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

Author Archives: istheresexaftersixty

• I’m Mad as Hell & I’m Going to Keep Taking It?

  Posted at 10:00 pm by istheresexaftersixty, on October 17, 2019

  Let’s begin at the very beginning of my frustration, it’s called, the grocery store.  First, let me just say that grocery stores of my youth were nice little neighborhood stores where everyone knew you and your family.   If I went to the store, half of the time people would ask if my sister was going to cheer at the game on Saturday or the butcher would tell me that he ordered the goose for my mother for our usual Christmas dinner.  My mother would often order our food over the phone and the groceries would be dropped off at the back door.  My mother didn’t have to tell anyone what brand she wanted, the grocer knew and placed it in the order.  (I know, we do have Amazon now in our city, and you can order your groceries and they drop them off at your door, but it’s not as personal, it’s just not the same.)

  When I shop at my local grocery store it is always packed with people, it doesn’t matter what time I arrive, morning, noon, or night, it is always crowded with pushy, unhappy, people.  It is almost impossible to find parking. I live in a place where it often snows 8 or 9 months of the year.  This means that there is ice and snow and dirty slush to be waded through from your car to the entrance of the megastore most of the year.  While I’m on the subject don’t you hate the people that leave their shopping carts in your parking spot!!  I hate these people.

  Recently, my local store has made the aisles narrower, and the shelves higher.  So when the lady ahead of you stands in front of the pickle section for ten minutes deciding if she wants spears or circles or sweet or garlic, you are standing behind her and it is impossible for you to reach around her and her husband to grab your Zesty Kosher dills!!  (No, I’m not Kosher, but they are really good pickles)

  Did I mention the height of the shelves??  Not every one of us is over 6 feet tall.  I wear flats because the grocery store is miles long, and I have to wear comfortable shoes for the two mile hike. I like to make 3-bean salad.  You need yellow wax beans to make a good 3-bean salad.  The yellow wax beans are on the top shelf, 7 or 8 feet above the ground.  I am 5’2 ½” tall and I don’t have long arms.  (I always have to roll my sleeves when buying a long sleeve shirts or sweaters.  BTW this makes me mad too)  Since, I am not going to climb up shelves to reach the can of my yellow wax beans, therefore, I stand in the aisle with a group of unhappy people waited for me to move my ass.   I wait until a tall person comes along.  I smile a sweet, helpless, smile and beg some hopefully nice person if they would be kind enough to hand me a can of yellow wax beans.  Young people often give me a funny look that says,  “Why would anyone want to buy yellow wax beans?”   Listen, if you like bean salad, I make a really great bean salad.  Just saying …

  Now, let’s discuss something that really drives me crazy.  HAS ANYONE NOTICED HOW NORMAL SIZED ITEMS HAVE GROWN SMALLER IN THE LAST FEW YEARS?  Do they think we don’t notice???   We aren’t all dumb blonds!  Full disclosure* I am blond but I do have two college degrees for heavens sake!

   A message to the Campbell soup company, Do you think that we haven’t noticed that one can of soup in the 1960’s used to feed a family of four.   Now one can of soup makes one small bowl or two small tea cups of soup.   Hey, Stouffer’s Frozen Food, My mother often bought your Spinach Soufflé for a side dish for a family of four, accompanying our meatloaf and baked potatoes.  Now it might be a side dish for one or a side dish for two infants.  Hey, Lay’s, your potato chips used to come in a big bag and the bag was full.  Now the large family size is in a small bag and it is half-full.  Hey, Nabisco, my 31-year-old son loves the cheese crackers you make.  He loved them as a child.  I recently bought him a box of his favorite cheese crackers.  Today they came in a box that was a little larger than his right hand and when he opened the same bag that was nestled inside of the small box, the bag was half-full.  The cheese crackers are now the size of the nail on my index finger.  (I might mention that I have small hands as well as being short in stature.)

  These companies are not alone.  This is a trick that all products are guilty of pushing on what they think of as the ”ignorant public”.  Now, guys, on your side of things, let me say that in most cases the quality of your products has stayed the same.  Your food is really good and the quality has occasionally improved, however, while I am still angry,  the other thing that I have noticed,  Hey, Lay’s, your chips are much thinner.  Not as good or as crunchy as they used to be … this goes for your Doritos too.  Sorry you might be owned by Frito-Lay.  Is that the same company?  I can’t keep track.  At any rate, the chips are thinner and WE HAVE NOTICED THIS FACT.  One more thing, pasta companies, we have noticed you aren’t putting as much pasta in your boxes and the boxes are smaller.  The price is still pretty good but it has gone up along with all of the above products.

  Please grocery stores, hire people to help me pack my groceries.  I am terrible at packing my own grocery items.  I smash my bread when packing my own groceries, and my ice cream melts onto my steaks and my grapes are crushed under my canned goods.  I am nervous to take too long while packing my own groceries.  So please have that high school boy help me and he can help me put them in my car too.  (Ever try to lift a box of cat litter into your trunk?  Not too mention my large wine bottles.)   Oh, I like plastic bags too. I know, I know, it isn’t good for our ecology.  I have an excuse.  I use them to clean the cat’s littler box, everyday.  I use them to pack my son’s lunch.  I reuse them and I recycle the bags I don’t use.  I promise!!!

  Okay, now after I have said all that.  We are really lucky to live in a country that is chock-full of every kind of food and fruit and vegetable and meat and fish product that you can imagine.  We do have really good food items as well as cleaning items and drug store items and school supplies.  We are so lucky to have tons of products from which to choose, in our mega-stores.  I am grateful and frankly I don’t know how they do it and keep everything really pretty clean and the shelves stocked full.

  I let go of most of my anger, by writing this post.  I feel better.  Just don’t try to sneak into my parking space when I am pulling in and put your damn cart back where it belongs, or I’ll be mad as Hell!!!

  Until Next Week… 

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• Is Sex On Your Bucket List?

