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

Author Archives: istheresexaftersixty

• Picked Up & Dropped Off, In Cyberspace

  Posted at 9:59 pm by istheresexaftersixty, on March 21, 2019

   

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  Until Next Week…

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• Terra Firma

  Posted at 11:17 pm by istheresexaftersixty, on March 7, 2019

   

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  Until Next Week…

   

   

   

   

   

   

  Until Next Week… 

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• Sex, Lust & Rock ‘n’ Roll

  Posted at 11:59 pm by istheresexaftersixty, on February 28, 2019

   

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  Until Next Week …

   

  Posted in Uncategorized | 10 Comments

• The Girly, Girl

  Posted at 12:18 am by istheresexaftersixty, on February 22, 2019

   

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  Until Next Week …

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• Sex and the Single Senior

  Posted at 11:40 pm by istheresexaftersixty, on February 14, 2019

   

  Really?  Who knew?  I mean when you were a kid did you ever think that people over fifty ever, ever, had sex?  Let’s say you were a very precocious child and maybe you knew that sex might happen to famous actors or singers with a lot of money but seniors, average seniors? No, never!

  Honestly, I believe I have mentioned this before but as a young woman in my twenties I remember thinking that when I reached 48 that my whole life would have been figured out and well … really just about over.  Boy, oh boy, oh boy, was I wrong: at least where my life is concerned.   (KEEP READING THERE IS ACTUALLY SOME SEX AT THE END OF THIS POST.   IT’S VALENTINE’S DAY SO I HAD TO ADD SOME SEX, RIGHT?)

  All right, I must admit I see a lot of very happy, retired; very comfortable couples on my Facebook. Lots of these couples come from my old hometown, Chicago.  What is it about Chicago and even the South Side of Chicago that created so many long, happy, marriages?  One thing that I have noticed is that Chicagoans, who marry other Chicagoans or people that they have known since childhood seem to last until, well, …. “happily ever after.”  I think I know why.  Chicagoans are a very down to earth group of savvy, but still Midwestern minded, people. We are a hardworking bunch, who work and work and save and keep on keeping on.  Chicagoans are no-nonsense types.  So perhaps, these couples knew each other and liked each other and they never questioned their choices because they knew they were the right choice? This, when it happens, is absolutely wonderful, in my view.  I applaud your life choices because they were the right choices.

  Then there are a few of us that didn’t do what was expected.  We looked out of our windows in our South Side Chicago bedrooms that looked into the bedroom of our neighbor’s next door with blinds shut, and we dreamed of taking a ship across the ocean to find love, excitement and adventure and to get away. Some of us got married and divorced, or widowed or never married or as in my case separated for several years and now we are singles BUT …. and here is the interesting part of the But (excuse the expression).…. We aren’t just singles, we are SENIORS and SINGLE. Lot’s of us really don’t look like or act like everyone’s images of the grandmothers and the grandfathers that we had known as children.  So what are we to do now; give up?  I am not ready to sit in the corner and crochet.  I don’t know how to crochet.  I don’t have any grandchildren and who knows; I might not ever have any grandchildren?

  Yes, I had a few dates in the last year and they were nice men.  They are both from out-of-town and both men asked to see me again.  Maybe I will go however, don’t we all think that if the spark isn’t there well, is it worth it to keep trying for something that isn’t there in the beginning?  If my mother were still with us, I can hear her voice loud and clear.  She would say, ”Just go out with them.  You never know whom they might know.  Maybe you will meet someone through them? You won’t meet someone sitting in your apartment!”

  I have met a man or two on-line in the last year  and they are very nice and very interesting men. Seems like there are some very nice sparks too.  Since it is Valentine’s Day I will say something. Thanks, for the attention. There is nothing better than getting attention from someone.  It is nice to feel special.  Both of you have made me feel special in different ways.  I enjoy your texts and your jokes and your compliments and our phone conversations.  To my other new very brilliant friend; thank you for the wonderful treat of making me feel like a very special, important, person.

  So is there a sex life for the single senior?  Yes, it exists.

  “You can be sexual as long as you want to be,” says Lonnie Barbach, PhD, a clinical psychologist, author of The Pause: Positive Approaches to Menopause and Periomenopause,and co-founder of Happy Couple, an app designed to help couples grow closer. “It has nothing to do with how young you are; it has to do with your relationship and the person you’re with.” If you have a history of enjoying sex, there’s no reason to believe that will suddenly change because you have grey hair and an AARP membership.

