All Good Things

/ Ann Coleman / 147 Comments

I’ve been putting off writing this post, because procrastination is how I usually cope with difficult tasks.  But it was eleven years ago this month that I started this blog, and so it seems fitting that December is  when I end it.

The decision to close “Muddling Through My Middle Age” is a tough one.  I’ll miss the creative outlet  blogging provides, and even more, the fun of communicating with people from all over the world who I would not have met outside the blogosphere.  Sometimes writing posts is how I process what’s going on in my life, and discover how I really feel about it.  Finn’s guest posts also let me experiment with writing from a dog’s point of view, which turned out to be both fun and educational.  Closing the blog will mean finding a new way to keep writing, and I have no idea just what that will be.

But mostly, I’ll miss my regular readers.  I have far less of them than a quick look at my stats would have me believe, but I value the people who take the time to read and comment on my posts more than I can say.  I loved how their comments added depth to my posts, and reminded me that I was not alone in my feelings and opinions.  In these polarized times, anything that creates common ground is a gift.

Unfortunately, my life keeps getting busier and the demands on my time keep growing.  What started out as a fun new adventure has turned into a chore as I struggle to keep up with the demands of running a blog.  Guilt tends to be my go-to emotion, and I’ve been feeling that a lot lately when I spot comments that I haven’t replied to or seen “likes” from other bloggers whose blogs I forgot to visit in return.  Even finding time to write a new post has become a struggle, and I’m embarrassed to admit how many times I’ve thought of a topic to write about only to realize that I already did, sometimes more than once.

Add to that the constant changes Word Press keeps coming up with….now it takes me several tries to position a photo exactly where I want to in a post….and I can’t help but conclude that I am probably too “tech-challenged” to keep up.

Any way I look at it, this seems to be the time to close my blog.  I’ll still be reading as many other blogs as I can, so don’t be surprised if I pop up in your comment section.  I value the friendships I’ve made in the blogging world too much to abandon them.   When life settles down a bit, I’ll be looking for another way to share my writing.  And who knows?  I may eventually start a new one, probably titled something like, “Whining Through My Old Age.”

But the last thing I wanted to say to you all is simply, “thank you.”  Thank you for your time, your insights, and your encouragement.  Thank you for being part of the blogging community that I have learned to treasure so much.  You are the ones who made “Muddling Through My Middle Age” a successful blog, at least by my standards.  And for that, I will be forever grateful.

All the best,

Ann

Carry On

/ Ann Coleman / 112 Comments

As my mother frequently tells me, “it’s hard to get old.”  Even though she’s talking about herself, I get it.  Because I’m also old, and I’m also struggling with all the changes that aging brings.

I don’t like relying on reading glasses to read practically anything, or how hard it is to get a good night’s sleep, or how my ever-increasing arthritis limits my physical abilities.  I don’t like looking in the mirror and seeing a face I barely recognize, or seeing toys from my childhood for sale at antique stores.  But I can handle all that, I really can.  What I can’t handle is feeling so completely out of step with most of the modern world.

When I need to buy something, I prefer to go to an actual brick and mortar store.  (Remember when we didn’t have to all them that?  When the term “store” automatically meant a building?)  Online shopping has its purpose, and I do it myself sometimes.  But I still love going shopping in a real store, with merchandise I can touch and see the actual color and quality before I make my purchase.  I want to try clothes on before I buy, because there’s a difference between clothing that fits and clothing that is flattering and comfortable.

I want to read books made of paper pages I can turn, not stories on a screen.  I get annoyed when I’m making a small purchase and am told “we don’t accept cash anymore.”  Is counting out change really that hard?  Do I really need a permanent record of every transaction I make?   And when I eat at a restaurant that substitutes QR codes for menus, I wonder what people who forgot to bring their phone with them are supposed to do.  Then I remember no one goes anywhere without their phones these days, and that they have become our most precious possession.  And apparently no one plans for people like my mother, who doesn’t own a smart phone.