  Posted at 1:41 am by istheresexaftersixty, on October 11, 2019

   

  When I was about 54 or 55, I was sitting at a table with about four of my best friends.  At the time, we were having our monthly dinner party in one of our local restaurants.   As ladies will do, after talking about our basic issues concerning, work, our family, the latest news, the conversation drifted off to relationships.  Three out of four of us were essentially single.  One of the four of us was in a long-time, contented, relationship, with her partner of many years.  One of my friends has been single her whole life, one was divorced and then there is me… I am the one in limbo.  I was married at 30 and after a whole lot of ups and downs the marriage was faltering after 20 years and died a pretty miserable death a little more than two months after our 24^th anniversary.

  I acquired a full-time job, within two weeks after my husband left me for greener pastures.  I asked him to leave, for many good reasons that I won’t go into now, due to lack of time and frankly; I just don’t care anymore.  The reasons aren’t really important.  I have let the anger and sadness go.  I am no longer angry or upset.  It is over.   It is so, so, so, great, not to hold onto anger or disappointment or hurt.  I let it all go and so I’m free to be worried or upset or hurt by other things.   I am telling you this so that you may see how far I have come in the last several years.  Sure, I am a “Zen-like” person, but I haven’t changed… now I am hysterical about a whole new group of other things.

   Am I still hurt by men?  DUH???  Sure, hey, I am an enlightened person but not THAT enlightened.  In the last month my feelings were hurt and believe me he wasn’t worth it … the only difference is that after 60, everything … even death … (well, not all death, but some people’s, death, like people that you never really liked, their death, or, like the guy that hurt you… his death) is a breeze!   See how enlightened I am???  Almost everything is easier to get over after 60.  Did I mention, lemon cake, or pasta, or lots of wine, or one to three, martinis before dinner???  NO?  Well, any of those things also help a lot to get you to that enlightened Zen-like place as well.

   Some people believe in jogging or taking long walks or yoga classes, to feel better.  Okay, if you want to be popular with the “In Crowd” in Hollywood.  I can pretend to be like them too.  I wear my yoga outfit to pick up my mail in the lobby of my building with my hair in a ponytail.  I look tired … like I just finished Pilates, with my personal instructor.  I can fool the best of them.  If someone comes for a visit to my apartment, I make sure to dust my stationary bike, first, then, I wipe my forehead as my guest enters my apartment and I make sure to leave my Nike, (Air Force 1 Shadow Shoes) right next to the front door.  I dirty the shoes just in case someone notices that they haven’t been worn.

  Well, back to my dinner with my friends (in case you forgot; that was where I left off, after the first paragraph in this post) … At this very dinner party with my girlfriends, I made an announcement.  Everyone was talking about their boyfriend problems and their possible dates and I was nodding my head as I usually do when I listen to my friend’s conversations.  When I blurted out, “I want to have sex before I die!!! “   This stopped the conversation at once, as one might imagine.  Everyone stared at me and started to talk at once.  I think it is because I am so very motherly looking and acting.  People don’t think of me as a sexual person.  It’s there.  It is hidden behind a very sickeningly, not sexy, but sort of sweet, older, face.  Hardly anyone suspects a real sexual person might be trying to escape.

   I used to live in what was a famous but very small town. 

  Somehow the word got out about my conversation with my friends.  Who would have thought??  All of a sudden, men, some young men, some younger brothers, of young men, lots of married men, seemed to come out of the woodwork.  Men would arrive at my house to lend a hand.  Men were offering to “tote that barge and lift that bale” for me, all out of the blue.   It is amazing what men will do for you just in case they might have an opportunity to have a quickie.  Did I mention married men?  I was very attractive to married men.  Were any one of these men interested in anything except a quick affair? NO!  One man even told me that he was only interested in one time.  He wanted me one time and that was it.

  The whole experience was amusing to me.  I was totally unaware that I even had a hint of sexual appeal.  If you have been in a bad marriage for a while and if you just spend your time working, being a conscientious mother, pet owner, and friend, one forgets that one has anything that anyone would want?   It was amusing and sort of flattering.  I walked with a quicker step.  I know that I have written about this one man’s view of my possible future, before, however, a good line is worth repeating.  One very handsome, young, man looked me in the eye and said, “You know, men will stop looking at you in a few years.”  In other words, I better get right to it, now, while there was still time.  (LOL) I love that line because I had no idea anyone had been looking at me for the last ten years!

   I am still here, yes, older and probably not too much wiser.  I didn’t fall in love.  I wasn’t wild or carefree then and I am not very wild or carefree now.  I just adore all of the courageous, sexually, adventurous, friends, throughout my life, that are not deterred by possible embarrassment or the pain that often might accompany the loss of love. I am totally for sex and fun and excitement and adventure.   Somewhere is there still that sexual tiger clawing to get out?  Is there such a woman inside, after one reaches, plus 60?  Who knows?  I guess where there is life there is hope.

  Until Next Week…

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• Are Looks Important?

  Posted at 12:18 am by istheresexaftersixty, on October 4, 2019

  Recently I have seen some really wonderful portrait-like photographs of some movie stars of the past.  Men like Rock Hudson, Robert Taylor, Robert Mitchum, Cary Grant, Tyrone Power and more recently Paul Newman, Robert Redford, and Rod Taylor … the list is very impressive, look-wise.  These men were very, very, good looking but if you think about it they also had something else, that you can’t quite put into words.  What is it?  I’m not sure.

  There are a lot of beautiful women from the past and some in the near past and yes, some even now, that have incredible beauty.  Some are born with this beauty and some grow into beauties.   If you look at photos of Elizabeth Taylor, Ava Gardner, Marilyn Monroe, Vivien Leigh, Rita Hayworth, Hedy Lamar, Loretta Young, and Grace Kelly, you will see nearly perfect beauty in each woman’s facial features, and yet, there is something more.  Just their beauty alone doesn’t do it.  What is the, it?   What is the “IT FACTOR”?

  There is something about these men and woman that shines through the photos.  Something about them that makes them not only beautiful and handsome, but that certain something that makes them interesting.  Take Grace Kelly.  If you just stare at a photo of her when she was a very young woman and modeling in New York, you will see a nice attractive woman with very even features.  If you take her features apart you will see they are all nice and even and yes, pretty, but what is it about her that places her on a separate level?   There are really hundreds of models now and in the past with perfect even features.  Most of them you will admit are nearly perfect looking, however, this week I saw one of these younger models on a television interview show.  As she spoke one was aware of her beauty but there wasn’t any spark there and I soon found her boring and turned off the set.  She was nice and pleasant but something was missing, something that shines through, the outer perfection.  You either have it or you don’t.