  Sex when you’re young is sometimes frantic, explosive, and athletic. As your body slows down, sex can soften and change into more of a slow burn, but it can still be just as hot. “It’s not about how often you have sex and it’s not about how many positions you can be in. It’s really about sexual pleasure, and your relationship and connection you have with your partner,” says Barbach. When you’re less concerned about your sex stats and more focused on good communication, you’ll have just as much pleasure and passion as you did when you were young. It may just look different than it used to.”

  Here are some positions the over 60 partners are supposed to try.  Am I advocating these positions? No, only if you are comfortable and in the mood, I guess.

  The Missionary Position.   *(My interjection, most of you might know all of these however, it is a good reminder to keep everything interesting as we age.)

  Spooning ,  * (Like two spoons )

  Doggy Style

  Standing in the shower* (I personally have never tried this one and so far I like to do this alone.  Who knows what one might be willing to try after a martini or two?)

  Seated Lotus   (Now this is really sad and really funny..  I can’t remember if I did this or not? Probably possible, since I was married and you know …. active for most of our years together.  It seems familiar. LOL)

  So ladies and gentlemen, it’s not over until it’s over.  If we are still breathing, the good news is that there can be sex after 60, 70, 80… and 90.

  HAPPY VALENTINE’S DAY TO ALL!

  UNTIL NEXT WEEK …

   

  Posted in Uncategorized | 4 Comments

• Just Me, No Categories Please

  Posted at 10:23 pm by istheresexaftersixty, on February 7, 2019

   

  So now that I am on the dark side of my 60’s better known as “over 65” also known as “65 and over” occasionally known as “from 65 to death”.  I have never fit exactly into any category; which is actually all right by me.  I hate being placed in a category.  All through life there are schools and teachers and bosses and large companies and doctors and hospitals and insurance agencies…. (the list goes on and on) that are trying to make us all fit into a specific category.  Heck, sometimes your family and friends, husbands and even children try to fit you into something that they can recognize.  Right now I am 66 years old, soon to be 67 years old.  This alone puts me into a category in the minds of doctors, hospitals, insurance companies, in the minds of all young people … actually all people under 60; she’s old, not very insurable … might not live long, probably a grandmother or great-grandmother, winding up her life or some say winding down, retired? Widow?  She has cats, a cat lady?  She has a dog,  for companionship?  She looks rich and she speaks like she has money.  She lived in Europe.  She’s a snob, an old snob.

  What if I told you that I have been the mistress of a very, famous, very married, younger man for the last five years and even my best friends aren’t aware of this secret?  What if I told you that I once robbed a bank?  What if I told you that I pretended to be a famous American Women’s Lib. feminist. A reporter wrote a story about me with a large photo of me in an Italian newspaper? What if I told you that I was invited to a home for dinner with the daughter of a dictator?   We were served potato chips in silver bowls and we were greeted at her front door by a butler.  What if I told you that I knew a man whose family disrupted the gold market?  Now some of these statements are true and some are lies.   Can you tell which are true and which are lies? So now isn’t it harder to place me, the 66 going on 67 year-old-woman, in a specific category?  I thought so.  *(If you want to know which of the above statements are true and which are false, keep reading.)

  It depresses me to think that after a certain age women can be discounted from so much of life.  Women are no longer considered sexual. We are someone’s mother or grandmother.  Men are still considered to be sexy and a catch, frankly, until they die.  When has a woman over 60 been considered a sexy, catch? …. really, never, unless she is rich.

  For television, the target group is from 18 to 45. Why you might ask yourself? …. because the 18 to 45, age group is considered to be the group that buys the most products and it is assumed, in the marketing world, that this age group are easily persuaded to try new products.  This last statement, I have to admit … might be the truth.  If you have lived to the ripe old age of 60 or over, let’s just say we have seen it all and we have tried everything and by now we know what products work and what products don’t work.  I do however, have a beef with the idea we do not buy a lot of products.  For instance, my “was-band” (my husband that was) bought two cars in the last four years … one for my oldest son and one for my youngest son.  I moved into a new apartment a year and a half ago and I bought new furniture for my dining room and my front room.  I also bought a new set of dishes, silverware, three sets of glasses (a gift from my sister), new sheets and towels and a new comforter.  SO THERE, MARKETING GURUS.

  Okay, for politicians …. if you are over 60…. they still want your vote.  Politicians want our votes to our very last breath.  Age doesn’t matter to most politicians.  A vote is a vote is a vote.  Some politicians, especially in Chicago, often get our votes even after we are dead.

  This brings me back to my real question. What do I put on applications? Who am I anyway?  Married, Single, Divorced, senior, over 65?  Here they go again pushing me into their categories. I have a “was-band” and he is probably at this very moment, having dinner with his girlfriend somewhere in the world. Therefore, I consider myself, available.  Heck, if someone falls madly in love with me and he wants to marry me and if he will pay for my lawyer; I will be happy to get divorced.  Right now, I don’t really see the point?  Should I get divorced because it would look better? To whom?  Men would find me more attractive?