I get tired of the endless number of apps that we are required download, and I can’t begin to remember all the passwords I need to navigate our modern world.  It seems that every doctor’s office has its own special portal we must use, each requiring its own separate password.  After all, how could hackers hope to access our personal information if we don’t put it….all of it…..within easy reach on the internet?

I know, I know, I sound like a crabby old lady.  (If the shoe fits…..)  But sometimes I feel like a salmon, swimming upstream against a constant stream of change.  Is it really so wrong to want the ability to choose which types of technology I want to embrace and which types I’d like to avoid?  Is preferring to interact with another human being rather than an AI bot so wrong?   Most people probably think so, but I can’t help it, that’s how I feel.

I suppose it’s natural to long for what’s familiar, and to resist changes we don’t like, especially as we age. So I soldier on, adapting as best I can to our brave new world, and remembering to appreciate the changes I do like.  I take comfort in the knowledge that this is probably what people have always had to do as they age.  Sometimes the best we can do is to simply carry on the tradition……

Worth the Wait

/ Ann Coleman / 90 Comments

My husband and I recently returned from a quick trip to our favorite vacation destination, Sanibel Island. Sanibel has always been a special place for us, but when it took a direct hit from Hurricane Ian in 2022, we weren’t sure if our days of vacationing on Sanibel were over.  The entire island was covered with a 12-foot storm surge and the damage was extensive.  We’ve made a couple of short visits since, when the island was still very much in “recovery mode,” knowing that the local economy depended on tourism and that they needed visitors even when only a few hotels, restaurants and stores were open.

But this last visit was different:  the island’s foliage was much greener, we were able to return to one of our favorite condo complexes, and we had plenty of restaurants and stores to pick from.  In the three years since the hurricane hit, Sanibel has made a tremendous come back.  The wait was worth it.

Upon our return, I was surprised to see that many people had decided to put up their Halloween decorations, even though it was still early September and Halloween was almost two months away.  I’ll admit I’m not a huge fan of most Halloween decorations (my taste doesn’t run to things gruesome or scary), but I still don’t understand wanting to put up decorations so early.  I may love decorating for Christmas, but I don’t put up my Christmas tree until after Thanksgiving.  Waiting to breakout my Christmas decorations until Advent (or at least close to Advent) just makes them feel more special to me.

Fall is not my favorite season, but after weeks of hot weather with little or no rain, I was more than ready for it this year.  I was tired of the blistering heat, the crunchy, brown grass and having to constantly refill the bird baths in order to help the local wildlife stay hydrated.  I was ready for cooler weather, some colorful Fall foliage and, even a frost or two to get rid of the pesky bugs.  But I had to wait until Mother Nature and the calendar decided it was time for Autumn to begin.

And now it has come.  We’ve had three days of rainfall, and the temperatures have dropped at least ten degrees.  Even too-warm days are followed by nights cool enough to sit out on the patio.  I bought a pumpkin and placed it on the front porch.  Soon I’ll bake my first pumpkin pie of the season, and break out some light-weight Fall sweaters.  And I really believe that the time I spent longing for the new season has made me enjoy it all the more once Fall finally arrived.

Because the truth is, most good things are worth waiting for……

Feed the Birds

/ Ann Coleman / 89 Comments

It started out as a simple gift from our youngest grandson.  His preschool had a clear bird feeder attached to their window, and all the children in his class could enjoy watching the birds while they ate.  While shopping with his mother one day, he spotted the same kind of bird feeder and decided it would be a perfect Christmas gift for his grandparents.

When we first opened the gift, we agreed.  It was nice to receive a gift a three-year old had picked out especially for us, and my husband and I had actually been scattering some bird seed on the back patio during the particularly cold days of December.  Now we had a spiffy bird feeder that allowed us to view the birds from the warmth and comfort of our own home while they enjoyed a much-needed Winter feast.  It was a win-win situation.  Or so we thought.

