Memory Lane

Be prepared, folks. As you approach 60, you will need a reliable memory back-up system to keep yourself on track. I used to rely on a lovely week-at-a-glance yearly planner from the Metropolitan Museum of Art. Its only drawback was its static placement in my kitchen "command center". Being a tech-savvy super adult (a friend reported the use of this reference on a fare schedule in Scotland, and I’m adopting it…so much better than senior citizen) I now keep track of life’s events on my computer’s Outlook calendar which syncs with my iPhone. This calendar, complete with its thoughtful little reminders that pop up 15 minutes before every scheduled event or task, is my personal assistant and social secretary. Every appointment, meeting, weekly work schedule, birthday, and weekend activity – even my reminder to submit my electronic time card every Friday - resides in the memory of my Outlook calendar (oops, I forgot to submit my time card yesterday!). My back up to the back-up system is an assortment of memo pads and post-it notes, as well as an occasional empty food wrapper on the kitchen counter reminding me to add that item to my grocery list. Don’t laugh. It works for me, and I can proudly say that I am on time for [most] appointments, I send birthday greetings on the correct date, and show up at baby and bridal showers on time. That is unless my computer and 3G network fail me.

One thing I need no help remembering is nearly every detail of my childhood. Those recollections are etched in my memory and as clearly as if they occurred yesterday! For those of you who are on this baby boomer journey with me, let’s take a trip down memory lane…who remembers these bits of 50’s and 60’s pop culture and history?

• Ed Sullivan Show (name your three favorite guests)
• Skate keys (on a shoe string around your neck, to tighten your skates to your saddle shoes)
• Hula Hoops (one of my 15 seconds of fame was introducing the first hula hoop to rural South Dakota kids when I was 8 years old – I was one cool Southern California kid)
• American Bandstand
• Engineer Bill and Sheriff John (this may be exclusive to my fellow LA area boomers)
• Oscar Meyer wiener whistles and the Wienermobile (how many of you can hum the wiener whistle tune?)
• Petticoats with layers and layers of crinkly crinoline, worn under your school dresses (no pants allowed for girls)
• Lunch pails (“whose” metal pail did you carry?)
• Toni permanents (I was cursed with naturally curly hair -  and longed for stick straight tresses, so I was always perplexed by girls who wanted permanents)
• Black and white televisions – and your very first color TV
• The few shows that were broadcast in color
• Father Knows Best
• Captain Kangaroo
• Sky King (and Penny)
• The arrival of the Beatles in the United States
• The Cuban missile crisis
• Duck and cover drills - apparently in the 50’s you were safe from the effects of a nuclear blast by simply covering your head and cowering under your desk. Seriously, this was the biggest fear of my childhood. I always wished that we had a bomb shelter.
• Where you were when you heard that President Kennedy was assassinated
• The Civil Rights March on Washington
• Nightly news reports on the casualties of the Vietnam war
• Neil Armstrong’s walk on the moon

So many reminiscences…so little time. Suffice it to say that my long term memory is extraordinary – those slacker short term memory brain cells could take a lesson from their long term counterparts. Ask me about the 50’s and 60’s and I will sing theme songs, pinpoint my exact location when witnessing history, and recall days and dates with impressive accuracy. Ask me to find the everyday tablecloth that I tucked away last month for safe-keeping over the holidays, and all bets are off.

I have to admit that I really, really cherish my childhood memories – along with the recollections of young love, first kisses, our first home and new babies (yes, even those sleepless nights rocking and walking them for comfort). Super adulthood brings with it a memory cache chock-full of recollections of history and trivia – all of which have played their part in shaping our lives. As I approach 60, I am thankful for all of these memories, and want to thank everyone in advance for indulging me in sharing them. Give me long term memory over short term any day. If I ask you a question that you recently answered, be kind. Skip the "Don't you remember...?" lead in. Simply tell me again. And if I wax nostalgic with the same story more than once - please listen, nod and chuckle at the content as if you are hearing it for the first time. I must have forgotten that I shared it with you just LAST WEEK!

No Gifts Please...I Got Mine 42 years Ago

Try as one might, there is no defying the effects of gravity on the aging process. Sure, you can spend your children’s inheritance on any variety of “procedures” to be plumped, tucked and altered into an often unrecognizable version of your former self. In my case, there is no inheritance to spend! But even if I could, I am not sure I would take drastic measures to try and regain my youthful glow – or would I? I’ll save that for a future post. For now, I have my fountain of youth – my husband – who still makes me feel as if I am the most beautiful woman in the world, every single day.

Have I mentioned that I love my husband? He and I met in high school – Senior English to be exact – when he was into muscle cars and I was into folk music, college boys and the peace movement. We did not have a lot in common in those days and I’m sure he had no idea who I was. But I knew him – he was POPULAR! When I walked into the already seated classroom and passed by his desk to give my transfer papers to the teacher, he noticed ME! Bookish, shy, want-to-be-in-the-background Paula. The very next day, his desk was next to mine – he had a way with teachers, and managed to convince her that he needed to be at the front of the room in order to see better! From that moment 42 years ago, we were friends. We attended senior class functions together as friends. We counseled each other through different relationships and headed off to different colleges. It wasn’t until two years later, with only occasional contact in the interim, that we realized our friendship had blossomed into something more. I could go on about our story, but I’ll cut to the chase – we met in 1968, started dating in 1971, got engaged in 1972, and married in 1974. And in July we will celebrate 37 years of love and friendship as husband and wife.