  My mother once called me an enigma.  Let’s face it.  I am very conventional looking unconventional person.  I am a well-read, sort of open-minded prude, religious in my own non-religious way, friendly and shy, outgoing and standoffish.  It’s just too difficult to put me into any category.   PLEASE, don’t list me only … as a senior, I am more than that.  I am not yet, as of today’s date, a grandmother.  I am an owner of a tiny business and I write a blog with sex in the title.  I just might decide to do something wild and exciting and terrific in the next few years. Who knows?  If I have to fill out another application for anything, I would like to be able to circle something that says, “Just, Me” someone, who doesn’t exactly fit into any ordinary category.

  *{Now, for the answers to the questions in the second paragraph… unfortunately, I am not any young man’s mistress.  I am unfortunately not anyone’s mistress at least not as of today, but you have got to admit, didn’t that make me seem more exciting? I have never robbed a bank. Well, once, when I was standing in front of an ATM I found money siting in the curved dish.  I walked into a bank to give the money back.  The girl at the front desk took the money and she said, “I’ll take it but there isn’t any way for us to find the person that left their money in the ATM.” I was shocked at her answer.  The next time I found money in that same ATM … there was no one around and I kept the money.  So I guess you can say I sort of robbed a bank.  This was 25 years ago so things have probably changed as far as money being left in ATM’s.   All of the other statements are true.  I pretended to be a famous Woman’s Lib. feminist for a person who asked me to do them a big favor.  I was embarrassed but I did it.  I went to college in London with a daughter of a dictator… she was a friend of mine. I went to dinner at her townhouse.  They had many servants. We ate out of silver bowls.  Lastly, I knew a young man in France whose family was supposed to be involved with the disruption of the gold market.  At least, that was the rumor at the time.  BTW I am not a snob… at least, don’t call me an OLD snob.  I am not rich… I will accept money from anyone who wants to donate to my fund (I haven’t started one yet)  for my possible future retirement.}

  Until Next Week …  

   

   

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• I Want to be; “She”

  Posted at 11:31 pm by istheresexaftersixty, on January 31, 2019

   

  For the last several years on Valentine’s Day I buy flowers, candy and when I can afford it jewelry and I make a lovely dinner, accompanied by wine and to top the evening off Champagne … or due to financial restraints, Sparkling Wine.  Guess whom these gifts and this dinner is for?   It is for someone I have known all of my life, who cares for me and someone who has done their damnedest to help me in every way to keep me alive and strong and well, to keep me, keeping on.  There are things I would like to change about this person, but all in all I feel down deep caring and affection and well I can’t help it … love.  If I don’t love this person … who will?

  Okay, I will admit it … it’s me.  On Valentine’s Day I have been known to buy myself flowers (on sale) and sometimes the candy, is only a candy bar and well, yes, I try to buy myself a little trinket every once-in-a-while, too.  I am a single woman, (at least I consider myself single) I do have a “was-band”; we have been separated … let’s say, since he decided to have a girlfriend or two or three or four.  We are still friends and yes, he is the father of my two sons. I consider myself single, as our sexual connection ended about 17 years ago.  I guess we will get divorced someday; if one of us decides to get married and if one of us wants to go through the legal mumbo-jumbo and if one of us wants to hire a lawyer and pay for a lawyer.

    I have had to be strong, maybe, too strong.  Working, taking care of my kids, our pets, two cats and a dog, the house or apartments that I have managed to find on my own.  It was and has been my responsibility to keep our heads above water, by working, borrowing, and everything short of stealing, to keep going. When all you do is work and worry, as years go by, you forget that you are a woman… a female.  Well, after I was separated from my “was-band” I got a job. As I worked, shopped, went to school meetings, all the while trying to act like it was all easy and normal.  It wasn’t.  I planned children’s birthday parties, found Halloween costumes, did homework, walked the dog, changed the cat litter, washed clothes, made dinner, did the shopping and worried always, worried, about how to pay the bills, buy new shoes and clothes and school supplies.  My biggest worry was how to pay the rent.    I forgot that I was a woman until occasionally, at work, some men would smile or flirt.  What a shock. One of my boss’s would call to ask me a question and ask, “Is this the beautiful blond at the front desk?”  I actually didn’t know he was talking to me the first time I heard that question.  The flirting went on.   I was dumbfounded.   Holy Cow, I actually forgot that I was a woman.  One man, who was very persistently trying very hard to let’s say turn our business relationship into something else, said to me in a very serious manner, “Sue Ellen don’t you know that in a few years men won’t keep looking at you?”  Now this could have been an insulting remark however, I was thrilled. I honestly didn’t know anyone was looking at me at all.