We quickly discovered that where there was bird food, there would also be squirrels intent on hogging it all.  It didn’t matter where we moved the bird feeder, the squirrels found it and figured out a way to access it.  They climbed the siding of our house, they flung themselves at it from nearby bushes, and one enterprising young fellow even hung upside down from the windowpane until his outstretched paws finally got a grasp on the feeder.

We knew when we were beat, so we took down the feeder our grandson bought us and purchased the kind that hangs from a tall pole, which we installed in the far back corner of our yard.  This feeder claimed to be squirrel-proof, thanks to the large dome that surrounds the pole just below the feeder, and so far, that dome seems to be working.

The problem now is that the cardinals, bluebirds, doves, and other beautifully colored birds that frequented our old feeder don’t seem to be able to navigate this one.  The sparrows just love it, and it attracts dozens of them at a time.  They also eat the bird seed even faster than the squirrels did, because no matter how high we fill the feeders (and yes, there are now two of them), they are empty by lunchtime.  After that, we’re treated by the sight of a bunch of disappointed birds of all sorts (the bigger ones hang around on the ground), pecking hopefully but fruitlessly at the empty husks beneath the feeders.

So we’ve taken to buying bird seed in the large, economy-sized packages.  And once we discovered that all the bird seed we could find either contains nuts or is packaged in a facility that also has nuts, we’ve had to keep it sealed in a plastic bin to protect our older grandson, who has a peanut allergy.  We also have to keep the area beneath the feeder clean, lest the droppings from the seeds attract mice or, God forbid, rats.  I’ve already seen a couple of voles out there.

The upshot is we now have a rather expensive and time-consuming hobby that neither of us anticipated.  And yet we can’t, in good conscience, stop feeding the birds.  We’re both too soft-hearted for that.  And besides, there are now so many of them in our back yard that I really don’t have the nerve to make them angry.  (I saw Alfred Hitchcock’s movie,  “The Birds,” as a young child and it made a lasting impression.)

So for now, we’ll soldier on.  And don’t get me wrong, we really were touched and thrilled by our grandson’s gift to us.  We just didn’t realize  it would turn out to be “the gift that keeps on giving…and giving…and giving….”

95 and Counting

/ Ann Coleman / 111 Comments

My mother turned 95 last week.  That’s a pretty big milestone, but we celebrated it as we have celebrated most of her recent birthdays, by hosting a party at our house for close family and friends.  We knew she deserved a big birthday bash, but we also knew she has reached the stage where a big birthday bash would overwhelm her.

Even though I’ve hosted my mom’s birthday parties many times, I was a little nervous about this year’s celebration.  In previous parties, we’d made use of our back yard and patio, and had yard games for everyone to play.  My husband even created tournaments, complete with prizes for the winners.  I’ll never forget the year my son told me, “I’m playing Grandma in bean bags, and she’s trash-talking me.  Grandma’s going down!”  (I don’t remember who actually won, but I do remember it was close.)

But this year, the forecast called for rain.  That meant our 24 guests, who ranged in age from 1 to 95, would probably be inside our rather small house.   One of my mom’s good friends depends on a walker, so navigating the porch steps would be challenging.  And since I don’t have a table large enough for all our guests to sit down together to eat, I wanted to serve a meal that could be eaten while simply sitting in a chair.  I also needed food that would appeal to both young children and elderly adults, and that didn’t require turning on my oven on a hot July afternoon.  It didn’t help when I learned the bakery where I always get her cake was closed the week of her party.

None of these things were real problems, but I wanted to make Mom’s party as nice as possible.  And since I have the ability to worry about anything and everything, I fretted about the details.

But like most of the things I worry about, her party turned out just fine.  It wasn’t perfect, but everyone seemed to have a good time.  My mother liked her cake, her presents, and most of all, getting the chance to celebrate her 95th birthday with her family and friends.  No one complained about the food, or the noise level when the kids got a little loud, or even the difficulty of navigating steps with a walker.  It turns out that when people are gathered to celebrate the birthday of someone they love, they don’t sweat the small stuff.

