Iris Ruth Pastor's Blog, page 17

Something A Little Bit Different This Week

Years ago, I used to have a sidekick to my weekly “Incidentally, Iris” column called “Incidentals from Iris” – tidbits of information gleaned from a variety of sources. 
 
I’ve never quite broken the habit of looking for the odd, the distinctive, the tantalizing and the interesting bits of news. 
 
Here’s a few entries that have recently grabbed my attention: 
 
Lots of buzz around Ken Burns’ newest documentary, “The U.S. and the Holocaust,” which aired this week. The three-part series, which took years to make, focuses on the sticky question of immigration and Americans’ response to the plight of the Jews of Europe. While drinking my morning coffee and glancing through The New York Times obituary section in early September, an obit’s headline caught my eye: Amy Stehler: 67, Who Made Acclaimed Documentaries. 
 
She was married to Ken Burns from 1982-1993. She played a pivotal part in Florentine Films, the company behind Burns’ series “The Civil War.” In the last paragraph of the long obit, Ken Burns said the following: “I don’t think you’d have ever heard of me had she not been there.”
 
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Here’s another incidental also gleaned from The New York Times obit section. Remember Tony Sirico, who played Paulie Walnuts on “The Sopranos”? He died in July, 2022 at age 79. He was the eccentric gangster who didn’t allow anyone on the set to touch his two silver wings of hair, which he blow dried and sprayed himself. 
 
The interesting tidbit? In his youth, he started running with a bad crowd and ended up in Sing-Sing Prison, a maximum security facility in Ossinning, New York. While there, he saw a troupe of ex-convicts perform for the inmates. His reaction? “I can do that.”
 
He started as an extra in “The Godfather Part II.” And the rest is history. 
 
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These are hard times and many of us are exhausted, burned- out, and in need of re-charging. An article by Elizabeth Bernstein in The Wall Street Journal, on August 24, 2022, notes that neuroscientists are finding that water can help. Spending  time near oceans, lakes, and rivers can provide a range of benefits including reducing anxiety, easing mental fatigue and rejuvenation. Just being near water gives our brain a break from intense, focused attention that much of daily life requires and that is cognitively depleting. This is great news for those of us – myself included – who abhor water aerobics classes and swimming in general.  
Speaking of water, while in Mystic, CT recently, I was treated to a grand tour of the Mystic Seaport Museum, the nation’s leading maritime museum. Comprising 19 acres, the museum includes a recreated New England coastal village, a working shipyard, and is a repository for more than 500 historic watercrafts. 
 
A tour of one of the whaling ships made me realize how primitive and cramped the shipmates’ quarters were. But in spite of the claustrophobic conditions, works of art emerged. This is a picture of a keepsake made by one of the crew for his sweetheart back home. (IGNORE the baseball in the lower right-hand portion of the picture – no idea where that came from!) 
 
This item, painstakingly made from tiny bits of shells and rocks and what looks like beads, caught and held my attention – once again reinforcing man’s continual, primal need for love,  devotion and connection. 
 

 
I couldn’t resist buying a book to help me remember this awesome museum. I chose Mayflower, by Nathaniel Philbrick, an exhaustive volume documenting the truth and tribulations behind the voyage of the Mayflower and the settlement of Plymouth Colony in Massachusetts. (Tee hee. It will take me all winter to read – over 350 pages plus Notes.) 
 
Incidentally, Mystic, CT has the best lobster rolls ever – not cheap, but utterly delicious.
 
Until next week, Keep Preserving Your Bloom.
 
Iris Ruth Pastor

Not What I Expected

It was not what I expected.  It was surprising, gratifying and sobering. It was a reunion of sorts – my high school graduating classmates of ’65 celebrating turning 75 years of age. OUCH!

The two evening get-togethers were greatly aided by the committee’s foresight in having our name tags not only sport our maiden names along with our married ones, but our high school pictures too. Below is my senior year picture and my husband’s.

The vibe felt different this time than past reunions – less 
one-upmanship – less competitive. 

I didn’t hear chatter of our kids’ “great jobs” and successful lives. I didn’t see classmates whipping out pictures of grandkids, forcing those in close proximity to ooh and ah incessantly. Ditto for luxurious vacation homes and trips to Italy. Were people eyeing how others dressed and who had the latest designer bag? Didn’t appear so to me.  

What did we focus on? 
     Personal reminisces and observations:  
     Remember when your parents caught us….
     I loved coming to your house because….
     My favorite party was….
     Omg I look in the mirror and I see my mom…..
     I’ve turned into my dad…. 
     Curfews, 3.2 beer, make-out parties with Johnny Mathis’ records playing in the background, and crushes 

The guys were more emotional than the ladies. A friend who my husband grew up with put his arm around me, choked up, and thanked me profusely for taking such good care of my husband (his long-time friend).

Lots of hugging too – especially among the guys.

