Is There Sex After 60? (Navigating Single Life After 60)

 Have you ever heard of a new word or an idea or a subject that you have never heard of before or maybe it is an idea that you never thought about before?  Somehow this word or idea sparks your interest and then, for some reason, you keep hearing this same word or idea over and over.  Is this a coincidence?  I don’t think so. When this happens I think the universe is trying to tell you something.  Stop, look and listen because this is something you should pay attention to; maybe for your own good?   This happened to me about a week or two ago.

First, I read an article in a magazine about a man who had retired at the age of 60.  He loved sailing and spent his free time on other people’s boats for most of his life.  When he retired he decided to build his own sailboat.  It took him several years to finish the boat to his satisfaction.  When it was finished he and his wife took off and sailed for the next ten years.  He is now 75 years old and he still loves sailing. When asked when he is going to stop living his passion he said that every five years he tells himself that he is going to give it five more years. It is his five-year plan.

Then, a day or so later I heard an interview on television with a very famous actor discussing the beginning of his career.  After the army and a college degree he got a job on the Broadway stage in a non-speaking part.  He moved to California and got small parts in television.  This actor told the interviewer that he gave himself five years to succeed as an actor.  He had a five-year plan.

At this point I started to notice something.

Next, I heard another very well know woman being interviewed.  This woman was known for her smile, her many talents, and her strong cheerful personality.  She had been married a few times first, to a man who cheated on her, then she married two more times to men who lost all of her money.  These next two husbands were both liars and cheaters. This didn’t stop her, she told the interviewer, “I gave myself five years to get over the loss and to rebuild my life and career.  After a loss, I have a five-year plan.  A five-year plan works for me,” she stated in a confident manner.

I won’t go into the two or three other instances in the last week where that same  “five-year plan” point became like a constant reminder that someone was trying to tell me something.  Okay, Okay, … I announced out loud to no one in particular.  So I guess I am supposed to wise up and force myself into making up a five-year plan.  So here goes.

MY FIVE-YEAR PLAN!  

One:In the next five years I would like to buy a condo, a townhome or a house that would be a place to settle into for a few years.  I am tired of moving and paying rent.

Two:I would like to put my posts from this blog into a book with some fun and interesting interviews from men and women over 60 as well as some fun facts.  I think this will be a lot of fun to put together.  This would be a fun way for me to earn some extra income for my advancing years; however, I am doing this primarily for my own amusement. Along with this possible book I have an idea for two films that will revolve around men and women over the age of 60.  I also, have an idea for a play.

Three: This is possibly going to be one of the hardest parts of my five-year plan.  I plan to force myself to commit to an activity that will require some sort of physical effort.  This is nothing that I have ever relished doing.  Off and on through the years I did manage to dedicate myself to five or six days a week for about an hour of swimming or biking or walking.  I am and I never have been a fanatic about working out.  I am pretty sure that I am not going to change in my 60’s, but, what is sixty or so minutes a day, out of one’s day, to keep blood flowing properly though one’s veins?

Four: I know, I know, this blog is about sex.  Have I given up on the idea?  What do you think?  NO, I HAVE NOT TOTALLY GIVEN UP ON THAT PARTICULAR EXERCISE.  What I would like to find in the next five years is a person with whom I might share my thoughts and hopes.  I would like someone who would call me just to chat.  I would like someone to worry if I arrived safely to my destination.  I want someone to look at me with love in his eyes.  I have decided he can be any age starting from 50 years old to 80.  Not sure you have noticed ladies, but there aren’t many single men out there as we age, so, I have given a 30-year age-span to help my odds a bit.

Five:  My last goal is to be alive, to be healthy and happy for five years, until I have to make another five-year plan.

Do you feel restless?  Is life a bit boring lately?  Did you stop having goals?  Consider making a five-year plan.  I did!  Maybe the universe is trying to tell you something too? 

Until Next Week…

There is no word for “sorry” in French.   In French, you say, “Je suis desole” (can’t figure out how to type the French accents) or Excusez-moi or “Pardonne-moi.”  Therefore, you either ask to be excused or to be pardoned or maybe, just maybe, (if you are French) you just might be desolate, but you aren’t sorry.  Being excused for something sounds pretty good to me.   Here is a scenario.  A policeman asks you if you are sorry for hitting your husband over the head with the iron frying pan that was sitting on your stove in preparation for cooking your husband’s dinner, just after you picked up your husband’s cell phone and found very compromising photos of your beloved with another woman?  If you are French you would say, “Pardonne-moi” or “Veuillez m’excuser” Pardon me, or, please excuse me, in English.  Yep, that is what I might tell the policeman too.   Now, what if the policeman asks you how you feel after you find out that your husband was taken to the hospital due to the fact that you hit him with your favorite iron frying pan and that your husband had been diagnosed with a slight concussion?  Well of course, any caring wife would answer, “Je suis desole” or, in English, “I’m desolate.”  Does that sound a bit sarcastic to you?  Of course it sounds sarcastic, because, it is sarcastic. That is the point.  Desolate really?  Is anyone ever desolate?  It is a sarcastic retort.  Now, would you call someone who would hit her husband over the head with her favorite iron frying pan without even letting her husband explain the naked pictures of him with another woman on his phone as being too dramatic?  NO!  Neither would I.

Have I done this in real life? No, I have not.  Have I thought about it?  Sure. Now, tell me this.  Does this make me too dramatic?  Maybe.   I have never been accused of being too boring.  Interesting, yes, pushy??? At times, yes, I guess. Colorless, no. Dull, no.  Humdrum, no. Drab, no. Stale, no.  Spiritless, no. Vapid, no. Irksome, yes.  Wearisome, yes. Uncommunicative, no. Tiresome, yes, sometimes.   A pain in the a_ _ , yes, and even to my face and surely lots of times behind my back.  The one name I have been called more than once and often by men, (yes, even in the last few days) is, “Dramatic” I have heard “You are too dramatic for me”, and I have heard, “At this point, I am not looking for anything dramatic in my life.”

