Felice Shapiro, Founder and Publisher of Better After 50, muses about life as a BA50.
So I met a friend for lunch the other day. I hadn’t seen her in years, like 20 years. I arrived a few minutes late and when I walked into the restaurant a woman jumped up from her chair – opened her arms wide and gave me the hugest hug. It was my old friend. I was rattled to say the least. She didn’t look like the friend I remembered.
We are both in our mid-50’s and not only was her skin smooth and unwrinkled – it was tight/taught. She really didn’t look like the same person – she was almost unrecognizable to me. I tried really hard to be in the moment – to share life stories, find an easy rhythm but honestly I couldn’t stop staring at her face. Frankly I found myself half listening because my mind chatter was in full swing… I really wanted to ask her; “What did you do? Is that a facelift plus something else – when did you have it done?”
After our lunch I came home and showed my husband her yearbook picture and then her current Facebook picture. He agreed – he too saw two different people. It was really hard to process and I felt badly that I was even obsessing about it. Why did I care so much?
I know my lines are running deep on my face and when I massage my night cream in an upward motion each evening I notice how much younger I look on the upsweep. Yes I imagine that I could look younger if I got a little lift (whatever that really means). I know our aging skin is a universal topic and we are all either making peace or making change at this midlife juncture. I like to believe it’s a universal conversation – and therefore something we actually talk about — and I would like to think I have no judgments about anyone who opts for the knife or the needle.
Another friend of mine did have “work” done. She actually called me and wanted me to know that she wasn’t going out for a while until she had healed. I so appreciated her honestly and her sharing. When we eventually met up, I saw how her look had changed a bit and frankly, she looked great. She’s so pleased with her decision and I am really happy for her. I never really think about it when I see her — it’s just not a topic.
When I reflect on the difference between these two stories it’s clear to me that the full disclosure approach creates an open trusting feeling. When there’s no “big secret” between two friends, there’s no opportunity for discomfort.
So, I was thinking about how the “secret” of plastic surgery can actually create some kind of breach of trust. How do you feel when a “close” friend is secretive about such a huge decision?
Well in the first instance, I hadn’t seen this woman in 20 years. Why would she even share her plastic surgery with me and why did I need her to? I was truly fine with her not sharing –but nevertheless it was jarring.
But a close friend – that’s a different story. If they have surgery on their face do they really think you aren’t going to notice?
And now if you ask them what’s different and they don’t tell you they had “work” done – well then all of a sudden a trust is breached – they aren’t being straight with you. And then – well the foundation of honesty gets undermined because they don’t come clean on what you know to be true – that they had something shot into their face – or had undergone the knife – and you a bit feel shut out – and maybe you begin to retreat –because if they can’t share something as important as altering their face with you – then perhaps you feel less willing to share your “stuff” with them.
Or maybe it’s because they don’t want to be judged about their dissatisfaction with the way they look and how much they want to look younger and fresher. Well then, it seems the best approach would be a generous ice breaker like, “You look fabulous, what’s different?” And maybe they will share with you or maybe not right then.
Anyway in the spirit of full disclosure I want to share a video I found. It’s a natural way to get a facelift – no kidding! Let’s just say it’s a cross between Jack Lalane and yoga for the face.
But there’s a risk to watching it –if you click below, you may create more laugh lines on that brow of yours.
This past year I decided I needed an attitude adjustment regarding personal health – my own and others. You see, for most of my life I’ve had a pretty odd relationship with conversations around health issues. Up until now I’ve been what I would call, dismissive and intolerant and my mind seems to automatically shut down when friends and family start talking about medical details.
Personally, I power through fatigue, retreat to my yoga mat to stretch my aches and generally avoid the doctor. I take no vitamins and pray hard that I’ll get the thumbs up during my annual physicals. Up until now I have subscribed to exercise and diet as my medicine with a few z-packs on the side and gotten away with it.
Somehow, I’ve perceived giving into discomfort as equivalent to feeling old. My Dad was very judgmental about health issues. When my mom would get sick his line was, “your Mom is enjoying poor health.” Empathy around health issues was not in his vocabulary. I adopted my Dad’s attitude and decided that those who complained were indulgent – full stop.
That worked until recently. Life in my 50’s is demanding a change in my language and attitude around health issues. Instead of fixing – it’s about “living with and adapting to.” My very knowledgeable dear friend recently told me that most people of our generation will be “living with cancer vs. dying from cancer.” When he first said this, I was frightened (that was 2 years ago), today, that comforts me.
One of my dearest friends is suffering from a virulent cancer and she has been “living with her cancer” for 3 years now. The road has been very very difficult, she is strong and so is the medicine but unfortunately, so is the cancer. Nonetheless, she lives with it and makes the best out of each and every day.
Wisdom and age hopefully live side by side at midlife and beyond so, at 50 it stands to reason that old knee jerk behaviors begin to evolve when reason merges with experience. And now that the health conversation is prevalent amongst family and friends – I’ve noted that my pre-50 year old outlook no longer serves me.
This is why recently when confronted with my dear friend’s illness, I have chosen to stay vs. retreat – to listen and ask vs. distract the conversation –and admit to myself that I am limited to being present and loving. This is the best me I can bring in times of need to those I love. This is a huge shift.
While this change in behavior has happened gradually, it has come with a lot of self-criticism and a lot of inner dialogue. Being more present raises the issue of – “What more can I do to help”?
Accepting my own limitations to give, to comfort, and to share the finite hours in my day challenges me to step up even more – question whether I can do more. “Doing the best I can”, never quite feels like enough… yet I know it needs to FEEL like it’s enough.
So now in my 50’s I am working on balancing self-kindness and giving. I have exhausted myself time and again thinking I could do more.
The evolution continues.
After 20 years of enduring endless smirking by my children in restaurants, I want to address a sensitive topic: ordering food. I really don’t think I’m difficult to please – at least food-wise. I definitely don’t view myself as a high maintenance restaurant customer.
I’m kind of put off when I’m out to dinner with my kids and they start looking tense when I begin to order my meal. I don’t get why they are instantly embarrassed when I ask a few questions of the waiter. I’m really not that difficult.
For instance, the other night at our favorite Italian restaurant my husband and son “conspired” to share an appetizer of Parpadella Bolognese. “Whoah,” I said, “what about me? You know I don’t eat meat and I would love to share a pasta with you guys.” The boys shrugged me off and told me to order my own pasta without meat. I must have looked a little sad because the waiter felt sorry for me and offered to bring me a small portion of the same pasta, without the meat.
Perfect! Was that so difficult? The only problem was my pasta arrived with just butter on it, and no sauce (as if for a toddler.) Bummer. I gently asked the water if I could have some red sauce on the side.
“Oh, I thought you didn’t want sauce – no problem”.
“Actually I wanted sauce, just no meat.”
My son and husband chuckled — I didn’t take their bait. The kind waiter brought me some incredible red sauce “on the side”. You see, I’m not so high maintenance.
It turns out if you’re wondering whether you’re a high maintenance eater or not, it depends who you ask; the server, your spouse, your kids or your friends.
My friends and I are on the same menu page. They’ve never even intimated I’m a difficult customer. In fact, I know I’m on the normal spectrum. As a regular at girls’ nights, women’s lunches and walking group morning coffees, I’ve seen the full spectrum of “special needs” food requests.
I have friends who order most of their entrée on the side – like my most stylish friend, who orders a virtual poo poo platter that spills over into the middle of the table with plates of extra avocado, tomato, and a little bit of extra parmesan slices to supplement her main course– of lettuce. Frankly, I love when she does that because she shares the overflow, and I love those extras.
My vegan friends pepper the poor server with questions about what’s in the soup or the sauce and by the time the server gets to me I am determined to make their life easy. After all, I’m not vegan, I like house wines, I don’t care if the salmon has been farmed or wild – but I know the difference. I’m pretty easy going about all this stuff.
