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

Author Archives: istheresexaftersixty

• Lesson Learned, Mom

  Posted at 2:05 am by istheresexaftersixty, on May 11, 2021

  There is a lesson that I have leaned after living over sixty years now.  It sounds simple but just because it sounds simple doesn’t mean that it is easy to learn.  Are you ready?  Here it is.  “Easy come, easy go”. 

  If something seems too good to be true, it probably means you should step back and take another look before taking action. There are several similar thoughts or idioms, like, “don’t count your chickens before they are hatched” or speaking of chickens, “don’t put all of your eggs in one basket.”  And my very favorite and perhaps now considered sexist but it probably is still true in more ways than one… “Why buy the cow when you can get the milk for free.”  The point is, think before you act and try not to do anything too foolish too fast, unless you can afford to lose. 

     What brought this to mind you may well ask?  One of my sons is fascinated with the new Crypto phenomenon. Bitcoin, Ethereum, and Dogecoin.

  Several months ago, he started reading about the Bitcoin.  Supposedly there was a man who didn’t have any money in his pocket and thinking that his few Bitcoins were really worth nothing he used his Bitcoins to pay for a Pizza.  Those Bitcoins that paid for that pizza would now be worth about $117,000,000 today.

  Did I fall for this sales pitch from my son?  In my defense he talked about this thing called Crypto, constantly.   I have to admit it sounded like an interesting idea.  Did I invest a lot of money on one or more of these things?  No, I did not.  I am not a gambler.  I am not a wishful thinker and I do not have money to burn.  Having said all of that did I buy a tiny amount of each of these stupid things?  Yes, I did.  So did my son.   However, when I say a tiny amount, I really mean a tiny amount.  Have you ever bought a lotto ticket?   See, what I mean? Somewhere in the back of your mind you say to yourself.  Maybe.

  Was it stupid?  Also, maybe.  One more thing in my defense.  I stopped my nightly wine.  I have saved some money along with my liver.  (I still drink wine just not every night.)  I did pay all of my monthly bills before taking my tiny bit of money to invest in what might be a very dumb idea. 

  One thing to remember sometimes it is good to put $3.00 on a lotto ticket, sometimes it is okay to put $100 on a Bitcoin.  Sometimes you have to keep a dream alive.  Take that chance.  Make that move.  Go on that blind date. Invest in yourself and invest in a dream but then you have to also realize that if it doesn’t work out you may lose.  Usually there isn’t a get rich quick scheme that works out well, just ask the people that invested with old Bernie Madoff. 

  My mother was a very smart investor.  She was careful with her money and not a big spender.  She lived within her means and when she invested, she diversified and she chose strong secure stocks with dividends that she reinvested.  Every once in a while, she took a chance. 

  What a good lesson.  What a good way to live your life.  Maybe I have finally learned that lesson.  If you can’t afford to lose whatever IT, is that you can’t afford to lose, don’t do it, take a deep breath, look carefully, look again.  If it doesn’t matter and you are able to say, “easy come, easy go.” Then do it.  If not, don’t. 

  Personally, I am not going to “count my chickens before they are hatched.”  I am not taking a loan out for that Rolls Royce even though I made $50.00 on my investment. 

  Until Next Time …. 

  | 2 Comments

• Not What I Expected!

  Posted at 7:16 am by istheresexaftersixty, on April 12, 2021

  Last month I had a birthday ….  AGAIN.  They make a habit of coming around every year and they seem to come around faster and faster.  Has anyone else noticed that fact?  This one was my 69^th.  (Do you count the day you were born as a birth day?)

  Nothing, I will say this again for emphasis, NOTHING, is how I expected my life to look like at 69 years old.   First, I’m still alive.  Second, I don’t have a rocking chair. Third, I’m not a grandmother.  Fourth, I don’t really care that I’m not a grandmother.  Fifth, I am still married.  (who would have thought that, not me?)  Sixth, I write a blog with sex in the title! And to top everything off I can’t remember if I ever did “the thing” that everyone my age whispered about doing, when mentioning the number 69 as a teen.  I know that is very embarrassing to mention at this grand old age but I don’t think that I ever, did it?  Unfortunately, my sexual experiences are very limited compared to most people my age.  There are very few men who could tell any dirty stories about me to the tabloids.  Not that any tabloids are asking.  I’m just saying if they did ask, one or two of the guys might not be with us anymore.  My first serious boyfriend was about 17 years older than moi, however, he was a very careful guy and he didn’t smoke so one never knows.  He might still be alive and kicking.  At least I hope so for his sake.

  I am now officially old and yes, some days I feel really old and some days I don’t.  I do knit but I knit ugly scarves and ugly blankets and only when I am in the mood.  Usually in fall and winter and usually when I feel guilty binge-watching an English TV series on Prime.   I hardly cook anymore.  My oldest son lives with me and he cooks.  He likes to cook and after cooking for myself and everyone else for a good part of my life I am happy to leave that to my son. He also does the dishes.  I don’t iron anymore either.  Occasionally my “was-band” irons.  He bought the iron and ironing board when he moved in with me a year or so before the pandemic.  I let him move in because I am a saint. He needed a place to stay and then the pandemic hit.  I ask him to iron a shirt or two of mine if he isn’t in a grouchy mood.  He is often grouchy.  Just one of the reasons he is my “was-band” and not my beloved husband.

