“I just like to hold a book. There’s something about turn ing the page.”
I’ve heard that statement or a variation of it countless times over the past few years. I get it. I’m a book nerd from way back, and going into bookstores and libraries were not only a normal part of my life but also a special part. I never got tired of it, and seeing all the books available piqued my curiosity. I loved magazines as well, with their glossy pictures and interesting articles, and yes, when I was younger, I was into the Archie comic books.
So please understand, if you are one of those people resisting e-books and audiobooks, that I’m not criticizing you. I am, however, hoping to open your mind to new possibilities as I see them.
Remember when audiobooks were available on a CD, and you could get one at a Cracker Barrel restaurant, listen to it in the car while you traveled, and then turn it in at another Cracker Barrel? At least, that’s what my impression was. I never participated in that program, but when audiobooks became available to download on my phone, I jumped at the chance to listen to something besides the radio or a CD.
After all, I did, and do, love books much more than music. I like music, but to listen to it for hours at a time? Nah. Listen to book for several hours? Yep!
I listened to books on my commute back and forth to work and even listened while running errands in town. I listen to books now while walking my dog, putting in treadmill time, cleaning house, or resting at night before going to sleep. I can listen to books and fold laundry, cook meals, work on arts and crafts projects, and more. I don’t have to set aside time to sit down and read.
The narrators have gotten much better over the years, and many books have more than one narrator for each main character’s point of view. Have you ever read “A Gentleman in Moscow?” If so, you likely struggled with the Russian names. If you listen to the audiobook, that struggle is removed, and you can focus on the story, not the names.
Prior to audiobooks, though, I discovered e-books with the purchase of a Kindle reader. Yes, you had to purchase the books, which ranged in price from free (usually not the best books) to an average of $2.99 or so. They’re higher these days, but you can still find books on sale for very little. “I don’t want to spend money on books,” you say. “I just go to the library and check them out.”
Well, you can check out e-books AND audiobooks on an app through your local library. The one I use is called Libby. All you need is a valid library card. You download the app, find the name of your library, and enter your card number. Search for books by title or author, and narrow the search to e-books or audiobooks. You will have the book for two weeks. If you fail to initiate the return, the app will remove it automatically. I think there is a way to renew the book but can’t be sure. I haven’t used the app for quite some time because the vision loss prevents me from being able to read an e-book (unless it is on my iPad and purchased through Kindle–I can enlarge the font so much, there are only about ten words per screen, but since my reading speed is now about the same as a first or second grader, I can’t read an entire book).
For those considered low-vision, legally blind, or blind (remember only about 10to 15 percent of people considered to be blind have no light perception at all, the rest have some vision), an app called BARD is available. The patron must be certified by an appropriate agency or doctor to get access to the app, and audiobooks as well as Braille books (shipped from the Library for Accessible Media) are provided for free to the visually-impaired community.
Side note: the definition of legally blind is if you cannot see the large “E” with your better eye while wearing glasses or contact lenses, you are considered legally blind. If you CAN see the “E” while wearing glasses or contact lenses, no matter how bad your vision is without them, you are NOT legally blind.
To me, there are multiple advantage to e-books. You don’t have to store them. You can purchase them (Kindle app) and have them forever, or you can check them out on Libby. Less expense to purchase, and no need to run to the library to return a book. It’s all handled on your phone, reader, or tablet. If you find yourself struggling to read normal print, if you purchase the e-book, you can enlarge the print as much as you’d like. You can also switch it to dark mode meaning the background is black and the letters are white, so the screen doesn’t glare. You can adjust the brightness and contrast. Your book is always available, whether you’re sitting in a doctor’s office waiting room or sitting in the living room while your family watches something you don’t enjoy. Also, if you have Alexa and don’t mind the Alexa voice, she will read an e-book purchased on Kindle to you. Kind of a cheap audiobook, right?
I’m not suggesting that you switch to those formats and abandon paperback and hardback books. I am suggesting using those formats from time to time can give you more opportunities to indulge in your love of reading.
Believe me, I get the whole “I just want to hold the book.” There is something about seeing the printed word that is special to me. Whether it’s a newspaper, magazine, or book, there’s just something about the printed word that speaks to me. One of the hurts I have due to vision loss is my inability to read stories to my granddaughters, something I truly long to do. Maybe someday, though, they will be the ones reading to me, and we can enjoy books together that way.I realize I may not have convinced you to try other formats, and that’s okay. My goal was to open your mind to new possibilities. But whatever you decide, if you love to read as I do, know that we are kindred spirits.
I don’t know about you, but I’m a member of several communities. My family, of course. My town, obviously. My church family. My civic groups. At one time, I was a part of a work community but now in retired community.
And now there’s a new one.
A few months ago, a friend who lives down the road from me told me she had joined the Wellness Center and asked if I wanted to go. I was only too happy to join since I had been a member in the past and with my friend down the road going anyway, I had transportation. I was thrilled to be able to use the weight machines, treadmill, and walking track again, but the biggest surprise was how much I enjoyed the aerobics class.
Back in the day, I took Jazzercise classes and then worked out to those Jane Fonda videos at home, so participating in the aerobics class (I guess it’s a Silver Sneakers class?) was not a stretch for me. Our leader, known as LT, designs classes for all ages and ability levels, but let’s face it–all of us are “of a certain age” with some more “certain” than others. You know what I mean.
The fun of the class, though, wasn’t the only surprise. The second surprise developed rather than burst on the scene. I reconnected with people I hadn’t been around in years and met new people. I started being around former college friends, former co-workers, parents of former students, parents of children who are my children’s ages, and on and on. Soon I realized I was a part of a group unlike any I’d been a part of since college.
For the first time since college graduation, I spend a few hours each week with a group of people who are in or near my age group. Yes, I know, the eighty-somethings are not near my age, but we are all categorized as “senior citizens” whether we want to be or not. And although we come from a variety of backgrounds, we are able to have fun with each other while we work to keep ourselves as fit as we can.
LT does a great job of leading the classes, and honestly, I don’t know how she keeps from laughing at us. As we do the moves, we are definitely not in sync. Arms flying every which way, and some going left when they should be going right, and not to mention how we sometimes run into each other…I almost crack up laughing just looking at the few around me as we try to keep the pace. With her looking at approximately 40 people facing her, she’s bound to be wanting to laugh out loud.
This past Monday, members of the WC gathered for a Friendsgiving. We signed up in advance for what we’d bring (I made homemade bread, in case you’re curious), and the center closed for two hours to allow enough time to set up, eat, visit, and clean up. More than 100 people were there to enjoy the event.
You know, I think small towns get a bad rap. People complain of nothing to do, but in our town of just over 11,000, you can find plenty to do. You just need to look for it and take advantage of what’s offered. I’ll stop right there because that’s a blog for another day.
Back to my topic–ever notice how I get off-track in my blogs??–about community. I think of it as a group of people who share a common interest or circumstance. Think of sports fans, especially college sports fans. My husband has several Vols (Tennessee Volunteers, in case you don’t know what “Vols” means) caps and shirts, and he wears them wherever we go. If we are out of state, I guarantee he’s going to hear at least one person say, “Go, Vols!” Vols fans are a community, even if they don’t know each other by name.
Our common interest at the Wellness Center is to stay (or get) strong and fit. We don’t have to be best friends or share our feelings or any of that. But we can chit-chat, share recipes, talk about great books we’ve read or movies we’ve seen, and even our families. It doesn’t have to go beyond that to be a community, and honestly, I still don’t know everyone in the class. But I’m learning.