I’ve been ordering dressing on the side since 1979. I’m not saying I don’t use it- I just like to be in charge of how much I put on. In the beginning (like the first 20 years) my special request was motivated by controlling my calorie intake. For instance, I used to order blue cheese dressing, but ordering it “on the side” made me feel less guilty (I told myself I use less than the chunks slopped on my salad by the chef).
The next 10 years my tastes changed—but my desire to control my calories did not. I started ordering balsamic and oil – the bottles – no pre-mixes. I believed this tasted better and it allowed the authentic lettuce flavor to shine through. But, apparently, my request still required a special effort for the server and thus – I got the raised eyebrows from my boys that said, “Mom, You are SOOOO high maintenance”. So what!
In the last few years my dressing preference changed again, and now I prefer really good salt and lemon and a little olive oil. See, I’m getting easier as the years go on. I even carry my own salt (Maldon or Himalayan)– so all I ask for is a a few slices of lemon and some olive oil. I think I must be a breeze of a customer for most servers.
On the spectrum of high maintenance orderers, I’m convinced I’m one of the easiest to please these days. I have no allergies, I don’t ask about what’s in the sauce (except if there’s onions or garlic because I can’t digest it). I don’t make special vegan requests (except if the fish has bread crumbs I request it to be grilled or broiled with no “stuff” on it). Of course butter is fine.
I’m definitely not a pain about ordering desserts. I love sweets but can’t they just offer a square of dark chocolate – I’m willing to pay.
I recently replayed the segment from Harry Met Sally about “High maintenance women”. And, I gotta say, I was totally aligned with Meg Ryan when Billy Crystal peppered her about her food issues. I’m still sticking with my story — I’m not high maintenance – I just know what I like.
How would you rate your self: High Maintenance or Low Maintenance?
My husband and I negotiated for months and finally carved out 7 days for an adventure just for the 2 of us. Work and family obligations, holidays and daily routines in a life we enjoy make travel seem like an effort lately but we know, once on the road – we have a great time in the world. After spending hours trying to pick a destination, we settled on 2 places we’d both never been – Iceland and Amsterdam.
However, not 20 minutes from home — we met our first obstacle.
At the check-in counter Bill and I were informed they didn’t have our reservation — in fact — we hadn’t bought the tickets. WHAAAT?
He looked at me and nervously laughed – really? Admittedly, reservations were my domain. Hey, what about the itinerary they emailed me the day I booked the flight? Was there a next step – You bet!
At that moment – we had our first lovely Icelandic experience. The kindest manager from Icelandic Air rebooked us with a smile and honored our price (ok it’s not peak season – but still!).
Despite our ridiculous Seinfeld-like check-in, our flight was easy as it’s less than 5 hours. We took their afternoon flight and arrived at 11:30 pm Iceland time – a civilized way to travel into a 4-hour time zone difference.
Reykjavik Weather in September:
We packed for all types of weather as our weather app hadn’t shown us anything but rain. Obsessively checking the weather in Reykjavik didn’t make the rainy forecast disappear. Despite the bleak 47 degrees and 90 percent rain prediction for the entire 3-day stay, the weather in Reykjavik turns out to be basically un-forecastable. We had no downpours, plenty of sun and a full mix of other stuff.
What to Pack For Iceland in September:
Whining doesn’t work in Iceland – layering does.
If you think you know what to expect during a day’s outing you’re wrong. With a fully loaded light backpack you can be ready for anything. Here’s a typical mid-September day: 9 am rain and 42 degree weather; by 10 am it’s cloudy and the wind has picked up and the damp coldness rattles your bones. A scarf, gloves and wool hat are added to your just-in-case raincoat. Wait 30 minutes and the sun shines and you start to peel down your layers –and then the rain – some more wind – then sun. Seriously it’s not even noon yet! You get the picture.
For evening — what we wear at home works in Iceland too — nothing too fancy or fussy. Just pack your favorite jeans and sweaters and a special dressy outfit, which you may never wear.
Iceland’s very name invokes a shiver and its volcanic, glacial land in the northern Atlantic defines it. Iceland is bubbling, exploding, erupting and pristine. Geothermal steam from the ground warms it and electrifies it.
The September sky is illuminated with northern lights (if there are no clouds you can see it – we did not). The ground is spouting steam from its geysers and lava from it’s volcanoes – fish are jumping from its streams and ocean and music pours out of the teaming café life. The people of Iceland are kind, warm and stoic. They are hard working busy people who live in a land commanding an acceptance philosophy as its weather is harsh, cold and dark for a long period. They are proud and respectful of their land and tell you they have what they need right here – food, natural resources and each other.
Transport is not cheap in Iceland so best to have a plan. Taxis are a fortune. It cost us $180 to cab-it from the airport to our downtown hotel. We should have taken the fabulous Reykjavik Excursion bus for about $40. You don’t need a car in the city but for any excursions you’ve got 3 good options: Car rentals are about $300 a day all-in and certainly cheaper than a private driver which can run $600 for the day or the tour buses which are clean and efficient and your most economic option.
Day One Reykjavik and The Blue Lagoon:
We spent our first morning wandering the streets of the city with our guidebook and loved meandering around charming neighborhoods. Shops are fun if you like athletic wear – there’s plenty of great outdoor gear and clothing stores.
The afternoon we hopped a bus to the Blue Lagoon (http://www.bluelagoon.com) and arrived 2 hours prior to our massages. (You need to pre-book treatments). The Blue Lagoon is perhaps the world’s largest hot tub. The place is pristine and feels like a private spa. Despite the 47 to 50′ish degree air temperature and on and off again rain – we swam for the full 2 hours. I smeared exfoliating mud on my face from the free mud pots – and, we floated around talking to other travelers from all over the world. A few breast strokes and we arrived at the treatment area and were met by 2 strong Icelandic masseuses in wet suits. They covered us in water soaked blankets, which they continuously re-soaked to keep us warm while we lay on our backs on floating yoga-mats under cold drizzly skies. Cold fresh air in our nostrils, drizzle on our faces, tucked into warm soaked blankets with great massages – fantastic! Meanwhile, an impromptu a capella group who were hanging at the pool-bar broke into song.
That night we ate the freshest cod and salmon that was surely same day, sea to table fare.
Day 2: The Golden Circle Tour
We hired a driver to take us around the Golden Circle. Way too pricey! Renting a car or taking the tour bus would have been way better. Our driver was a man of very few words – Icelandic, stoic and kind but definitely not chatty. The country is green and volcanic. The rolling land of dark volcanic material covered in beautiful green moss creates a soft-carpeted effect. Glaciers and mountains stand boldly in the background — too far for us to go to for the afternoon. There was virtually no traffic. The sites were approachable and refreshingly un-commercial. We walked pristine paths to waterfalls, watched a Geyser explode again and again for over and hour (It’s bigger than Old Faithful). At each stop we hiked on designated paths. It was an easy, full day, 7-hour trip (but you could do it in less).
And in the evening we wandered into a lovely restaurant where we ate flakey, fresh, just-caught Cod.
Day 3 The Western Peninsula:Snaefellsnes:
We rented a car and headed west for a 7-hour adventure – guidebook in hand of course. Snaefellsnes’ is a jaw dropping natural treat boasting waterfalls, glaciers, and the roaring blue sea sharing the land with the dark ominous volcanic mountains. We took a walk along the dramatic coast from Arnarstap to Hellnar (2.5 km) which was spectacular.
And guess what we had for dinner? More just-caught cod!
In 3 days we’d fallen in love with Iceland and are definitely gong back for more hiking and hanging out. Nevertheless, we were ready to go and take our virgin voyage to Amsterdam for the next 4 days.
I don’t understand why abused women stay with their men.
Seems like we’re all talking about the Ray Rice story –not only that he knocked out his “fiancée” and married her shortly thereafter, but alarmingly – that she is defending her decision to stand by her man! This is the issue that we are all buzzing about as we try to explain her actions.