I suppose one of the benefits of aging is learning the difference between what matters and what doesn’t matter.  Having a mother healthy enough to have a 95th birthday party is a gift that matters.  And I can only hope that this time next year, I’ll be able to write all about her 96th birthday party as well.

Assistance Needed

/ Ann Coleman / 105 Comments

Generally speaking, I’m not a fan of aging.  I don’t care for the wrinkled skin, the diminished stamina, or the slow but sure progression of arthritis, failing eyesight and declining memory.  When we were chatting with our favorite waiter at our favorite restaurant, I wasn’t pleased when the young man told us we were like a second set of grandparents to him.  I was actually a little offended.  Calling us a second set of parents would have been a heart-warming compliment.  Calling us a second set of grandparents just made me realize how much I could benefit from a face lift.

Nevertheless, I am discovering there are benefits of aging that no one had ever told me about.  For instance, I’ve never been good at keeping up with current fashions, and tend to simply wear the type of clothes I like.  When I was younger, I was sometimes embarrassed at social gatherings when I realized my outfit wasn’t even remotely like the clothes any other woman was wearing.  That’s often still the case, but I’m no longer embarrassed by it.  No one expects a woman of my age to keep up with current trends, and that’s fine by me.

When I was young, I wouldn’t have asked a tall young man I didn’t know to grab a six-pack of soda off the top shelf for me, fearing he’d think I was trying to flirt with him.  (It’s supposedly common in grocery stores.)  But just last week I had no problems doing just that when I realized my precious Diet Coke was out of reach.  The young man handed me my soda, I thanked him, and we each went our separate ways without a second thought.

But the main benefit of being a “woman of a certain age” is the ability to play the “old lady card” whenever it suits me.  I have learned that most young people have very low expectations of the aged, and we can easily work that to our advantage.  I’ve found that when someone younger than me tells me they can’t help with whatever I need, the best thing to do is simply stare at them in a confused manner, say, “Excuse me?” and wait it out.  They will almost always sigh, roll their eyes, and take care of the matter at hand.

Trust me, this works.  I’ve had my new phone set up by an impatient young salesman who had assured me that wasn’t his job,  gotten medical appointments scheduled after being told none were available, and had disputed and incorrect charges removed from my accounts.  There are many more examples, but my old lady brain can’t recall them right now.  The point is, if people believe you are old and helpless, they will generally do things for you.  So wrinkles do have an advantage after all.

I’ll end this now, because I have to go visit my 94-year old mother.  While I’m there, I’ll check her mail for bills that need to be paid, take out her trash, clean out her fridge, and water her houseplants.  She used to do those things for herself, but I do them now because she’s so old.  And that means she couldn’t possibly do them herself, right?  Right????

Memories

/ Ann Coleman / 85 Comments

The problem with travel is that it can be addictive.  As soon as I return from one trip, I long to go on another one.  I guess that explains why I’ve been checking travel websites ever since our return from our Danube River cruise last month, and fantasizing on what trip I’d like to go on next.

Sadly, I’m not in a position to indulge in unlimited travel opportunities, so for now I’ll just enjoy my memories.  I’ve already printed off a huge stack of photos, carefully noting the date and location on the back.  I know that sounds like a chore, but it really isn’t.  Going through the photos has helped me relive the trip, both the big moments and the little ones.

I remembered the relief of checking into our hotel room in Budapest, completely exhausted after our long and difficult flight.  We’d learned the hotel was completely full, and since we were checking in around 1:30 in the morning, I figured we’d be lucky to get a broom closet.  But when we opened the door to our room, the lights switched on, the curtains opened, and we found ourselves staring at the nicest hotel room we’d ever checked into.   The soaring ceilings were ornately carved, the windows were floor to ceiling, and there was a lovely sofa and coffee table at the foot of the king-sized bed.  We had two huge closets, a mini-bar, and a huge bathroom that sported two sinks and a shower the size of a walk-in closet.  That was the moment I knew our luck had finally changed.