One Friday afternoon, I asked my husband to drop me off so I could use the weights and walk on the treadmill since it was too messy to walk outside. I was amazed at the emptiness of the gym. Two other people were there. I did my routine, but I didn’t enjoy it. It was boring not having people go by and greet me or ask me about something. It was boring not hearing the music played during the exercise classes. I didn’t like it.
Yes, I’m a sociable person. I love being a part of multiple communities. And when I can exercise and have fun doing it, I’m in a win-win situation.
If Glenda had not asked me if I were interested in going to the center, I never would’ve known about the classes and likely would not have tried them on my own even if I did. I might have joined the center but would have been limited to going in the afternoons most days since my husband is involved in the mornings with his own community–a bunch of Pickleball players who play three mornings a week–and I would have to rely on him for transportation.
I hope you’re a part of at least one community outside of your family or work. Don’t forget that it takes time to feel a part of a group, but in time, you likely will.
So, in this season of gratitude, I’m adding involvement in communities to my list of reasons to be thankful. My faith that sustains me, my family, my home, food to eat, clothes to wear, friends, electricity, running water…my list of things I’m thankful for is too long to share.
It is my hope yours is too. Happy Thanksgiving, everyone.
That red glow is not from a forest fire. My son took this photo of the Northern Lights last night. He was not in Iceland or Alaska or any of those places we think of when we hear about the beautiful phenomenon. He was at home, right here in Tennessee.
Every once in a long while they’re visible, and I don’t profess to understand any of the science behind why we can see them so far south, but I am awed by them.
Here’s the catch. I can’t see them in real life because of vision loss. So my son took the picture and sent it to me, knowing I could see the beauty of this event on my large-screen iPad or on my 47 inch TV screen connected to my laptop. It doesn’t matter I can’t see them like he can. Just seeing the photo and knowing they were visible in our area is enough to impress. And maybe my friends who ave no sight can enjoy the sight by hearing a description of the photo.
Photo description: A black sky with a red glow behind tall trees. The trees form a line on each side of the photo with an open area in the middle that extends to the ground. The ground, to me, looks completely black. Small lights are visible in the openings between the branch of the trees.
“Here she goes again,” you may be thinking.”Can she never avoid mentioning something about her vision loss?”
Sure I can. And I’ve tried to avoid mentioning it, but since I am fortunate enough that the biggest hurdle I’ve had to jump in life is the vision loss issue, it is my point of reference. I haven’t struggled (yet) with a major health issue. I have been blessed with a wonderful family and friends. So when I think of the biggest challenge in my life, that’s mine. Yours is something else.
I’m bird walking. Teachers know what that term means. Back to the point I am trying to make.
He took photos of the night sky in Sedona this past June, and I have saved them to my gallery. When I was growing up in Arizona, we sometimes went out on the desert at night. There, away from city lights and without the humidity we have in our area, the stars were amazing. Now the lights of the town and the humidity and cloud cover we often have in addition to my vision issues make that experience a thing of the past. On a clear night, I might be able to see one or two stars that are very bright (probably Venus and Mars, right?), but at least I can see the star-filled sky in the photos. Beautiful.
There is something about the sky that is awe-inspiring to me. I look up at it often in the daytime. Sky blue is my favorite color, and the colors of the sunset…well, I just love the sky. Just looking at it brings me a sense of calm and wonder and appreciation. It quiets my soul.
My point? I think we humans often focus on the negatives instead of the positives. It’s human nature, I think, but I do believe it’s worse than it used to be. Blame social media or what’s going on in the world or the higher population (in 1960, the population of the U.S. was 181 million, today it’s 347 million), but it’s worse. We are bombarded with conflicting opinions, hate speech, too many activities to fill our time, and other things that harm our emotional well-being.
My solution? I watch the national nightly news maybe once a week. I watch the local news more often because their stories concern our area. I don’t scroll my phone. True, it’s mainly due to the vision loss because I have to use Voice Over which is not perfect and often annoying), but I check notifications on Facebook each day (usually), post a few times a week as the mood strikes, and live my life in my community as best I can. I stay informed, but I don’t obsess.
And I have quiet time. I sit on my front porch when the weather allows with no noise except for the sounds of nature and the wind chimes when the breeze is strong enough. If the weather is too cold, I find a spot indoors just to be. Just to be by myself with my own thoughts. I pray during those times. I reflect. But for at least fifteen minutes, I have quiet.
Yesterday my husband and I went to a town an hour away to do some shopping since he has no luck with online shopping for clothes and needs to try them on and our town is limited in its offerings. While there in the men’s department, I was touching all the clothes to feel the fabric and discovered some pajama pants that were so soft and warm, I just had to have a pair. Yes, they were in the men’s department, but I purchased a small, and though they’re a little long even for my five foot seven and a half inch self, they are wonderful. Last night, I put them on and commented more than once, “I just love these pajama pants. I wish I had bought more!” Just wearing them soothes me and makes everything feel cozy.
Photos (or descriptions) of the night sky, looking at the daytime sky, feeling the warmth of a comfortable pair of pajama pants, quiet time…the small joys of life.
I still fall victim to the negative mentality at times. I wish I didn’t, but occasionally I slip into that pit of wishing my life were perfect according to the way I see perfect.
Then I go on YouTube and watch the young man paralyzed from the chest down because of a dirt-bike accident and how he navigates life or talk to a VIP friend who has worse vision than I do or no vision at all, and it brings me back to the mindset of being grateful for what I have instead of being bothered by what I don’t.
I guess I sound like someone being preachy or being a counselor, for which I’m not qualified, but that’s not my intent. My intent is to share my own journey and thoughts in the hope it will help just one person who is navigating a difficult path. And I’m writing this because it serves as a reminder to me to practice what I preach. Hey, I guess I am being preachy!
When I was working, I often said working was what kept me sane. The busyness of life kept me from focusing on the worries and disappointments that life throws our way. As a teacher and principal, I was too occupied with school duties to think about my personal situation. Long days that extended into night activities like ballgames made me too exhausted to worry when I got home. Keeping busy really is a good thing in many ways, but I still carved out my quiet time. It was fifteen minutes each morning, before my family woke up, and those fifteen minutes calmed my spirit before beginning yet another hectic day.
There’s a song we sing at our worship services based on a Bible passage whose lyrics include, “Be still and know I am God.” There is a great deal of wisdom in that simple statement.
Be still.
And if your life is not a busy one and you have too much still time, be busy. Oh, my, that’s a blog for another day!
Chances are if you’ve made it this far reading my blog, you are doing so simply because you know me personally or because you can relate. People who don’t relate likely stopped reading after the second paragraph if they even made it that far. And that’s okay.
The holiday season brings joy to some and sorrow to others due to many causes. If you are someone who struggles during this time of year, I hope you can find joy in the little things of life if circumstances have robbed you of the big things. I hope if you’re lonely that you will reach out to someone else who may be lonely so you can help each other. I hope you can know peace.
Best wishes to all, and thank you for reading and/or following my blog. I am grateful for you!
This photo is AI generated, so if you want to see what my glasses look like, go to my YouTube channel Journey to Sight.
These smart glasses can be used by anyone, but they are the latest hot topic in the VIP (Visually Impaired Persons) community. Why? Because at prices ranging from $300 to $379, they are much less expensive than most aids for people with low vision, and they work better than many apps designed for people who cannot see.
You may be wondering how they work, and that’s what I’m going to attempt to explain in this post.
