Archive for the ‘1’ Category

I’m looking for an excuse for ever having become a blogger in the first place. The process was too easy. Just go to www. wordpress.com and you’re through.  I signed up six month ago.

My question soon became: what are bloggers contributing to the future of humanity? I mean, really? I’m pretty sure that I am still open to learning and to new ideas so I keep reading blogs. I’m trying really hard to think of something new that I’ve learned from reading blogs.

There.  I thought of something.  I’ve learned how much alike we all are. How, when we blog, we project our need for sharing life, for approval, for acceptance, to be appreciated, to belong. And it WORKS.  It’s a sure-fire kudos opportunity like no other. How rare. How wonderful.

Beyond that, blogging has enabled me to travel the world, to see hundreds of fabulous pictures of unknown places, to rub elbows with many peoples I knew nothing about, to try new recipes, to weep for the less fortunate, and to pray for understanding. So I plan to keep on blogging.

How else, except by reading my blog, can anyone younger than me see the world from the point of view of an older, female American?

In your first 84 years of life on Earth, you, too, will have been many things, worn many hats, and played many roles. Still, I am looking for justificationfor this newest role, blogging. Why would I expect anyone to spend their valuable time reading anything that I have to say? It seems like technology has replaced the wisdom of elders and sort of put us out of business.

I have no breath-taking pictures to expose you to my pain, my joys, my failures or my successes. But I have reached the end of life chocked full of appreciation, free of anger, free of resentment, knowing full well that my bed is the bed that I have made for myself … and my cup runneth over with gratitude. Life is awesome.

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You wouldn’t believe it, would you? You’d laugh. That’s why you’re buying my book, “Getting Lucky at Eighty,” because you think that getting lucky at eighty can’t be anything more than finding your car in a parking lot.

Well, children, if you’re as lucky as I have been, you may live long enough to learn even more than you already suspect, about what goes on in bedrooms. That life force is in us, not of us. We didn’t turn it on and we can’t turn it off.

My perception of this intimate aspect of relationship has changed very little since I was seventeen. To this day, I see guys as eager, clever, masterful conquerers.

At a very tender age, male seems to be driven to conquer female.  We need to know that we may well be the object of his quest. And I, because I’m female, still respond to male attention and tend to play my role to the hilt. I think we girls start out in control of the situation, because he has this need to conquer.

But we maintain control for only as long as we can postpone the surrender. Once we’ve been conquered, the power seems to switch to the other side. When we surrender our body, we surrender our power of persuasion to the male. That’s how it looks to me.

The only down side of that is this: Women keep trying to change the outcome. We’ve come up with so many freedoms in the last hundred years, that we keep expecting to change nature. Sorry, girls, she’s not listening.

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Wouldn’t you think? Wouldn’t you reasonably think that as you get older and older, less and less things would happen in your life? It doesn’t seem to work that way. So much has happened in my life in the last week that I can’t believe it’s been only a week since last Saturday.

Work-wise: 1) I got drenched showing property in the rain, 2) I lost an exciting listing to a bigger office, 3) I had another offer lost in the shuffle, 4) I got to show the listing I’d lost and 5) I had a no-show to write up an offer on the rain-soaked property. In the slowest market any of us can remember, this was quite a busy week in real estate.

Personal stuff: The highlight of the week was getting a phone call from my Grandson who’s serving in the Air Force in Afghanastan and spending 24 minutes on the phone with him. Words cannot describe how special that was. Please join me in sending love and Light to our armed forces everywhere. They all belong here.

To suggest that I might be over-doing it, fate slapped my hand and put me to bed with a hearty cold.  It’s a dilly.  I’ve slept a lot and studied some for my real estate renewal exam due this month.

I also lost a dear and special friend this week who seemed way too young to die. He was only sixty. If I were writing history, I would have gone in his stead. He was such a giver and would have done so much more than I possibly can.

So, I guess I had better rest up for next week because chances are that it will bring just as many challenges, lessons, opportunities for growth, delights, wonders, smiles and tears.

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I’m pretty low tech and I’m almost proud of it.  At my age, you don’t need to be high tech very often. Except …

for two days in a row now, I have made valiant efforts to share with you the latest exciting turn of events in my life. For two days in a row, I have written a new post about belly dancing. Both times the post has simply vanished into the ethers as soon as I finished writing it.

To a Scotch-Irish, Taurean, Oklahoma farmer’s daughter that just says try again, so here it is.