  Did I expect to be living with my 32-year-old son and a “was-band” that I left or at least tried to leave and should have left about five times.  NO, but here I am and they are living with me because as I mentioned before… I am a saint. 

  I am also the owner of a business.  I started this business 10 years ago after applying to many, many, jobs.  I was always in the finals for the possible positions.  It goes like this….   I would interview on the phone  and then in person, often two or three interviews in person, then a boss or manager would look at me in my eyes thoughtfully and they always told me that the position offered was between myself and one other person.  Guess what?  The other person was always younger and she always got the job, therefore, I started my own business and as of today it is still in operation.  Smaller after the pandemic but it is still limping along.  Did I expect to be the owner of my own little business for over ten years at the age of 69?  No, I did not.

  Now, I am going to discuss sex so if you aren’t old enough or too old to remember what sex is…   then I would advise you to stop reading this blog and turn on TV, either turn to the news or “Blue’s Clues”.

  Due to the fact that I write a blog with sex in the title lots of people tell me about their sex lives.  Many are pretty explicit.  Some good stories, some shocking, some sad, some well pretty interesting.  Have I been propositioned?  Actually, all of the time!  Two days ago, to be exact, and it was pretty shocking what he wanted to do.  Online this happens a lot and yes, in person occasionally too.  Must I remind you that I JUST HAD MY 69^TH BIRTHDAY?    Are you shocked?  I am.  Can I imagine that happening to either of my grandmothers??? NO! Can you???

  To continue talking about sex well not sex exactly but more about relationships.  The only thing that slightly bothers me is one thing.  I have lots of male friends, new friends, old friends, online friends.  Since I started writing this blog a large number of these male friends were single and in the last few years, they have found their love match and or partners and or new wife.  All but two of these men have found love with women much, much, younger than themselves. I don’t blame them I might like a tall, handsome younger man myself.  Okay, I have had a couple of them ask but they weren’t asking for a relationship they were asking for sex.  Fella’s I am glad you have found love and I know that you should grab love when

   you have a chance.  Still, it bothers me that maybe 69 is too old for a woman to find the right one.  We will see.

  Glad I made it to 69.  So far so good.  Yes, a few aches and pains but what the heck, c’est la vie.   The best part of being old and a woman I might add is, menopause. Thank you, mother nature.

  Will I keep writing, “Is there sex after 60”?  when I’m 70?  Probably. I wonder what my 70s will bring? Will it be what I expected or not? Money, Fame, Sex, Love?  One can always hope.  Just don’t buy me a rocking chair or I might send you one of my ugly knit scarves.

  Until Next Time….

  | 2 Comments

• A Light Touch

  Posted at 10:59 pm by istheresexaftersixty, on February 14, 2021

  In the last few months my 13-year-old Apple Computer decided that he had had enough of me and he died.  I don’t blame him.  I have been pounding on him day and night and sometimes I threatened to toss him over the balcony.  It is only the third floor but I still think it would have been a disastrous ending.  My Apple I Phone was also making noises as if he were getting a little sick and tired of me too.  Therefore, in the matter of two months-time I had to buy a computer and a phone and I had to figure out how to use them.  I am after all in my 60’s.  Everyone 45 and under can figure out a new computer and a new phone in a matter of minutes, but for me I have to start slowly and slowly ease my way into what I hope will be a long lasting and mutually rewarding relationship. 

  I was most unhappy with both of my new products.  Well, I say new but my computer is a new “used” computer.  I decided that I truly didn’t care that it had been USED by others in the past.  I’m opened minded and besides he only had one other owner and he was almost new.  The first owner only had him since October of last year.  With some help from my two sons my HP computer and I are managing … slowly but surely. 

  Now, about my new Apple I Phone….  We have been having issues.  The I Phone is new and it seems bigger than my last phone and he is heavier than my last phone and frankly I was afraid I was going to have to offer him to the highest bidder and go back to my previous phone.   Even though the last phone’s batteries were not what they used to be.  Sometimes it’s easier to stay with the old unreliable one.  With my new phone, I had to push and push and slide and slide to change the screen.  I pushed with my index finger.  I push up and swish… up and swish but nothing happened.  PUSH HARDER AND SWISHING HARDER WAS MY STRATEGY.  This didn’t work.  Then one day I lightly touched the left corner of the phone’s screen and lightly swished up from left to right.  And …. Voila! I got rid of the picture and went on to my next email.  My new I Phone and I are getting along beautifully.

  It occurred to me that there might be a lesson in this.  I started to think about it more and more.  What made a difference …. from hard or difficult, to easy?  Could it have something to do with “the light touch”?

  Last night I heard some bad news and something happened that made me very, very upset.  Nothing that I want to get into … not really terrible just something in my home that threw me into a quiet, silent, rage.  I became more and more upset by the moment and found it very hard to get to sleep.  I even woke up angry in the middle of the night.  Then I thought about my I Phone.  I thought about the light touch.  That light touch made everything disappear.

  What is so important?  Really nothing.  Life is important, love is important, art and music and laughter are important.  Caring and kindness is important.  Thoughtfulness is important.  Letting go of anger and sadness and disappointment is important.  In other words.  It is important to focus on “the light touch.” 