Now, men, let me tell you what I am looking for in a relationship.  Drama, sure, I certainly have had my share of boring, and dull and drab in the last few years.  Drama sounds pretty good to me.  What else do I WANT?  I want someone to ask me, what I want!  I want someone to ask me what I am looking for, in my future.  It isn’t a humdrum existence.  Excitement, Golly Gee, YES!  FUN, YES.  Earth shattering momentum in a new relationship?  WHY EVERNOT?  Historic relationship?  Monumental, significant, days and nights.  Absolutely!   Do I want to be around impressive, outstanding, remarkable, exceptional people doing and saying and living their lives in their own outstanding, remarkable, way? YES! YES! & YES!

Telling me not to be dramatic is useless.   Every one of my old and new friends and family members are quite aware of this personality trait of mine.  I have had this particular trait since birth.  I am afraid that this will probably die with me.  As a child, I wanted to be a Broadway star, or a movie star, until I was in college and acting on stage.  That is when I realized that I only enjoyed bowing at the end of the performance.  What I really liked about the theater and movies was, and is, the writing and the directing and producing behind the performance.  What I liked was the art of the entertainment.  What I liked was the story, or the DRAMA. The drama of life makes you know that you are alive.

I know that lots of men and women over sixty just want to be calm and they want their rest and uncomplicated relationships.  Lots of seniors are looking for  nice, happy, slightly enjoyable friends and an uncomplicated retirement with occasional visits to see the grandchildren. I totally understand this after so many years of hard work.  It makes a lot of sense.  This actually makes good sense.  It’s just not me.  Can’t help it.  I’m different.  I have been living my life for a “was-band” and for two children, all of whom,  have never relished any form of drama.

 Now it is my turn. Drama is in my soul.  Everyone knows it and I have had to keep it in check for way too long … well, I am not going to do that anymore.  I made it to over 65 and my sprit isn’t going to be lassoed. There is another thing, like drama, and it is called, passion.  Yes, I am passionate.  I am a passionate person.  I am passionately interested in many things and I am passionately fond of my family and friends.  If in a serious relationship, I am passionately involved.  I can be seriously hurt and seriously affected by things you do or don’t do or things that you say to me.  Can’t help it..  I actually have had a man or two or three, in my life, who somehow managed to fall in love with that part of me.  Thank you, fellows for liking me for who I am.

This, “Drama Queen” is comfortable with her title.  I accept the title and will wear the crown with distinction.  Are there any men out there from 57 to 77 who are interested in passion and maybe a little drama?  We will see.  Can’t say I’m sorry about my dramatic condition, however, I will say, “Excusez-moi”

Until Next Week… Continue reading →

My father was (for most of his life) a very happy, optimistic fellow.  He was generally a happy man, happy, but realistic.   As a young man he was given a Bible, probably after being confirmed as a member of his church.  On the first page of the Bible he wrote, “When you are born, you’re done for it.”  Whenever life gave any of his children a kick in the fanny, my dad would remind us of his childhood forewarning.  Dad, you were right.  Most of us know this by now.  If you are sixty or over, let’s say we have all been though and seen a great deal of life. We have been made aware of the inevitable.  As years go by the inevitable goes from being somewhere way far off in the distance, to maybe being right around the corner or just over the hill or maybe right down the block…. but it is there.  The end is unfortunately within shouting distance.

 There is a lot that is really good after birth, there is also a lot of bad.  We have all been there.  We have seen, been witness to, our own and other’s pain, happiness, joy, fun, laughter, sadness, and misery.  Oh, I forgot, illness, death, worry, love, friendship, births, deaths, mourning, weddings, and how could I miss this…. sex, there is always, sex.   One of the more difficult connections with sex is that two people have to get to know each other unless you are just paying for it; in which case, the whole experience just needs to be a financial transaction.  This getting to know each other stuff, is, and always has been, a tricky and sometimes a risky business.  In days of yore, humans often met in school, or places of worship, or at work and occasionally through family or friends.  If there was an attraction you probably would go on dates for a reasonable period of time to see if you were compatible or not?   When you are young it isn’t easy but you are young, so you jump in and you take that big leap.  Youth seems endless.  Risk? What do you risk?  When you are young there is no end in sight.  We meet, we like each other, we date, fall in love, sure, sex, sure, why not?  What do you have to lose?  Heartbreak, sure, it happens, but there is always the other girl that you met at work or that other boy you met at the dance.  Is it a risk, sure, you might be disappointed, or you might fall in love again. You might have your heart-broken again. The only difference with this very familiar routine is that when you are young there is time.  There is always another person; there are always lots more time.

When you reach 60 or above, our time grows shorter. Risks get harder to take.  We get more careful.  We have seen life and we know what happens to people who risk too much. They get burned.  All you have to do is fall down a few times and trip over that rug in the bathroom and oops, you end up in the hospital with a broken nose. Look straight ahead and boom an accident and there you go in the hospital again.  So of course, when you used to run up stairs two at a time maybe you now hold on to the railing because you see what happens to someone when they miss a step.

So of course, why are we surprised when after the age of 60 if you enter into a friendship with a man or a woman who sparks your interest, why would we jump in?  Why would we take a big leap?  Why would we want to take what might be a big risk?  We have seen what life and love and death and illness does to people. Maybe we have even been there and done that.  Maybe our hearts have been broken.  Maybe we want to look for something or someone who is easy to handle or not too serious.  Maybe it is better to forget the whole thing then to take that risk.  Maybe leaping and risking is only for the young.