  Looks can be important.  If you are in the process of hiring someone for a position you would like the person to have a neat, clean, appearance that would fit into your idea of someone who might be able to handle the job in an efficient manner.   I would say in many or most cases one’s outer appearance could get you the job or you might lose the job merely on looks alone.

  If you are judged on your looks alone and rejected at one glance this can be devastating at any age.  Once in my late 50’s I went on a blind date.  A friend of mine had set us up and we spoke a few times on the phone.  This was one of the first dates I had after I had been separated from my “was-band.”   We had a few flirty conversations.  He had a nice European accent and he liked my voice.   I guess this was before Face Time.  I was to meet him after work at his apartment and we would be going to dinner.   Thinking back I was so unprepared for dating that I didn’t even change my clothes after work and I wore my unattractive uniform that was required dress at my company.  I’m not sure I even looked in a mirror before our meeting.  I can’t imagine what I must have looked like after waking up at 6:30 A.M. and working all day and even working out during my lunch hour. When I knocked on his door and he opened the door, his face dropped.  I wasn’t prepared for this.  I was older but actually almost everyday a man or two would flirt with me even at the grand old age of 57.  I was surprised by his disappointment. My self-esteem did take a slight hit.   We did go out to dinner and he did ask me back to his apartment.  I didn’t go.

  Now, are looks important?   I have dated many different types of men.  My first crush in college was very slim, with even features, glasses, and thinning hair.  I adored him.   Was it his looks, I doubt it.  I fell for him.  He had a twinkle in his big blue eyes.  He was funny, popular and he seemed, caring, deep and he was interested in me, which is very appealing.

  After college I fell for an older man.  He had silver hair, also blue eyes, and straight features.  He was a few inches taller and maybe slightly over weight.  He also appreciated my opinion.

  My heartbreaker was tall, handsome, yep, also sparkling blue eyes.  What I found irresistible was his sincerity; his humor and his interest in everything.  He was always learning.

  My “was-band” is only about 5’ 8” and he has brown eyes and a long, strong nose.  He is slim but not skinny.   He actually chased me and he chased me very persistently.  I knew that I would always like his looks and that I would never find his looks boring.  I never did.  I still find him attractive.

  There have been men in my life that I liked and was attracted to, at, ”Hello”.   Were they handsome?  Some were traditionally handsome, some weren’t.  One thing they all had in common.  They were all smart, clever, they were interested in life and each person had a spark and a twinkle behind their eyes, as if they knew something exciting was right around the corner.

  Of course, we know in our hearts what this  extra “thing” really is, do we not?   The term we humans have put into our language is called “soul”.   It’s that certain something that doesn’t die.  It’s really unexplainable.  It makes a pretty woman, prettier and a nice looking man handsome.  It is cliché but true.  It comes from inside and shines through.

  “Beauty is not in the face; beauty is a light in the heart.”  Kahlil Gibran

  “Beauty is the illumination of your soul.”  John O’Donohue

  Until Next Week…

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• Reflections on Senior Sex

  Posted at 12:51 am by istheresexaftersixty, on September 27, 2019

  It has been way too long since I have ventured back to our conversation about senior sex                                  So here goes…

  Life is so constantly fascinating.  I truly am the last person in my immediate world that should be writing on this subject, however, does that stop me, heavens, NO.

                 Remember this saying?  “Those who can, do; those who can’t teach.”

  So, just consider me your teacher.  While reading up on the subject of sex and seniors, many of the problems are obvious.  Age does have an affect on our sexuality, due to illness, medications, and let’s face it; the passing of years makes it often more difficult for men as well as women to perform.  Seniors, especially single seniors, have more isolated life-styles.  If you are a single woman or man it is necessary to keep active and involved.  It can be difficult to join a group or to go to places alone.  As a single woman, over sixty we do feel uncomfortable going to events or parties on our own.   I do attend parties alone and I occasionally go to the movies alone.  Actually, I have to admit, I prefer to go to movies alone.  I like to go to the first showing in the middle of the week.  Seniors usually get a discount … and I take the discount. I get a box of popcorn with butter and salt to munch on and a real coke and sometimes even a box of candy.  There is no one around me to frown at my choices. There are some good things about being single and being alone.

  I imagine I don’t have to tell you that one can be alone and still have sex.  It isn’t as exciting or fulfilling, however, it is a possibility.  I am not a fan of sex where batteries must be included but that is just me, I don’t judge.   There isn’t anyone around to tell you that you better hit the gym on Monday morning.  No one is there to grab your love handles.  No one is grading you on your performance.  These are all pluses, however, you are, alone.

  Putting yourself out there can be frightening.  Is there anything that is more embarrassing than being naked in front of another person?  I can’t think of anything as embarrassing or as vulnerable as nakedness?  NO there isn’t anything that compares to that situation.

  What have I been hearing from my blog followers?   These are my mostly faceless, anonymous online men and women.   I am happy to announce that sex is still very much on most seniors’ minds.  There are two sets of newlyweds in our group.  YES!  Hooray!!!  One man has found real love.  I am not sure if this is heading towards marriage or not but he is happy and that is all that matters.  Two ladies are dating and still looking for, “Mr. Right.”  One lady has sort of lost faith in the possibility of finding a husband.  She tells me this but in her heart I think she hasn’t entirely abandoned the prospect of marriage.  Strangely enough more men talk to me about their sex lives.  Women seem to be shy when talking about sex.

  Men ask my opinion.  This is so amusing to me because almost everyone has had more experience than moi, however, I am an avid reader.  You can really learn a lot from books. (I am smiling while writing this.)  So what are men talking about?  In the last few months’ one man asked me if it was odd for him to like women’s feet.  NO, THAT IS FINE AND NORMAL.  Lot’s of men are feet men.  There are a number of men who are leg men and some men are lovers of the derriere.  Lots of men like women dressed in all kinds of outfits.  Well, in various stages of dress or undress.  Now most of these men are in there 60’s and 70’s but I have heard from a few younger men. .  There are men who have explained about certain parts of a woman’s body that they find fascinating and I will not, shall we say, delve into this area, in any further detail.  I trust my readers to have big imaginations.