  When I awoke this morning, it was zero outside and about 63 degrees inside my apartment.  I sat up in bed got up and put a sweater on over my t-shirt.  (I wear large old t-shirts to bed.  They are comfortable.)  I fluffed my pillow and put my comforter around me and read a good book.  My son and my “was-band” knocked on my bedroom door to tell me that it was 63 degrees in the apartment and I had better call maintenance.  I was happy and calm and called maintenance.  At 4 PM my building’s very nice maintenance man arrived, smiling at me, “Hi, Cold enough for you?”, he said.  An hour later our heat was on and I am comfortable. 

  What have I learned?  Just think of life, think of everything as not being too important.  I see myself lightly touching the screen and swishing it away.  There, all gone.  It just needs a light touch.

  Until the next time …

  | 2 Comments

• Magical Moments

  Posted at 11:17 pm by istheresexaftersixty, on September 10, 2020

   

  There is an odd fascination that I have recently acquired.  I have been reading the obituaries from the Aspen Times.  They aren’t in the paper every day.  Aspen is a small but very well known beautiful spot in Colorado.  My parents discovered it in the ’60s.  My father was an avid athlete.  He loved to challenge himself.  As soon as he found a sport that interested him he attacked the sport with great gusto.  I can’t say the rest of the family had the same inclination let’s just say we sort of followed along.  He found handball, played that, then tennis, played that to win, then he added jogging, he did that when people assumed he was running in his underwear, and then last but not by any means least, skiing, when people thought you were talking about waterskiing.   Water skiing was much too easy for my dad he had to ski on snow. He started this when you often had to walk up a hill or mountain to ski down the mountain.

  Well, back to my story about obituaries.  

  My parents built a house right outside of the main entrance of Aspen.  If you know Aspen you see a church steeple on the right-hand side on a hill driving into Aspen from the airport.  Well if you turn into that road on the right and follow it to the dead end, that is where my parents built their house.  It is gone now but someone else built a home on that spot and his or her new home looks a lot like my parent’s old house.  The trees are still there but taller now.  Aspen has become a pretty famous spot since the late ’60s.  Movie stars, and politicians, and millionaires and now billionaires from all over the world have visited or bought giant homes and ranches in and around the area.  Lots of really interesting people have made Aspen a place to rejuvenate themselves after their lives (that are often filled with business, and politicking, and intrigue, and running giant companies and countries) have tired them out.  They look to the mountains and fresh air for sustenance.  When these titans of industry and such, pass on, they carry their obits in the Aspen Times.  I get the Times on my phone because I have posted ads in The Times usually searching for new employees for my very small business, located in Aspen.

  I usually check my phone in the mornings as soon as I can find my glasses to check on the latest news and the latest disasters.  Every few days there is an obituary in the Aspen paper.  I can’t stop myself.  I stop whatever I am doing and I read about someone’s extraordinary life that is now over.   Let me tell you, there are a lot of extraordinary people that have spent some of their extraordinary life in Aspen.  Giant men of business, worldwide travelers, huge men, and women that somehow have lived very BIG IMPORTANT LIVES, sometimes under the radar of the world stage.  I read about their lives fascinated by each and every one of these men and women.  How did they have the strength and fortitude to do what they did to almost move mountains in their short or long lives?  Often you can see if from childhood, working their way up the ladder, going to college and getting degrees, some lots of degrees, going to war, fighting wars and returning to get married, have children, and growing bigger and better and often changing the world.

  My father was a bit like this. He was a mover and a shaker.  He had tons of energy, lots of strength, and good looks and he had ideas.  Not just ideas but creative ideas and he didn’t accept or think about failure.  These people aren’t made they are born with this kind of strength to succeed. Some people have it, most don’t. 

   

  When I read about these lives sometimes it makes me feel small.  Sometimes it makes me feel like I haven’t done enough or lived enough.  Sometimes it makes me feel unimportant.

  Being just small, little me, made me contemplate what is really important?  I think I know.

  I have decided that life is made up of moments.  Just moments.   Some are wonderful, some are bad, and some have been frightening and some heartbreaking.  They are just moments.  But what makes life worth living are the magical moments.  There are a lot of them.

    Very often these moments are just looking at something beautiful.  Sometimes it can be an accomplishment but it can also be a feeling.  A cold glass of Champagne.  A perfect dinner of eggs and truffles with good friends.  A perfect kiss on a street under a streetlamp in New York City.  Looking at your newborn baby boy.  Finding out you are pregnant at the grand old age of 43.  Graduating not once but twice with college degrees when you were told not to apply because there wasn’t a college that would accept you.  BTW all of them did.  Meeting your mother for lunch at the Ritz and sitting right next to a movie star who looked lonely.  Having a glass of bandy with your dad and discussing life and films.  Laughing, belly laughs, with your sisters.  Smelling the ocean and listening to the waves.  Walking your dog in autumn while crunching the dry leaves as you walk.  I could go on and on.

  I guess you have figured it out too. These great men and women really had important lives but really if you had a conversation with them after they have left their mortal coil behind, I think they might agree that life is just made up of moments.  What we remember and live for are the magical moments.

  This is what I wish for you, more magical moments.

  Until the Next Time… 

  | 2 Comments

• Help a Good Girl go Bad

  Posted at 1:18 am by istheresexaftersixty, on July 24, 2020

  HELP ME!!!! Boy, oh boy, oh boy, oh boy, am I ever tired of being good.  I am sick of being GOOD.  Not just good but, too sickeningly sweet, kind, thoughtful, and nice.  WHY am I like this?  I am bored, of being, me.  How totally wrong is that???  I bore myself being so good.  Why do I care so much about everyone else even when it is to my detriment?  I am not the only one like this.  I know there are women that care too much.  NOT ALL WOMEN but a lot of women and maybe a lot of women who are over sixty.  We care too much about everyone and everything.