Initially this story was about the NFL’s inaction — but it’s moved beyond that as the NFL owners and commissioner have finally taken serious action.
Nevertheless, it didn’t make sense why the NFL didn’t ban him initially in March when Rice first confessed to them that he had beaten his fiancé and knocked her out on February 15th, 2014. It seemed like pathetic hand slapping when he was indicted by a grand jury one month later, on March 27th for 3rd degree aggravated assault with a possible jail term and fine. Thank goodness for the press, social media and you tube as the NFL couldn’t escape public opinion once the video went viral! Rice got a more appropriate punishment once the video was released on Sept 8th .
The question still remains — what took them so long?
While the NFL’s delay calls into question how the NFL deals with it’s people for sure, that doesn’t surprise us. Football players’ popularity, for years, has been measured by what they do on the field and not by their personal lives—and now — hopefully things are about to change.
But what surprises us most is one day after the March 27th indictment, on March 28th — Janay Palmer married her fiancée Ray Rice. THE NEXT DAY after the indictment! One month after being “cold cocked” and spit on in the elevator she married him on March 28th…WTF??
Despite being banished from play, Ray is out and about in his life with his lovely family cheering on young players at the high school where he got his start. Only a few weeks after being banned from play, Janay and Ray and their child were at a football game at their alma mater, New Rochelle High School, on September 14th, where the high school administration correctly removed his jersey from their hall of fame display. Nevertheless, New Rochelle High’s team coach still considers him part of the “football family of New Rochelle.”
But, what about Janay? What’s going on in her battered head? It’s hard to understand how she married him right after the knock out. For women who have never been in an abusive relationship – it seems unfathomable. And I for one am grateful for how the social media (Facebook and Twitter) creates a transparent outlet for sharing this topic; why battered women actually choose to stay – or don’t leave their abusive relationships. After reading the twitter posts of abused women there is no question – this is a very complicated issue.
Amazingly, Meredith Vieira spoke candidly about the abusive relationship she was in during her early years. Her take-away from her own experience — “it’s complicated.” Take a look at her disturbing story here:
Meredith’s reveal helped me a lot. Hey, it’s easy to dismiss Janay’s behavior as her life experience is so different than mine or my children’s. But, Meredith brings the story of why women stay to an everywoman level. That creates a greater level of empathy for many of us.
And while we are on the subject –we are of course concerned about Ray’s role modeling for young boys aspiring to be “just like him?”
But, what are we to do about Janay?
How do we explain this story to our kids — where a woman gets beaten and marries the guy who beats her?
The video of her being beating will live on and not only have hundreds of thousands of people seen it thus far — her children will surely see it too. So, what I’m wondering is how Janay explains her decision to her children, to her family and to herself and how we explain this story to our own loved ones.
But one good thing has come out of this horrendous story, and that is, everyone is talking about it and that’s got to be better than keeping this topic swept under the rug.
I never thought I’d become one of those people who sit around telling golf stories. Really, how old (and boring) do you have to be to start talking about the thrill of sinking a 30-foot putt, or landing a 190-yard drive in the middle of the fairway?
Have I got your attention? Probably not yet, but….
Here is the male version of my story, courtesy of my friend Joe: “Some A-hole hit me with a ball while I was putting. I shrugged it off and sank the putt. I had $20 bucks riding on it.”
Proving that men are from Mars, and women from Venus, here is my very female, and accurate play by play story:
I was on the 16th green putting for a “bogey” (one over par) – and got hit– really hard– by a golf ball on the 16th hole. Don’t worry, I’m fine.
I was super focused on my putt, when SLAM, I heard myself scream “OUCH” as I watched a golf ball drop from my left forearm to the ground. Aghast, I watched this curious circular piece of broken skin on my arm turn bright red, where the ball had struck, and to instantly swell. I looked across to the 11th hole from where this stray ball originated and couldn’t imagine how this was possible.
Two men appeared through the trees from another fairway both shouting, “OMG, are you OK, what can we do? I’m so, so sorry.” My first thought was, “Really? How could they have possibly hit me?” It didn’t make sense that the ball could have come at a right angle into my arm from another fairway which was almost out of sight.
My friend Debby and I hurried to our cart, determined to get to the clubhouse ASAP for the ice, and debated if I should go to the ER to check if I had broken something, as my forearm was doubling in size. Just as we were ready to go, the men were upon us at the cart. I looked over and there appeared a friendly familiar face.
“Oh, Felice, it’s you! Are you ok?”
It was my friend Jason, a great guy with the sweetest smile ever.
“Jason,” I said with a smirk, “did you hit me?”
“No, no it wasn’t me, it was him,” and he pointed to his friend who was looking on with concern.
“I’m so sorry,” the friend said, “I shanked a ball, and can’t believe it hit you.”
“Listen,” I said, “I’ve got to get some ice on this arm,” not wanting to make full eye contact with his friend, the culprit, as he looked so guilty about his poorly hit shot.
“Jason,” I said, “since you’re a doctor, can you tell me if you think I may have broken something in my forearm.”
He laughed and said, “Hey, I’m a GYN, …sorry that’s not my area of expertise.”
“Pretend it’s a vagina then… is it broken?”
Jason laughed and retorted, “Well my first question would be, when was your last period?”
Touché, a little humor, a great laugh, and a perfect distraction to this ridiculous situation.
“Ok, I’m off for ice.”
“Wait”, Jason said, “I didn’t properly introduce you to my friend Rick.” Rick nodded and said he was so sorry, yet again, and looked upset. I wanted to make him feel better but I really needed to get some ice.
“No, no truly, I’m going to get ice and go to get an x-ray.”
And then Jason completed the intro – “Rick is a famous author, you know… Richard North Patterson.”
Only on Martha’s Vineyard I thought! A day at the public golf course, and I am meeting a hugely famous author who luckily didn’t knock out my eye or hit me in the head with his shank. I was feeling so lucky at that moment (NOT).
“Nice to meet you Rick,“ and off Debby and I went. I was not starstruck, just struck and that was all I could deal with. Debby and I headed to the Martha’s Vineyard ER which was totally empty as it was one week after Labor Day. And in just 45 minutes we were seen, x-rayed, and given an arm cast with instructions to rest my arm for two days.
I called my friend Jason to let him know I was fine and he and his wife invited me for tea the next day. As I walked into their lovely home he handed me a hard cover copy of Eden in Winter, the new book by his friend Richard North Patterson with an inscription which read:
“To Felice, I’d do anything to meet you, and did. Enjoy the book, I hope. Sheepishly, Richard North Patterson.”
I guess older men have trouble keeping track of their balls.
Linda Fairstein is an amazingly accomplished woman and whether you realize it or not – you’ve met her. You’ve met her because she was the head of the Sex Crimes Unit at the Manhattan DA’s office for almost 30 years.
You may remember Linda from some of her high-profile trials, like the “Preppy Murder Case” in 1988, which was the prosecution of Robert Chambers for the Central Park killing of Jennifer Levin. Linda is also the founder of the Domestic Violence Committee of the New York Women’s Agenda and is on the road giving talks around issues of domestic abuse.
I met Linda at her beautiful home on Martha’s Vineyard and we talked about her work. Linda is a passionate and voracious writer, which is a natural outflow from her experiences in the DA’s office. If you haven’t gotten hooked on her books you may want to try the latest one set in Grand Central Station, her 16th crime novel, Terminal City which was just released this past summer and was an instant New York Times bestseller.
We talked about the risks our kids face on college campuses and how prevalent sexual assault is. I asked Linda about what you would say to your kids going off to college regarding these issues and here’s her advice, which I recommend you forward to your kids.
1. Take the freshman and peer orientation courses training about sexual assault seriously because you or a friend are likely to encounter this problem on campus.
2. Be aware of risks of alcohol abuse and the occurrence of sexual assault.
3. Understand the significance of someone saying no –No means No.
4. When someone appears to have passed out, it is not a smart time to have intercourse. So if the person seems to be incapable of consenting to a sexual act, that may have the same legal effect as saying ‘no.’