I know many men and women who feel that maybe, just maybe, it is time to call it a day.  Maybe it is not worth it: to go through all of the feelings, and emotions and possible heartache again.  Maybe sex and or possible love, isn’t worth all of the mess and trouble anymore.  Have I felt this way?  Sure I have.  Do I want to be possibly sad again?  Do I want to be misunderstood and misunderstand and to argue and worry and feel jealous again?  Do I want to be in a complicated relationship with someone else in my 60’s?  Am I too tired?  What about family issues? Adult children and grandchildren and or ex-husbands or ex-wives and their problems are also new problems to be faced.  Are men and women over 60 too set in their ways to change even slightly for another person?  Maybe, over 60 means never being able to change your habits enough to let someone new into your life.  When you let another person in to your life it does get messy.  You might have to make changes and adjustments.  Is that possible over 60?  You might have to be responsible for someone else.  After a lifetime of being responsible for everyone else is one more person worth it?

Here is the last part and the hardest part. You just might end up caring for this new person and you might end of caring too much.  There is something that men and women know (who have lived to and beyond their 60^thbirthday) of which young people are blissfully unaware. The person you might be interested in or have fallen in love with, is going to die.  We know that now.  They could be ill for a while and then die or they could just drop dead when you aren’t looking or when you are at your very, very, happiest in your new romantic relationship.

Therefore, men and women over 60 and single are you considering taking a risk at your age… are you going to take that leap and take that risk?  Is it worth the risk?  I think so, but I’m not sure? Are you?

Until Next Week…

When I was in my 20’s and living on my far South side neighborhood about an hour away from the big city, I had a large group of friends, both men and women friends who all lived downtown.  We often went on outings and parties and socializing as a group.  We all would add some of our own friends to the group, which was fun and an interesting mix of people both young and middle-aged.  I look back on these years before my marriage at 30, to be very, very, happy times.  These were the days when one only had to worry about what to wear to the next party, or sailing party, or pool party.  We would worry about who would be arriving and if you were dating someone or looking for someone else to meet and date in the future.  I see myself as carefree, single and a gloriously selfish girl.  One of the main characters of our group was a funny, interesting and often hard to pin down personality.  She whisked into and out of parties as well as whisking in and out of people’s lives.   She invited me into her large, large, group of friends as a very kind gesture to me because her parents were good friends of my parents.  My father and mother split up for good the same week I arrived back home from college in Europe with my new B.A. degree in World History and English Literature held in my hand.   My mother and my little sister were devastated by my father’s departure.  I knew almost immediately that my father had planned to leave our home and coordinated it with my return.  I am sure he believed that I would be responsible for my mother and my little sister’s well being.  Thank heavens, for this friend, whom I will call,  Jenny (not her real name) who opened up her friendship to me at a very difficult time in my life.  Jenny was tall, and slim, and pretty, with a big smile and a very big heart.  Her one failing and it really wasn’t a failing but really like everything else about her, this slight failing, was charming, Jenny liked to gossip.  She liked to tell people what she had learned while talking to or questioning friends and well yes, maybe things she learned by snooping.  It was always good-natured gossip that wasn’t in any way to hurt anyone.

Over a few glasses of wine one night at Jenny’s apartment she announced that she had some very interesting gossip.  She looked directly at me.  There was a man in our group that we all liked very much.  He was nice and nice looking and if I remember correctly, I believe he was an up and coming banker and maybe a lawyer too? I knew him and liked him however, that is all.  I hadn’t considered him as a possible boyfriend.  I just enjoyed talking to him casually at parties.   My friend visited this young man’s apartment for a date maybe?? I honestly don’t know?  She saw that he had a black leather personal address book on his desk.  Jenny felt it was her duty to, at the very least, take a casual look inside to see what she could see… so to speak.  She opened the book, and noticed my name and address and phone number listed with a star next to it. Right next to my name in this man’s date book were a few words, “Pretty girl, nice, good personality, Geographically Undesirable.”   Jenny looked deeply into my eyes to witness my expression.  I realized at once that this fellow had chosen the right profession. Everything he said was pretty true at the time.  I lived an hour or more away from his apartment. I thought then and still think that his description of me was quite amusing as well as hitting the nail on the head.  This was a very practical man.  He wasn’t going to get into a relationship that would be wasting hours of time driving back and forth or having to spend long periods of his time on the phone setting up dates and or meeting places.  This guy thought I was cute and nice but clearly not worth the time or the drive.  This did, right then, and has still, made me aware of what is important to me and to other people when considering a relationship.

Funny, however, the first serious relationship that appeared not long after the “Geographically Undesirable” incident, I met a man who lived an hour or more away from me.  How, interesting that this man didn’t find distance to be a problem. This man, I will call him Jim, was several years older than me and he delighted in visiting me in my family’s home.  He often picked me up and drove over an hour away to take me out.  He would make me dinner or take me to a big city restaurant and drive me all the way back to my house far away on the South side.  Then he would drive back to his own apartment.  Why would he do this for over a year until I moved myself to an apartment downtown on my own?  To him I was worth the time and expense.

Later, still in my 20’s I met a man thought mutual friends.  He arrived with a male friend or two and I often arrived with a friend or two of mine. We were both immediately attracted to each other.  I fell for him instantly. He came alone and left with men friends.  Once and only once I met him on the street he was actually with a beautiful actress on a date, she wasn’t famous then, now she is. I was also on a date that night.  We exchanged hellos and later goodbyes. Something hurt in my stomach.  I realized that I was with the wrong man and this man who I really liked, was on a date with the actress and not with me.  We kept meeting at parties and talking.  I thought that he was interested in me.  I had a dinner party and called him at work to invite him to my party.  He had given me his phone number at work.   The dinner party was lots of fun and this man that I liked so much, stayed later than everyone else.  When he was leaving he grabbed me and kissed me.  I have to say that this kiss wasn’t like any kiss that I had ever had, before in my life.  We fell on the floor and he continued to kiss me.  Then, suddenly he jumped up and helped me up and he apologized he thanked me for the dinner and left.  I was very puzzled by his abrupt parting.  A few weeks later he asked me out.  We went to an outdoor concert.  He brought the food.   I brought the Champagne.  Later I learned why he hadn’t asked me out earlier.  He was going through a divorce.  He told me that he knew that I wouldn’t go out with a married man.  He only asked me out after he was free.  In other words, he thought that I was special.  I was worth it.  I was desirable.