   Do you worry about offending everyone and anyone?  I do. I even try to be really nice and understanding to people I don’t like.  I really don’t hate anyone.   There are people I find dull or not interesting, there are even a few people who have been really nasty or mean or thoughtless to me and I still smile and I try to be polite and kind and understanding when we meet.   WHY?  What am I afraid of?  Why do I care if a terrible, stupid, creepy person likes me or not?  Why should I care?  A few times in the last 15 years I have had to work with some really awful, horrible, terrible, people.  Somehow I managed to smile and I tried to rise above the nasty creepiness of the whole situation.  There have been good reasons.  I needed to work and make money so that I could keep my family alive, with a roof over our heads and food on the table.  That makes some sense.

  There are a lot of reasons for me to be sick and tired of me.  I have been too nice for too long to people who don’t really deserve my thoughtfulness and kindness.  This has placed me in difficult situations for a long, long, time.  Why don’t I stand up for myself more often?  I don’t know?

  For most of my life, I have worried about everyone.  What about me?  When do I count for something?   If I disagree with you so what?  I am always doing my best to make everyone happy.  I try not to upset or disappoint anyone.  Who am I trying to be Mother Theresa?

  Somehow I missed the whole WILD REVOLUTION of the ’60s and ’70s, sexual and otherwise.  Everyone else was out having a marvelous time having sex with tons of people and drinking and taking drugs and protesting while I was finishing my term papers and too afraid of what everyone in the world was thinking about me.  “Hello, no one was thinking about you!

  I will tell you a little story about an unusual moment that happened to me one morning when I arrived at the dining hall when I was in college.  I had what I guess people have labeled, an out-of-the-body experience.  It should have been a life-changing experience however it didn’t change me.  I had been studying for exams and I had been up maybe all night?  As I picked up my tray and placed a dish or two on the tray I walked over to one of the long tables at the cafeteria and sat down with a group of my friends.  All of a sudden I was sitting on a beam on the top of the hall looking down at myself.  I looked at ME sitting at the table and I was disgusted.  I saw the real me, too afraid, too shy, too worried, too kind, too sweet.  I guess the other side of me, who was sitting on the beam, was looking down at that poor dumb college student below.  The strong version of me was shaking her head at the poor girl sitting at the table.  This all took about 5 seconds and zap I was back in my body.  I know this sounds crazy but it happened.  So one part of me (the strong personality) thinks the good version is ridiculous.  Is that the ego and the id that our friend Sigmund Freud was telling us about so long ago?

  This last week has been difficult.  I am a little tired of being good.  Am I going to change? I doubt it.   Or maybe, just maybe, when we very sweet, kind, loving, caring people have had enough, maybe we might be worse than anyone could imagine.  Or not.   We might just keep smiling, not complaining, and worrying about everyone else’s feelings.

  If I could go back in time one thing I would do that I didn’t do one cold night when I was in college.  One evening after all of my friends had a spontaneous snowball fight in front of the boy’s dorm, we all broke into the swimming pool next to the gym.  Kids took off most of their clothes and jumped into the pool.  What did I do?  I didn’t take off my clothes and I didn’t jump in.  If I could go back in time, I would jump in, clothes or no clothes.

  Until Next Time…

  | 4 Comments

• Various Habitats

  Posted at 5:17 am by istheresexaftersixty, on June 12, 2020

  The other morning as I lay in bed staring at the dust that has accumulated on my ceiling fan while avoiding my morning exercises.   Once again I tried to count all of the apartments and houses and condos that I have lived in, in my 68 years.  I believe that I counted 23.  I included 3 single rooms, two different rooms at my dorm at my University in Iowa in my 20’s and a bedsitter in London.  This means that I average about 3 years in each place.   I would say that I am not the forever type of person but I guess that wouldn’t be absolutely true.  I have friends that I have known for 65 years and I have been married (happily and “Un”) to my “was-band” this coming October (If we make it to October) for 38 years.  So I guess a part of me longs for permanence?  These thoughts entered my mind because once again I am faced with the decision to sign a new lease or not?

  As we handle the lockdown, a virus that can kill you, killer bees (Whatever happened to the Killer Bees?) and looting and burning and history and literature and films being confiscated or destroyed, I starting contemplating all the places that we all have to live in, day-in-day-out, year-in, and year-out.

  Let me delve into a few of these habitats. 

  Denial, Oh yes, I have lived in Denial.  It is somewhere between Untrue and Failure to Acknowledge.  Lots and lots of people have lived there.  Occasionally it is a good spot to set up a house.  You see when Facing Truth is the next stop or maybe even Facing Harsh Reality is just around the bend, sometimes denial gives you time to rest and catch your breath before the really difficult road that takes you to Facing the Truth.  Living in Denial may really save you from Facing Harsh Reality.  These places are difficult to live in but eventually, we all have to take that route.  Some people have been known to delay the move with drugs, and alcohol.  This can be a slippery slope.

  Where does this take you if you stay in Denial too long?