First, I’ll answer the question I’m asked most often. No, they do not help me see. If you are someone who wears glasses and wants to use your prescription, your doctor can put lenses in the frames, but for people like me who are not helped by glasses, we just leave the glasses as they are.
Second, you can p purchase them with clear lenses, shaded lenses, or, as in my case, with transition lenses so they are clear indoors but transition to sunglasses when in the sun.
Third, you can buy them online on Amazon or even directly from a RayBan online store. You can select your style by doing a virtual try-on if you go to the RayBan site, and once you order them, you will receive them in a few days.
The set-up is easy. You download an app to your phone and pair the glasses to whatever you would like–phone, messages, music, audio books, etc.
The glasses have a case in which they are stored and charge while storing. You charge the case just as you would a phone, but the glasses get their power from a small charging area inside the glasses case.
You can find videos about the glasses on YouTube, but I am going to share my personal experiences and how I use them.
The glasses have a camera that enables the app to see things for you. The frames contain speakers that allow you to speak and to listen. When I walk my dog, I wear the glasses so I can listen to audio books, but I also notice if my dog seems to be on high alert and see something I can’t. I simply say, “Hey, Meta, look and tell me if there’s an animal or human ahead of me.” Or, “Hey, Meta, look and tell me what is in the middle of the road.”I talk on the phone while wearing them even though my phone is in my pocket. I listen to text messages using them. I You get the idea.
I use them to read things for me like cards people send to me (they can even read cursive handwriting), typed correspondence from organizations, street signs, and more. They help me locate things like where I placed something, or they tell me what an object is that I can’t recognize from a distance. The other day I couldn’t find the TV remote. I said “Hey, Meta, where is the TV remote?” The first time Meta could not tell me. I looked at a different area of the room and asked again. Meta told me where it was.
Allow men to explain. I was at the wellness center this morning and was forced to use a treadmill with which I’m not familiar since my preferred treadmill was out of order. I said: “Hey, Meta. what color is the ‘Start’ button and where is it located?” She told me, and then I asked, “Hey, Meta, how do I set the speed on this treadmill?” Her response was the various options I had to set the speed.
A few days after I got my glasses, I was at a local restaurant where my book club meets each month. At lunch, you place and pay for your order at the register and get your own beverage. The servers bring your food once it’s ready. (Okay, I’ll say it so locals know. We meet at Blake’s!) That particular day, I didn’t have to ask any of my friends what was available on the menu. I like getting something different each time. So I held up the menu and said, “Hey, Meta, what salads are on the menu?” I decided on the house salad and said, “Hey, Meta, can I add chicken to the house salad?” She (I have a female voice set for my glasses) told me I could. When I took my glass to the beverage station, there were three tea dispensers. I said, “Hey, Meta, where is the unsweetened tea located?” She told me, “The unsweetened tea is located on the far right.”
It felt wonderful not to have to ask someone for help.
The glasses do a great job of answering your questions so you don’t have to search the old-fashioned way. This morning I asked the glasses for the phone number of the library in a neighboring town.
I ask the glasses for recipes. I have the glasses read directions to me when cooking. I can ask the glasses what temperature the oven is on. I use bump dots to label the buttons I need to use, but I can’t read the digital numbers unless I lean way over above the stove-top and get my face a few inches from the screen. With the glasses, I don’t have to do that.
I use the glasses to make videos and take photographs. You just say, “Hey, Meta, make a video recording” and when you’re finished, you say, “Hey, Meta, stop.” Go to my YouTube channel (Journey to Sight in case you forgot) and you will see several videos I made while wearing the glasses. After you make the videos or photos, you will open the Meta AI app and follow the prompts to import them to your gallery on your phone.
Your phone will need to be within 30 feet of the glasses for the glasses to work since they operate via the app.
No, they won’t help you see. But they will help you live a more normal, independent life. And no, RayBan is not paying me to do this. They don’t even know I exist, and I doubt they need someone like me promoting their product.
The beauty of memories is how the bad things hurt less and the good things are sweeter.
That’s how I’ve been feeling the past few days. My two best friends since I was 12 came to see us, and for those few days, I was my young self again with the two people I had gone to school with, been with at slumber parties, occasionally had an argument with, and even worked with at a bank. We went out separate ways as adults but remained in touch, and the blessing of cell phones and social media reunited us in a bond that is indestructible.
While we spent some of our time talking about things like painting with water colors, our families, and the usual girl/woman talk, we also reflected on our working years and experiences we had.
There is no doubt my first year of teaching was the worst year of my professional life. I say that all the tine, and it holds true. I’d been working at a bank where I was a vice-president, loan officer, and assistant secretary to the board of directors. A local high school needed a French teacher, and with a three-year-old son, I thought it would be a more Mom-friendly career. That way I could be off when he was off after he started school. And I loved French. I had majored in Spanish and minored in French, so it seemed like the perfect fit.
The problem was I had never taken an education class nor done student teaching. I had no idea how to teach high school students. So I taught each day (badly), took classes at night (meaning I was away from my son even more for a while), and struggled to learn classroom management as well as how to teach well. I cried almost every night because I felt so inept, and I was counting the weeks until Christmas break by Oct. 1.
Thanks to the encouragement of some other teachers, I stuck with it, and I did learn. Sure, some years were worse than others, and I continued to feel inept at times. But after a few years, I felt confident in what I was doing and eventually became burned-out being in the classroom, so I took courses to become an administrator. I loved working as a principal, but I returned to the classroom after just seven years of it because of responsibilities to my elderly mother who was having one health crisis after another. Being a principal is a twelve-month job, and I needed time off with her.
Having said all that, the purpose of this blog today is…well, just read on.
To you reading this who were my students, I apologize for any mistakes I made. I’m sorry if I didn’t show you enough grace and mercy. I’m sorry if I said something you took the wrong way. I didn’t mean to say the wrong things. I truly cared about each one of you and wanted to teach you to be responsible as well as the subject matter to prepare you for foreign language classes in college. At that time, our state required two years of a foreign language to enter college, and I knew some majors would require you to take a foreign language in the college setting, so I wanted you to be prepared. But if you misunderstood my intentions or if I caused you hurt in any way, I apologize. I did not mean to do so.
To the teachers I oversaw when I was a principal, I apologize for my blunders and mistakes. I’m sorry if I ever put you on the spot with a parent or if I interfered in something I should have stayed out of. My goal was always to make your lives easier so you could be the best teachers you could be. I made mistakes, I know, with some parents, and I learned from those mistakes and tried not to repeat them. I know I was a rule-follower no matter what because that was the only way I knew to be consistent. Maybe I should have relaxed those rules a bit.
But for the most part, the memories I now have are good ones. I loved working with high school and middle school students. Sure, there were high school students in my classes who created problems and that sort of thing, but most of you were great. You made me laugh, you made my days enjoyable, and I learned from you. I learned what was going on in pop culture, I learned how you viewed the world, and I learned to care about the student as much as the subject.
And thank goodness our district switched to Spanish for the primary foreign language to study because believe me, it is much easier than French and obviously more useful.
I don’t miss getting up at 5:30 every day, and I don’t miss teaching the same subject six classes a day. I don’t miss dealing with the occasional discipline issues that arose. I definitely don’t miss grading papers.
But I would have to say that when looking back, those working years in education were the most fulfilling years of my life. I was right about the teacher schedule being great for Mom-friendly hours. I loved using the languages I had studied in college (although my intent in college was to work in international business and get to travel to other countries, not teach students the languages), and I loved making friends with my fellow teachers, our common bond being the rewarding but often frustrating career of education.