BTW I met my “was-band” in Monaco.   When I returned home to the U.S. A., after our first  meeting, (my “was-band” who was, and still is, French and at the time of our meeting, he lived in France) he sent me flowers, called me, wrote me, sent me gifts and flew from France to see me several times.   I visited him in France too.  We got married a year and a half after we met.  We are still married but separated.  We are friends.  Okay, it’s because I am a saint.  I’ve said that before but it is true.  However, distance was not a problem for my husband.  I think even if you met him today … I believe he would say that I was worth it. I was worth the geographic distant.  So much for being “Geographically Undesirable.”  If you care, you care… geography has nothing to do with real passion.  Got to say however, I still think that the phrase “Geographically Undesirable” is still, really, really, funny!

Until Next Week…

One of the reasons my mother was upset over the divorce from my father in the late 70’s after 34 years of marriage is that she felt like a non-person.  She told me before she died that she had invested so much time into her marriage and her husband and just being my father’s wife that she felt as if she had lost herself.  My mother confided to me that she was embarrassed by the mere fact that she was divorced.  I think my mother felt as though her career was to be the perfect wife and mother.  Shewasthe perfect wife and mother, in my estimation and she wasa success at both jobs. My mother was a very private person. Now, that I think back about what she tried to tell me not long before she passed away, is the fact that her friends and neighbors would have to know about the divorce and that they would be discussing her divorce and perhaps speculating on reasons for the divorce. The one true tragedy is that she cared about what anyone was thinking or saying about her or her marriage.  The truth is, no one cares except perhaps your children and maybe one or two family members.

My mother was so talented on so many levels. She was tall and slim and very pretty all of her life.  I remember watching her sleep a few weeks before she died while noticing how pretty her legs and feet were while I covered her with a blanket, in case her feet would be cold during her nap.  My mother had perfect taste in everything.  She had taste in clothes.  As a young woman she would make her own dress patterns cut out of newspaper and she would sew her own clothes.  She made my older sister and my clothes when we were very young as well as our Halloween costumes.  Later in life after my father’s business grew, my mother found a talented seamstress to make my mother’s own designs.  I noticed actually after my mother’s death that my mother would often get her inspiration for her designs from classic films combined with my mother’s own natural flair.  She had a taffeta off the shoulder dress that resembled Bette Davis’s fabulous dress in “All About Eve”.  She made a dress that might have been one of  Grace Kelly’s outfit’s in “Rear Window”.  My mother had style.

 Mother read about five newspapers a day.  She knew the best writers in each paper.  When one of her favorite writers would suggest seeing a movie or a play, off we would all go to see the movie or play for ourselves.  This would happen with everything… if there was a ballet that was considered the best, we went to see it.  If there was the best pianist in town… off we went to hear Van Cliburn…. not once, but three times.  The great Chicago Symphony Orchestra. Mother and I went, with the added pleasure of being seated in her good friend’s box seats.  This went on and on … and included fine restaurants, great hotels, the best art museums, and the best zoos. We went to see Chinese acrobats in a theater downtown before China was officially opened.  She knew the best destinations to travel to, as-well-as the best way to get there.  As children we were introduced to the best children’s books and yes, the best toys at Christmas.  This made my sisters and I spoiled in a way, because we had been exposed to the best of everything, from birth on.   This also made us very good critics.

This isn’t all.  My mother was neat and clean and organized … so was my father, BTW.  There was a place for everything and everything in its place.  I believed this rubbed off on my siblings as well.  My mother did not throw money to the wind.  We were exposed to the best of everything, which was true, however, she knew how to stretch a dollar and save whenever and wherever it was possible. My father was somewhat, wealthy when my parents were divorced and although the divorce was due to my father’s dalliances, my mother did not want to argue or fight the divorce.  My mother didn’t receive a great deal of money from the divorce however; she was a friend with a neighbor who had a very high position in an important company.  He handled the finances of one of the largest companies in the United States.  My mother hired this man to advise and teach her about the U.S. Stock Market and Bond Market.  Mother read and studied and read more and listened to the very best financial programs religiously.  In a very few years, my mother knew more about stocks and bonds than the reporters and writers who wrote and studied the markets all of their lives. She made a tidy sum of money because of her keen mind.

I only wish my very brilliant mother, had been a happier, stronger, woman.  She was so; so talented at everything that she found interesting.

There is a song that I think women, both now, and in the past, have believed and unfortunately may have, taken to heart, … it is called “You’re Nobody ‘Til Somebody Loves You.”  The second line of this song states, “You’re nobody till somebody cares.”  I beg to differ.  To all women, single and married…. you are somebody, you are important on your own, with or without a partner.   By The Way, my mother wrote my father’s first two books but she didn’t get the credit for her work.  My father published both of these books and they sold more than the number one seller on the best seller’s list for years.

Mom, you were always SOMEBODY and everyone knew it, except, maybe, you.  Love you, Mom.  I miss you.

Until Next Week…

* (“You’re Nobody ‘Til Somebody Loves You” Written By: James Cavanaugh, Larry Stock and Russ Morgan.)

Litmus Test, Definition: “a test in which a single factor (such as an attitude, event, or fact) is decisive.  Often it refers to something that can be used to make a judgment about whether someone or something is acceptable or not.“  {Merriam Webster: Word of the Day March 27^, 2019.}

Looking at my life, in the past, the present and the future, how great would it be if you could just dab a little piece of paper on a person, or a job or a decision and voila, if the paper turned red you would stop right there and not go any further… not one step further… you could just make a U-turn and go in the opposite direction?  Whew, avoided that possible future mistake or tragedy. Don’t look in that direction … turn your head, go back and start over.   STOP, the strip turned RED!