   There are men who have a hard time looking into a woman’s eyes.  Personally, I know that this can be a problem.  Just saying…. and men, this can be embarrassing while trying to have a normal conversation.  So, please try to look in a woman’s eyes, especially when at work!   Okay, there are some exceptions.  Let me explain.  If a woman is wearing a gown that is cut down to her waist, then you have my permission to stare at her chest.  If she is wearing a low cut blouse or sweater to work then men, you aren’t allowed to talk about it or touch, but frankly … I think you can take a quick glance.  Here is my advice to women.  Don’t get so upset when men stare.  If you wear short shorts … or low cut blouses or dresses or sweaters and you have every right to do so, but if you dress provocatively, don’t be surprised if men stare at you.  Frankly in these cases I am on the side of men.

  Yes, I do have a few men that are intrigued by the author of this blog.  Well, I blush.  I am sure it sparks the imagination of some men since I write a blog with “sex” in the title.  Just to let you know.  I can’t tell you how tickled pink I am to think that as a 67-year-old woman I can still be in some men’s sexual fantasies.  NEVER EVER WOULD I HAVE IMAGINED THAT THIS WOULD BE A POSSIBILITY, as a senior.   This fact makes me stand up a little straighter.  Me, a sexual object: you can’t see my face, but, I’m smiling, a real big smile.

  Until Next Week… 

   

   

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• Managing Reality

  Posted at 1:19 am by istheresexaftersixty, on September 13, 2019

   

  Some people are better at this than others.  Some people actually manage to hide from this for most of their lives.  I am not fond of facing it but sometimes there is no escape.  When my children were young, both of my boys had issues with monsters and ghosts sneaking around their bedrooms at night especially right before bedtime.  I would read, hopefully, funny or cheerful books to them before bed and I always left a nightlight on.  Still those pesky monsters and ghosts and sometimes-even aliens (no not from other countries, the ones from outer space) would be hiding in their closets or under their beds.  I finally came up with a plan.  I decided to tell them the truth and believe it or not, it worked!

  I told them that there are things to be afraid of in life.  I focused on three things.  I told them there are bad things in life and that these usually consisted of three things.

  1. There IS such a thing as bad people. There are some people that might want to harm you. This is why I am so careful with you and that is why I watch out for you.  That is why I always tell you not to talk to strangers.
  2. There is illness. That is why I try to get you to eat fruit, vegetables, milk, meat and fish.  That is why you need your sleep and why I make you wash your hands when you come home and before every meal.  That is also why I take you to the doctor and dentist.
  3. There are accidents, some of these are preventable, and some are not. That is why I make sure you look both ways before you cross the street and why I tell you never to walk behind the school bus.

  “All of these things are true and can happen so we will try our best to avoid them, however, ghosts and monsters and aliens from outer space are not real and are nothing to be afraid of at night in your bedroom. “

  Guess what, it worked.  I gave them the truth.  I showed them reality and believe it or not reality was less frightening than their fears.

  So, where does that leave us?  Reality is spooky but sometimes it is necessary to face it and look at it, straight in the eye.  Handling reality is tricky.  If you are reading this you are probably over 60 years old and so you have had to juggle this issue like most of us.  Facing the truth can be good when you can make changes to improve a situation.  If you can’t change the truth you are facing well this can be harder to figure out.  For example, everything that is alive must die.  We know this and we recognize this as a fact and a truth, however, it is still more than an uncomfortable concept to face.   Is it really good for us to dwell on this everyday, twenty-four hours a day?  Everyone we know and love and care about is going to disappear.   This is where Yin and yang come in.  It is good for us to recognize that we are all here for a short time and that this time and our family and friends are precious to us.  We can recognize this fact without it having a sense of doom hanging over our lives and our relationships. So, it is good to ignore the facts and to ignore reality as much as it is important to face it.

  Being a March baby makes me a Pisces.  We are dreamers and most of us do our best to hide from truth and reality as much as possible.  I have been known to do this on occasion but I also have been responsible for taking care of my children, my pets, and yes my “was-band” for most of my adult life.  I have to bite the bullet and often face truths and reality when I would just like to stay in bed and cover my head with a blanket.

  As a very small business ownerI will keep that going and I am working on expanding my business to improve my financial situation.  I am going to keep writing this blog to keep my creative side alive and well.  Creating keeps us young.  I decided to stop drinking alcohol (no I’m not an alcoholic) just to save money and as an experiment to see if I still have my old self-control and discipline in tact.  I loved smoking more than life itself and I gave that up 35 years ago.  I guess life was more important to me than cigarettes after all.  Now I’m not giving up alcohol for life.  I just am not going to have it every night from now on.  I want to see if this makes any difference in my life. (So far, so good.) Stopped over three weeks ago.  I just realized that I made a habit of having one to three glasses of wine every night.

  My lady doctor asked me if I drink alcohol?  She is my new doctor and asked me all kinds of questions. “You don’t drink any alcohol do you?” she asked.  I have a really nun-like, sweet face, so no one suspects me of doing anything wrong. I answered, “ I don’t smoke.  I don’t take drugs. I don’t have sex.  I eat healthy foods, however, I do have two or three glasses of wine with ice. “  She looked perplexed and said, “Three glasses is too much.  You shouldn’t have more than one glass a day.”  I was shocked.  “I don’t need it I just like it.  Listen, I don’t have any bad habits… can’t I have some wine???”

  Well, she told me that it wasn’t a good idea.  Not only wine, she told me to cut down on my salt intake too! “WHAT, NO SALT, NO CARBS, NO WINE!!!!”  I manage to face a fact or two and I am not giving everything up at the same time.  I do have salt … just less.  I am giving myself six weeks without any alcohol after that I will have it once or twice a week or if I go out to dinner with friends.  I am not going to have three drinks a night, every night.