  Now I am not a saint and I did enjoy the attention. The best part of working was that I got to see myself as other people saw me.  Not as just a sad, hard-working, worried mother and pet owner and long-suffering ex-wife, but as a woman, a real woman.  This surprised me. I worked at the front desk of a very exclusive rental building.   My job included really doing a thousand things a day while making high paying guests and multi-millionaires and billionaires happy.  It was quite a job.  One day a man checked into one of our apartments.  He had a deep gravelly voice.  He was with a group of men that if I had to make a guess I would have bet that they were younger relatives of the Cosa Nostra.  They were all from New Jersey and I later found out that one of the men was the head of a construction company.  I welcomed them and tried to help them with any problems or issues that they had in connection to their vacation rental apartments.  My front desk was a part of the lobby where I would make the fresh coffee and tea.  There were comfortable chairs and couches and a lovely warm fireplace.  All day long I would greet guests and owners in person as well as on the phone.  The construction boss spent a good part of everyday in my lobby and on the phone.  I learned that he didn’t have a good phone connection in his unit which is often the case, in Aspen.  Our office and the apartment building is located on the side of a mountain,  Aspen is surrounded by mountains.   I spent my days helping guests and owners fixing problems, calming, soothing, smiling and cajoling and flattering when necessary. No request was too big or too small to keep everyone happy.

  My youngest son would take the bus to my office when school was over.  He would often drop off his books and ask for money to go to get a snack and then do his homework in the back office.  At the end of work I would drive us both home to our rental unit about an hour away.  On one particular day the construction boss was in the lobby … my son came in and dropped his books off and asked for some money for his after school  treat … when my son returned, the construction boss walked up to my son and said, “ Is this your mother?” talking about me,  my son answered, “Yes.”  The boss looked at my son and said,” Do you have any idea how wonderful she is? “Do you have any idea how hard she works to take care of you? Do you have any idea how lucky you are to have her as your mother?”  I think my son just murmured, a solemn, embarrassed, “Yes” The man said, “I hope you do!”

  I believe I stood there in shock.  After a moment or two this man stood in front of my desk and told me how wonderful I was and why he thought so.   I think that I held back some tears.  Here was a stranger, who somehow just by listening to me, off and on, for a few days, he actually understood a bit of what my life was like. This stranger, GOT ME and he GOT MY LIFE.  It touched me deeply.  My life was a life of sacrifices.

  After this happened, I had an epiphany. There are times in life when you have to make real sacrifices for others.  It is necessary and we do it, however, we have to stop and smell the roses or buy ourselves some roses.  I made a conscious decision to give myself some credit for all I did and do for everyone else.

  Therefore now, I buy myself a gift or three on Valentine’s Day.  I buy myself lemon cake on my birthday and whenever I have a few extra dollars I get a manicure and a pedicure.  The other night I sat in my living room, on my comfortable beige leather chair, looking out of my window that overlooks Denver high up on the sixteen floor.  I drank two big glasses of white wine and I bought myself a rental movie on Xfinity.   It is only the second time I have ever rented a film on my television since I have had to become necessarily careful with a dollar.   I did feel a bit guilty, however, I really liked the movie.

  Okay I’m over sixty and maybe it is selfish but I am a hopeless romantic.  My kids are 30 and 22 today.  I have a secret wish that is very likely impossible after sixty.  I think it is about time that I become someone’s “She”. Do you know the song?  It is a lovely song written by the late, great, Charles Aznavour and the very brilliant and alive and well, ( as of this date he is 93),  Herbert Kretzmer.  If you don’t know this song do yourself a favor and listen to it on YouTube.  First, listen to Charles Aznavour’s rendition and then listen to Elvis Costello.  They are both fabulous.  Is it too late to be someone’s,“She”?  I don’t know?  It could be too late but I think it still happens occasionally to some lucky woman.  The last sentence goes like this, “The meaning of my life is, SHE.”  So that is what I would like someday for Valentine’s Day. If it is too late, well I can still appreciate myself and I will continue to buy myself some flowers (on sale) and a bite of candy and sometimes a small piece of jewelry… it doesn’t have to be diamonds.