Conversely, if the strip of paper turned green you would get the go ahead… don’t stop, don’t slow down, don’t hesitate, don’t pause, keep your foot on the gas and by all means keep going.  You are in the right direction kiddo so drive on down that road, as it is the right road for you.  GREEN, so go, go, and go!

How do we know what we are doing or what decisions we are making are the right decisions?  I know some people rely on religion and prayers, and some people rely on other’s advice, or do you weigh a decision on facts or on your gut feelings? There have been a few times in my life where something felt wrong, wrong, wrong.  I couldn’t put my finger on why it felt so wrong but I knew it was wrong and I had to make an unusual decision that didn’t really make any sense at all to anyone but me.

  My first two years of college I went to a college a very small college in Iowa.  I liked it a lot but after two years I knew I had to leave.  I got it into my head that I had to go to school in Paris, France.  Why?  I don’t know why?  Then, in the summer I went with a friend to a convention in Chicago and of all things a psychic walked up to me and said that I was going to go to a college in Paris and the name of the school began with S.  About a week later I walked into the office of a representative from France who was located in Chicago.  The woman was on the phone and when she finally stopped talking I asked if there were any colleges in Paris where I might get a B.A. degree.  The woman was French and from Paris.  She acted infuriated by me and with my question. She literally threw a catalog at my feet.  I picked the catalog up off of the floor as I hurried out of her office. The college was an international college located in several wonderful cities, London, Paris, Madrid and Salzburg. The name of this college began with an S.  Was it the right decision?  Yes, it was one of the best decisions that I ever made in my life.  Paris was heavenly.  I was young and single and on my own, having the time of my life in Paris, France.

After I spent one year in Paris I moved on to London, same college, different city.  I loved many things about living in London; however, I decided to spend my senior year back in the U.S. A. at a pretty large University in the Midwest.  I knew from my taxi ride to the college from the airport that this move was a huge mistake.  I sat in my new dorm room and planned my escape.  I knew one thing for sure.  I didn’t belong here.  So I got on the phone and told my parents that I had changed my mind.  I called the moving company that was sending my trunk to my college and told them that they needed to send it to London.   I finished my senior year in London.  Why?  I am not sure, but it felt right.  I graduated with a double major in World History and English Literature.  It was very difficult but worth it.  I read a lot, I wrote a lot and learned a lot.  Now, as I have mentioned in the past, I make a charming guest at any dinner party in the U.S.A. or abroad, however, this hasn’t produced too many financial benefits.  Still, for me, these were the right decisions.

Now when I met my husband were there any red flags???  Did the Litmus Test work?   I’m not sure?  I do remember, when I met him…. at the bar at Lowes Hotel in Monte Carlo, we talked to each other like old friends.  We didn’t flirt.  I remember that I felt comfortable. I wasn’t madly in love, not excited, I felt comfortable. He left with his two friends and I remember thinking that it was odd because I felt as if I was going to know him for a long period of time.  It was just a feeling.  To make a long story a bit longer, about an hour later my “was-band” came back looking for me. He asked me to go on a date to take helicopter ride the very next day. We went out and he asked me if I would like to move to Monaco and live there. A year and a half later we were married. Was it a mistake?  No, I can’t say that it was a mistake.  It was an experience, a lot of hard times and lots of worries and problems but some of married life was good, some of it was very good and some of married life was fun.  I learned how really strong and tough I am.  Looking back our whole married life was sort of like a helicopter ride, beautiful, scary, and bumpy with some great views.  Still it is nice at the end of the ride to get off and step on land again.

Back to my Litmus Tests.  Maybe we have our own Litmus tests inside of us.   Maybe we know somewhere in the back of our mind or maybe in the back of our soul what we are supposed to do and we just head in that direction anyway.  I know that I have had some fascinating experiences in my life and frankly I wouldn’t take most of them back for anything.  Thank heavens that I became a mother of two kind, loving and very wonderful boys. Maybe we have been heading in the right direction all along but we just didn’t know it?

Until Next Week…

Lately, due to a broken foot and a smashed knee and lots of bruises that are now much better; I haven’t been able to drive a car. I actually don’t have a car anymore. I am not at liberty to talk about the reasons and wherefore at this time.  Someday in the future, I will be able to explain. One of the most upsetting outcomes of this situation is that someone has to drive me if I want to go outside of my apartment.  Therefore, I have been picked up and dropped off, by friends and most often by my very good-natured son, for the last three months. This has been my life, my real life, for the last few months.

Most of my life these days actually revolves around cyberspace.  My business is mostly run with the help of my computer, emails, schedules, invoices, employee hours and payments are all handled and sent with the help of my computer. Emails are sent daily to my employees as well as to my clients.  I text and only occasionally talk on the phone to a real live person. It is so odd how everything in our modern lives revolves around cyberspace.

One of the most unusual aspects of writing this post each week has been the fact that total strangers from cyberspace have decided to follow my blog.  While I contemplate each week’s post I genuinely think of anyone who might be reading my blog as my friends… as if we are keeping our friendships up to date, so to speak.

There is one aspect of writing this blog that I can honestly say I never in my wildest dreams would have imagined happening to me, as a normal woman now, in her 60’s.  It seems that there is a small group of men (yep, all in their 60’s or above) that have made me into a (dare I even whisper it?) sex object, to my amusement and amazement.  Honestly, I am not laughing at anyone except myself.  Even though, none of you have met me in person, I must admit that I am still very flattered.  Seems as if I have been in a few men’s fantasies, some for a very short time and some have been picturing me in ….  well, all sorts of outfits and positions for over a year now.  Who knew?  Golly, maybe I am a better writer than I ever imagined?  I can’t tell you what this has done for my over 60-year-old self-esteem. Now when I walk into a party filled with strangers, I seem to hold my 5’2” ¼” self, a little taller and straighter than I did before writing a blog that has “sex” in the title.  Isn’t life full of surprises?  What if I could go back in time to talk to that 28-year-old girl who had her heart-broken way back in the late 1970’s and tell her that life doesn’t have to be over at 28 years old or even at 48 years old or 58 years old … no, kiddo, there is life in the old girl yet, even over 60 years old. 