I looked around the room. 
This was My Tribe.
It felt like I was in a room where everyone had my back.
It felt comfortable. 
People picked up, as if it was just yesterday that they had been eating lunch together in our high school’s oversized cafeteria – not decades.

We were a class who lived to dance and loved to dance.
Unlike past reunions, there was no DJ that night. No bogeying to TheMamas and Papas and The Beatles.
The reunion committee had decided people would rather catch-up than dance
And many weren’t in good enough shape physically to twist and turn and shimmy. 

The only true shock I emanated from a conversation with a high school acquaintance who I considered both intimidating and a “Brainiac”. So taken by her remembrance of a presentation I did in American History, I actually recorded her memory to send to my adult kids to show I wasn’t just a superficial teen-age girl – shallow and silly!! 

Here is a condensed version of what she said: I am a clinical psychologist who has given 100’s of IQ tests and know what academic and intellectual ability is. Iris is charming and flirtatious, but what many people didn’t know about her is that she is also incredibly smart, articulate and well organized. I have never forgotten the speech she gave on packing the Supreme Court. It was the clearest speech I’ve ever heard anyone in our high school give and very interesting… 

It was a sobering thought to realize that our next high school reunion – no matter when it will be – will have more of us listed in The Memory Book and less of us present at the reunion. 

That’s what made the two evenings so poignant and so meaningful. As one classmate said, “It was just good to see so many continually smiling faces.”  

The Class of ‘65 
Woodward High School
Cincinnati, Ohio 

Oh, the memories that bind us to each other. 
Oh, the shared experiences that made us who we are. 

As my husband and I walked to our rental car under a canopy of trees just beginning their fall transformation, I had but one thought: We are a lucky, lucky bunch.

And we know it. 

Keep Preserving Your Bloom,

Iris Ruth Pastor 

PS: What’s your high school reunion experience?

Some ABC’s of Being 75

Some ABC’s of Being 75

A:
Adult kids starting to parent ME

B. 
BUYING LESS, savoring more

C:
Chair lift I put in for my elderly parents is now being used, not damned for its unsightliness 

Compulsively cleaning closets – deciding what I will leave to whom

Contemplating – just contemplating – getting a PYB tattoo and a purple streak in my hair

D:
Driving – merging is beginning to scare me and the lanes seem to be getting narrower

Doctor’s visits – increasing in frequency and intensity, asking more questions and listening more intently    

E.
Ears – Hearing aids!

Exercise –Walking 10,000 steps each day doable. Jumping rope without wearing Depends? Not an option anymore 

Eyes – ditched the contact lenses after 60 years. Back to glasses.

F.
Fashion: Boho chick still rules my attire, though a smidgeon of Coastal Grandma inching in – https://www.countryliving.com/home-de...

G.
Grandkids – getting taller than me 

H.
Health – paying more attention 

Hair – thankful I still have a bunch of it on my head. Wish it would stop growing on my chin

I.
I Phone notes – compensating for short-term memory loss 

I Phone camera – Ditto. Snapping picture of row and floor in a parking garage – saving me HOURS of searching for my car

J.
Journaling – still don’t have the patience

K.
Kanopy  – check this out – super cool – thank you Gloria! https://www.kanopy.com/en/

L.
Lists – realizing I will NEVER complete my to-do list and that’s okay

M.
Musings – beginning to think more about my legacy 

N.
New York Times Wordle is getting easier and easier

O.
Online courses – loving my collage courses – started with a kid’s level class first! Nothing like paint pouring and cutting and pasting. It’s kindergarten for baby boomers!

P.
Playing games on my computer – hooked on www.realmahjongg.com

R.
Rear camera – my car’s favorite feature, as mobility in my neck decreases

S.
Sirius radio – allows me to still shimmer and shake in my seat to the Mamas and Papas crooning Dedicated to the One I Love https://youtu.be/4M7gKZqgHn4
on the oldies channel

Scale – whether digital or old school, realizing MOST OF THE TIME that the number on ANY scale is no reflection of my self-worth.

T.
Time – savoring it, not squandering it, on self-destructive thoughts and reflections.

W.
Wardrobe – unfortunately, like my girth, still expanding – I keep my stuff ‘cause I love my stuff and can’t seem to resist buying “just a little bit more.”

What has changed now that I’m 75?
Realizing it’s okay to publish a column without using every letter in the alphabet.

What am I thankful for now that I’m 75?
Waking up in the morning knowing there is no clocking-in on the job anymore
Waking up in the morning knowing – for the most part – I can chart my own course and move at my own pace and do what I want to do.

And, most of all, what I am thankul for now that I’m 75? 
JUST WAKING UP EVERY MORNING 


Keep Preserving Your Bloom and tell me how it feels to be 75,

Iris Ruth Pastor

Looking out the kitchen window

September can be such a joyous month and, at the same time, such a cruel month. In nature, it marks the end of summer’s lushness and the beginning of fall’s crispness. 