  Until Next Week…

   

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• Ghosts I Have Known and More Unexplainable Phenomenon

  Posted at 12:22 am by istheresexaftersixty, on January 25, 2019

   

  Picture this,I am sitting in the second to the last seat in a row, in my second grade class room in elementary school, in my new schoolroom, that is way, way, too warm.   There are milk cartons sitting on a sideboard getting warmer by the minute, which will make them very hard to drink and enjoy before recess. The teacher is sitting silently at her disk in front of the room.  She resembles the stepmother character in the animated Disney movie version of “Cinderella”.  This is my third day in this second grade class and so far, it is a nightmare.  The teacher has a cold, nasty, personality and to top it off she is a perfectionist.  We have spent most of the morning listening to rules and regulations regarding our papers and how they are supposed to be ruled with one-inch margins on the right of our ruled papers and with half-inch lines drawn on the left side.  If the margins don’t look perfect we are instructed to erase the lines and start over. My head aches, as I am totally aware that this teacher and I are not going to make it through the semester. As I am pondering the misery of the next several months … I hear a strong, clear voice in my head.  The voice says, “By the end of the day you will be out of this room.”  I immediately feel calmer and I continued to work on my margins as I wait for my release from this hostile environment.  The day goes by and just as I was starting to get panicky; the school principal walked into our room.  She announced that seven children were going to be transferred to another second grade class with a new teacher.  The principal asked, “How should I do this?  I think I will choose this row and count.”  She chose my row that was the second row out of seven rows.  She counted and touched each child’s head.  “One, two, three, four, five, six, seven.”  I was number seven.  We all stood up and we were lined up at the classroom’s door and escorted to our new second grade class with our new, young, teacher; who resembled a Barbie doll.  Now, you realize I was a young child and I didn’t question the fact that I heard a distinct voice and that this voice got me out of an unbearable situation…. at least it was unbearable to me.  For years, I thought that this voice was going to get me out of every bad situation for the rest of my life.  When this didn’t happen, I realized how really unusual it was to have heard this voice at all.

  My First Ghost,

  My father’s mother was a small, very trim, woman who always smelled like sweet perfume and powder.  She always was smiling and laughing.  I am not sure if I ever heard her say more than one or two words all the time I knew her until my grandfather had a heart attack and had to stay in the hospital for several days.  My grandmother relied of my grandfather for everything.  My grandfather did all of the cleaning, cooking and shopping.  My grandfather worked all day with my father and my aunts and uncles at my father’s business.  When my grandfather wasn’t at work he was responsible for taking care of my grandmother. He hired a maid to clean while he was at work.  Nothing was wrong with my grandmother … she was normal … she just didn’t do anything but take care of herself.  She did tend to her garden and she spent most of her days at church.  Both of my grandparents found religion later in life. All of their free time was spent reading the Bible or going to church.  Now my parents took us to church too but I must say they were not fanatical about church or religion.  When my grandfather was in the hospital my mother and father went to the hospital together; I became responsible for my grandmother.  For the first time in my life my grandmother sat with me and we talked. She told me about her life and her childhood and I remember that I was spellbound.  Here she was a real person with a real life.  She had opinions and she had a history.  I felt close to her.  I believe I was about eight or nine years old.

  My grandmother was never steady on her feet and my grandfather spent much of his time holding on to her arm making sure she wouldn’t fall or trip over something.  (I have unfortunately inherited my grandmother’s clumsiness.) With my grandfather in the hospital … my grandmother was on her own in her own home. She slipped and fell and she hit her head on the bricks by her fireplace.  It was a terrible fall.  Her head was swollen twice it’s size.  Now at this time in my life I was very, very, afraid of death.  I guess I had just realized that someday I was going to die. It was a frightening discovery for my sensitive soul.  I never mentioned this to anyone.  I would lie awake at night shivering worrying about my eventual demise.  Realizing that death could happen to me or to anyone at any time was scary beyond belief to me.  I kept this fear to myself never mentioning this to anyone.   My grandmother was seriously ill and in a coma in the hospital.  My mother and I were sitting by the phone in our living room.  All of a sudden it was as if we were in a vacuum; as if the air was taken out of the room.  I felt my grandmother as a spirit … she came in through the living room and she swooped down as a vapor … I heard her say,” Look at the clock. “  I did.  I noted the time.  Then she said,” Don’t be afraid of death.  It isn’t frightening at all.  There is nothing to be afraid of.”  Then this vapor that was my grandmother, flew up to the stairway and she was gone.  My mother was shaken.  I told her to call the hospital and that grandmother had died. To this day I am not sure if my mother heard and saw what I heard and saw.  I think she did.  My mother called the hospital and asked about my grandmother.  The nurse put my mother on hold for quite a while. The nurse came on the line and said that my grandmother had died.  My grandmother had died alone and the nurse gave my mother … the time of death.  It was the time that my grandmother had told us … when she told us to look at the clock. My mother was so uncomfortable with what had happened that she made me promise not to tell anyone what had happened. My mother never spoke of this incident ever again.  I however, proceeded to tell this story over and over again to friends usually on girl’s overnight’s.  I believe my mother was afraid that people would think we were out of our minds.  My mother had a personality much like our first lady at the time…. Jacqueline Kennedy. My mother was very pretty, stylish, but very reserved in every way.  This unusual happening didn’t have an explanation and so she preferred to act as if it never happened at all.