  There is still sex.  Oh I forgot, I am not having that either.  I have heard it is a good way to burn calories.   I am over 60 and I have to admit there isn’t anyone in my life right now but I have to take this reality thing … one step at a time.  I am not willing to face the reality that sex is over for good.  There is such a thing as taking reality and facing it and then there is a time for taking reality and placing it in your back pocket.

  Until Next Week…

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• The Sad Saga of the Move That Never Was

  Posted at 2:11 am by istheresexaftersixty, on September 6, 2019

  “Extemporaneous – to get along in a makeshift manner.” Merriam Webster- Word of the Day September 2, 2019.

  Wow, so what happened to moving day?  Well, let me tell you.  I was so proud of myself because I pulled up my boot straps and started to work fast and furiously to accomplish the millions of things one has to do to complete a move from one place to another, which is made even more difficult when you are moving with a son and an ex (my was-band, only here for awhile) and three pets, all of which do little or nothing to help with the move.  I hired professional cleaners to do a deep clean, all the moving boxes arrived on time, along with the supplies, paper, magic markers, spools of tape, and bubble wrap. I changed TV and Computer Wi-Fi. Contacted the gas and electricity to be started on my moving day. I hired a maintenance man … (the cute, nice, one) to take down my tons of paintings and mirrors and TV off of the walls and to patch the holes left by the nails and hardware for hanging heavy objects. I reserved the elevator for the move 8 A.M. for Saturday.  The mover came to give me an estimate.  We worked out the moving plan.  He told me that his employees could pack anything that I had missed the day before the day of the movie.  I WAS READY!!! 

  THERE WAS ONLY ONE MORE THING TO DO BEFORE THE MOVE.  I had only seen the apartment in photos and the plan of the apartment on my computer.  I thought I should see it in person.  So my son and I happily drove to our new residence on a bright, warm, sunny, Wednesday morning to drive to the other side of our fair city to check out the neighborhood as well as our new home. We noticed that there weren’t many stores in the area.  At a stoplight a homeless man standing right next to the car started screaming and swearing at me walking ominously, right next to my window yelling profanities when I motioned to him that I didn’t have any money with me.  I didn’t have a penny, only credit cards.He was frightening.  I told my son that I had hoped this was not a premonition of things to come.  We laughed, how people laugh in movies just before something terrible is about to happen.  

   As we entered our complex, flowers were blooming and the fountain was tossing small beads of water as I walked into the grand hall, with a 30 ft. ceiling towering above three modern desks sitting in a row in front of a lovely modern sitting room with a huge television that was set on to the Weather Channel.  I felt cheerful and relieved at the cool, pretty leasing office and sitting room.  A smiley young woman was sitting at the first desk.  I introduced myself and mentioned that I had signed a lease for apartment number 1717.  (BTW, I took the number of the apartment as a good omen.)   I asked if she could show me my apartment so that I could have an idea where to place my furniture ahead of the move.  I noticed that she had an odd sort of foreboding look on her face and I felt slightly uncomfortable.  She said to follow her.  I was surprised when my son and I drove through the iron gates and she stopped. I called out to her that we would follow her.  She said just park where she was standing, which was about four feet from the complexes’ locked gates.

   We walked directly across the street, walked up two stairs to a dirty, dark hallway with dead leaves flying in the breeze.   Around the dark hallway were two doors.  Our apartment was the first door on the right.  I noted right away that this corner would be a perfect spot for an unwelcome intruder to hide as a surprise to the renter (me) who would have her keys out and ready to open the door when returning home at night.  The door itself was dirty with three locks that looked as it they had been opened with a crowbar sometime in the past.  I held my breath when the leasing agent opened the door. As I entered and looked around my eyes adjusted to the dim light that entered through the smallish window in the living room.   I literally fell back a step or two as if someone had pushed me.  The kitchen was tiny, painted a dark grey just big enough for one person.  Under my feet was a plastic sheet of flooring that was supposed to resemble a wooden floor. It was easy to see that it wasn’t wood because there was a bubble that went across the floor announcing the fact that the floor was indeed plastic not wood.  The dining room was seven inches from the tiny kitchen.   On the right was a mirror that reflected a built in desk on the left supposedly for the lady of the house to use as a working desk.  The wood on the bottom of the desk was scuffed obviously the painters had missed it.  There were pillars separating the dining room from the living area, on either side of the dining room that managed to look ridiculous in such a small space.  (Nothing resembled the photos I had viewed on-line) The living room was a small square box.  I walked into the little hallway where I saw two broken doors that I pulled open to view an empty closet where a washer and dryer were supposed to be.  The agent said that I had to rent them for only $35 dollars a month. On the right was a hose covered in dirt and mold? Perhaps?

  Next, I glanced at the two tiny bathrooms.  One had a tub the size that would have been perfect for a child of six or seven.  Two small square bedrooms were located on either side of the hallway each containing one window and one closet.  The only way to separate the master bedroom from the second bedroom was the fact that the master had a small walk-in closet, while the second bedroom had a small closet with a sliding door.

  The straw that broke this camel’s back was the small balcony or porch?  This space was the size of a medium couch.  The balcony looked out on two sets of iron gates.  If you sat in a small chair at night with your glass of wine on this balcony every single car that would drive in or out of the complex opening and shutting the larger iron gate to come and go would see the person sitting with her wine glass in her hand and if they were friendly folks they could wave hello and goodbye every night.

  To make a long story longer, I told the nice lady-leasing agent that I could not live in her complex.  Funny, she didn’t even try to talk me out of my decision.  She let me out of the lease immediately.

  Interestingly enough my building took me back with open arms. My blood pressure returned to normal. My heart palpitations disappeared. My rent in my present luxury apartment is not that much more then the one I was going to move to, to save money. I decided that my son and I would just have to work harder to add to our income.  Sometimes it’s worth it to come home to comfort and a little bit of luxury.

  What have I learned from this sad saga?  DO NOT MOVE INTO A HOME OR TO AN APARTMENT THAT YOU HAVEN’T SEEN IN PERSON, FIRST! 