We are both turning 60 this year. In fact, for six weeks he will be in his 60’s and I will still be in my 50’s. I always use these weeks to remind him that he is older than me! For him, this is simply another birthday. No drama, no angst. Just a birthday with the obligatory cards, a gift or two (his gifts of choice - socks and ties…really??), his favorite dinner and dessert, and a nice gathering of family and friends. Over. Done. Move on. He deserves some attention for his 60 year milestone, yet he has had to take on all of my anxiety and is watching over me as if I am a delicate Faberge egg – handling me with care as I attempt to wrap my head around our entry into senior citizenship. If there were an Oscar for Outstanding Achievement in the Husband Role, he would be a recipient.

I deal with the physical reminders of aging every time I glance into my 8X magnifying mirror (ugh). I see almost-60 Paula. He, on the other hand, sees me through a different lens. In his eyes I am still 17year old Paula who walked into English class and caught his attention. A day doesn’t go by that I don’t get some sort of acknowledgement that I am beautiful in his eyes. I don’t want to give TMI here (my kids read this!) but my husband still thinks I’m hot!

It’s becoming clear to me that one of the biggest advantages of knowing someone for 42 years is the magic of their internal lens – our mind’s eye imprints the original “photograph” of that first encounter indelibly and forever. To each other we are still crazy kids in love. We see past the gray hair (his, not mine – thanks to my stylist and his magic potions), the age spots (can’t I still call them freckles?), and the oh-so-unattractive turkey neck wattle! Turning 60 with my best friend is the only gift I need to mark this momentous occasion.  Well, that....and maybe a Faberge egg!

Hello 60. It's Me, Paula

The countdown begins. My 60^th birthday is March 30.

How did this happen? Why am I having such a hard time with this number? For someone who absolutely loves the attention bestowed upon her on the anniversary of her birth, this is the first and only birthday that I have ever dreaded.

At 30, I was a working mother with an infant daughter and energetic toddler son. I had no time to celebrate that birthday, but it became a historic date with John Hinckley’s failed assassination of President Ronald Reagan. My husband and I celebrated our 40^th birthdays with a huge party that cost more than our wedding reception 17 years earlier. No black, “Over-the Hill” balloons for us – 40 was fabulous! Even 50 was a birthday I welcomed, commencing with an entire weekend of girly fun with 20 dear friends and family in Palm Springs – secretly planned and precisely executed by my then twenty-something daughter and beautiful nieces. Now, 60 is looming – and until my near meltdown last week it was a milestone that I not only dreaded, but refused to verbally acknowledge. Why was turning 60 so hard for me to accept? Anyone? Anyone?

Before I go further, let me share a little bit about my almost-60 self...in no particular order. I am active. I am healthy. I eat right, and take my vitamins. I have been a teacher, a business owner, and was recognized for my entrepreneurial accomplishments. I currently work in the world of event fundraising. I have too many pairs of shoes. I can no longer read without glasses, and I have almost as many pairs of readers as I have footwear. My "style" is classic – with a dash of flair! I love to dance. I cherish friendships. I am the queen of entertaining. I say the F-word occasionally. I enjoy my kid’s friends – and they like me. I drive faster than I should. I have officiated two weddings. I have had no “work” – and I have the wrinkles to prove it. I know all of the words to Bohemian Rhapsody, Don’t Stop Believing, and Me and Bobby McGee to name just a few - and I sing-along loudly every time I hear these and other classics. I cry at weddings and Hallmark commercials. I am a bleeding heart liberal. I am tolerant. I am not tolerant of intolerance. I love my husband, kids, and their significant others. I am looking forward to being a grandparent. I have a wonderful life.

During my aforementioned meltdown, I found myself in a dark place that can only be understood by someone facing the reality that they have lived more years of their natural life than they have remaining. My usually upbeat self slipped into a depression of sorts – a nearly suffocating, all-consuming onslaught of negativity, fear, and remorse. We aren’t prepared for retirement. This house is too big for us. I am not where I thought I would be in my career. It’s too late to start over. Why didn’t I write my book? What have I done with my 60 years? I found myself in such a dangerous state of mind that it scared the crap out of me. And it was all due to a stupid numeral. I was giving 60 too much negative power.

Thankfully my husband is a great listener and my best friend, and after I confided in him my innermost fears, he gave me what I needed at that moment – his unconditional love and support. He heard me. He understood. He reminded me we are in this together, and helped me get through my lowest of moments. Now it’s time to start doing something. I have so much to be grateful for, and I will not be defined by a birth date.

This blog is Step One on my road to acceptance of my upcoming milestone. Hello, world – my name is Paula and I am going to be 60. I will celebrate by sharing my 60 years of life experience and wisdom. I will show the world what the new 60 looks like. This is not my mother’s 60.

Stay tuned for my “mid-century modern” observations. Look out 60 - Paula's on her way!