I remembered the shock that I felt when we reached Durnstein for our “castle hike” and I looked up to see the castle we were hiking to was located way above the town.  I’d thought I was in good shape, but it wasn’t long before my heart was beating a little too fast and my breath was coming a little too hard.  I knew it was time of stop for a break when the young man behind me asked, “Are you okay?  Do you need to sit down?”  And when I was finally ready to go again, he asked if I’d like to take his arm.  Say what you want about young people today, but I know of at least one who was prepared to offer assistance to an old lady in need.  At least the view from above was worth it!

I remember the overwhelming sadness I felt when looking at the cast iron shoes lining the Danube River, memorializing the Jews who were drowned there by the Nazis in World War II.  I remember being amazed at the intricate architecture on almost every building in each town’s historic district, and charmed by the picturesque small towns we passed while cruising along the river.  Above all, I remember feeling so grateful to the many people we encountered throughout our journey who were kind and patient with a couple of Americans who did not speak their language.  It really is possible to transcend our differences and connect with people who live very far away from our homes.  And it feeds my hope and faith in human nature, too.

I know that eventually we’ll go on another nice vacation, and I’m hoping to get in at least one more international trip before I become too old and frail to truly enjoy it.  But whatever form it takes, travel is truly a gift that takes us out of our normal routines and reminds us that there really is a great big world out there just waiting to be explored.

A Dream Vacation

/ Ann Coleman / 96 Comments

In my dreams, I’m still in Europe.  Even though we’ve been back from our Danube River cruise for over a week, my subconscious seems to be stuck in vacation mode.  Because every morning, I wake up surprised to be back home rather than still roaming the cobblestone streets of Linz or Durnstein.  I guess some vacations just stick with us longer than others.

The days leading up to our trip were a bit stressful.  Our dog, Finn, decided that three days before we were supposed to leave was the ideal time to find a rabbit nest in the back yard and gulp down four baby bunnies.  An emergency trip to the vet took care of the problem, but it was still an experience I could have happily lived without.

Then we realized that the luggage we had packed exceeded our airline carrier’s restrictions in both weight and size, so we rushed to the store to buy smaller carry-on suitcases, and removed as many heavy items from the checked luggage as we could.  Which turned out to be unfortunate, because we removed the jackets and sweaters we were bringing “just in case” the weather turned out to be colder than forecasted.  Which it did, rendering at least half of what I’d packed completely useless.

When we finally arrived in Budapest at 1:30 in the morning (did I mention the last leg of our flight was cancelled as we were preparing to board, resulting in an unexpected 7-hour lay-over in Munich?), it seemed like a small miracle.  We were tired, cranky and hungry, but it didn’t matter.  We were there!

We had two nights in a beautiful hotel, with plenty of time to explore Budapest before we boarded our ship on the Danube River.  Our cruise included stops in Vienna, Linz, Bratislava, Durnstein, Passau, Spitz and Vilshofen before we boarded a bus for a post-cruise visit to Prague.  I have never seen such beautiful architecture in my life, nor heard so much about countries whose histories extend back to the Roman times.  We had local tour guides in each stop, who provided a fresh and authentic perspective that was very much appreciated.  And all too soon, it was time to head to the airport (at 3:30 in the morning) for the long flight home.

I learned a lot on this trip, including the fact that while I very much love being in Europe, I’m now at the age where I’m not such a fan of getting there and back.  But now that I’m home and recovered, I’m still so very grateful I had the opportunity to go.  My husband and I have been wanting to do a Danube River cruise for years.  This trip not only gave me memories that will last a lifetime, it gave me something to dream about as well…….

No Small Thing

/ Ann Coleman / 112 Comments

Travel always wears me out.  Last Monday, we returned from a quick weekend trip that included a wedding and a funeral in two different states.  The wedding was lovely, and a great chance to reconnect with dear friends whose son was getting married.  The funeral was for my husband’s favorite aunt, a very sweet woman who will be greatly missed.  She had lived a good long life…100 years….but saying goodbye to a beloved family member is never easy.