  UNTIL NEXT WEEK…

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• The Real Me

  Posted at 8:56 pm by istheresexaftersixty, on August 17, 2019

  Men just don’t get it. They can’t help it.  They are different.  They are men, well, not really.  Men, (I have noticed lately) are all still little boys.  I think that they stop at about 12 or 13. However, at about 12 or 13 they are starting to notice girls too.  So they might go in a group to a girl’s house.  Sometimes out of the blue they just show up at the front door after school or on a Saturday for a chat.  Now this is where boys and girls are very different.  Boys and Men don’t have a clue about women as far as, just showing up, is concerned.  Girls and women change at around 12 or 13 and we require notice before meeting a boy or man for a chat.  We need to be at our best.  This usually doesn’t change for women from the age of about 12 until death. To look our best we have to have newly washed shiny hair and it has to be curled or set and brushed into a hairstyle of some sort.  If we are 12 we probably just need a touch of lip gloss on our lips and a nice new clean outfit to wear that will give a nice impression.

  The whole idea of this post is to explain to men that we woman need time to fix ourselves to be our best before presenting ourselves to men and or to company in general.  It is my duty to show men that we of the female gender are, in fact, different.   This is not a popular idea in modern times. Young people like to believe that we are all the same.  I believe as this younger generation matures they will, possibly begrudgingly, realize that there are still some real differences between the male and female sexes.

  I live in a high-rise building.  Our mailboxes are in a room off of the lobby.  When I leave my apartment to go to the elevator and down to the lobby.  I don’t leave my apartment unless I have brushed my hair, put on a clean presentable outfit and I usually have a bit of makeup applied to my face such as some lip gloss, a bit of blush and some mascara.  I have earrings in my ears and a spray or two of some sort of fragrance. You never know who you might run in to when riding the elevator or getting your mail. (I can hear my mother’s voice, from the past, in my mind.)  Now, most women understand this.  Most men will saunter out of the door of their apartment in their slippers or flip flops, with disheveled hair, in old jeans and a dirty t-shirt.  “Why get dressed up to get the mail?” they think to themselves.

  Working from my apartment, 99.9% of my work revolves around using my computer and my phone.  My business requires me to be up in the morning and I work until about 3 P.M. or 4PM.    Therefore, I usually take my shower in the afternoon before dinner. During the day I am up and dressed but usually with my hair in a ponytail, working in yoga pants and a t-shirt while, working on my computer and or my writing.  I do not look my best.

  Lately my men friends have discovered Face Time on their phones.  Let me tell you, my girlfriends and my family members, don’t now, nor have they, or we, ever used Face Time when calling each other.  We know better. I look my worst in the morning sitting at my computer with my coffee cup and a cookie.  I hate FACETIME.  Okay, true, if I had grandchildren I would probably love it but I don’t have any grandchildren.  If I ever do have any grandchildren I will probably be so old and wrinkled and decrepit that seeing my face on Face Time might scare the daylights out of the little tykes.

  So, yesterday one of my man friends called me on Face Time to probably innocently to show me the scenery and the view from his deck.  I had just stepped out of the shower and I had a towel on my head.  I was sitting on my bed in my all together (so to speak) I literally almost answered the phone which would have been a shock for the both of us. I didn’t answer the call and I called him back (not on Face Time) explaining my present situation. We spoke for a minute or two and hung up … he gave me five minutes and he called me again on Face Time.  I didn’t answer.  So I sent him a text.  I said, “My hair is still wet.”  He sent me a text calling me a coward.  Yes, I am a coward.  Listen, at 25 girls can look pretty cute in a towel with wet hair.  At 67 it is a different story.  I dried my hair and set it.  I put on cream and then some makeup and earrings I put on a sweater. Yes, I even brushed my teeth and sprayed a little perfume on my hair.  I know you can’t smell on Face Time but I wasn’t taking any chances.  I called him back.  It is the first time we have seen each other outside of still photos.  I’m not 27 anymore.  I’m 67.

   Thank heaven I have reached this grand old age.  Life is good and it is bad but it is a privilege to be alive. It’s good to be honest and it is good to show the world the real me.  Yesterday, after our conversation I took a selfie, fully clothed, I might add.  I sent my selfie to my friend.  He sent me one too.  Today I put yesterday’s selfie on my Facebook page.  It is about time that I show the world the real me at 67 and counting. Now, men, please take this advice from me, to you.  If you are inclined to call any of your lady friends on Face Time, text them first and give them some time to get ready.  It takes a bit longer after 60 so have some patience with us.  Guys don’t care as much … we do.  So now I have displayed a picture of myself, how I looked 24 hours ago.  It is a photo, good or bad, but it is a photo of my face at 67 years old and it is a photo of, the real me. 

  Until Next Week…

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• As if by Magic!

  Posted at 11:26 pm by istheresexaftersixty, on August 8, 2019

  If you have been reading my blog recently you know that I am supposed to move to a new apartment in exactly three weeks and two days.  This is going to be very interesting to see how all of this is going to happen.   As of today’s date, I don’t know where I am going to move.  I looked at two possible rental buildings.  I have already canceled one of the two apartments out. This newly viewed apartment was smaller than my present apartment and it is about the same monthly rental.  I’m looking for less expense, not the same or more. The unit is not in a very pretty area and the parking is $25.00 more than I pay at the moment! This new parking cost would be almost what I paid for the rent of my first apartment, as a single girl in my 20’s, in Chicago, in 1977!

  I have been scouring the Internet for a part of each day in the search of a new potential habitat.  So far to no avail.  Not exactly, to no avail…  I have two more units to check out in the next few days.  I have read recently there is an upswing of sales of trailers and campers.  Suddenly I understand why.  It is because it is so expensive to buy and own homes of any size.  Home rentals are difficult because so many homes are rented with the stipulation that the home can be shown by realtors hoping to make a sale. This means that if the house is sold often the renter is giving 60 days notice to leave.  If you are a pet owner this fact also limits the houses and apartments that are for rent.

  Did I think as a youth that I would be looking to move to an apartment in my 60’s with one of my sons and two cats and a dog?  NO! I thought that my life would be settled and that I would be retired and my husband and I would be happily visiting my grandchildren.  My life would be cheerful and stable.  Life would be easy without many worries.  If I had to move, my husband and I would make the move together, without much fuss.  Wrong again! I am separated, no husband to help, no grandchildren, and I am the owner of a very small business with no retirement in sight.  Life is full of surprises.