5. Stay vigilant about your buddy system. Especially for young women, there is a real danger of binge drinking even with peers. So whether you are at your frat house or in an unfamiliar place, make sure you have a buddy so everyone gets back to their dorm or apartment safely.
6. Bystander Intervention is the new buzzword and allows anyone who observes a ‘bad’ situation to step in to prevent abuse. Whether or not you are a buddy to the person who appears to be in jeopardy, take responsibility and intervene. Be a Good Samaritan and break up what looks like a potentially dangerous situation.
7. This issue – sexual assault and date rape – is an problem on every college campus in this country. Get familiar with the rules, regulations, and procedures at your school, and also know when it’s appropriate to call 911 and get law enforcement professionals involved in a case.
I learned from Linda that eighty percent of sexual assaults are committed between people who know each other and that rape is the second most serious crime in any penal law anywhere – murder is the only more serious issue than this. And, one of the most challenging issues for colleges today is that schools are mandated by the federal government to do their own adjudications now. Linda speaks of this challenge as training an academic or student to be an investigator and prosecutor, which has created huge issues for college administrators.
We talked about how societal views have changed since our time in school. In the 70’s and 80’s when women were “blamed” for their victimization, they were discouraged from stepping forward and were often afraid to speak out. But over the last 10 years, the word ‘rape’ has been leveled against many students, and now the problem is whether either party – the accuser or the young man who stands accused – is getting any semblance of due process in the college adjudication system.
It’s no surprise that Linda Fairstein is being called on regularly to speak about sexual assault on college campuses. Earlier this year, she keynoted the first national conference on this issue at the University of Virginia.
If you want to hear Linda discuss the topics of domestic violence and sexual assault – or her books – check out her website or facebook page, which list her speaking engagements. Linda says that at her book talks women are especially interested in the law and special victims issues.
Project Wing was revealed by Google this past week with a video of dog food being dropped from a Drone. Whoah – really? This may be the first time I may be showing my age, because cautionary alarms are going off in my head.
The reality is, it’s hard not to meet a Drone up close and personal and not have some kind of reaction. Even the word drone carries it’s own tone (so to speak). To Drone is not really a nice image. Unanimously we all want to take flight when anyone drones on and on for too long. But I digress.
This past weekend our friends gave us a demonstration of their new Drone. They skillfully launched this buzzing oversized Jack (you know the game of Jacks that you played with a small ball for hours). Well, they airlifted Jack from their own little launch pad (a white surface the size of Home Plate)–– flew it up to the second story deck where a group of us were standing and there it hovered and hovered and hovered. Apparently it was snapping pictures in our faces –and as it buzzed and hovered, we all gawked and yakked about this visitor/ intruder/ invader/ stalker/ ingenious device … and then we watched them land their toy Drone – brilliantly and precisely back on the landing pad.
With mouth agape I tried to process the free flow of thoughts invading my brain:
“OMG, that machine is actually hovering in front of us and – it’s taking our picture – that is amazing – no that is disturbing – no that is revolutionary – well I’m not sure what it means but I’m having some negative thoughts about this extreme toy.” And without coming to any conclusion I began to survey my friends to see where they stood on the Drone.
The feedback ran the gamut from disturbing to cool – to ban them or let’s buy one. One friend mentioned how Drones could be at delivering medicine and supplies to remote places and people who needed help – Drones for Humanitarian purposes, pollution control (cutting down on delivery trucks), and bringing internet to remote areas. That makes sense but what about for personal use?
If you’ve only read about Drones at Home and haven’t listened to them “live-in your face” or seen them up close and personal – it’s entirely different and here’s why:
To be fair – I didn’t react well the very first time I experienced the Microwave. I was 14 years old and I was sure I was being radiated, after all, I had just finished reading On The Beach and I was sure the microwave was a gateway to nuclear destruction. In the same vain, images of Orwellian 1984’s Big Brother are going full frontal for me as I looked into the “eye” of this Drone. Yes, the eye – because that lens on the Drone looks like the peering perpetrating eye of a Cyclops.
But, because I am not an overly private person (hence this weekly blog), and am not a paranoid person by nature (except when I can’t find the jewelry I hid in my own home) – why should I be concerned about Drone invaders in the wrong hands?
With a Drone – it’s hard to see who is at the helm – where is the Wizard? A visitor from another planet?
I’m not going to stay up at night worrying about the Drones at my door for now – but I think it’s worth noticing that something revolutionary is happening at our doorsteps – and a radical new toy is making it’s way into our living rooms.
For now I think it’s safe to say, it will not be on my birthday wish list. However if you’re intrigued you can buy it on Amazon with one click. http://www.amazon.com/DJI-Phantom-Vision-Quadcopter-Camera/dp/B00J8JLOA4/ref=sr_1_6?ie=UTF8&qid=1409519785&sr=8-6&keywords=drone
We got a little choked up at the pancake breakfast at our local firehouse in Edgartown this past Sunday. It wasn’t the pancakes and we didn’t require a heimlich maneuver – it’s just that, last year, they saved my husband Bill’s life.
One year after being pulled out from under a garbage truck after it collided with Bill while he was riding on the Katama bike path on Martha’s Vineyard a mile from our home — we were able to thank his rescue team.
It seems everyone has a story about an EMT who helped someone they know – but when it happens to you – well, that’s different.
My husband and I decided to thank our local fire department and EMTs one year to the day, on July 23rd with a rocking fundraiser for them – a true celebration of life. Dancing to our favorite foot stomping blue grass band (Parsonsfield), feasting on food served up by our favorite local food people, Regina Stanley who brought her Art Cliff Food Truck and Tina from Flatbread Pizza who turned out piping hot pizzas from her portable ovens on site – we danced under the tent at the Field Club on a perfect summer night.
And then the big memorable moment –the entire team of rescuers joined my husband on the stage to tell about their rescue. All 140 of us – who knew – it could have been anyone of us riding on that bike path that day – listened with gratitude to their story of professionalism as they used the jaws of life for the very first time to save him.
The biggest takeaway of the fundraiser was when the Fire Chief Peter Shemeth hugged us both and told us this was the first time his team had been so honored for a rescue. At that moment my husband and I looked at each other and knew – this was the right way to say thank you.
So when we presented our fundraising check — $15,000 of Gratitude raised by our friends and family, at this week’s annual Edgartown Fire Department’s Pancake Breakfast – we felt the big love once again. Healed, but still wearing the souvenirs of that tragic day one year ago – we both had a lump in our throats – not from fear – but from the joy of being able to give back to our community.
Looks like we may be eating pancakes once a year for rest of our lives.
The best part of being in an empty nest with the kids out of college is – there’s no hurry to end summer. No one else’s deadlines are going to mess with my summer. I’m in charge of this calendar now!
Nevertheless, there’s a strange tick I feel in the back of my neck every time someone tells me they are packing up and heading home to go back to school or work. Normally I don’t want to be left behind but not this time, not this summer.
This summer, I have managed to spend some part of almost every day with my husband plus balance work, kid time and improve my golf and tennis games. I have biked endless miles and even made time for a few beach BBQ’s. I have had quality time with old friends and met a few new ones. I have had magical evenings of dinners filled with belly laughs. And yet still, I’m not done.
The New York Times greets me each morning with sad stories of violence in Russia and the Middle East, Ebola and rioting and it makes me want to shrink further into my hardened oyster shell of summer. The present moment has never felt quite so delightful.
When a hint of chilly fall air invaded an afternoon walk, I banished the thought that was threatening to undermine my day. “It’s still summer” is my mantra for the next 3 weeks. I’m an empty nester and I don’t have to move with the pack. I work remotely and my boys have careers – so I have no back to school shopping or urgent travel arrangements to make – I can chill a bit longer still.