Now, this month I had another birthday and unfortunately, around the same time that I gained another year, I lost the affection of one, no, make that two, men over 60 who seemed to be potential long-term possible realities.  Not just cyberspace, realities.  This, alas, was not to be the case.  I guess you can say that I was picked up and then dropped off, in cyberspace.  Are we still friends?  Yes, of course, we are friends.  We are cyberspace friends.  I am after all just a fantasy to them and not real woman after all.  I felt a second or two of sadness.  How sad can you be after being dumped by someone who has never met you or seen you in person???  Exactly, that is how I felt.  As my still very, strong, easy-going, over 60, self, I stood up and dusted myself off and managed to be my usual cheerful self, even with my broken foot and smashed knee.  You see there are still a few more men out there, in my now growing pool of seniors, who carry a very small but still burning torch for me.  Do I expect this to last?  No, I do not, however, did I ever imagine that I would write a blog for over a year with ‘sex” in the title?  NO, I did not.  Did I ever imagine anyone in the world would have had even one sexual fantasy about me after the age of 60!!!  NO, I did not.  Did I ever imagine that I would be lucky enough to get to know so many interesting, thoughtful, kind, and intelligent men and women who have let me in on their very intimate past and present sex lives? No, I did not!  Really wonderful men and women have let me into their lives with the knowledge that I don’t judge them and that I respect their privacy. I am touched by their honesty.

I heard a very funny thing on the news today. A young 30’ish newsman was reporting about a massage parlor that was recently raided by the police.  A famous man was among the clients in this massage parlor.  The newsman reported that the two women who preformed the message on this famous person were both licensed message therapists, and he added with a new tone in his voice…. “besides”, he said, “both women were older women, one is in her 40’s and one is in her 50’s.”  In other words, in this young man’s view, what man would ever pay for sex from an older woman in her 40’s or 50’s?   LOL, I thought you would all get a kick out of that story.  I smiled to myself and chuckled a bit before turning off the television.

We all are just trying to make each day a good day.  We all long to make a difference and to be appreciated and hopefully cared for and loved.  That is my wish for you, dear reader and that is my wish for myself.

Until Next Week…

In the dictionary terra firma means dry land however, in Latin it means, solid land. 

 In the last week I had a birthday. I often get a bit nostalgic and well, even more than nostalgic, actually I often feel quite sad lately, for a few days before and after my birthday. Did you ever read or see the play “Our Town” by Thornton Wilder? There is a section of the play where the main character dies.  She is allowed to go back in time to relive one day in her past.  She chooses one of her birthdays.  She sees her mother and father and her friends and relatives talking among themselves and talking about their planned celebration.  Her ghost watches the action that is all in the past. At first she is thrilled to see and hear the family and friends.  She is fascinated with how young her parents looked at the time.  Soon it becomes too emotional for her and she cries out, for the action to stop.  Looking back can be too sad and too emotional for me and really, maybe, for all of us. 

 I try not to go back in time and I do a pretty good job of it, most of the time.  I try to concentrate on the present and the future. Even when I look back at the past I am usually able to separate the past and my emotions regarding the past, however, for some reason that cool exterior breaks down much like a cookie that crumbles, around my birthday each year.   You see my mother used to make a big deal about our birthdays.  Once, many years ago I heard the writer Calvin Trillion on television and he was talking about his wife’s birthday.  Mr. Trillion said that his wife doesn’t have a birth-day. He said that she has a “birth- week”. She celebrates her birthday for an entire week.  Well, that is what I used to have when I was a child.  My mother would have a family birthday, with just my mother and father and sisters.  I would get to choose my favorite dinner and my favorite cake that my mother would make for me.  I got presents from my mom and dad and sisters.  Then we would have an extended family birthday party with my grandparents and aunts and uncles.  More dinner, more cake and more presents … then last but certainly not least I would have my birthday party with my friends from school.  My father, who was well-known in the cake business, would decorate my cake and there was more cake and lunch and presents.  We had great parties!   Now everyone is gone.  My grandparents and all of the aunts and uncles from the Chicago area, and my parents and my youngest sister and some of my friends are gone.  So now it is a bit of a challenge to get through each birthday, but I do, and I am grateful that I am still here, alive and well. 

Lately, I guess due to my “birth- week”, this week somehow makes me reevaluate my past.   I consider what is happening in my present situation and lastly I try to imagine a possible future.  I noticed one very interesting fact.  Recently, I heard a man on television mention how happy he was to be back on terra firma… after a flood in his city. I thought how my terra is, and never has been, very firma, so to speak.  I started counting (no, not calories) but homes and apartments and or condos that I have lived in from 1-year -old to my 67 years on earth.  I have moved 24 times.  Chicago 7 moves, (I am also going to count college) 2 different rooms in my college in Iowa, 2 apartments in London and 2 apartments in Paris, 2 places in Europe (when I was first married), 8 homes and apartments in Colorado and 1 home in Arizona.  That makes 24 and counting… 

 So looking back in time, at my life, as a Pisces, born in March, the water sign, of two slippery fish swimming in opposite directions; I can say, with conviction, that I am a very good swimmer.  I can swim, float, I can swim strong and steadily avoiding sharks and danger zones, most of the time.  I have had to tread water, keeping my head above water sometimes for years at a time. I did learn how to dive but I still prefer to jump in, holding my nose, with eyes closed.  Now there have been times when I have had to manage my family and my life on terra (land) and sometimes I have had to avoid avalanches blocking the road and unexpected rock slides, often with one child under each arm pulling a dog and two cats behind me.  The terra is definitely a challenge, moving, moving, moving, on to the future, leaving some things and some people behind.  The secret is to keep going, jumping over the potholes, avoiding earthquakes, skirting around possible erupting volcanoes.  

