transcended our building and was connected via phone wires to other offices throughout the country (we were very cutting edge). Although I had no computer background, I was able to write about hardware and software and connectivity as well as industry standards and protocols. I will admit that I didn’t always fully understand the more technical information, but could ask the right questions. I saw my role as a translator for the office managers, to help them understand the new technology in simpler terms. The tech guys (at this time, it was pretty much just men) were happy to answer my questions and I got positive feedback when the articles ran. Basically, they were happy that I “got it” and could get the information out to the people who made the purchasing decisions.

Fast forward a couple decades. Most houses have multiple computers (plus tablets, smartphone, smart TVs, etc.). These are all meant to make our lives easier. They are, in theory, simpler to use. They are, supposedly, more intuitive and can be customized for your individual wants and needs. (We even have SmartFridges now!)

Like many other people, I use a computer every day. In fact, I am at my computer for a large part of almost every day.  I use it to write, research, read, communicate with people, edit photos, and most recently, create and update my website. This is where I have hit a wall.

I have always been independent and have a “Do It Myself” mentality.  If I don’t know how to do something, I am willing to learn. I want to know how to do things, how to troubleshoot and fix things myself.  Right now though, I am overwhelmed. I keep telling myself that I can do this. I understand the basics of computers. I can follow directions, but lately it seems like crucial steps are missing. I read directions, which tell me to complete Step A, then Step B, Step C. Next you move on to Step D, but if you don’t have X, Y or Z, you need to click here, which takes you back to Step B. One afternoon I found myself in a seemingly endless loop and had to call in my own personal tech support, who, unfamiliar with the specific program, asked me some questions I did not have the answers to. (Which somehow made me feel both more and less stupid.)  Ultimately, the problem was solved, but not without gnashing of teeth and feelings of inadequacy.

I am starting to think the problem is the “intuitiveness.” What is intuitive today was not so twenty years ago. My kids have taken to telling me that I am “cute” in a way that is not quite so condescending that I hear “You are stupid.” To them, Snapchat is intuitive. To me, it is not. I keep staring at the screen, tapping and swiping until something happens, and I hope I will notice what I have done so I can repeat the process (usually this means I wait until the kids are around and ask them to show me).

Keeping up with technology today feels like playing a game where the rules keep changing. Of course this is a part of life: things change, they always have and always will. However, the speed at which they change today is difficult to keep up with. New apps and programs are developed each day, and older ones are upgraded and improved.

Technology has of course generated its own language. This is not unusual; most disciplines have their own terminology, those terms and phrases that the general population doesn’t use. In fact, most people don’t even know specific terminology for say, composing music or welding pipes, or those used in farming or medicine. And people in specialized fields generally don’t expect others to know and understand these terms. But technology is different. The language of computer technology has permeated society. It is everywhere.

Years ago, adults had no need to keep up with the current terms. Youth have always had their own phrases, and keeping them separate from the older generation was the norm. But today, when you hear young adults using unfamiliar terms, they may be relevant. They may be words that you are expected to know, that will be a part of your job, instead of the youth slang previously used merely to befuddle older people or make them seem out of touch. Now we have to figure out which ones are relevant and which we can ignore.

Many people carry multi-functional, personally-customized computers around with them every day. Social media has brought technology to the forefront and the ability to “Google” anything means that people can further customize their systems. This I think has created a society that accepts this as the norm and people have started to assume everyone else has the same basic knowledge. If not, “just Google it.” But how do you know what you don’t know? How do you learn when the “basics” aren’t so basic?

This made me think about a teacher I know who had students write detailed directions on how to do something. The example provided to them was how to make a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. For the purposes of this exercise, nothing was to be assumed. (It was actually best to think of Amelia Bedelia as being the reader.) This was a challenge for many students.  The point of the exercise of course, was to develop better writers, ones who would not make assumptions about their readers.

When you are writing a “how-to” in particular, you want the reader to understand and be able to follow the steps. When you start off promising “5 Easy Steps” they darn well better be easy for your target audience. Making people feel stupid is not a good way to attract a following, and it is simply not nice. Until I find that easy tutorial, I’ll keep muddling through, and grumbling.  I’m getting older, but I’m not ready to disappear or surrender yet. Expect this dinosaur to hang on a while longer.

My Worst Fear Came True – I Inherited My Grandmother’s Chest

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My biggest fear growing up was that someday I would have Grandma’s chest. You may be questioning this statement and picturing some hideous wooden box, however, I am not talking about a Hope Chest or anything of the sort, but the chest she carried beneath her chin and above her waist. Grandma was stacked! Her hugs sometimes made me feel like I was being swallowed. But unlike me, she never seemed to feel uncomfortable about it.

Grandma knew how to get attention. She worked as a singer in nightclubs and had a wardrobe of flashy clothes that showed off her attributes. As a young girl, I was shy and embarrassed, but also somewhat awed by such displays. Now I appreciate the value of having assets and being comfortable with them.

Her bras fascinated me, in a strange sort of way. They were indeed “boulder holders.” I wondered how she stayed upright and didn’t topple over. Walking through crowds had to be a challenge as well. There was no way to avoid noticing her breasts. I secretly thought that they helped her float in the pool.

As I matured, I happily settled in with a comfortable 36B, which was in proportion with my 5’8” medium -build frame. I had no complaints and though I got my share of attention, did not have the problem some of my friends did, that their bosom was expected to carry on a conversation with men.

When I had kids, though, things exploded. I made the choice to nurse my children and soon discovered how large bras could get. I was surprised to observe that my bras were large enough to possibly be used to haul home some of my purchases from the produce section. (I did not try this, for obvious reasons.) I wondered if it was permanent and how long my back could support the additional demands placed on it. I wondered if the young me was right and they could be used as flotation devices. I never got to find out because I couldn’t find a bathing suit that fit right.

I was shocked. How could this have happened? No one told me that they could triple in size! I was going to need an entire new wardrobe. All those cute tops I had were history. Luckily, the demands of caring for children gave me more pressing things to worry about and I was able to push my boob woes to the back of my mind. I resorted to wearing (very) oversize shirts (mostly from the men’s department) since I was completely unwilling to buy any maternity clothes after the baby was here.

Sleeping became a challenge. Any way I tried to position myself was uncomfortable. Laying on my stomach was out of the question and any other position pushed my arms out to uncomfortable angles. I managed to find come positives though. I convinced myself that my waist had shrunk, since I couldn’t see it at all anymore. I also found that at any event with a buffet, I had a built-in shelf for my plate.

My babies grew up and my chest subsided, to a point. Surprisingly, I found that I was happy to not go back to my pre-pregnancy size. I had gotten used to the new look, and although I was not unhappy with the old me, I like the end result.

Despite my acceptance of Grandma’s gift, there are downfalls. All the prettiest things: dresses, shoes, even bras, are designed for tiny people. Finding something pretty in a larger size is a challenge. Designers seem to forget that if you have more on top, you need to have more fabric at the bottom. Shirts and dresses alike are frequently too short for my comfort. Button down shirts that fit right everywhere else gape open several buttons down. Then there is the oft cited lack of attention when speaking to people, particularly men. I do sometimes have the temptation to reach out and lift a chin even so slightly in order to make eye contact.

The chest I possess would not have looked right on the 18-year-old me, but today, the curves suit me. Once it became reality, I came to terms with my fear. After all, short of surgery, what choice do I have? Besides, Grandma was the best; I am happy to be compared to her.