Summer is a season that our activities stretch into every bit of daylight and out into the evening. The only way I could willingly surrender to Fall, is if I could do 5 more things this summer:
Somehow, I know there will be addendum’s to this list but for now, it’s enough. Happy summer to you all –I’m still in it and don’t intend to budge any time soon. By the way, as a protest to Fall, I’ve decided I’m wearing my white pants way past Labor Day this year.
If I were 20, 30 or perhaps 40-something, I don’t think I would have found my latest fashion debacle particularly funny. I don’t think I could have of handled this “extremely outrageous” turn of events. In those earlier years, if someone had told me I should have worn a razor back bra – I had the wrong one on – or my bra straps showed –– I would have run to the ladies room to confirm my faux pas. If I had a dirt stain on my white paints – I would brush my backside nervously to try to remove the unresolvable for the duration.
My fashion self-consciousness over the past few decades has been driven by sloppy vs. style issues. Frankly, I’m comfortable with my taste in clothes– but I hate wrinkly, stained, spotted, tattered clothing. I like to look put together. And, since I live out of a suitcase most of the year, as I travel between New York and Boston each week, my clothing is often a victim of whatever is in my trunk – such as bike grease, hiking boot crud and my dog Jazz’s paws.
My comfort with fashion came together for me at 19 years of age during my year in Paris. It was then I embraced my “look” and proceeded confidently for the most part – except when I was told — my hem was unravelled or there was a hole in my stocking.
I have always loved vintage clothes. My Nana was the most stylish woman I know and I wore everything she gave me from age 13 and beyond. When I find an outfit that resembles Nana’s style, I am thrilled. That is why, what I wore to the dinner dance party this past Saturday night was particularly fun for me.
I have been savoring my ultra-suede, multi-colored neon, strappy short cocktail dress for 25 years. This dress was crazy cool in the late 80’s and I’ve been waiting for the right decade to bring it back out. It’s been living in the back of my closet all this time.
So, when I excavated it for this summer for some “special occasion” I didn’t have a particular event in mind. When I grabbed it from the closet, I saw the ultra-suede had worn thin along the seam, so my trusty “Clothes Doctor” gave it a good stitching and it looked like new.
When we got an invite to a summer dinner dance, I thought this could be it’s coming out. As I slipped on this little ultra suede number, I chuckled. “Oh this is fun – I am going to have a blast tonight”. (First premonition) As I made my living room entrance – my husband’s brows lifted and he chuckled. My son Jake and his two friends gave me a whistle. “That dress is fun – so cool.” I stood a little taller.
Arriving at the party I joined the huddle of women who were admiring one another’s dresses. The mood was light and playful and it seemed all were ripe for a different kind of night.
The weather was spectacular — one night shy of the “super moon”, the light of that magical lunar orb lit up the sky. My husband and I settled onto an outdoor couch with our dear friends laughing and sharing our latest summer tales. After a bit – we decided it was time to dance and as I hopped up off the couch my friend Gwen said to me, “you’re not going anywhere – sit down.” She was hysterical laughing – she couldn’t contain herself.
“Your dress is split up the backside.”
I leaned hard into the couch so as not to “reveal” and slipped my hand behind and all I felt was skin. OMG – outrageous, the suede had dissolved! Vintage had vaporized on my backside. This was a riot! I laughed so belly-laugh loud, tears were streaming down my cheeks, and I couldn’t catch my breath. My husband took a gander and our laugh track was growing – Gwen’s husband was aghast – “are you kidding – this is a riot” and we were a full orchestra. We couldn’t stand it – it went on for what seemed like hours.
What I felt at that moment was sheer delight. This was so much fun! My first thought was I’m so glad I’m not 30, or 40 – I’m so glad I’m over 50 because this ridiculous fashion “crisis” is truly priceless – vs. devastating. And let me add – my butt is not my favorite “asset” (excuse the play on words).
I had no interest in sharing my shredded suede opening with anyone. Luckily, the venue we were partying in had a pool and lockers and a friend got me a bathrobe as a cover.
We all took to the dance floor, and laughed and danced a bit before the heat of the heavy robe became impossible.
When we arrived home, my husband and I were still hysterical and we looked up at the almost full moon and he chuckled – that was the best “super moon” I’ve ever seen.
Rarely have I met anyone who doesn’t love to show up at their annual traditions.
Looking forward to celebrating with friends and family anchored by a good meal or an adventure pushes me to buy that plane ticket to Thanksgiving, spend all day cooking to host a holiday, or train my butt off to show up at my annual biking fundraiser.
But what if showing up at the “event” puts you at risk of a job, your health, or your relationship or even your life? No question, you’d have to ask yourself – how much does this mean to me? Maybe I could just send a check?
This year I had to ask myself, how much risk and misery I was willing to accept to be part of a tradition that I have participated in for 28 years — the Pan Mass Challenge. This one weekend bike event raises money for cancer research at Dana Farber – and this year is committed to a $40 million dollar goal.
The event is a 2-day 194-mile bike ride across Massachusetts from Sturbridge, Mass to Provincetown. For 25 years I have ridden the entire 194-mile event. These past 3 years I have opted for the 1-day ride of 84 miles from Wellesley to Bourne.
No matter the distance, the weather or life event that has tempted me to opt-out – I’ve never regretted showing up.
Unfortunately, for the first time this summer weather.com was accurate in their forecast. Saturday morning as we rode out of Wellesley in 90% humidity and 69-degree temps, as predicted, within one-hour we were pelted by rain, which did not let up for the entire ride. The temperature dropped to a cold chill of who knows – maybe 62 degrees about 30 miles from our finish. It was brutal and the most challenging ride I have done in my 28 years. It was the “coldest sustained rain in the 35 history of the PMC.” That said – I showed up for the ride knowing these were going to be the riding conditions as I was fully committed to the cause.
On the road survival ruled. I left my group, unable to wait at water stops as the chill of the day threatened to settle into my bones. With fogged glasses, clammy cold and ineffective rain gear layered with the dirt spitting off the tires of the riders in front of me – every pedal stroke required full on focus.
Chilled to the bone I zeroed in on pictures pinned to the shirts of the riders around me. Pictures of moms, dads, kids, and friends lost to cancer. I thought about the 3,700 volunteers and the 5,700 riders who came out this past weekend. We are proud that none of the money donated is wasted on top heavy administration. 100 percent of the Pan Mass Challenge donations go directly to cancer research at Dana Farber.
Every rider has a story at this event and Cancer is our common thread. This disease impacts us all. Personally, cancer has attached itself into my closest circle of friends and family and shifted the very fibers of our lives. And frankly, like so many, I feel helpless.
This 2-day bike ride gives all participants an opportunity to communicate their losses, feel the community of those who understand, while at the same time physically participle by riding and raising money for this cause.
The PMC event creates the glue that binds all of us together in our search to help one another as we struggle with this deadly disease.
So as I pedaled forward to the Day 1 finish in Bourne – those thoughts fueled me forward.
I am so grateful for the community that the PMC has created which includes all the riders, the volunteers and the donors who collectively are joined in one singular mission – to find a cure.
However, I admit that next year I wouldn’t mind a little sun, a sweet tail wind and moderate temps. But no matter, as long as I am able, I will ride this event again and again.
P.S. Thanks to my husband Bill Cress for co-writing this piece with me
I used to weigh myself 2 times a day all through college and until I had my first child — and began again after my second was born. It started because the daily dorm breakfast of buttered cinnamon toast (3 slices) ended up pushing on the seams of my jeans. When I finally got on the scale – it turned out I was up 8 pounds – Never had a weight issue before and now I was freaked.
That set the whole ritual of weighing in obsessively in motion. This is not a love/hate relationship — it’s something I saw as an obligation — hence — no fun! My scale and I have not been the best of friends. For the next few decades as I pass that scale in the bathroom my inner voice nags me, “check that scale to make sure you’re not getting fat “– and then if I’m really feeling powerful, I bypass it. Finally I have made a major power move and I think I’ve broken this annoying habit. It’s been 3 months and no-nagging inner voice cajoling me to step on the scale — I’m winning the battle but the war won’t be over til I throw the damn thing out.