  This dilemma actually reminds me of when I was a college student in London.  I remember that I would get a pile of assignments from all of my professors. My last year, before graduation, I had a mountain of work to finish each week.  I had a book or two to read in each class.  I took Irish Writers and I often had to read three or more plays a week.  Most of my professors also required their students to write a paper EACH WEEK, in each class.  I also took Short Story Writing.  I had about six papers to write every week.  Now, I knew that I was going to do the work.  I always turned in all of my work and on time!  There were days when I would sit in my bedsitter (a bedsitter is one bedroom, that often college students rent, in some person’s apartment, usually with the use of the bathroom and with the use of the owner’s kitchen.) I would stare out of the tiny window that looked down on the rooftops of other small apartment buildings surrounding my building, and then I would glare at the piles of work that had to be done.   I wondered, how all of my homework was going to be finished on time? Somehow I knew it would all be done and done by me.  It was like magic.  I knew somehow everything would get finished in the allotted time.  I remember thinking that, “By next Monday, everything will be done.”  Then after an hour or so of daydreaming I would open a book and begin. By the time Monday would roll around, the work was finished and turned in, on time, by me, as if by magic! 

  Today, while sitting in my little office in my very nice apartment, (soon to be someone else’s apartment) on the 16^thfloor, with the stupendous views overlooking Denver from every room, I am wondering, again, how in three weeks and two days, my move, will all be done?  In three weeks and two days, I will be directing moving men where to place my white leather loveseat in my new apartment somewhere in these United States of America.  Once again, everything will be done and finished on time.   As if by magic, in three weeks and three days I will be sitting staring out of a window, with a new and different view, with piles of boxes surrounding me, in every room, waiting for someone to open them.  I will be sitting holding a nice big glass of wine and maybe with a plate of cheese and crackers, sitting on my lap, if I can find them in one of the boxes, in my new kitchen.  I will wonder, how on earth, I accomplished all that I accomplished in only three weeks and three days.    It will happen as if by magic, by ME!

   Until Next Week…

   

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• The Fly in the Ointment

  Posted at 10:46 pm by istheresexaftersixty, on July 25, 2019

  Those of you who have been keeping up with my life, on my blog, might feel as if you have gotten to know me by now.  You probably do have a good idea about my likes and dislikes.  I recently wrote about my long time abiding love of summer tart, red, cherries.  If I had to pick my favorite fruit of all time it would most likely be summer cherries. Oh I like them dried too.  Guess what?  They are supposed to be good for you too.  Yes, I know the sugar in cherries make them bad for a diet but in summer when I see delightful, tangy, cherries, in a bowl on the kitchen counter I have said it before and I will say it again, it is something I just can’t ignore without grabbing one or ten of them.  Then, today, one of my Facebook friends, who knows very well that I adore cherries, sent me a video of a person cutting a few beautiful looking red cherries in half.  What do you think was in the middle of the cherries?  Worms!!!!  Little, tiny, white, worms.  The person in the video cut many perfect looking cherries in half and 99 % of them had little white worms in them.  Now how in the HELL (excuse my language) am I ever going to enjoy a cherry again???

  Something happened very similar to this with a summer favorite of mine, fried chicken.  Every once-in-a-while I like to treat myself to a piece or two of fried chicken and coleslaw.  For me, I can’t have one without the other.  Now, I also have a particular thing about fried chicken.  I like it cold.  In other words, I like cooked fried chicken the second day.  I like it cold from the fridge with a cup of nice cold coleslaw sprinkled with a generous amount of salt and pepper on both the chicken and the slaw.  I usually only buy this maybe three times a year.  I’m not stupid.  I know fried chicken isn’t dietetic or particularly good for one’s heart.  Still, it is something I look forward to having in summer usually, with cherries for desert.  One more thing, I don’t make this myself.  I buy it from a fast food restaurant like most of us Lazy Americansdo in summertime when they don’t want to toil over a hot stove.  Then I saw it…. I saw another video on Facebook.  There was a video of a woman sitting in a fast food restaurant; she peeled the crispy fried chicken skin back on a piece of her chicken and what was underneath the skin?  YES, you guessed it … LITTLE, WHITE,WORMS, squiggling about.   Even thinking about this video makes me sick all over again. I haven’t been able to have a piece of chicken in several months.  To be perfectly fair … the chicken wasn’t from the famous fast food company that likes to give you your chicken in a bucket.  The chicken was from another fast food spot.  Here is the worst part of the story.  I can’t remember which other famous fast food chicken restaurant that was the star of the story.  I only remember it was one I haven’t visited recently.

  This leads me to a very different subject.  As my readers who frequently read the posts on my blog might know, I am in a search for the perfect apartment.  What makes this a very difficult quest is that I am very particular in my tastes.  To add to this difficulty is that I have pets and my son is living with me for the moment and my “was-band” (husband that was) showed up unexpectedly and is sleeping on my chaise longue at the moment. That isn’t all.  I have to move in five weeks and two days, and, last but not least, I have a small budget for the move and for my monthly rent.  Now, originally I thought that I should move to a spot near a large body of water and a beach that I could walk along. After searching most of the beaches in the United States I narrowed it down to the Southern tip of Texas.  It is a cute little resort town with a long walk-able white sandy beach.  I saw a few very nice apartments with lovely views.  The apartments are almost the same size as my present apartment.  They have large, lovely pools and a gym, wood floors and newly remodeled kitchens.  So what’s wrong with the new possible apartments???

  Do yourself a favor if you have made up your mind about a new apartment or really if you are going to get anything new that you have seen on line, DON’T….  LET ME SAY THAT AGAIN, DON’T READ THE REVIEWS.  So my beautiful newly remodeled apartment is on the first floor and it has mice.  Not one mouse, the last renter killed 12 mice and the management doesn’t seem to think it is a problem.  The second apartment with, the view of the beach, has bugs, all kinds of bugs… bed bugs, ants and cockroaches.  The renter couldn’t stand it and left after four months.  The third apartment was really nice but there are never any parking spaces when the renters arrive home from work.  There is no assigned parking.  The renters are given a sticker but if you have a guest who manages to find a space anywhere in the complex the management puts a boot on your guests’ tire and charges $350 to remove the boot.   Apparently, this happens all of the time.