I have probably blogged about something like this before, but I am hoping this blog will reach more of you. I hope parents reading this will understand that teachers truly care about your child, so when you do not support them or try to make excuses for your child instead of enforcing consequences, you make their job harder as well as do a disservice to your child. To teachers reading this, I’ve heard that ever since the Covid shutdown, students have changed and there is no accountability anymore. Maybe you can’t change that, but you can focus on each student and realize he/she needs to learn even if they don’t want to put forth the the effort. I taught students, too, who didn’t try. I hear the numbers are even greater now because of the numbers game the state is playing and the district. Of course, that’s a topic for another blog.
But to former students, I hope you know how much I enjoyed being around you. I have often said I have a love/hate relationship with teaching, and to be honest, banking was my favorite career. But I’m grateful I became an educator for many reasons. It’s the most rewarding, sometimes frustrating and discouraging, and sometimes fun career you can imagine.
Maybe the years have pushed the bad memories aside and made the good ones sweeter, but that’s okay. C’est la vie, n’est-ce pas? Or maybe you would understand Así es la vida better. If you don’t remember either one, you understand what I told you years ago–if you don’t use it, you lose it!
Thanks for the memories, Dresden, Westview, and Henry County. You each hold a special place in my heart.
Social media is blamed for many ills in our society, and no doubt it has its problems. But like anything else, it can be used for good as well as bad.
It depends on the people using it.
Ordinary, everyday people with no journalism or writing background now have the ability to post opinions, insult others, stir up controversy with a simple post. They write things they would never say to someone’s face and hide behind the perceived protection of a certain amount of anonymity. I think we all recognize that.
On the other hand, ordinary, everyday people with no journalism or writing background now have the ability to share their life experiences, thoughts, and photos of vacations, grandchildren (as in the above–aren’t they just too cute for words?), and even a meal they’re enjoying in a restaurant or one prepared at home.
I prefer the latter group. If you post something political, I won’t listen to it. Remember, I can’t read very well because of vision loss, so I have to use VoiceOver. If I want to learn about what’s going on in politics, I listen to and watch various sources to get a true picture of what is going on. Maybe those sources aren’t telling the entire truth, but your opinion is not exactly correct either. I tend to view all of it with skepticism, but the beauty of social media posts is I don’t have to read them. I can skip them, and I do!
Just as we can skip those posts about grandchildren, if we have no interest in our friends’ grandchildren. Just as we can skip those posts full of hate speech. We can even delete them or block that person. WE are the ones who have control.
When I first joined Facebook in 2i009, I created my account to include my maiden name. I had moved away from the places I grew up, and lived too far away to be in contact with my classmates and friends. Facebook, I reasoned, was a great way for us to find each other. And I was right. Because of Facebook, Judi and I reconnected. Mimi and I reconnected. Many of my classmates, whom I had not seen or talked to since graduation, and I reconnected. It was and is great!
I have used Facebook and other social media outlets to spread information about what it’s like to lose vision and how to cope with it. I use Facebook to share this blog. I’m guilty of sharing my motivational thoughts (I try to say I’m not being preachy, but my husband says some are preachy) because I’m a writer. Not necessarily a professional one. But I’m a writer. Ever since I was very young, I was writing short stories and keeping a diary or journal. Other writers understand. It’s as though the words just have to come out in print, as though I have to type them to sort through them. For writers, sharing our thoughts this way is a form of therapy. And it is our hope our own self-therapy will help someone else.
But I understand the way social media is impacting some people. I understand how addictive phones are for many of you (remember, I can’t scroll stuff the way you do. I am often annoyed by being surrounded by people who are constantly checking their phones, but I’m sure if I had that ability, I’d be doing the same. After all, information and entertainment and communication all in one small device.
I especially understand how social media is impacting young people. When I was growing up, it was the name-calling at school (my particular names from my junior high classmates–and that age group is the meanest age group of all for various reasons–were Twiggy, Four-Eyes, Zipper, and Coke Bottles). Explanation of the Zipper name–Hey, Pam, turn sideways and stick out your tongue, and you look like a zipper! Yes, I was very skinny. Coke Bottles? For those of you old enough to remember soft drinks in glass bottles, you remember how thick the glass on the bottom was. The reference was to my very thick glasses for a very near-sighted me.
But I digress. Back to social media. I could go home from school, cry about the hurtful words, and I could tell my mom about my day, and I could escape it. The access to texting and social media these days make those insults impossible to escape, and far too many young people are suffering because of it. I don’t know what the solution is other than not allowing them to have accounts, and it is a huge concern which I’m not qualified to address.
For me, though, I’m grateful I have social media outlets. For those who live alone and are lonely, it’s a way to reach out to others. For those of us who want to know what’s going on with our friends and family, it’s a great way to share. A loved one has passed away? If you desire, you can honor that person with a social media post. Someone celebrating a birthday? You can share it with the world. By the way, my mom lived to be almost 94, and as she got older, I shared a picture of her and the fact it was her birthday. Numerous people wished her a happy birthday on those posts, and when I shared them with her, it made her day. She loved the attention, and why shouldn’t she have?
Social media, then, is not the real problem. The real problem is the people using it. It’s not the social media platform creating the controversy, spreading the misinformation, or spouting profanities that would not be tolerated in mainstream media. The real problem is the person behind the post.
I skip those posts and even block them. You may not. You may love them and have a desire to interact with them. That’s fine. It’s your choice.
We have a choice. How we use social media, when we use it, if we use it. We have a choice in what we read.
People have been creating controversy for as long as humans have been on the planet. But there have been and are many people who try to make the world a better place.
I like to be around those people. I want to be one of those people.
And I will continue to post pictures of my family, grandchildren, friends, dog, our trips, and about ways to live with vision loss. I will continue to post things about my books, my “preachy” thoughts (I’m preaching to myself as much as to anyone else), and anything else that inspires me.
If you don’t like them, skip them. That’s fine. We all have that choice.
I was going through some old documents and deleting what I no longer want to keep and found this short story I wrote seven years ago. If you choose to read it, I’d love to know what you think happens to Hope after…well, if you read it, you’ll know. I have my own idea of the kind of person she is. I’d love to know what you think. And maybe, just maybe, you have been a Hope or a Callie.
Love and Hallmark
“That kind of love doesn’t exist, Hope. You’re delusional because of those cheesy Hallmark movies you watch all the time.”
I stare at my best friend over the rim of my coffee cup. Callie doesn’t know what she’s talking about, but I understand why. Her mom’s been married and divorced twice and is currently dating a “prospect.” Her dad’s only been married once – to her mom—but he’s had a series of live-in relationships. These days he’s with a tall, too thin woman only five years older than Callie.
“You’re just jaded, Callie. It’s not like that for me.”
“Jaded?” She arches a perfectly crafted eyebrow. Everything about Callie is perfectly crafted, from her blunt cut red hair that just brushes her shoulders to her airbrush quality make-up to her sleek black and white dress that probably cost more than most people earn in a week. I guess there are some perks to having rich parents who try to buy their way out of their guilt.
I can’t imagine. My parents stopped paying my expenses when I landed my first full-time job out of college. I get it. My two brothers are still in high school, and my folks are teachers. Rich, we’re not.
“Yes, jaded, cynical.” I take another sip of my Starbucks caramelized honey latte, my weekly Friday morning caloric and financial splurge.