As a BA50, I think my body is smart and knows how it’s supposed to look. All I have to do is feed it and exercise it and dress it and be grateful I’m able to do what I do everyday. I’m done with the “fight” to try to have the “boy” hips of some of my friends — I’ve learned to embrace my curves. Hey, have you seen the curvaceous top model Kate Upton –a full figured runway model who is now the face of Sam Edelman, Express and Guess Clothing, Bobbi Brown cosmetics and on the cover of Elle and Vogue. She’s got plenty of skin and it looks damn sexy. Fashion may be trending to a more full figured look and frankly I’m hoping that takes the pressure off our teenagers and 20-somethings.
So as I walk on by that ridiculous digital floor mat and bypass the poundage check I know there’s at least 4 good reasons why it’s about to be tossed in the recycle bin:
After 50, once again – I was face to face staring at my breasts thinking – “O.K., now what’s gravity got in store for me?”
We may not be scientists but my girlfriends and I love to talk about gravity – and it’s enormous pull on our bodies. For most of us, our breasts are where we see the dramatic powerful impact of this downward force.
And, that’s when we start to compare notes. “Does this dress make me look frumpy – (code for saggy breasts), Is this T-shirt giving me a lift – (code for perhaps it’s too tight and creating a breast mash effect).
How we support and dress our breasts is something women have been doing most of our lives. After all, breasts are a big topic at any age. When I was 16, I was still waiting for them and at 18 I could finally take the toilet paper out of my training bra– when I was pregnant I got to imagine life as a “C” cup – after 40 – it was back to “B” and now after 50 – I’m not sure what I’ve got.
I always say to myself on the way to my mammogram, “Please, give me a clean visit – I promise to be grateful for my aging droopy breasts. And once I’m out of the mammo’s breast-clamp and given a green light –I begin my ritual of gratitude. Relieved and exhilarated, I am ready to celebrate a big “Phew” moment, and then I drive directly to the mall.
Yes, it’s true, my ritual post mammo is to take my sore mashed breasts out for a new bra. They deserve some kindness after being squashed and pinched and traumatized. Kind as this sounds – once inside the dressing room at Bloomingdales – with no less than 10 bras to try on – I face myself squarely in the mirror and then my brain kicks in on repeat chanting the old mantra “who said small breasts don’t sag?”
Turns out even small breasts can lose their beans. But the good news is, this is all fixable. I mean one good bra fitting and Poof – Lift – Separate and feel 10 years younger.
A great bra can give the appearance of a surgical lift without the hospital stay.
So when I started to write this blog, and was researching great new bras, I was shocked by what “google” turned up.
I had no idea that there is a new product that increases your breast size. It’s Called “The Brava.” And it’s a battery powered suction system — brought to you by the people who make breast pumps. You’ve got to wear 2 cone-like cup devices 10 hours a day for 10 weeks for it to work.
Seems like you have to be very, very Brava – I mean brave, to use it. As I read through the description of how it works – well, it’s down right medieval. Here’s what they say about how it works: the contraption pumps and pulls on your skin and over the 10 week time period, your breast tissue expands and your breasts enlarge a fully cup size – Whoah! Who would do this?
Hey it was an Elle Magazine cover story “The Next Breast Thing” this past March.– I mean who knew. The author tried this device and apparently it worked – it’s been available to consumers just in the past year.
But hey- I’m not that Brava – so I’m sticking with the bra store. Sorry – no one’s pulling at my breasts in the middle of the night unless I invite “him.”
The Brava is a new product that increases your breast size.
(No this is not an ad – this was today’s on-line discovery.)
BRAVA now gives women a breast enhancement and enlargement option that actually grows their own natural breast tissue, with guaranteed results, in the privacy of their own home. Ok this used to be available onlBe sure to read Ms. Carolyne Weaver’s personal experience with the BRAVA System in the March cover story in ELLE Magazine (Elle.com), “The Next Breast Thing”. (Click on the headline of the article’s title to view the complete article.) Read on to learn more about this breakthrough approach to natural beauty.
My husband and I just hosted 2 couples at our summer home. It wasn’t the first time. These friends have come for a communal retreat for the past 6 years. It’s an easy group because we love to do the same things and we move between shared activities with ease– biking , golf and most importantly — eating.
This visit was no different than the last and this is how it went. Day one they lumbered off the New Bedford Ferry weighted down with coolers and grocery bags. We were excited to see them and their goodies. As they passed off their bags to us – the lists of delights began to flow:
“Here’s the 2 pound parmesan chunk you wanted– Oh, I brought my own tea –and I have that bread you love from Bradley’s – I had it sliced.”
“Oh and Ina Garten’s Orange Yogurt with walnuts and raisins– I know you love it so I made it for you guys.”
“Hope you don’t mind I brought a bushel of kale and 2 baseball bat sized zucchinis that I thought we could grill up” (I hadn’t told them I have a new bountiful veggie garden).
“Oh and wait til you try the phenomenal blended scotch I’ve discovered”.
We hadn’t even pulled out of the ferry lot and the women were in menu planning mode. Meanwhile, the guys had stacked the bikes, golf clubs and bags into our embarrassingly oversized car (we call it “The Beast”) and were instantly in deep conversation about biking routes.
Upon arrival at our home, I summoned my girlfriends into the kitchen as I needed help. I’d been wanting to tryout Farro but needed a support team to brave the cooking task. Turned out none of us had ever prepared this “ancient grain” and so began our group cooking. Immediately, we were totally ensconced in re-reading the prep directions for the 3rd time when the men appeared saying they were leaving to hit golf balls. We barely looked up.
That’s pretty much how the visit played out. Predictably the couples sectioned off into “Defending the Caveman” roles – Darwin called this one right.”
It makes me chuckle when I witness how the male/female natural divide is bizarrely stereotypical and predictable: yet here we were, three women happily in the kitchen reviewing the weekends meals – while the men busied themselves with pumping up deflated jeep and bike tires – rewiring the internet connection (no joke) and discussing our household electrical challenges.
Alas, women to the chopping boards – men to the grill! Seamless from the get go – we began our own version of a domestic square dance.
I am writing this piece as the weekend draws to an end – I hear them busy in the kitchen preparing the last lunch (I’m staying clear and am thrilled to have the excuse of writing – I’m totally done with meal prep at this point).
And as we sit down to this last lunch (see photo) all we can say is “Move over Ina Garten!”
We all are amazed at what we have created this visit. With one large pre-grocery shop before they arrived – we only visited the local farmers market once and managed to turn out outstanding healthy feasts that morphed brilliantly into substantial next day meals.
I can proudly say we mastered the Dinner Becomes Lunch challenge and the Lunch becomes Breakfast hurdle.
So – if you’re looking to stretch your meals creatively across a weekend with a full house of guests – here’s some ideas:
First Nights Dinner Next Days Lunch
Cold Farro Grains
We added cranberries and chopped walnuts to this recipe – Next Day – it was even more delicious and we actually didn’t add the corn until the next day.
Butter lettuce and Kale Salad with avocado tomato and toasted hazelnuts- lightly dressed with lemon and basil oil and plenty of salt.
Marinated grilled chicken breast in olive oil, lemon and herbs
Swordfish with our favorite rub (we keep in the freezer)
Next day sliced thin to top off yesterday’s salad
Radishes with butter and salt with dinner … Next day’s addition to salad.
Corn on the Grill for dinner becomes part of next day’s salad fix ins and Farro toss-ins.
Breakfast Becomes Lunch and Lunch Becomes Breakfast
A basket full of local hard boiled eggs from the nearby farm makes for great snacking all day long.
PB & J Farm Style: This is our pre-biking staple. Wild-diced strawberries on toasted multi grain bread with Justin’s peanut butter ($$$ but great). Next Day Panini Grilled PB & J made with Homemade Strawberry Jam and Justin’s on Multi Grain Bread from yesterday’s beach sandwiches. Just reheat them on the Panini and enjoy for any next day meal or next day snack.