  One thing that I have learned after reaching the age of 60 and beyond; is that there is almost always going to be that famous, well known, “FLY IN THE OINTMENT that ruins perfection.”  This doesn’t surprise me anymore.  Youth is great.  Young people look at everything as if everything is going to be great and perfect, and sometimes it is for a moment or two or three but then wham, bam, there it is, just waiting for you to notice it, the fly swimming around in your nice pretty bowl of ointment.  It might be that handsome man, with the great smile who simply adores you.  He adores you because you are so different from his wife, who is home taking care of his five children, which he forgot to mention, when he asked you out.  Or, if you are a young man and ask that nice, sweet girl you met at church, out on a date. You didn’t know she would order three bottles of expensive wine and drink them all by herself, now did you?  What about the shiny, new used car you bought that comes with everything except a new timing belt that just broke and wrecked the transmission?

  Now, don’t get me wrong. There are some moments and there are some days that are perfect.  These days stand out in our minds and probably even get better with time.  One of the really great things about being over 60 is that we learn how to go with the flow.  We aren’t shocked or surprised when things or people aren’t what they seem. Now, I can bend with the wind. That’s how I have lived to be this old. I just scoop up that fly and toss it out.   I keep the ointment and use it until it is all gone. What’s the harm of a fly here or there, anyway?

  Until Next Week…

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• A Safe Harbor & Searching for Mr. Darcy

  Posted at 12:03 am by istheresexaftersixty, on July 19, 2019

  In six weeks and two days I have to be moved out of my present apartment to some other place somewhere in the world, that has at the very least, four walls and a roof.  Usually this type of event would have me rushing around (as my mother would say) like a chicken with her head cut off, but for some reason, so far, I have been reasonably calm and as of last night, still sleeping 6 to 7 hours a night.  This might all change by the time I am finished writing this post.  By tonight I might be my usual hysterical, nervous, self, pacing the floor of my bedroom at 2:00 A.M. or scouring Google Apartments.com for an inexpensive 2 bedroom /2 bath/ pet friendly, apartment, w/v (with view) anywhere, on this planet.  (If I’m not the person driving, I get car sick, so I am pretty sure I will not be taking any trips to the Moon or Mars in the near future.)

  There is a slight stirring and some sort of movement in my stomach region.   This might mean that when I am not looking; uncontrollable or exaggerated emotion could hit me at any moment.  I am going to proceed with this essay as my invisible man-friend, who has two strong hands pushing down on my shoulders, will be keeping me seated and typing this post, while he is holding down my overly emotional self.  You see I have an invisible friend.   Well, actually, he is my invisible boyfriend.  (If one is over 60, may I still use the term boyfriend?)  My made-up, invisible boyfriend or man-friend is named (by me) Mr. Darcy.  He is a man of reason.  He tells me that when I only have $450 to last before my next check, that I really don’t need to buy that bottle of Champagne.  He has stopped me from buying new shoes and a new wardrobe this year. He let me know last year that Martinis and Margaritas are very nice occasionally, for some special occasions, however, he strongly suggested one glass of wine or two with ice, might be a better idea for my waistline.  I decided he was right.  He did mention that two martinis are okay on special occasions as long as special occasions only happen two or three times a year.  Mr. Darcy is a man of conviction and self-control.  We argue with each other on occasion.  Just today, for example, I was seriously considering having my son drive to Arby’s to buy me a beef sandwich, onion rings and a small Coke. Mr. Darcy flew into a rage.  He couldn’t believe that I was seriously considering this lunch feast after I had worked so hard to lose 4 ½ Lbs. last week. So after a long argument I decided to have one slice of ham and a half of slice of Swiss cheese on one slice of Rye bread with a large glass of water.  Golly, Mr. Darcy can be so persuasive in an argument.  He actually made me stand on the scale in my bathroom. That did it!  He can be a tyrant at times.

  Mr. Darcy found this statement on Facebook and he made me notice it, and save it, on my desktop Screen Saver, to remind myself of what is important and what I should remember.  It states, “Don’t chase, don’t beg, don’t be desperate, just relax.  When you relax it will come to you. Make your wants, want you.”  {(I am not sure who said this, but at the top of the statement, this is what was written.)(@MINDSETOFGREATNES}  

  Well, Mr. Darcy was right again.  This statement has helped me through this new difficult situation.  Having to move again on a limited budget in six weeks and two days can be very stressful.  Each morning when I wake, I read the above statement and I take a deep breath and go on with my day.

  Now, I take a part of each day with Google, Apartment.com, and Rent.com. & Zillow.com, searching for a safe place, for myself, my son, my two cats and a dog with  …….  2bds/2ba/parking/w/d/pet friendly/w/v.   It has occurred to me lately that really we are all searching for a safe place.  We are all searching for a safe harbor where we can live and laugh and learn and love without fear.  I am looking for a place where I might be able to take long, deep, breaths of clean air and  where I might be able to take walks by myself or with my dog and feel safe and secure without worry.

  I know I have been searching for most of my life for a safe harbor so that for a few years I might not have to be the one who handles everything for everyone.  I have been hoping for a time when someone else, besides me, might be able to pick up the slack, make the decision, make the money, pay the bills, find the apartment, sign the lease, make that homerun, take the ball and run with it, lift that bail, just someone else, for once. Then, I remember, my imaginary friend, Mr. Darcy.  When I don’t know where to go or what to do and I wonder if over the age of 65 if I will be able to keep handling everything on my own and by myself: this is when, Mr. Darcy appears.  He gives me a pat on the back and smiles his, warm, charming, smile and he reminds me that I have done this before and I can do it again.  He reminds me that I am strong and that I have gotten this far and to this age, by being the substantial, impregnable, force,  that has been managing herself and her family and her business for a long, long, time. Somehow, in a few weeks, I will be packing and unpacking again.  I will manage to stay calm and I will handle things, as usual.  Thank you, Mr. Darcy, wherever you are.  I guess he knew I had it in me all of the time.

  Until Next Week…

   

   

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