“I know what jaded means. And I’m not jaded. I’m a realist.” She shakes her head. “There is no such thing as forever love or love at first sight. Lust, maybe, but not love. And no love lasts forever.” She snaps her fingers. “Something goes wrong, and it’s over, just like that.”
My parents have been married almost thirty years, and sometimes they’re so lovey-dovey it’s disgusting, but I’ll take it over what Callie has. All four of my grandparents, married to the same person for over fifty years. I don’t just think it; I know true love is real.
“You’re wrong, Callie.”
Callie gives me that smile that says, “I love you, girlfriend, but you are so naïve.”
Maybe she’s right. Maybe I am naïve. Maybe I should have been born in the fifties instead of the nineties. Maybe the modern world is just a too modern for me.
“I need to get to work.” I stand and pick up my drink to finish on the short walk to the financial firm where I will spend my day juggling numbers.
“Me too.” Callie follows my lead. The men in the coffee shop stare as we walk by, but they’re staring at Callie, not me. I’m a mere shadow. She’s tall and curvy in all the right places. I’m average height and maybe five or ten pounds over average. She has amazingly green eyes to go with that dyed-red hair. My brown hair and brown eyes fade in comparison. She’s extraordinary. I’m . . . ordinary.
We part ways at the law office where she works as a paralegal, and I continue another couple of blocks to the skyscraper I have worked in for the past two years. The security guard smiles at my usual greeting but doesn’t say anything as I show my ID and head to the elevators.
My heart skips a beat. He is waiting for the elevator too.
The doors open, and we step inside, just the two of us. This has happened before, and we usually make small talk, the kinds of things co-workers say when they think they have a connection just because they work for the same company.
“Morning.” He nods his head at me as the doors close.
“Good morning.” I search for something to say. Talking about the weather is too mundane. What can you say? It’s July, so it’s hot. And humid. And maybe there’s a chance of an afternoon thunderstorm.
“Casual Friday for your department?”
I look down at my dressy jeans, black high-heeled sandals, and turquoise, black, and white top that Callie insists shows off my best feature, my olive skin. “Yes, it is for us every Friday.”
“Wish it was for us. I’m in meetings all day.”
He’s wearing a navy suit, white shirt, and light blue tie that make his gorgeous blue eyes sparkle.
“Too bad.” I smile, then take a sip of my lukewarm latte. Callie has told me I have a beautiful smile. I don’t think so, but ever since she said that, I find myself smiling a lot more than I used to.
“Yeah, too bad.” He grins, and my heart lurches. He’s looking at me, really looking at me, like maybe he likes what he sees. “The place I worked before had casual dress every day. The past month here has been an adjustment.”
No wonder I hadn’t noticed him before June. He’s new. “What department do you work in?”
“Investments. Pretty interesting.”
High pressure too. I wouldn’t want the responsibility. “I work in accounting.”
The elevator stops on my floor, and I step out, wishing I could stay longer. “Have fun in your meetings,” I say, then want to shake myself. How lame.
He laughs. “Thanks. Have fun crunching those numbers.”
I feel better at his equally lame reply. The door closes, and I head to my cubicle. A few co-workers wave as I go by, but everyone is already focusing on their duties. Casual Friday it may be, but the work is constant, with no let-up. It’s because the company is growing so fast, our manager says, which is good for all of us. Bonuses, pay raises, all sorts of good things will happen if we keep it up.
I sit down and log in to my computer.
“Hi, Hope.”
Derrick is smiling at me. He works in the cubicle across from mine, but we can’t see each other untless one of us stands up.
“Hi, Derrick.”
“TGIF, especially with having Monday off for the fourth.”
I repress a sigh. He always tries to make conversation, but he’s not very good at it. I know Derrick is interested in me. He has never said anything, but a girl can just tell. He’s a nice guy. Good-looking enough, too, with sandy blonde hair and hazel eyes, although he’s a little stockier than I like. Not tall and muscular like the hunk in the elevator. I wish I knew Mr. So-Handsome-He-Could-Be-A-Movie-Star’s name, but he never wears a name tag, at least not when I’d seen him.
“Yeah, a three-day weekend will be nice.” I click on the program I’ll be using for the next hour or so. Derrick is still standing there, like he wants to say something else. “Did you need something, Derrick?”
He blinks. “Do you have any plans for the fourth?”
No, I don’t, but I don’t want to tell him that. I’m a little more than unhappy that my parents and brothers chose this week to go on their annual vacation with my grandparents to Gulf Shores. Too far to be worth my while to take the time to drive and too expensive to fly. Besides, my own vacation is in two weeks. Callie and I are flying to New York. I have scrimped and saved for a year to be able to go.
“Nothing special,” I hedge. “Just the usual. What about you?”
“The usual.” He hesitates. “A day at the lake water skiing. Want to go along? About seven or eight of us in three boats. We eat at a restaurant on the lake, watch the fireworks at dusk, then head home. Interested?”
It’s my turn to hesitate. Usually I spend the fourth at home with my family, so I had lied to Derrick, which makes me feel bad. This year, though, the fourth will be nothing more than sleeping in and spending the day alone. Callie is going to her dad’s. She invited me to go, but I turned her down. Her dad creeps me out. Fifty and shacking up with a thirty-year-old. No doubt she’s in it for the money, but the visual images that their relationship brings to my mind. . . yuck.
I am tempted to say “yes.” I love to water ski, and a holiday alone is not appealing. I hear myself saying, “Sounds like fun.”
I regret the words as soon as they slip out, but it’s too late. Derrick’s eyes light up. “Great. Want me to pick you up or meet you somewhere?”
I don’t want him to know where I live. “Can we meet up at the riverfront park?”
“Sure, how about nine? I’ll be in a white Dodge Ram.”
I should have known he drives a truck. He has “country boy” written all over him. I bet he really knows his way around a Bass Pro Shop.
“Looking forward to it,” I lie. I know lying is wrong, but I think lies that keep from hurting other people are okay, so I don’t feel guilty. Unless my agreeing to go to the lake is leading him on. A guilt attack hits.
I shove the guilt aside and go through my workday. When I leave at four-thirty, I don’t see Mr. Good Looks anywhere. It’s just as well. Seeing him would make me regret Monday even more.
Saturday and Sunday pass too fast, although I don’t do anything special. I can’t wait for Monday to be over, and I spend half my time trying to come up with an excuse to back out. Why, oh, why did I accept?
Sunday night I get over my anger with my parents enough to call Mom. She had texted me when they got to Gulf Shores and told me it was raining. I hope it rains there all week.
“Hi, hon, how has your weekend been?” Mom always sounds so cheerful. Despite myself, my spirits lift at the sound of her voice.
“Okay. Did my morning run yesterday, some window-shopping at the boutiques in midtown, and treated myself to pizza last night. Today I’ve been lazy, watching a movie right now.” It’s one of my favorites, when a big-city girl goes to a small town to take care of her grandmother who is recovering from hip replacement, and the girl falls in love with a guy who owns a bed and breakfast. Of course, she decides to leave the big city and run the B&B with him. Callie says they divorce two years later when she is bored out of her mind and ready to go back to the city. I prefer to think they have a kid on the way.
“What about Callie?”
“Remember, Mom, she’s at her dad’s.” Mom never retains what I tell her.
“Oh, that’s right. Are you lonely?” She’s worried, I can tell. Good, she should feel bad for leaving me in the lurch on a holiday weekend.
“A little. But I’m handling it.” I put just the right amount of bravado in my voice.