Oh and here’s my friend’s secret “Ina” yogurt recipe she traveled to us with that lasted for 3 bountiful breakfasts and someones lunch.
Ina’s Orange Yogurt with walnuts and raisins http://www.foodnetwork.com/recipes/ina-garten/orange-yogurt-recipe.html
Dear BA50 Reader:
L’Oréal contacted us the other day and we were shocked, giddy and skeptical. OMG, finally we thought – the crème de la crème de beauty has discovered us.
After much to-ing and fro-ing we landed a call with 6 of their top product managers and began the discovery process of how they wanted to connect with our readers. Once again we were in learning mode. They needed some specific questions answered and so do we.
What we want to know from BA50 readers is what beauty products we are using and how we feel about them. For example, Foundation or no Foundation? If you are a user — what kind of Foundation do you like to put on your face?
I readily offered my thoughts to our friends at L’Oreal about our demographic of women after 50 and their relationship to Foundation. My research was based on my business partner Ronna’s preferences and my own – Alas, a focus group of 2! Our friends at L’Oréal politely listened.
We decided to dig a little deeper.
So here’s our request dear reader – we are hoping you can help us better understand women at mid life’s attitudes about make-up – specifically Foundation because we actually want to know.
Ronna and I will give you our feedback first:
So – what do we use?
We both love tinted moisturizers with SPF. It looks sheer and clean and protects us from the sun. Full stop.
Aging skin is a reality no one can escape. Exposure to the elements is unavoidable and I’ve yet to meet a woman who doesn’t feel challenged by how their skin is changing.
Girls night out topics generally land on solutions for dark circles in the eye corners; masking smile and frown lines and brow creases, lines around endless tributaries around our mouths and of course, the dark spots from too much sun. How can we smooth out our uneven skin tone? We listen closely when anyone – who looks better than us and is our age– offers a beauty tip. We pull out our i-phones and write down their miracle product or treatment or even their dermatologist’s name.
So if there actually was a product or products that could soften the forward march of time on our faces – hey we’d love to know about it.
After noodling around on “The Google” I found a cool DIY make-up video narrated by a mid-lifer. I’m thinking we should all try making one like this — it would be fun to see what’s happening behind the scenes at our make-up tables. I found this one surprisingly mesmerizing to watch.
After you watch this one, we’d love you to tell us if it makes you want to go hit the cosmetic counter. I can’t believe how much stuff this mid-life woman is putting on her face and how natural she looks. I wish it weren’t the case that so many products made such a difference – but she does look way better after the applications.
Now we are hoping you can give us your feedback so we can share it with each other:
Thanks so much for your feedback – at this age we learn from each other so we plan to share the results with you all.
If you don’t know Marissa Mayer, she’s the beautiful and brilliant 38 year old CEO Of Yahoo who is reviving their stock price and believes in niche digital magazines. So right there, speaking as a publisher of an on-line niche magazine, it may sound a tad self-serving to say we LOVE this CEO — but it’s more than “she’s one of us.”
There’s no question that our demo loves to cozy up to a good read – not just flit from Twitter to Instagram — we are still gluttons for a “story” that transports us. This is why digital niche magazines are becoming Mayer’s focus. Plus, Mayer is putting an authentic voice to her on-line mags — she’s actually hiring boomer women as a voice in her empire.
One of our favorites is Katie Couric (57 years old). Yahoo just made her chief global anchor (what a great title). Does anyone else in the world hold that title? It almost sounds presidential. We BA50′s are thrilled to see that Katie is back in the forefront of interviewing and did not become invisible. Katie is one of us (a BA50) and she continues to be extremely relevant.
Also, Yahoo just hired the BA50 make-up guru and favorite boomer Bobbi Brown as editor of Yahoo Beauty. We know that Bobbi Brown speaks to us honestly and optimistically – a combination we relish.
These star power boomers’ voices speak for our niche and BA50 women are thrilled to follow them on Yahoo.
Marissa knows that “Americans over 50 control 77 percent of the total net worth and have nearly $46 trillion of wealth – and that by 2030, one in 3 Americans will be over 50. So she, is putting her funding behind this demo by giving them a public voice. https://finance.yahoo.com/news/profit-aging-baby-boomers-181051199.html
BA50 loves Marissa also because she is another woman in business leader role model for our kids and for ourselves – and we need more women leaders to be sure.
Hey did you know the Fortune 500 ranking of the 500 largest corporations in the United States included 12 women CEO’s in 2011, 18 in 2012, 23 in 2013 and 24 in 2014. And technically Yahoo isn’t in the Fortune 500, but actually it’s ranked #502 and that’s where we can find Marissa Mayer – Woman CEO #26. Women are making their mark but it’s a slow crawl to be sure.
Marissa is a stand-out in the media world man-o-sphere – (except for Gannett’s Gracia Martore) and turning stock prices up when they had been falling and falling for Yahoo. She is doing this by spending money on the what’s next. We love that. Hey – that’s what every woman we know hitting the mid-life mark does – we focus on our what’s next.
So, this week I wanted to take a moment and give a big nod to Marissa Mayer. And speaking of nods – I wanted to make sure not to over focus on what the Wall Street Journal ripped her on – and that was — well did you read about it?
Turns out Marissa overslept (yes big nod) and missed meeting up with key advertisers from the Inter Public Group in Cannes. She was two hours late and she got front paged (is that a verb?) She felt badly about it – and she apologized – publicly!
Marissa – we BA50s would not beat you up for tardiness. We know you were “late” because you overslept (note to file — you’d traveled 20 hours and have a one-year-old) but we don’t care that you were late – you know why?
Marissa, BA50 wants to give you a shout out and thank you for paying attention to boomers. We are thrilled you support our niche. And most importantly — we are hoping you continue to forge ahead on the minority woman CEO track giving our kids a woman they can emulate and strive to be.
Bravo, Marissa Mayer – keep on keeping on – and continue to show us what’s possible.
I never know what to eat for lunch anymore. The truth is, I really don’t like lunch in the summer. Sandwiches are so last year – what with the 2 slices of bread — and then what are you going to put between the slices?
Of course there’s always salad – but then what does that leave for dinner after a lunch of greens – more salad of course — BORING! As I peruse the menu at the local restaurants looking for something refreshing/different/healthy – I’m stumped. American lunches just never really taste fresh. Lettuces are rarely washed and have traces of the chemical flavor they are bagged with– tomatoes are usually mealy and cucumbers taste like soggy rice cakes. Unless I’m in Italy or Israel (2 x in my life) –there’s never really an original selection – so it’s the usual – I think I’ll have the Cobb, or the Caesar.– How novel – Not! It’s times like these I wish I hadn’t given up red meat — but that was back in1977, and I think my system would go into shock if I started up on burgers, sausages, and hot dogs.
So — What’s for lunch? This summer I’ve decided when at home, I’m going to drink my lunch. And, I’m going to drink it in a Chardonnay glass. I’ll be drinking liquid that’s elegant, fresh and crisp. The ambrosia will be full of fresh pungent and complex flavors that coat my tongue and throat. And, even better, I’m going to drink what I have harvested. No – I don’t own a vineyard in California but I do have a 16 x 9 foot garden in Massachusetts. This summer I’m drinking my garden.
Yesterday, my dear friend Debra came over for lunch. She’s a veteran liquid lunch girl. When we talked about menu options – she was thrilled I had the right equipment to make a magical meal. You bet. I am fully loaded with the big daddy of all machines – the Vitamix Professional Series 300. I bought it on Amazon last summer for a pretty penny – but it’s worth it. So here’s the essentials if you are thinking drinking lunch is for you.
Although I’m a neophyte greens drinker, so far I’ve learned– if it’s in the garden or the veggie bin – it’s going into my lunch mix!