So when we returned home late Monday afternoon, we were tired.  We greeted our dog, Finn, who welcomed us home as if we’d been gone for years, if not decades.  Then we got on with unpacking, sorting through our mail, and airing out the house, and vacuuming up all the dog hair.  Afterwards, all we wanted was to go somewhere for a quick meal (I didn’t have the energy to cook) before coming home and falling into bed.

We went to a casual restaurant near our home, and were pleased to be seated immediately.  There was a couple sitting a few tables away from us, and when the woman looked up, I realized that I recognized her.  I smiled and waved, trying desperately to remember how I knew her.  I pointed her out to my husband, who also smiled and waved, but couldn’t tell me why she looked so familiar either.  Was she a neighbor?  Someone we’d seen regularly at our grandson’s sporting events?  And then it hit me….this was the woman who usually sits a few pews behind us at church.  I had no idea what her name was, but she always smiled and said hello during the “passing of the peace.”

That mystery solved, we settled in and ordered our food.  While we were eating, the other couple left, but she didn’t make eye contact on their way out.  My husband and I eventually finished our meal and asked the waitress to bring the bill, since we were both tired and cranky and wanted to get home to bed.  That’s when we were told that our meal had already been paid for.

Stunned, we asked who had paid, and the waitress said, “She didn’t give us her name, just said that she knew you two from church.”  My husband and I looked at each other, amazed.  Someone we barely knew had picked up our tab?  And didn’t even want any credit for it?

All of a sudden, our cranky moods disappeared.  We may have been tired, but how could we possibly stay cranky in the face of such an unexpected, and undeserved, kindness?

Sometimes it helps to be reminded how many good people are still in this world.  Sometimes all it takes to lift someone’s spirits is a bit of kindness or a generous gesture.  In a world where we are all too often encouraged to be our worst selves, it helps to see people being their best selves.  Because they are setting the example the rest of us would do well to follow…….

Moving On Up

/ Ann Coleman / 84 Comments

I watch a lot of HGTV.  Not because I like it very much, but because that’s the channel my parents often watch, and being a dog, I can’t work the remote control.  Many of the shows are about people looking for a house, and more than one of them has said,  “I want a house that really wows people!  We’ve worked hard, and I want a house that shows we’ve arrived!”

Personally, I don’t think “wowing” others is the most important thing to be considered when choosing your home.  At least I know my parents didn’t choose their home for the “wow factor,” because if our house were making a statement, it would probably say, “we’re solidly middle-class with questionable taste in decor.”  But that’s beside the point.

My point is, I may not own a house, but I have definitely “arrived.”  And since I can’t make that statement with a house, I’ll settle for making it via Mom’s blog.  My regular readers know that one of my pet peeves has been the fact that I’m not allowed on the furniture.  Mom and dad sit and sleep wherever they want, but for years, they had a fit if I hopped up on a bed or couch.  I never understood it, but I had no choice but to accept what was clearly my second-class status in this family.

And then the miracle happened.  My cousin Buddy came for a visit.  He lives nearby with my human brother and his family and everyone thought it would be a good idea for us to meet.  We got along so well the first time that he returned for an overnight visit a week or so later.

I love having another dog to play with, but the best part is that Buddy has always been allowed on the furniture in his own house.  Which means he wasted no time jumping up on the furniture at mine.  And rather than scold him, my parents simply placed a “sofa covering” on the family room sofa to protect it.  Let me tell you, I took one look at that and was up on that sofa faster than you could blink!  Mom said I looked so proud to be up there you would have thought I’d won the Nobel Prize, whatever that is.

I’m sure you can guess what happened next.  After Buddy left, I kept right on jumping up on the sofa.   Because that’s the way it is with “privileges.” Everyone wants to have them, and no one wants to give them up, including yours truly.  Besides, I’ve always known I should be allowed on the furniture, I was just waiting for mom and dad to figure it out too.

Which is why I can truly say that, finally, I have arrived.  At least when it comes to furniture privileges.  Next up is mealtime, because I also believe I should have a place at the family table and eat the same food as my parents.  I’ll keep you posted on that….

Love, Finn