A pause. “Well, if it makes you feel any better, it has rained every day since we’ve been here.”
I grin. Yep, I do feel better.
“I’m going to the lake with a co-worker and some of his friends tomorrow.” Oh, no, I said the word “his.” Now she knows it’s sort of a date.
“Oh, that’s good!” She’s almost gushing, and I frown. Her guilt hasn’t lasted nearly long enough. “Who’s the guy?”
“Derrick . . .” I don’t even know his last name. “He works in the cubicle across from mine.”
“So, what’s he like?”
“He’s okay. Mom, don’t get your hopes up. I’m not interested in him. It’s just something to do.”
“Well, have you met anyone you are interested in?”
Before I know it, I’m telling her about the elevator guy. “There’s just something about him. I’ve never been attracted to anyone like I am to him. I guess it’s how you must have felt about Dad.”
Mom is quiet for a moment. Then she laughs. “Hope, what makes you think it was love at first sight for your dad and me?”
I frown. “Well, Dad always says he knew right away.”
“Maybe he did, but I didn’t.” Mom is still chuckling. “He pursued me, Hope. I was interested in Ben Chambers, a boy I dated for about six months. When we broke up, I was heartbroken and wasn’t interested in dating anyone else for a very long time. Your dad had a crush on me for at least a year before he got up the nerve to ask me out.”
This is the first time I’ve heard this. My mom dated someone else besides my dad? Not only that, she had really cared for someone else? Makes sense, but I still don’t like it. Dad probably had a girlfriend before Mom, too, now that I think of it. After all, they were in their early twenties when they married.
“You never told me this. So how long did it take before you knew that Dad was the one?”
“Several months. I liked your dad, liked him a lot, but it wasn’t right away.” She pauses. “Be careful, Hope. Don’t shut out the possibilities. I fell in love with your father for many reasons, but maybe the most important reason of all was because he loved me and treated me well. He’s solid. That’s what I want for you. Someone who will love you and treat you like a queen, someone who will stand by you. That’s true love, Hope. Not what you see in those Hallmark movies.”
My head is spinning. “But I want that kind of love.”
“You will have it. Believe me, I wouldn’t have married your father if I hadn’t felt that way. But it takes time. It doesn’t have to be love at first sight.”
It doesn’t have to be love at first sight, I remind myself the next evening when Derrick drives me home. I’m exhausted, but in a good way. Derrick’s friends were a lot of fun, and I spent hours on skis. I probably won’t be able to walk tomorrow, I’ll be sore, but it was worth it.
But now the day is over, and I know Derrick thinks we’ve been on a real date. That means he might be expecting something, at least a good-night kiss. Me, I’m not feeling it.
He pulls into a parking space and turns to face me. “Well, here we are. I had a great time today.”
“Me too.” That’s true. I’d had a great time, but I would have had just as good a time with Callie or my brothers. “Thanks for inviting me.”
He has a strange look on his face. I can tell he doesn’t know what to do, so I decide to help him out. I reach for the door handle. “See you at work tomorrow.”
Before he has time to get out and open the door for me like he’d done earlier, I hop out.
“Yeah, see you tomorrow.” I can see the disappointment on his face, and I feel like a heel. But wouldn’t it be worse to make him think I’m interested?
I get in my car and make the short drive to my apartment. I want to slap myself. Why can’t I be attracted to him? He’s a nice guy, seemingly solid, like Mom said. Not like Mr. Wonderful, but maybe Mr. Wonderful is not so wonderful. Not so solid. He might even be engaged or married.
When I get home, my head talk continues. By the time I go to bed, I have convinced myself that I was stupid to shut Derrick out. I need to give it time, get to know him.
I dress carefully for work, my olive skin just a shade darker after my day in the sun. The coral blouse and tan pants look good on me, I must admit. Maybe Derrick will think so. Then again, maybe I don’t care what he thinks.
When I enter the building, no one is in the lobby. I press the “up” button and tap my foot while I wait. What am I going to say to Derrick?
“Good morning.” My tapping stops, and I look to my left. Mr. Gorgeous has arrived.
“Good morning.” I give him my best smile.
He smiles back. “We’ve got to stop meeting like this.”
I laugh as my heart skips a beat. “Or at least introduce ourselves.”
“Good idea.” He extends his hand, and we shake. His warm skin sends shivers up my arm. How is that even possible? “I’m Kyle Patterson.”
“I’m Hope Stone.”
“Nice to meet you.” I like how his eyes crinkle at the corners when he smiles. “How long have you worked here?”
“Almost two years.” The elevator doors open, but we remain standing there as two other employees brush past us. I don’t miss the questioning looks they give us, but I ignore them. The elevator doors close.
He nods. “I thought you looked like a seasoned veteran. Me, I’m just a small-town guy working his first big-city job. Exciting, but I’m still learning the ropes.”
“It’s a good place to work.” I’m at a loss for words, but at the same time, I don’t want the conversation to end.
“What time do you go to lunch?”
I don’t usually eat lunch in the cafeteria on the main floor. My usual lunch is a peanut butter sandwich in my cubicle while I check Facebook and Pintrest. “At twelve-thirty.”
“Want to meet up in the cafeteria? I can go to lunch whenever I want.”
“Sure, sounds good.” It sounds better than good. It sounds great.
He pushes the “up” button, and the doors open immediately. We step inside and make inane small talk. The ride to the fourteenth floor ends too soon. When I step out, he says, “See you in a few hours.”
“See you then.” The morning is going to drag.
Derrick is not in his cubicle, so I’m spared the awkwardness of greeting him, at least for now. The morning goes by faster than I thought it would, and before I know it, it’s time to head downstairs to the cafeteria.
“Where’s Derrick?” I ask Miranda, the receptionist on our floor.
“He got a promotion. Friday was his last day in our department.”
I’m stunned. He hadn’t said a word about it. Heat creeps up my neck. He’s been here less than a year. Our degrees are the same. A promotion already?
Miranda goes on. “You did know he’s Mr. Jensen’s grandson, didn’t you?”
The founder of the company? I shake my head. “I had no idea.”
Miranda sighs. “I’ve been trying to get him to notice me ever since he got here, but no luck.”
I frown. “He told me he was from a small town.”
“He is. His parents divorced, he was raised by his mother.”
Miranda sure knows a lot about Derrick.
My thoughts are spinning as I make my way to the cafeteria. I’m a fool. I had a nice guy and heir-apparent to a multi-million-dollar business interested in me, and I had shut him out because of a schoolgirl crush on a guy I know nothing about.
Kyle is waiting for me, his coat unbuttoned, standing with one hand in his pocket, looking like a manly version of a catalog model. Much more manly. My knees turn to rubber as warmth spreads all over my body. He gives me a lopsided grin, and all thoughts of Derrick flee.
Callie’s warnings to be careful with my emotions are screaming in my head, but I don’t care. No doubt in my mind, this is love at first sight.
Then I see another guy standing next to Kyle. I keep my smile plastered on my face.
“This is my cousin Lucas. He works in the building next door.”
I’m confused, but I nod and say something appropriate.
“Kyle has been telling me about you,” Lucas says. “I’m an accountant too.”
I stare at him and then at Kyle, who has headed toward the food line. So, that’s what this is. A set-up. Kyle’s not interested in me. He thinks I’m a good match for his not-nearly-as-good-looking-and-much-shorter cousin.
“Oh.” I can’t help it. My smile fades. I’m crushed. Lucas clears his throat and looks away. I pull myself out of my heartache enough to feel a little bad for him. “So where did you go to school?”