Here’s what Debra and I threw into the Vita Mix for our liquid green lunch:
Yesterday morning, I woke up ridiculously late, like 10 am, feeling like a prizefighter who had taken in the full 15 rounds. It felt great to sleep in – “this must be what the kids feel like – late nights – deep long sleeps – delish.” Splashing refreshing cold water on my face – I looked up and I caught a glimpse of – someone else?
“Whoa, my eyes”, I gasped. Heavy, thickly settled lids blinked back at me – I moved in to examine more closely and it wasn’t pretty. Puffy yet flimsy under-eye skin didn’t even have the decency to push out the creases. Like a well-inked block print, the mascara stuck to my crow’s feet and grooves.
No, I wasn’t sick and I wasn’t hung over. I had been up until 2 am with my son and his friends – just hanging out. It was so much fun. I felt like one of them. This morning I am reminded I am not one of them – I’m 25 years older.
I heard Kate Hepburn’s beauty secret was to get in bed by 9 pm as often as possible – plenty of rest, plenty of sleep and a good facial scrub.
Recipes for the facial scrub informed me to “squeeze half a lemon and add water and a tablespoon of sugar to the mixture.” Hepburn mixed lemon juice and sugar and scrubbed her face with it every night to keep her complexion clear, according to Glamour. http://cometoverhollywood.com/2011/07/01/classic-actress-beauty-tip-14-clear-katharine-hepburn-complexion/
It certainly worked for her. Beauty regimens all talk about rest and cleansing. But, hey, I had my 8 hours of sleep. I guess I had the wrong 8 hours. Or maybe the Ponds Cold Cream wipe down and my any old night cream applications aren’t enough.
My morning face required another cottoning off with trusty ole Ponds Cold Cream, yet again. I dressed in Lulu’s “short” running shorts ready for a morning jog – and starting to feel my youth re-emerge.
Tip toeing out of the house – kids still in full sleep mode – I headed out to run the 3-miler. Happily singing and jogging along, I approached the coffee shop in town where I was to meet a friend and her husband. Glancing down at my legs I gasped. I had forgotten to put on dry skin cream. Scaly legs hungry for moisture and a good feeding lay all too bare. Dried snakeskin fish legs! I needed a louffah treatment – like now – wished I’d had some oil or cream in my fanny pack.
Brutal reality set in – I was witness to the skin on my legs in full decay. My thoughts drifted to the stories of leper colonies – islands where people were condemned to live in isolation watching while their bodies flaked away. Ok – time to refocus. Enough!
My friends greeted me with big hugs – they showed no sign of shock as they looked into my smiling eyes and seemed not to notice my fish legs. Instantly, I was transported to a happier place – listening, sharing and laughing and not talking about SKIN!
As I left them I was thinking about my Nana’s approach to her aging skin and obsession with routine. Surprise and shock about my daily skin health could certainly be softened if I had a plan – some preparation.
Hey I could cover up – almost everything. That would be one approach. At the age of 70 my nana wore a full body-leotard to the beach and sat under an umbrella – she seem pleased with her solution.
My dear friend who has what I consider the “perfect” figure told me she won’t even wear shorts any more that are 2 or 3 inches above the knees – she hates her knees – her skin is saggy she says. It made me a bit sad that she said that – she is so beautiful. Her knees look fine to me — I love wearing short shorts.
Many of my biking girlfriends over 50 wear capris instead of biking shorts – their aging skin embarrasses them. Really?
I put my foot down – nope I’m not giving up the short shorts, I’m still wearing a bikini not a wet suit to the beach and I am not biking in a hot long spandex leggings unless it’s below 50 degrees. And more importantly, I’m not going to bed before 2 a.m. if my there’s an opportunity to hang on the couch with the kids.
So for now – I’ve got a new skin strategy. I’m putting together a cocktail of a good dose of denial and a dollop of self-kindness. Once ingested, I plan to bypass the mirror until days end. My runs will be focused on the road ahead and not the legs that carry me there. I know I can get some comfort around the changes my skin is undergoing All I need is a lot of acceptance, a good sense of humor and a of course, a good exfoliant and night cream.
Last weekend my husband and I were part of my eldest son’s graduation festivities and we were blown away.
I had no expectations of what the weekend would provide. Frankly, I was mostly thinking, after all these years, how is it that I’m never prepared for these school happenings like other parents? That’s a rhetorical question – please don’t answer. Most of my friends would have had their hotel reservation booked the minute they got the graduation date.
In typical fashion, I was behind the eight ball trolling for rooms the August before the big day and none were to be found. My procrastinations had delivered the expected — a room 30 minutes away in a Marriott for $400 a night – their “special” graduation rate for Mom’s with delusional advanced planning problems.
Are you kidding — A Marriott in gorgeous New Hampshire, off the highway? Nope – I’d rather rent a Winnebago. As I earnestly began my search for campsites, I am serious, my husband laughed saying, “This is so not going to happen.” Finally, after a few deep yoga breathes, I got some perspective. Reality set in and we went mildly rogue landing a cabin on the Appalachian Trail, 5 minutes from our son’s place. Thank you airbnb. I’m a convert now.
Next I had to wrestle with my younger boy’s full-blown musical performance commitments to “encourage” him to clear some calendar space. Unfortunately, his schedule had been set by the time I’d delivered the last parental ultimatum of my life to the tune of – “only severe medical excuses will be accepted”. This time when I brought up our “family law” of showing up at all milestone events – it wasn’t going to be that simple. He had bookings locked in with 6 month lead times. Being a mom, the only command performance to my mind was his brother’s graduation. He totally agreed but he had a team, agents and was on contract for a music festival 3 hours away on both Saturday and Sunday of graduation weekend. Uggh!
Needless to say, our musician wanted to be at his brother’s big day as much as we all wanted him there. He promised me, he would figure it out — and alas, so he did. In cahoots with his amazing stepped-up step dad Bill, they hatched a transport plan between shows.
So, as graduation day neared, the pre-planning anxieties melted away. My worry list was blank — we were not in charge of this weekend. Our graduate was totally running the schedule. With emails and instructions about when and where to show up — Bill and I realized we were not in the front seat of any planning. We had nothing to do but “be the kids” and show up on command. Our job was to experience being his “guests” at his graduation.
Guests at our son’s graduation – Really! This was the twist we had not foreseen. Undergraduate graduations had been orchestrated by us; dinners, organizing the grandparents, showing up and being shooed as far away as possible from where the kids were partying. We were the outsiders then – but this time we were invited to be not only the insiders – but also the honorees. Yes, even better than being guests at the graduation – we were the honored guests. Welcomed into the classrooms, treated to cocktails, and invited to barbeques and beer pong. Given name tags saying who we belonged to (we were Jake’s responsibility) and treated to dinners organized by the kids. We were so not in charge of anything and it was fantastic.
Our boy sent us a case study to review 2 nights before the Friday afternoon classes we had signed on for. When I told him the night before I hadn’t read the case — he laughed. “Mom, that’s going to be pretty embarrassing if you don’t do your prep work because I emailed the professor and told him to ‘cold call’ you”. NICE! The threat worked, rising at 6 am day of class, I crammed the case. Needless to say, my husband was prepared well ahead of schedule.
The class went great — we were called on – thank goodness there were no wrong answers (at least that’s what the Prof. told us.) We loved being the students and were treated after all our hard work to ice cold beers after class.
The parties started that Friday night and ended into the wee hours of Sunday. The highlights are a little fuzzy as we embraced our student life. Beer Pong became our new favorite sport. Mom-pong, Dad-pong, brother-pong. Yes, we drank way too much beer losing many a match, ate too much BBQ and slept in way too late both mornings. But the best news — we got an A+ from our boy –he was proud of us. He shined with pride in his handsome cap and gown, introducing us to his friends and professors.
We’re thinking we could get used to this “kid” role.
P.S. Funniest stand out comment of the weekend. My husband boasted to me on our way home from the 2nd blow out Pong Party — “Did you notice, we were the last oldest people there tonight –pretty good huh?”