Was there help out there in the past and in the present?   Golly, yes. Life preservers, floatation devises, canoes, on the water and on land scooters, wagons, roller-skates, motor bikes… all types of transportation that help you glide past lots of problems and pitfalls.  You might ask who (or is it whom?) provides a great deal of this life-saving emergency equipment?   It is, close family members, that help carry the heavy load, and the rest is the helping hands from friends and sometimes even from total strangers.  

There are lots of people who have lived 90% of their lives on terra firma.  I have known some.  I have seen their photos.  I have the greatest respect for people and families that have managed strong lives on very strong stable terra firma.  It would be nice.  There is always the possibility that some time in the future I might move to that elusive spot somewhere on this planet earth.  Until that time, and on this particular birth-week I would like to thank all of the people who have helped my family and me through the years with that life saving helping hand.  Hope you all know who you are, in the here and now as well as in the far and distant past. I’m still here, thanks again. BTW I had my favorite lemon cake and Champagne on my birthday and I ate it and drank  too.    It was a nice birthday after all. 

Until Next Week…

Until Next Week… 

This is a blog that has the word “sex” in the title. I have heard from various people that I hardly ever write about sex in my posts.  There have been a few complaints here and there, mostly from men, and from a woman or two, that I only occasionally touch on the subject of sex. I believe that I have explained my reasons in the past however, here I go again.  Originally, I was going to call the blog  “Sex After Sixty”.  I did realize that readers would definitely expect that a blog with that title could only be about sex.  One of my friends on Facebook asked me the question, “Is there sex after sixty?   I remember laughing to myself and then thinking,”Honestly, I don’t know the answer to that? This is a very good question.”

  What my blog really stands for is the question, “Is there any fun, excitement, new experiences, anything new to learn, possible love, and yes, maybe sex to be had, after the age of sixty?”  Is all of the fun and adventure over? Is it possible to make the last third of our long lives a new, adventurous, realm to walk through (or for the readers in very good condition) or to run through, until we reach the last few steps of our own “long and winding road?”  This is my 53^rdpost; therefore, I am making this a post about sex.  Well, just a little bit about sex.  Actually, I am a very shy person, not in life, only where sex is concerned, so the fact that I write a blog with sex in the title is more than hilarious to anyone who has dated me or known me for many years.  How do I know if there is sex after sixty unfortunately, I don’t know? How could I, since I have lived and worked in my various apartments, working out of an office in my apartment where the only people I talk to are the people behind the counter of the deli section of the grocery store and the nice tellers originally from Senegal, who speak French to me at my bank.   Okay, I have been married and I did date but that was all in the past.  In the last several years I have had three dates and not dates I really care to repeat.  So, my dear readers the question that I am asking had to come from you and your experiences.

Here are some of the stories that I have heard in the last year.  If you are 40 years old or under, you aren’t allowed to read past this sentence.  Stop here.  You might be wondering why I chose the age of 40.   I chose 40 because I imagine some of you reading this over the age of 60 might have children who are 40 or under.  You don’t want your children or grandchildren reading about the sex lives of you and your friends do you??? NO, of course not.

Here are a few things that men have told me about sex in the last year.  One man likes a woman to wear thigh-high black nylons with very high-heeled bright red shoes and nothing else or a lace bra is permitted as well, I believe.  Now this is a fantasy.  I didn’t ask if this is what he insists upon in every relationship or not?

Another man likes to kiss a woman all over her body. He likes her to tell him exactly what she likes him to do and what she doesn’t like him to do.  This sounds very democratic or is it diplomatic?  Or Both? I think she gets to vote.  I like the idea of getting to vote.

Another man considers himself an expert at oral sex. Yes, after years of practice, he is an expert. He is very proud of the fact and in my humble opinion, he has a right to be very proud of himself.  He also says that he takes his time.  I imagine that is a real plus for his sex life, as well.

One man likes a woman to take charge of the entire sexual experience.  In other words, she must make the first move and well, she has to choreograph the entire night… or day or mid-afternoon.  He doesn’t care what time of day this happens.  I am thinking that this man should possibly work for a woman CEO.  Yep, I see a wealthy, bored, and strong woman CEO in this man’s future.  With any luck he will get a promotion and maybe even a raise and if he plays his cards right, a limo to drive him to work.  He lives in a very big city.

There are favorite positions for men as well. A woman on her hands and knees is a favorite, I hear.  Standing up and against a wall.  Standing up with the man standing behind her.  A real favorite with both men and women (I have heard) is the good old number, 69. This seems to be a nice old standard that hasn’t lost its appeal even after all these years.  (Nice to know.)  Men seem to never get tired of a woman on the top, which is sort of surprising to me.  I can’t even type out the one thing everyman has listed as their number one favorite sexual experience.  It revolves around a woman and her mouth and frankly that is as graphic as I am willing to get.  You will just have to figure it out.  Oh yes, a man or two like to take showers with their female partners. Here is a very interesting fact. Not one man, let me say that again, not one man, liked the missionary position.

Frankly, as a woman over 60, I think that the missionary position is the best way to go, men.  You do realize that many of us may have bad knees and all positions may hurt one part of our body or another.   Some of us have a touch of arthritis or we may have bad backs. All right, I occasionally complain about my bad back… only occasionally.

Now here is a very, very, interesting fact. Every single man said that they prefer a woman close to their own age.  This really surprised me until I realized that I am over 60 and these men were confessing their interests to a woman who is over 60.  What are they going to say; that they would prefer a woman in 20’s or 30’s to me?   I very much doubt that.  I can imagine a pretty 30-year-old woman flirting with any of these men over 60 and I believe that the 30 year old woman wouldn’t have a problem getting any one of these fellows to go home with her in a second.  Just saying …… guys, I think I get it.