He looks encouraged, but I know there’s no future here. Lunch is going to be awkward.
I think I’ll text Derrick later. I really should congratulate him on his promotion. Tell him I miss him being in the cubicle across from me. Thank him again for a great time yesterday.
I can see it all now. Small-town girl dates heir to a fortune. She’s hard to get at first, but he wins her heart. They marry and live a good life.
Did you know if you violate this law you could end up with a fine, in jail, or even worse?
October is Blindness Awareness Month, and October 15 is White Cane Safety Awareness Day. All 50 states have some form of White Cane Law, but the information I share is specific to Tennessee. What follows is an article I wrote for the local newspaper in my ongoing commitment to educate the public and the visually impaired about issues related to vision loss.
What Drivers Need to Know about The White Cane Law
Maybe you’ve seen me walking downtown and wondered why I’m using a white cane with a red section at the bottom. After all, I don’t appear to be blind. I walk quickly and seem to move along without too much assistance from the cane. But there’s a reason I use it.
And maybe you’ve been one of the few drivers to stop for me when I’m waiting to cross the street. If so, you were obeying the law. If not, you were breaking it.
October is Blindness Awareness Month, with October 15 being National White Cane Safety Day, and while you may think blindness has nothing to do with you, it does if you drive. As a matter of fact, deafness is another factor to consider. The White Cane Law (55-8-180) was passed in Tennessee to protect blind or visually impaired pedestrians. The Driver’s Manual explains it as follows: When a blind or visually impaired pedestrian using a guide dog or carrying a cane, which is white in color or white with red tip, or a hearing impaired person with a dog on a blaze orange leash is crossing any portion of the roadway, even if not at an intersection or a crosswalk, take special precautions as may be necessary to avoid accident or injury to the pedestrian. Stop at least 10 feet away until the person is off the roadway. Do not use your horn, as it could startle the blind pedestrian.
Notice the terminology used is “blind or visually impaired.” Only ten to 15 percent of people considered to be blind have no light perception at all. The other 85 to 90 percent have some light perception and often some functional vision. I fall in that category.
When I became legally blind over five years ago due to a rare condition similar to age-related macular degeneration, I began searching for ways to live a life as independent and normal as possible. The inability to drive meant I was confined to my home or neighborhood while my husband was at work, and for an otherwise healthy, active, and sociable person like me, that was not acceptable. While friends often offered rides to events and offered to take me to stores, I hated asking them to do so and limited myself to accepting rides if they were going anyway. I did not want anyone making a special trip for me, and there was no way I was going to text someone and ask them to take me somewhere. The Northwest Tennessee Transportation service was an option I used occasionally, but you had to schedule your trips at least a week in advance, and because of the driver shortage, I was limited on what days of the week I could use the service for personal reasons.
I received technology training and cane training from The STAR Center in Jackson, and that meant when the weather was all right to do so, I could walk downtown and go to the library, restaurants, the bank, and shops.
But the white cane with the red tip that I use as an identification cane is not always the magic wand that stops traffic. More often than not, cars do not stop for me at crosswalks, and I am limited in where I can walk as I fear crossing University Street because I have no idea if the sign across the way says it’s safe to cross. It’s possible there is a way to have it announced to me, but even so, I’m not comfortable crossing heavily traveled roadways.
I can see cars when they’re about ten yards away from me, but because they are traveling faster than someone walking, they reach where I am standing in seconds. I listen for cars and can tell if they’re leaving or approaching. I can tell when they’ve stopped. At that point, I’m brave enough to step into the crosswalk and cross the street.
An acquaintance of mine in the VIP (visually impaired persons) community lives in near Nashville, Tennessee. She attended a week-long residential program to learn how to walk using a cane with confidence in a city setting. When she returned, she was excited about her new skill and was anxious to show her husband what she had learned. But when they began to cross a busy four-lane, a vehicle turning left almost hit her.
The ironic part of this? It was a police officer.
Her confidence shattered, she called the police chief and told him what happened. He addressed the issue immediately by implementing training with his staff regarding the law.
Failing to stop for a pedestrian as described above is a Class C Misdemeanor, and drivers may be fined or even put in jail, depending on the seriousness of the violation.
It’s possible I’m the only person in our town using the white cane, and it may be no one in our town uses a guide dog. It may be that others who are hearing impaired or visually impaired have no desire to venture out on their own. But I have a feeling there are other independent, active types like me who want to live as normal a life as possible without fear of being hit by a vehicle.
So, the next time you see someone with a white cane, a guide dog, or a dog with a blaze orange leash waiting to cross the street, stop. Not only is it the law, it’s the respectful thing to do.
In the movie Brown vs. The Board of Education, there is a great line. One of the fighters for integration tells Sidney Poitier’s character about one of the others involved, “He’s a great lover of mankind. It’s people he can’t stand.” Now that’s an oxymoron or paradox whichever way you’d describe it.
Me, I love people. This friend in the photo who did the St. Jude Walk with me in September also loves people. I know because I see what she does. She doesn’t have to tell me. I see it in her generous giving of her time, in the way she takes care of those going through struggles (health and emotional), the way she is always ready to give a helping hand. She has always done this but even more so since losing her husband a little over four years ago. Her grief continues, but she doesn’t allow it to make her withdraw from the world. She’s too outgoing to do that, and she’s too concerned about others.
I’m one of those people she has helped and continues to help. But that’s the subject of another blog.
I had one sibling, a brother nine years older than I was, and in a way, it’s as though our parents raised two only children. By the time I was seven, he was sixteen and working part-time jobs and doing things with is friends when he wasn’t in school. I was the pesky little sister who invaded his room at times or did annoying things. When I was about 17, we developed a close friendship, but it wasn’t the same as if I’d had a sibling closer in age.
When we moved to a town in Middle Tennessee (people from Tennessee understand why I capitalized those two words, don’t think it’s grammatically incorrect), I was almost 12, and we moved to a neighborhood with no kids. Everyone on our street and nearby streets were older with no children living at home. That was a first for me. I’d always had neighborhood friends. Those were lonely years for me. Every now and then a friend came over or I went to a friend’s house, but most days were lonely ones. We lived a couple of blocks from the library, and during the summer months, I walked to the library, checked out five or six books, took them home and read them, and then three days later walked back to the library. You get the picture.
When we moved to a newer neighborhood when I was 15, I had a few friends within walking distance, but the game-changer then was…I got a telephone in my bedroom! How exciting! And when I got my license as soon as I turned 16, the world opened up.
I loved school for the most part. Why? Because I was with other people my age. I was in clubs like the Drama Club, Interact, and more. I was on the yearbook staff. I went to every home football and basketball game even though I didn’t care about sports. Sure, I cheered for our team and found it exciting, but I was there for the social interaction.
College meant dorm life, and I loved living in the dorm. I really did. I loved having friends around me most of the time, and if I mention this dorm and someone who was there reads this, they’ll understand–Ellington Hall. The best!
When I graduated from college and went to work at a local bank, my co-workers were near my age but married. I was single. My roommate had a steady boyfriend who took up all her free time, so, just like those early years in Middle Tennessee, I was bored and lonely when not at work. I looked forward to Mondays and hated the weekends.
Don’t get me wrong. There were and are times I needed alone time. When I was in high school and busy with classes and clubs, there were Saturdays I just wanted to stay at home and do my own thing. When I was teaching and surrounded by hundreds of people every day, there were times I longed to be in a log cabin in the woods, with just my family, to get away from the busyness of life. I used to call those times suffering from “people pollution.”