  You can fall or slip into Depression.  This is not a great place to live, although there have been a large group of artists, poets, and authors living there.  Some of these people have been known to “wallow in Depression” Some citizens also live in Sadness and Despair.  They are usually in the same neighborhood because they have so much in common.   However, it isn’t a very good idea to invite these neighbors over for a barbecue or to a New Year’s Eve extravaganza.  None of these people are very good party-goers.  You won’t hear a lot of laughter or Salsa music in the background.  There might be a lot of drinking going on and maybe drugs but not many happy campers.   When you live in Depression it is said that you have to climb out of it to move on to another place.   I haven’t seen too many people that have leaped out of living in Depression but maybe some people have and I just missed it?

  I know people who have enjoyed living in “The Past” I have heard that it can be comforting.  I understand that living in The Past is usually where people have been happiest, therefore, they don’t want to leave. I have visited  “The Past” now and then.  Sometimes it has been a nice short visit and I have enjoyed the vacation.  There is one problem with living in The Past and even taking a short vacation in The Past.   I am giving you a warning before you go there too often.  Visiting The Past may lead to living in REGRET.

  I have lived with roommates, friends, family, children, a husband (now, “was-band”), and lots of pets but let me tell you one of the hardest things to live with is living with Regret.  It can also be a place that people live in.  You can live with it or you can live in it.  Not a great place to live in because you can’t really do anything about it. Some people try to apologize for their way out of it.  Sometimes that might work.   My personal feeling about living in or with Regret is to see that it exists and keep moving on.  This is a good place to move out of as fast as your little legs will take you.

  Some places that are very good to visit are Happiness, Ecstasy, and Bliss.  Happiness is a place that seems to come and go.  Some people stay there longer than others.  I have been there and it is really a lovely spot however, there is even a problem with living in Happiness.   If Happiness is taken away it can lead you to Unhappiness that can also lead to Sadness and Depression.  Yes, there are slippery slopes all over the place.   Ecstasy and Bliss usually can only last for very short visits.  Sometimes the visits are for a few minutes or even a few seconds.  A lot of people who fall in LOVE like to think that they live in Bliss.  They take vacations to Ecstasy.  This is nice but usually, this doesn’t last.  Then you either make the move to Reality or possibly to Contentment.

  See I told you that I have lived in a lot of places.  I guess you know by now that you have lived in a lot of places too, even if you have lived in the same house for the last 60 years or so.  Life makes you move from Love to Reality to Denial to Depression to Happiness and to Contentment.  I have lived in them and some I have visited for a short stay.   I think they are all pretty much the roads you have to take if you want to live a full life.  None of them are bad places to live but some of them should only be called home for a short period of time until you can make your next move.  No person is allowed to live in Perfect Happiness forever.  How do you learn?  How do you grow?

  I’m going to live in Confusion for a few weeks or months.  I will meet you in Hope.  I like living in Hope.

  Until the Next Time…

  | 1 Comment

• The King Size Bed & I

  Posted at 12:10 am by istheresexaftersixty, on May 22, 2020

  Why in the world would I have a huge KING SIZE BED?  Have I invited a group of people to sleep with me you may ask?  (No, not lately.)  To be honest I used to sleep with more than one person at a time.  (I THOUGHT THAT MIGHT CAPTURE YOUR INTEREST)   When did I sleep with more than one person?   Well, years ago my “was-band” and I used to sleep together and then my first-born son would climb into bed with us and a few years later my youngest son would climb in-between us as well.  Then we rescued two cats.  Both cats would sleep on my feet.   I had a very difficult time sleeping anyway without fighting off the wild herds of arms and legs and cat fur.  Oh I forgot, also snoring and night terrors and cats meowing in my ear also added to the sleep issue.  Did I mention our first Basset Hound always had to go out in the middle of the night?  So she would jump up on my side of the bed to get my attention.  She knew that the male group on the other side would ignore her or pretend to be asleep, so therefore she would jump up and her paws would reach my face and she would whimper until I would get up and take her out.  All of this happened in what used to be a Queen Size Bed.

  Several years ago I bought a darling home in Tucson, Arizona and I decided to decorate it by myself in my own style.  The first thing I bought was the biggest King Size Bed that I could find. Maybe just maybe I would be able to sleep through the night.  I went with my oldest son to check out mattresses.  My oldest son chose a full mattress for his room and we chose a twin for my youngest son’s room.  I tried every mattress in the store to make sure my mattress was the mattress of my dreams.  I spotted one King Size mattress at the far end of the second row that seemed to be calling out to me, “Try me! Try me!”  I sat on the left side of the bed, took off my shoes and spread out, with my arms and legs flinging out in every direction.  It was heaven, not too hard, not too soft, just right.  When I turned my head to the left.  I could see miles of mattress that seemed to go on forever. This was the perfect fit.  My mattress made for me!  I finally would have my own space to fling my arms about while kicking my legs out and about like everyone else in my family.  I bought a beautiful mattress cover with quilting.  The salesman said it was the top of the line.   I invested in two king-size feather pillows.  I bought 300 thread count cotton sheets and a beautiful comforter and a Sunflower Duvet.  I bought four silk throw pillows and a matching dust ruffle.  It was perfection.  At last I will have room to sleep the sleep, of an angel sleeping on a cloud.   Or so I thought…

  The first night in my new bed I was sleeping alone.  The cats had decided to sleep in my youngest son’s bedroom.  My husband (who still was my husband at this point, right before becoming my “was-band”) was out of town.  The dog was fast asleep and I was alone in a King Size Bed that was at least a mile wide.  The mattress felt great, the sheets were soft and silky, the comforter was comforting, the pillows were perfection and yet I couldn’t sleep.  I stared at the ceiling for hours.  Finally, at 3 AM I couldn’t try anymore and I marched into the bathroom and grabbed a bottle of my LAST RESORT, Nyquil. 