  My Second Ghost

  My mother’s father had a difficult childhood. His father was from Germany and he was a very mean and a very selfish, cold man.  My grandfather’s mother was Irish; she died of what was known in the old days as consumption at the young age of nineteen.  She left a husband and four boys behind.  What kind of life must she have had being a wife and mother of four boys and dying at nineteen?  My grandfather and his brothers were put to work as children.  Grandpa was working at a candy factory as a very young child. Grandpa was brilliant but he never got to go to school beyond second or third grade.  My mother’s brother was very smart and graduated with a college degree from IIT.  My uncle worked on the brain of the first computer for IBM.  He worked on all kinds of secret things during WW II and after … working for Boeing. My mother got to see the Stealth Bomber testing in the late 50’s and early 60’s while it was still a secret project.  My uncle told me that my grandfather was the smartest man he ever knew.  That was saying a lot.  My grandfather took a particular liking to me.  I think it was because I listened to him and asked questions.  I also paid a lot of attention to him.  I sent my grandparents letters and information all though college and sent them gifts.   I am pretty sure I was my grandfather’s favorite grandchild.

  I married a Frenchman and moved to Metz, France. My husband and I were married for about four years when we decided to move to the South of France.  I heard from my mother that my grandfather was very ill and in the hospital.  While we had started to pack up our apartment I heard that my grandfather had died.  I spoke to my mother and my grandmother and as we were in the middle of a move it was decided that I wouldn’t go to California for the funeral.  I did think about my grandfather a lot around this time and I told my husband stories about my grandpa.  How I wish that he could have gone to school and graduated from college … he was always inventing things.   He could take apart a television set and put it back together.  He built a radio when I was little and we would listen to Big Ben on his radio.  We could hear London.  The night before my husband and I were going to leave to move to the South of France and we were staying at my In-laws home, in a little village in Northern France. We were all involved with packing up a truck for the move. It was about a week since my grandfather had died.  As we were packing I saw a man walking up the stairs of my in-laws home.  I didn’t think too much of it as I figured it was a friend from the village.  I forgot to mention that my grandfather dressed just like a typical European.  He wore suspenders with baggy pants and a sweater over his pressed shirt with an open collar.  He also wore a beret when he went outside.  All of a sudden the man going up the stairs turned around and looked at me. It was my grandfather.  I didn’t tell anyone what I saw.  Who would believe me anyway?   I pretended that nothing had happened, until I was getting ready for bed I saw my grandfather again.  He walked up the stairs and was walking toward me. I rushed into the bathroom and shut the door.  I spoke out loud.  “Grandpa, I see you but seeing you scares me.  If you want to go with us when we move you can come but I just can’t see you again.  It frightens me.”  When I opened the door he was gone.  I went into the bedroom and my husband was sitting up in bed reading.   Now, my husband is very scientific.  He doesn’t believe in ESP or horoscopes or fortune tellers. He is an atheist.   I said, “ I have to tell you something.  I saw my grandfather tonight walking up the stairs and walking on the second floor.”  My husband looked up from his book and said in a nonchalant manner, “I saw him too.” I was in shock.  My husband told me what my grandfather was wearing.  My husband is now my “was-band”.  We have been separated for a long time however, we are friends.   To this day he refuses to say that we both saw my grandfather’s ghost.  My ex says that we both had the same hallucination at different times.  BTW we weren’t drinking and neither of us are drug takers.

  Well, these are only a few examples of the unexplainable phenomenon that have occurred in my life.  I will add to these in the weeks to come.  If you are still interested… please keep reading my blog.

  Until Next Week…

   

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• A Prolonged Visit to Old Age

  Posted at 12:10 am by istheresexaftersixty, on January 18, 2019

   

    The nurse looked at me as I tried to lift my left leg out of the hospital bed while the nurse had to lift my right leg slowly and place it over the side of the bed and smiled and she said, “You know being in your 60’s isn’t old anymore. You aren’t really old until you are in your 80’s or 90’s.”  I held onto her as I tried to hop with my good left leg, onto the portable raised potty next to my bed. I cannot give you any details about the why and wherefores explaining the last few weeks and how I ended up in the hospital. Someday, I will be able to explain, so please keep reading my blog each week.  I can probably tell you this however; I was in the hospital for several days and then went to a rehab facility.  I was in terrible pain and still have pain.