Sometime in the future I will talk about women’s likes and dislikes.  However, men, women are so, so, different from you men.  Women want to feel secure, loved and appreciated, that is really, really, important to them.  We don’t want to be criticized.  We are way, way, way, more sensitive, than men about our looks, our bodies, our wrinkles, our weight.   Just remember that when you try to turn a date or a friendship into romance; think before you say something that might stop the romance dead in its tracks.   (Just some friendly womanly advice for your future potential romances.)

I forgot something.  I did ask women if they ever faked while lovemaking.  I’m very, very, sorry guys. So far, every woman who I have asked about this subject answered, yes.  I know that there might be a woman out there in the world that hasn’t ever faked.  If you are out there please send me a note and I will put you on the right side of the list, as a very honest woman.

Holy Cow, I have been blushing while writing this entire post. You might be wondering where the Rock ‘n’ Roll came in to this piece.  I was listening to some rock ‘n’ roll while I was writing this.   ONE YEAR AND COUNTING! THANK YOU FOR READING MY BLOG!!  I’m going to buy some Champagne and make a toast to all of you, CHEERS!  This is my 53^rdpost.

Until Next Week …

Guess it is time to admit to something.  It isn’t really fashionable these days.   It isn’t something a lot of women want to talk about.  I am sort of embarrassed to go too far into the subject.  I am one of these and I have been one of these since birth. Throughout my life I have had to push this condition to the very back of my mind while pretending to my children and some employers and employees and often to the world that I am something I am not.  I have had to standup to strong men and some women and bullies pretending … and pretending again.   I guess you could say I’m finally coming out of the closet.

Well, I guess I will just have to come out and say it.  I am as feminine, as a feminine woman, can be.  I have hidden this fact often because I have had to support my children. I pretended not to be afraid of anything so that they could look up to a mother who would be strong and stand up for them no matter what.  They had to believe that I wasn’t afraid of snakes and spiders and mountain lions, and bears, and skunks, and mean dogs, and bullies, and teachers and ghosts and monsters under the bed, and storms and lightning, and thunder and turbulence when sitting on a very bumpy plane, the school principal and job interviews, and doctors and dentists.  The list goes on and on.  I was and am the person they look to, to keep things going, to pay the bills and most of all; to be there for them when things aren’t going smoothly, which unfortunately can be a lot of the time.

So, I have had to very often pretend to be something I’m not.   I often had to be the mother and father and strong protector.  Can I just say that in reality, I am the girl or woman in all of the early Disney movies… oh no, not the girls or women that are portrayed in the movies these days who are often seen slaying the dragon and saving the male hero, no, not me. I am the Disney girl who is singing while walking down the road with birds chirping flying ahead of her to make sure she is safe.  I am the girl with long blond hair, smiling as little chipmunks dance around her feet. Oh my, see that hole up ahead with muddy water that could possibly dirty my shoes?  Well the birds found a cape that they placed before my feet so I didn’t have to step in the mud and dirty my slippers.   Did I wait for a prince to come and carry me away to his castle … no, I didn’t think that would happen, however, I did think everything in life would work out beautifully, eventually.

I’m mad about jewelry and velvet and ruffles. I love men who walk on the street side of the sidewalk so that dust or dirt or water doesn’t splash up on me.  I adore receiving, flowers, or cards or any thoughtful gesture from a man.  I blush and stammer when complimented.  Now I will admit that I just adore a man who can take charge when I am flustered or frightened or cornered.  In romance, I am not going to kiss you first.  It isn’t going to happen.  I love to flirt and tease and make subtle romantic gestures. I love a man the holds the door open for me and pulls out the chair.  Love a man that calls on the phone to make a date for dinner and he picks you up and he pays the bill at the end of dinner.  I know, I know, this is all old stuff and women make the dates and they often pay the bill or they split the bill.  This is fine if this is a friend or a customer or it is a man you know from work.  If a man really wants to win my heart you can’t go wrong by being a thoughtful, romantic, man who brings flowers and pays for dinner.

Even as a little girl I would play dress up wearing mounds of petticoats.  I longed to put on lipstick and mascara as soon as it was allowed.  I love sparkles, and sequins and pearls and diamonds and rubies; real or faux.  Right now, in front of my mirror, there are ten bottles of the best fragrances waiting for me to layer the fragrances before I leave my apartment.   I do not leave my apartment without my hair brushed and at the very least, light makeup applied, wearing earrings and jewelry … not too much, not too little.

Are there times when I show different sides to my personality?  Occasionally, I will play the sexy vixen.  Sure, and as I mentioned before, I have had to play the strong, powerful woman.  I played it so often that now it IS a part of my personality.  I have carried a tarantula spider out of my house in Arizona and tossed it over the wall to the unsuspecting neighbor’s lawn.  I have confronted not one, not two, but four poisonous snakes in one night, in the front and the back of my house.  I shooed away two bears and frightened a sleeping mountain lion.  I stood up to a nasty teacher or two who had shamed my son and I told off a principal who was mistreating my child.  I threatened a group of boys that were bullying my son.   I talked back to an alcoholic boss and quit a job when I was being abused.  I stared down a mugger who was trying to kill me. He didn’t.

As a woman and a single woman most of my life, it can be hard and a challenge to say the least.  I can do it, I have done it and yes, if necessary, I guess I can be and stay the strong one, trying to survive and making all the decisions until the end of my life.   However, lately, I was made aware of how very, very, nice and comforting it is to have some moments where I can feel like my REAL feminine self.  Just to have someone else to make a decision, or pick you up when you are down and someone who cares if you are feeling blue, is actually a blissful experience.  It would feel very good to be able to lean, just for a moment or two or three, on someone else, what a nice feminine feeling that would be for a little while.

Until Next Week …