  Here is the unfortunate fact that I learned when I awoke with the sun shining in my eyes in the morning, in my new home, in my new KING SIZE BED.  I was in the very same position that I was in, when I finally fell asleep.  In other words, I had trained my body to sleep on the far right-hand side of the bed.  I sleep two inches from the edge of the bed on my right side with my knees slightly bent.  Occasionally, I will wake up and turn over to my left side in the same position.  I do not move an inch.  Therefore, I use about 1 ½ ft. of my king size bed that literally goes on for miles.   I do not move.  For years I had to sleep one or two inches from the edge of my bed and I couldn’t move without hitting someone in the head or stomach or something worse. (You know what I mean, I had a husband and two boys so one has to be careful of where one might fling an arm or a leg.)

  So what is the moral to this particular story?  There is no moral.  I sleep alone (now in an apartment in another city) in my giant king size bed with new sheets, a new comforter, a new duvet, and a new dust ruffle.  About a week ago I asked my two boys to turn my mattress around since I still sleep one inch from the right-hand side of the bed and I don’t move.  I am trying to keep the bed even.  I still have trouble sleeping for a variety of reasons.  Why do I keep this giant king-size bed?  Well, I think that it means that even though I don’t take up much space in my bed I have hope that someday I might decide to be reckless and fling my arms and legs about in carefree abandon. I just might ask someone to join me, who knows, and then we will be able to know if there really IS SUCH A THING AS, SEX AFTER 60?  I’ll keep you informed.

  UNTIL NEXT TIME…

   

   

   

  | 2 Comments

• Ignoring the Killer Virus, Killer Hornets, & Killer Debt & Why I Prefer to Think About Sex!

  Posted at 1:45 am by istheresexaftersixty, on May 8, 2020

  Listen to any news station … pick one, I don’t care which one you pick, any one of them will do and all you are going to hear from reports is today’s death count and the virus count.  Then the reporter delights in expounding on the horrifying traits of the Killer Asian Hornets that cut off the heads of sweet little honey bees who are just doing their best to pollinate the world to make pretty flowers, and plentiful fruits and vegetables, while at the same time, providing us with honey to spread on our Sunday morning breakfast biscuits.  The Killer Hornets surround Honey Bea’s hives and kill all of the bees by decapitating them one by one.

   Sidebar* (Does it seem like everything Asian is getting blamed for everything lately?  I love Asian, styles, Asian food, art, and all of the Asian people, maybe not all of the political leaders, but that’s another story.)

  Last, but not least …

  Then, this same reporter, grins into the camera, while explaining that we are now facing a new killer, namely, killer debt!!!  More businesses are going bankrupt, more businesses closing, more unemployment … “THAN EVER BEFORE IN HISTORY!”, they shout from every channel.  People are depressed doctors’ report, spousal abuse is erupting, and now we have to look up while walking near apartment buildings to make sure that we avoid jumpers.  REALLY, REALLY, DO I HAVE TO KEEP HEARING THIS DAY AND NIGHT SEVEN DAYS A WEEK NONSTOP!!!   Is anyone else sick of these “killer conversations” on the news?

  Is there anything that we can think about or talk about to be able to clear our minds off of the deadly pestilence and the imminent destruction of the human race?  Well, there is always food and wine to take your mind off of looming disasters but alas, too much lemon cake and pasta make one gain weight.  So you might look to soothing your psyche with wine, vodka, scotch, or tequila.  Once again, if it tastes great and makes you feel good, it hurts something else.  Liquor has been known to have a very bad effect on your liver.  Personally, I’m afraid of having a serious conversation with my liver.  She might have a lot to complain about.  I once had a very serious conversation with my lungs about 35 years ago and they told me to stop smoking or else!!   I decided that they were on my side so I stopped smoking.  About a year ago my scale had a very sad expression when I stepped on him, so, the two of us have been working on a solution that we can both live with. These days my scale is much happier.  He smiles.

  This leads me to my revelation.  If you are still alive and breathing you can think about sex.  This really helps to take your mind off of the terrible news.  If you are having some sex while in hibernation with your loved one, well, good for you!  If not?  Why not start planning for the future?  How about that nice older man who told you a joke while waiting for the elevator, he seemed rather interested, didn’t he?   Well, at least he had a twinkle in his eye and he wasn’t wearing a ring.   Guys, what about that nice neighbor lady that keeps sending you her extra spaghetti sauce, and who has baked your favorite pie and left it at your door?  Well, guys, consider asking her to dinner when the local restaurants finally decide to open their doors allowing you to sit six feet apart.

  I have a man friend or two or three that I have known off and on for the last few years.  They all have been very kind and friendly and they have worried about me.  Yes, my business is closed.  Yes, it might be closed for good.  Yes, I was the first to apply for two of the new government loans.  No, they haven’t arrived yet, if ever, and no I haven’t received my stimulus check when everyone else in the country has received their check long ago.  So what have my men friends been doing to cheer me up?  One sends me risqué photos, actually to make me laugh.  One sent me a tantalizing rather a romantic movie, and one of my on-line friends send me an occasionally dirty (but funny) joke.  He also calls me and says things that are funny and he makes me smile and laugh and blush.  I have said it before and I will say it again, sex, romance, flirting, attraction, shouldn’t be over when you are over sixty.  It takes you away from the humdrum daily existence and brightens a bad day.