  I will say one thing….   I am so grateful to all of the kind, gentle, careful, thoughtful nurses and nurse’s aids and doctors and technicians that work everyday and night with seriously ill patients, some patients who will not survive and some who will keep improving to live happy lives.   Somehow these dedicated health workers continue to their jobs in an efficient manner with a smile and a caring expression; often working round the clock helping others.  Thank you, thank you and thank you again, for all of your help and constant kindnesses that you bestowed on me.

  What the last three weeks have shown me was a prolonged glimpse into the real world of old age.  It isn’t fun to be bedridden and unable to get out of bed or to even turn over on your own without help. It is pretty terrible to have to call for help when nature calls: and two nurses have to stand and hold you up so that you don’t collapse while doing your business in the plastic portable high chair of a potty that was placed right next to the hospital bed.  I was given the choice of a plastic bowl that was to be placed under me in bed, or a diaper to wear or thirdly, the plastic portable high chair potty which would carry the added pain involved of trying to stand, but which I preferred to the diaper or the plastic bowl.   Then there is the continuation of the humiliation of the basic hospital gowns.  BTW who ever came up with that name…. hospital gowns, really???  A gown should be a sparkly something that Miss Universe wears while walking on the stage at the Miss Universe contest.  The U.S.A. has put men on the moon and now space probes on Mars and you mean to tell me no one has been able to make a decent hospital gown that is easy to remove without exposing one’s derriere?  By the third day of my hospital stay while still in a great deal of pain, a therapist arrived at my bedside with the duty of showing me the possibility of walking with the help of a walker. It finally occurred to me that I might put in a request for a clean hospital gown while adding a second gown that could be worn like a coat, thereby covering my backside. This would eliminate the possibility of any persons who happened to park their cars in the garage next to the hospital (which was the view from the window of my hospital room) from having the shocking experience of confronting my fanny in their rearview (pardon the pun) mirror.

  While in the hospital, I was ex-rayed, MRI’d, ultra-sounded, poked, pricked, blood taken, lifted, wheeled, oxygen added, blood pressure tested, fever checked, medicine given and constantly physically checked by really the nicest, sweetest women and men one could ever meet, (and men… who might be reading this)…. all of the lady nurses were really, really, pretty. The male doctors were also very cute. A nice place to be hurt or ill if the occasion arises, at least there were attractive people gazing at you day and night.

  The most difficult, part of my journey into my visit to old age (besides the pain and the inability to walk and or to do things for one’s self) was the second part of my journey to the rehab facility. The facility was clean and I had a large room and a large bathroom with a high-seated toilet.  The furniture was old and looked like it had been in use since the early 1950’s.  The colors of the furniture and the walls were grey and green.  Men and women in their 80’s and above were walking slowly with their walkers, past my open door.  No one was smiling or talking.  The food that arrived for dinner looked a lot like mush.  It was supposed to be chicken potpie but if I could have taken a photo of the dinner, you wouldn’t have recognized it as food.  It was a very depressing visit and I knew that instead of getting better I would be feeling worse if I had to stay more than a few days.  I couldn’t sleep after having been in bed now for several days and I was placed in a room that was right next door to a man who was nearly deaf.  He didn’t talk to people, he yelled and screamed at them.  His yelling continued day and night into the early morning hours, each day.  The rehab facility was more like an old people’s home from the 1960’s than a rehab facility.  People played bingo in the main lobby, however, most patients stayed in their rooms. I made a vow to myself that I have to make some sort of plan, so that I will never have to be placed in a similar facility in the future. It isn’t a pretty or a happy place to exist.

  I am home now and yes, there is still some pain and issues to be faced in the future; but what a joy to be in my own apartment, with my own furniture and lovely paintings on my walls.  My oldest son is staying with me for a while and he is a wonderful help.  My youngest son arrived yesterday for a short visit to a rousing welcome from all of the pets.   I get to gaze out of my almost floor to ceiling windows while watching the world go by. Yes, it is good to be alive, surrounded by my children, pets, treasured items, good books, all of the things that make me, me.  This last week I spoke with some of my relatives by phone and by text, as well as several of my very good friends, old and new.  So I took the journey into old age.  As Bette Davis said, “Old age isn’t for sissies.”   Still I am so grateful and glad to continue on this very interesting, journey called, Life.

  Until Next Week…

   

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• Bah Humbug!