My new-found joy is having discovered a new exercise program that seems to be the perfect answer to my quest. I have been led to start taking lessons in belly dancing.

What a revelation! Belly dancing is centuries old. It’s the ulitimate feminine expression. It’s beautiful. It’s enchanting. It’s sexy. And I know now that it is intense exercise.

The classes are an hour and a half long. By the time the first hour is up, my ole body is screaming for rest. No, of course I haven’t done half the work that the more experienced students have done, and there are moves that I never hope to achieve, but I dearly love it.

A year at the gym was something I made myself do. It gave me a larger, more muscular stomach and diminished my thighs which I had become sort of fond of. My proportions were better before the gym.

Next I tried Curves which a lot of people love. For me, it was too noisy, too busy, frustrating. I only enjoyed Curves a few times when I had the whole studio to myself. Yoga had taught me to exercise meditatively. Belly dancing offers that.

OK  Bottom line.  Belly dancing is inside-out exercise. In contrast to message, it forces you to reach deep inside your own body and ask your own muscles to wake up and come alive and get to work for you. It never ceases to amaze me.

I pray that no part of my aging body will keep me from continuing to revel in this new way to express joy for being alive.

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Should you happen to  be someone who actually reads my blog, you may have been offended by Friday’s post, “I Suffer for Tiger Woods”.

If so, I am sorry, but I cannot take back any part of my comments regarding the Tiger Woods tragedy. The tragedy was the publicity, of course.

My little sister, now 79, who still lives in the Bible Belt in Kansas strongly disagreed with my sympathy for Tiger Woods. She, like so many other people, now sees this once famous American as slime because, after all his successes, he defensively made plans to protect himself emotionally even though it involved deceiving his wife. That was very poor judgement on his part. But is it a cardinal sin? Is it unforgivable? Not in my book.

There is no question that men have, have had, and may always have certain advantages over women. It’s a physical world and they’re bigger and stronger than we are, physically. So be it.

It’s just that in striving to compete with those male advantages, we may be losing sight of our own powers. We are woman. Woman lures man. She is not usually forced into illicit behavior but usually goes there by choice. Having made that choice I think she should admit responsibility, that’s all.

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Can somebody tell me, can anybody out there tell me, why, when we’re comfortably settled into the 21st Century, we’re still using an Elizabethan yardstick to measure honor? I honor Tiger Woods, for his gifts and for his accomplishments.

Tiger Woods is an American super-star. He has made it to the top by mastering a sport and breaking all kinds of records. Can sticks and stones make him less than that? Not in my book.

I’ve just seen him discussed on Larry King Live. We learned today that he’s a lousy public speaker, but Stephan A. Smith perfectly voiced my feelings about Tiger Woods with his reasonable, logical, compassionate insight into what happened to Tiger Woods and why. It’s one of the oldest of stories.

What’s beyond me is why his weakness is perceived as being all his fault? Dozens, if not scores, of women are considered “injured” by him when the truth is that he gave each and every one of them exactly what they wanted more than anything else in the world at the time. (Some of them knew full well that he was a married man.)

But then once each of them got him in the sack, she wanted more. She wanted it all. Most women want it all. (Yeah, I know, men too.)

It’s our quickened pace, our delusions as to what matters in the long run and a scary inability to keep things separated like we used to. I keep telling you that things are beginning to blur.

I like to think it’s the beginning of recognizing the Oneness of all things.

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So much is in a name. Too much is in a name. We can so easily be led astray by trusting a name that has been programmed into us, the older generation,  as trustworthy.

In the spring of 2006 I  had just turned eighty and was already on Medicare, of course, when I found in my mailbox one of the most enticing presentation packages ever compiled. It had come from Blue Cross of California.  Because it had come from Blue Cross of California, second only perhaps to God in trustworthiness, I took it very seriously. I took it home.  I gave it an evening of my time. It  was very impressive.

What I thought it said to me was this:  1) I could always, at any time, go back to my familiar Medicare coverage; 2) this new entity would pay 90% of all my medical bills instead of the 80% that Medicare was paying; 3) I could always choose my own health care provider but might have to pay a bit more if that provider was NOT in the booklet of approved Freedom Blue (the mask) providers; 4) my annual deductible would now be $1,000/yr instead of Medicare’s $100/yr.   It also said that my maximum annual co-pay would be $3,000.

Yep, I grabbed it.