  {Back to the nice man in the elevator.}  I had to leave for an appointment so I didn’t have time to talk but I said, “I have a good joke for you too.”  He answered, “Go ahead, and tell me now.”  I smiled,  “I’m late but I will tell you the next time I see you.”  He stood looking slightly forlorn as I left the building.

  Last week, I made my hair naturally very light blonde again, thanks to L’Oreal.  I trimmed my bangs and applied some blush and mascara, sprayed some perfume on my neck and wrists, carefully applied my lipstick, and took the elevator to the lobby to check my mail.  The only person I came in contact with was an 82-year-old woman who was walking her dog.   No, I haven’t seen the nice man again but isn’t it kind of cute that even as a senior I still get dressed up to go to the lobby and that I still care?

   Several weeks ago a man friend messaged me on Facebook lamenting over the fact that we hadn’t met years ago since we have lived in the same cities at the same time but our paths had not crossed.  I answered him with four words. “We aren’t dead yet!”

  It’s not over until it’s over.

   I will end with the definition of flirting.

   VERB

  “ To behave as though attracted to or trying to attract someone, but for amusement rather than with serious intentions.”

  Now, isn’t that more fun than thinking about death, hornets, and debt?  I think so!

  Until Next Time …

  | 4 Comments

• Lacking Stimulus, In More Ways Than One

  Posted at 12:53 am by istheresexaftersixty, on April 24, 2020

  Siri says, “Stimulus, an interesting and exciting quality that rouses activity or energy in someone.”

  This week I finished my fifth pandemic hand-knitted scarf and I have started my sixth scarf.  This new scarf is a very, very, bright orange color.  My son picked it out for me (I believe) in the hopes that my personality might brighten up a bit while knitting this particular scarf.

  Since my life and my personality has never really fit into any normal category, when I heard on the news that people who have been cooped up with a few family members could begin to show signs of cabin fever…. well, let’s just say, I didn’t believe that this particular issue would apply to me.  You see I consider myself to be very “Mother Teresa-ish.”   Maybe even a little sweeter.  Mother Teresa never had a “was-band” and a son and three animals move in with her in a two-bedroom, two-bathroom apartment on the 16^th floor of a high-rise in a big city in the middle of a pandemic where she wasn’t allowed to even descend in an elevator to pick up her mail for fear of catching a virus that might finish her life.  I have a round face, with a round turned up nose and round eyes and a sweet smile that has deceived people, and maybe I have even deceived myself into believing that I am actually a kind, sweet-tempered person.  This illusion of my sweet character has melted away faster than the disappearance of money from my dwindling checking account.

  This week the other hidden side of my complicated personality has reared it’s ugly head and has come out of hiding.  It’s as if Mary Poppins spun around three times and turned herself into … (dare I say it?) a BITCH!  You know when your family members and your pets seem to scatter searching for a place to hide when you walk into a room that maybe, just maybe, they have stared into the ferocious, savage eyes of Godzilla.

  Every single thing and everyone is making me angry.  Not just a little angry… really, really, really, angry.  I hate my apartment, I hate my pets, I hate, my “was-band”  (well, I hate him more than usual) and I even hate my very nice, sweet, helpful, son.  Oh my, and I really, really, really, hate every branch of the government, especially the people holding up the stimulus money for small businesses.

  Guess, I have to admit that I have been a tad nasty these days.  Is it my fault?  I don’t think so.  I am going to give you my side of the story.   One month ago people started getting worried about a virus that appeared in China and after infecting lots of unsuspecting lovely people living and working in China the virus started moving across the world and infecting and killing lots and lots of unsuspecting lovely people.  My business relies on vacationers and reservations of vacationers.  In March my business when from 35 or so reservations to 9.  Next, all the reservations were canceled for the next three to four months.  So from having a business to no business, let’s just say it hasn’t been easy.  Next, our state has been closed.  Yep, the whole state and we aren’t allowed to leave our homes or apartments except for emergencies, or grocery shopping or to walk our dogs.  Lastly, seniors over the age of 65 are dropping like flies of this illness therefore; we are supposed to stay indoors until this virus subsides which could be for the foreseeable future!!!

  We have been told that each of us  (the population over 18) should be receiving a stimulus check or deposit from our government just for staying at home and vegetating.  This is our gift for sitting at home and not getting the virus or dying.  You see this virus easily spreads to our family or friends and neighbors and GUESS WHO ELSE CAN GET THIS DEADLY VIRUS???   MAYORS, GOVERNORS, SENATORS AND CONGRESSMEN AND WOMEN, and all POLITICIANS CAN GET THIS VIRUS AND DIE TOO!!!   Did you ever in your life ever see our government close so fast as soon as it was clear that the men and women running things can die of it too?  WOW, Boom, Closed!!!  Just a few weeks ago senators and mayors were telling us not to worry.  Just go out in the street and bars and enjoy yourselves, they said.  Until they realized that they could catch it and die of it too.

  The only problem is… who will pay these politicians’ salaries if we all stay home?  So, now what do they do?  We are supposed to keep washing our hands, not touching anyone or anything and we are supposed to go back out into the world, go to work, and in some cases find new jobs and hopefully not die of this deadly virus.