  Posted at 7:39 pm by istheresexaftersixty, on December 20, 2018

  “Bah, humbug!” Scrooge from, A Christmas Carol, by, Charles Dickens

  “Christmas to a child is the first terrible proof that to travel hopefully is better than to arrive. “ Stephen Fry

  “There ain’t no Sanity Clause!”  Chico Marx’s play on words in a quick-fire exchange with Groucho

  “The Supreme Court has ruled that they cannot have a nativity scene in Washington, DC.  This wasn’t for any religious reasons.  They couldn’t find three wise men and a virgin.” Jay Leno

  “The main reason Santa is so jolly is because he knows where all the bad girls live.” George Carlin

  “The one thing women don’t want to find in their stockings on Christmas morning is their husband.” Joan Rivers

  “ Santa Claus has the right idea.  Visit people only once a year.” Victor Borge

  “I once bought my kids a set of batteries for Christmas with a note on it saying, toys not included.” Bernard Manning

  (Just in case you aren’t having a very Merry Christmas the above quotes are meant to make you smile.)

  As you might have guessed by now this year wasn’t all that merry.  This Christmas isn’t all that merry either.  Can’t help it, some years are just better than other years.  Okay, here is the truth about this year.  It sucks.  You might have expected a happy, cheerful, Christmas greeting from ever happy, ever hopeful, me.  No, sorry, not today.  You will not hear a religious or moral sermon however; you might hear a long, tedious lecture of sorts.

  This year has been a long hard push up a hill.  I once had a dream that I got married and my car wasn’t working so I had to push this car up a big hill that never seemed to end.  That sort of puts this year in perspective.  The last three weeks were sort of the final crescendo to the already “Terrible, Horrible No Good, Very Bad,” year, to paraphrase a darling book by a very funny children’s author, Judith Viorst.   Falling and breaking my nose wasn’t the end of this saga, nope, my nose and my mouth still hurt … then, I went back in the hospital for a second time and as I was getting over that last hospital visit, when what should appear?? Not Santa’s sleigh … no, it was a fire, my building caught on fire and I walked down 16 flights.  My legs and feet felt the effects of not working out enough in the last several months, for the next four days or so.

  My finances have taken a really big hit due to unforeseen circumstances.  The job hunt has been very challenging to say the least.  Companies aren’t inclined to hire 66 year-old-women. You can’t even meet possible employers in person, to show them that you don’t have grey hair and walk with a cane. Resumes are emailed on-line in today’s world.   I do have a small business that, so far, at least, I have managed to keep going for eight years.  There have been issues with my business as well, that I won’t go into, for this very dismal, Christmas post.

  As for sex,I guess I should bring up sex since the title of my blog is a question about sex existing after 60. As for me, there has been (fortunately or un) no sex in any way, shape or form this year.  I have been on two … yes, count them, two, nice, sensible, dates. Nice men, nice dates, but not even a hint of a spark in my estimation.

  To top off the already challenging year, one of my best friends for the last 39 years stopped talking to me and I do not have even a slight clue as to why she became so enraged by something I did or said.  We never argued even one time in 39 years!  This was someone I would talk to on the phone at least two times a week. We lived in different states but this didn’t stop our visits or our friendship.  I tried to find out what went wrong without any success.

  Last but not least, a man friend, whom I have come to rely on for making me laugh and smile and who would flirt and say outrageous things to me on-line as well as on my phone, he too stopped talking to me.  The funny part of this friendship is that he more than once, complained that I was too sad and depressed and that I am too dramatic.  During our relationship, this was not true at all.  He was always the dramatic one.   Now, this post is my gift to him.  He can point to this very post on this blog to prove that he was 100% right.  This is a sad, depressing, dramatic, post.   So there, that is my gift to you.  Still, I miss you.  We did have a lot of fun and I’m sad I won’t be blushing when we shake hands.

  This is also my gift to all of the people who might be reading this who aren’t having a perfect Christmas and or a perfect year in their perfect house, with their perfect, husband, and their perfect friends and family.  See, not everyone is perfectly happy on Christmas.  It’s okay to be truthful every once-in-a-while. Sometimes life gives you a few kicks in the rear.

  I’m still going to listen to Christmas music.  I am still going to be happy to see my children and I even bought my Was-band a little gift.  I will make Christmas dinner and watch several Christmas movies and best of all I am going to drink many large glasses of wine and I might drink a martini or three.   NEXT YEAR MIGHT BE BETTER, WHO KNOWS?   And to quote, Tiny Tim, “God Bless us, every one!”

  Until Next Week…  (One thing I love to do … I love being able to write this blog each week.  Thanks for reading it! ) MERRY CHRISTMAS!

   

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