And now I’m about to write them a letter asking to be released from that decision and to accept the offer to return to regular Medicare coverage  (see 1 above) .  The primary reason for this decision is that I can no longer deal with the confusing paperwork. I can honestly say that there has never been a moment since May of 2006 when I had the faintest idea what the hell was happening with my billings.

Last week, six months after I believed that I had paid my $1,000 deductible  for 2009 (and can prove it), I get a bill for a service six-month’s ago to remove a skin cancer for which Anthem Blue Cross paid nothing. Their explanation on the phone was that my $1000 deductible “had not been paid at that time“.

The 2010 “Medicare & You” directory says that Anthem Blue Cross (Freedom Blue’s new mask) was rated “POOR” among members. Recently my Premarin prescription cost  ME $40 of the $68 bill for only thirty pills. In 2008 Freedom
Blue paid $108 of $138 for one hundred pills. What changed? Prices and my health insurer’s profit. 

And now I’m reading that come March 1st, we will all be paying 39%  higher premiums for Anthem Blue Cross coverage because …. ?

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The word people has taken on a new significance of late. It’s often preceeded by some seemingly innocent little word like “my” or “your.” We’ve all heard someone say, “my people will talk to your people.”

Whatever that really means, if seems to imply a payroll, doesn’t it? And more importantly, it suggests that people are getting paid to “do stuff for you.”  That would not be happening unless you were a VERY important person, right?

Being a very important person is not in my computer, but I believe that I “have people.” You must be one of them if you’re reading this. You cannot imagine what a thrill it is to get a sincere response to one of these posts on wordpress. Who would have imagined that I would live to see the day when it would be possible to sit down at my Vaio and share a random thought with a limitless number of other people out there  in “cyberspace?” 

Once in a while, what comes out of me, touches someone out there and we have a brief exchange of thoughts via email.  When that happens, I distinctly feel that a part of myself has made contact with another part of my self. The edges between two beings begin to blur, to run together, to blend. I can feel such closeness between us that’s it almost as if we could reach over and touch one another.  And you know what? It feels like love.

How is it possible to feel love for someone about whom I know absolutely nothing? Is there another name for this feeling? I don’t think so. I think it’s love. I think it’s obvious that the more people we “take in” to our awareness, the more we’re participating in life.

So, here’s a big hug for each of my people.

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Does Bill Gates tweeting mean the dissolution of the barriers among classes of people? Could he possibly be just one of us?

I feel like I know Bill Gates. Like we’ve been on a first name basis since I bought XP Pro for both of my computers–at work and at home.  I resolve my frequent irritation with his/Microsoft’s persistent interference like this:  I press the print key.  Do you want to print? Yes, I want to print. Are you sure you want to print? Yes, Bill, I’m sure I want to print. Nothing. Look again.

But, eventually, it brings a smile and I’ve definitely adopted the little dog who does my searching for me. Sheer genius. I would literally adopt him if he were available.

I am in awe of a mind that puts mine to shame. I am grateful that I am sharing a window of time with such a remarkably, progressive channel of knowledge.

I wonder what it would be like to oppose him in a hand of bridge?

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Come New Year’s Eve, you’ve got to pop a bottle of champagne if you’re lucky enough to have one. Nothing is more festive than champagne. But, when there aren’t that many people celebrating it with you, there’s always a lot more left than gone and the bottle is not  reclosable.   

Chances are that there’s a French recipe offering a great solution for this rare, but very real, problem. Isn’t it the French who love to cook with wine? I wonder what would have happened if I’d disposed of some of it in the black-eyed-peas? They were especially good this year, by the way. The original, traditional recipe calls for hogs maws to season the pot.

Well, I’ve made black-eyed-peas on New Year’s Eve forever, in many regions, and have yet to find hogs maws for sale in a market . I buy ham hocks. You probably do too. And they’re fine. This year, however, my daughter-in-law handed over the bone from the Christmas ham she’d cooked. What a treat. Even the dogs had a treat for New Year’s Day, 2010. Don’t you just love the sound of it?  “Twenty-ten?”

I hope that each and every one of us has had some sort of an awakening in this first ten years of our new century and our new millenium. We are all different people than we were in Y2K. Hopefully, we’re wiser.

We’re sort of expriencing a miracle, I think.  We’ve never seen so much change happening so fast. It seems as if every minute now there is something new happening, but is it happening around us or in us, or of us? The more we learn about the world around us the smaller the world becomes, the more coincidences and connectedness we see, and the more like everybody else we become.

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