  To Repeat:

  “Stimulus, an interesting and exciting quality that rouses activity or energy in someone.”

  Where does this leave us?  I don’t know about you but today I am out of stimulus.  I would make myself a martini but I’m out of alcohol too.

  Until Next Week…

   

   

  | 0 Comments

• Some Sooner, All Later

  Posted at 1:20 am by istheresexaftersixty, on April 3, 2020

  My mother would often quote my good friend’s grandfather when death would creep into someone’s conversation especially when the conversation was referring to an unexpected death or the death of a young person.  She would say, “Some sooner, all later.”   When someone miraculously escapes from a terrible fire or a horrible accident people will say that they cheated death and when someone has lived through a number of close calls that could have ended tragically we say,” He must have nine lives.”   The truth was and it is still true, you can cheat at cards and you can cheat the government and you can cheat on your spouse and you can cheat on tests and you can cheat your way to the top, however, you can try your very hardest but you can’t cheat death.  A few people actually might have nine lives.  The only problem with that is they don’t make it to ten.   There is no escaping the inevitable.   “Some sooner, all later.”

  (KEEP READING IT GETS HAPPIER TOWARDS THE END, AND I MENTION SEX!)

  We are all trying to make sense out of something that just doesn’t make sense.  People all over the world have been told to “batten down the hatches.”  Stay inside, don’t go to work, and don’t visit family or friends.  Restaurants and bars are all closed to patrons except a few that are open for take out or delivery.  All businesses are closed with the exception of essential businesses such as banks, drug stores, and grocery stores.  The streets are nearly deserted except for an occasional human walking their dog.  I looked out on my usual busy street from my 16th-floor apartment in the city on a Friday evening.  The street was empty except for a young man on a bicycle riding down the middle centerline of the usually jam-packed lanes.  Why have our Mayors and Governors and our President given us orders to stay inside of our homes?  It is an order to avoid the flu, not just any flu.  This is a flu that is easily transmitted and people are dying like flies.   The old and the previously ill usually are more likely to die from this illness than the younger healthier patients.  Except now we hear there are young people who have died and a few children, there are men in their ’30s and ’40s and 50’s and yes, and a huge amount of seniors have succumbed to this terrible virus.

  Why does this sitting in our homes avoiding people and well actually avoiding life, waiting for time to pass seem so odd?  I think it is that we know we are actually sitting in our homes trying to avoid death or at the very least postpone it for as long as possible.  If there is a knock on the door, dare we answer, or will the Grim Reaper be waiting on the other side?

    I am grateful for the fact of death.  YES, I SAID GRATEFUL.   If you are over 60 you have lost people that you knew and loved.  Death takes the pain away.  All doctors and nurses know this secret.  Death can be a good thing.  Do you know almost 100% of doctors surveyed said that they do not want to be resuscitated?   100 %.  Think about that.  Another good thing about death is that EVERYONE HAS TO DO IT!  EVEN HORRIBLE PEOPLE!  NO ONE GETS OUT OF HERE ALIVE.  I think that is sort of comforting.  At least it is to me.

  How in the world do we avoid the gloom and doom that surrounds us every day on the news listening to death toll’s surging in our country and around the world?  I know this sounds impossible but I think I know what we have to do.   We have to remember that it has always been with us.  What?  Death, death has always been with us since birth.  There is no escape so really we have to remind ourselves by FORGETTING.  YEP, JUST FORGET IT.  EVERYONE HAS GOT TO DO IT, SO JUST FORGET ABOUT IT!!

  What have I been doing sitting in my apartment waiting as we all have been waiting for the inevitable???  I AM HAVING FUN!  I am reading and writing.  I am finishing my THIRD, YES, MY THIRD KNITTED PANDEMIC SRARF!!!  Does anyone out there need a scarf, with a few mistakes but they are handmade just the same???  I am listening to music and I dance and sing to the latest Michael Buble.  Frank Sinatra is still singing about flying me to the moon.  Thanks, Frank.  George Shearing is still playing the piano for me and Johnny Mathis is still telling me “What I Did for Love.” I am binge-watching great television series.  I am popping popcorn and I have some wine with my dinner and an occasional martini.   When Fred and Ginger dance before me on my TV screen, it isn’t a silver screen, but it is a nice television screen, I smile and sing and dance with them.

  I am talking to my friends on the phone and I text my youngest son with ideas for his future.  Guess what?  I even have had a few erotic conversations!  It is very good for my ego, for my over 60, ego.   I am making plans FOR MY FUTURE TOO, … just in case, the flu doesn’t get me.  In other words, F_  _ K DEATH!   JUST LIVE YOUR LIFE AND ENJOY every day.  GIVE AND RECEIVE LOVE.  MAKE SOME ART, MAKE SOME MUSIC, HECK, MAKE SOME FUDGE AND MAKE A MARGARITA!  I have said it before and you DO KNOW WHAT THIS BLOG IS SUPPOSED TO BE ABOUT, RIGHT?  SO BY ALL MEANS IF YOU ARE LIVING WITH YOUR HUSBAND OR WIFE OR LOVER… BY ALL MEANS, MAKE LOVE!

  Try to stay safe, keep dancing and singing and do me a favor by staying alive to read my next post on my blog. 

  Until Next Week…

  | 2 Comments

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