But, for the most part, I need to be around people almost every day. If I go many days staying at home, even if I talk on the phone to friends and even though my husband is around, I go into a semi-depressed state. Well, maybe depressed is the wrong word. But the days seem so long.
Before you think I should just get out and go on those days, remember: I can’t drive. That is the worst part of losing sight. Once again, that’s a topic for another blog.
I have several friends enduring the hardship and grief of widowhood. I have friends who have lost children. I have friends who are dealing with incurable health conditions. Some deal with their struggles by being with other people. Some withdraw. Some are open about their loss and reach out to others going through a similar struggle while others remain private.
We’re all different.
I have wished many times I wasn’t as sociable as I am. I have wished and even prayed about being better at being at home most of the time. My mom loved being at home and never wanted her life scheduled in any way except for going to church. I couldn’t get her to go to the senior citizens’ center. She had no interest. Oh, she did love working part-time at Walmart in the fabrics and crafts section. And she was sociable when it came to call ing people on the phone and chatting. She never understood why I wanted to be on the go so much, and I guess I don’t understand it myself.
Yet I do. I honestly like most people. I can count on one hand the number of people I dislike. And I am a great lover of mankind. I want the world to be a better place. I want people to be the best they can be, to live in the best they can for their situation, and I wish all the political division would go away. Fight for what we believe in, but do it in the right away and always with love in our hearts for others. Christians and members of some other religions know what I’m talking about. That, too, is a topic for another blog.
But that same passion makes me struggle with the life I am now living. I am involved in several civic groups and church groups, all of which meet the first two weeks of the month beginning in the fall and continuing through spring. And I know myself. I know during those two weeks my mental state will be good, and I’ll even appreciate my time at home after being involved with those things. But I also know myself well enough to know the last half of each month and the summer months will bring back the restlessness.
I recognize it’s just who I am. I’ve tried to change me, and maybe I will succeed as time goes on. I’m a work in progress. I am blessed with good health, and I know if I were not in good health, I would be fine with being at home most hours of each week. So I don’t want to lose my health just to change my attitude. I had Covid a few weeks ago, and I texted my best friend from my growing up years: “The bad news is I have Covid. The good news is I’m not bored just being around the house.”
The bottom line is each one of us is unique. I often say I’m weird. After all, I am the one who can live without chocolate just fine and am not a huge fan of pizza or hamburgers.
Please don’t misunderstand me. I am blessed beyond measure. I have my wonderful husband and my children, daughters-in-law, and grandchildren, even though my children and their families do not live in the same town so I can see them regularly, and I have all the physical blessings (health, home, etc.) we all want. I know this sounds like I’m complaining. I’m not. I’m just explaining why I feel as I do at times.
My favorite movie is The Sound of Music. I loved it when it came out, and I still love it today. Maybe it’s because of the music. Maybe because of the beautiful scenery. Maybe it’s because of the story.
But I have a feeling it has a lot to do with that nine-year-old girl watching a family with so many children and wishing she had siblings close to her age and the adult she became wishing for the same thing.
The black and white photo–proof I’m definitely in that age group. Current photos are additional proof!
I accept it while still in wonder about it at times. Because I feel great and am in excellent health (as far as I know, so far), I don’t feel like I’m in that age group. My husband’s aunt, who looks probably 20 years younger than she is, often says age is just a number. That’s true in a way. Your mental attitude, your physical health, and even your hobbies and interests reflect your age more than the calendar.
You know what I mean. Some people’s lifestyles and/or genetic health issues make them age more quickly than the 96-year-old woman in one of my civic groups who still drives and is involved in civic activities. Some people seem to thrive on getting older. My mom seemed to delight in getting older. She lived to be almost 94, but never complained about getting older. She laughed about it at times, and honestly, I think she thrived on being treated like she was elderly. You know what I mean if you’ve reached a certain age. It’s when those younger folks talk to you as though you’re not quite with it. When the nurse calls you “hon.” Or, as our preacher said once, if you fall as a young person, people laugh. If you fall as an older person, people rush to help you.
In Mom’s later years, I went to all her doctor appointments with her, and doctors tended to talk to me about her condition even though she was sitting right there. That would have bothered me, but Mom didn’t mind at all. She wasn’t the independent type and was only too happy for me to handle…everything.
One day a friend and I were at a local sandwich shop (we have several good ones in town), and the young man told me, “Your total after the senior citizen discount is–.” I laughed and told my friend, “I don’t know whether to thank him for the discount or be offended he could tell I qualify just by looking at me.” The young man had been friendly and talkative, and I think he could tell I was just kidding around with him and wasn’t truly offended. He just grinned and said, “I like to give discounts.” I reassured him it was fine, and I appreciated the discount.
Still, it did sting a bit!
I joined the wellness center last month, and I participate in a couple of the Silver Sneakers classes. The classes have anywhere from 35 to 40 people participating. The thing is, we’re all considered senior citizens, but the calendar ages range from the early sixties to up in the eighties. The ability levels are all over the place. Yesterday’s class was focused on balance, something we all need, I think. Today it will be aerobics centered, and it’s one of those classes you can get the heart rate up or not, depending on how much you put into it. LT does a great job of leading us. She recognizes the ability levels are as varied as the women and men (yes, we have some men) in the class, but thank goodness she doesn’t push us the way our P.E. teachers did in school.
My worst grades were in P.E., which is no surprise to my family. And, oh, those horrible one-piece blue jumper shorts with the snaps we had to wear in high school…when I was a junior, I became a member of the yearbook staff just so I could get out of taking P.E. In college, I was thrilled to discover I could take those classes pass/fail. But hey, I did make an “A” in bowling and and “A” in tennis skills. But I was stupid enough to take a class called “Figure Control and Conditioning.” My professor at the time is now in our retired teachers group, and I love to tell her she was trying to kill us in that class!
Don’ get me wrong. I have always liked being active. Just not in the structure P.E. class setting where I felt too tall and awkward.
I guess the whole point of this blog is that aging is real, and how we adapt to it depends on our personalities and our circumstances. In our youth-adoring culture, we don’t want to think about it and resist the thought of it. Older people are not honored in the same way they are honored in some other cultures. We are encouraged to have cosmetic procedures and use serums and lotions to remain as youthful looking as possible for as long as we can. The more tech-savvy generations view us as inept if our skills with technology are not what they think they should be. Sometimes our adult children think we’re not as capable as we actually are.
However, conversations in our age group are funny these days. Discussions about medicine, colonoscopies, arthritis…if you sit back and just listen, it’s hilarious in a way. Yes, we are in that season of life in which Medicare Part D is something to evaluate every year, yet my husband and several of his pickle ball player companions can hold their own playing against much younger men who join their group from time to time. We’re older, but we’re not finished with living.
I have a feeling my husband could hold out longer on the pickle ball court than many younger people, and there’s no doubt I can out-walk most of them due to a lifelong walking habit and the blessing of not having arthritis or back trouble. But I also recognize it might not be a good idea for me to roller skate, something I used to love, or take up jogging since that would hurt my knees.
Yes, I’m in that age group. But as my husband’s aunt says, my calendar age doesn’t define me. I can know my limits without imposing restrictions that aren’t needed. I can treat others with kindness, no matter how they treat me. I can find enjoyment in new activities, and I can listen and learn from younger generations while hoping they can learn from me.
And, yes, I can get that senior citizen discount. Why not?
Life As I know it 