For me personally, it’s usually been a time of loss – so many family members I cherished and loved passed away in September. 

September – for those of us who have kids – has always been a month of transition from the lazier days of summer to the hectic demands of yet another academic year. 

September is a vivid reminder of the relentless pace of change:

Silently cringing inside as we put our five year-old on the school bus for the very first time 

Calming a nervous fifth grader making a transition to a new school 

Trying to read a moody teenager’s needs as he or she enters high school 

And, then, the goodbye: sending our youngest child off to college – the exhilaration and sadness of the empty nest. 

That’s September. 

Below is a column I wrote years ago that speaks of the experience.

I rinse peanut butter off the knife and put it in the dishwasher

I scrub dried mozzarella cheese from a plate and put it in the dishwasher too

I scrape carrot after carrot and painstakingly cut them into thin strips

I slice bagels for sandwiches, snacks, mini-pizzas and quick pick-me-ups

And all the time

I look out the kitchen window.

I see my children playing wiffle ball in the summer, their brows dripping with sweat

I see my children tossing a football in the fall, their feet slipping on the golden leaves

I see my children building snowmen in the winter, impatiently discarding scarves and hats as their cheeks get redder and their bodies warmer

I see my children pounding tennis balls against the garage wall in the spring, using muscles that have lain dormant over the winter

Sometimes it’s painful to look out the kitchen window.

I fry dozens of hamburgers and fill dozens of ceramic pitchers full of fresh lemonade for Max’s first party with girls.

I pop kernels and kernels and kernels of popcorn for after school snacks and Sunday football game gatherings for Louie and Frank.

I bake birthday cupcakes for Harry, painstakingly decorating each one with his name.

I melt bags of colored chocolate to mold into Valentine hearts for Sam and his gang of gangly guys. 

And all the time – 

I look out my kitchen window.

I see Harry teaching Frank how to properly load books, computer, and clothes into the car he’ll drive up to college.

I see Frank teaching Max how to back the car out of the garage 

without hitting the tree (and his other brothers).

I see Max teaching Sam how to start the lawn mower after the motor is flooded.

I see Sam teaching Lou how to rake, bag and dump –

the leaves in fall and the grass clippings in summer.

Sometimes it’s painful to look out the kitchen window 

and realize that one day

there will be no more lunches to pack,

carrots to scrape, kernels to pop, hamburgers to fry,

and children to watch.

Keep Preserving Your Bloom,

Iris Ruth Pastor

PS: How do YOU cope with the empty nest?

Looking out the window

September can be such a joyous month and, at the same time, such a cruel month. In nature, it marks the end of summer’s lushness and the beginning of fall’s crispness. 

For me personally, it’s usually been a time of loss – so many family members I cherished and loved passed away in September. 

September – for those of us who have kids – has always been a month of transition from the lazier days of summer to the hectic demands of yet another academic year. 

September is a vivid reminder of the relentless pace of change. 

Silently cringing inside as we put our five year-old on the school bus for the very first time 

Calming a nervous fifth grader making a transition to a new school 

Trying to read a moody teenager’s needs as he or she enters high school 

And, then, the good-bye:sending our youngest child off to college – the exhilaration and sadness of the empty nest. 

That’s September. 

Below is a column I wrote years ago that speaks of the experience.

I rinse peanut butter off the knife and put it in the dishwasher.

I scrub dried mozzarella cheese from a plate and put it in the dishwasher too

I scrape carrot after carrot and painstakingly cut them into thin strips

I slice bagels for sandwiches, snacks, mini-pizzas and quick pick-me-ups

And all the time

I look out the kitchen window.

I see my children playing wiffle ball in the summer, their brows dripping with sweat

I see my children tossing a football in the fall, their feet slipping on the golden leaves

I see my children building snowmen in the winter, impatiently discarding scarves and hats as their cheeks get redder and their bodies warmer

I see my children pounding tennis balls against the garage wall in the spring, using muscles that have lain dormant over the winter

Sometimes it’s painful to look out the kitchen window.

I fry dozens of hamburgers and fill dozens of ceramic pitchers full of fresh lemonade for Max’s first party with girls.

I pop kernels and kernels and kernels of popcorn for after school snacks and Sunday football game gatherings for Louie and Frank.

I bake birthday cupcakes for Harry, painstakingly decorating each one with his name.

I melt bags of colored chocolate to mold into Valentine hearts for Sam and his gang of gangly guys. 

And all the time – 

I look out my kitchen window.

I see Harry teaching Frank how to properly load books, computer, and clothes into the car he’ll drive up to college.

I see Frank teaching Max how to back the car out of the garage 

without hitting the tree (and his other brothers).

I see Max teaching Sam how to start the lawn mower after the motor is flooded.

I see Sam teaching Lou how to rake, bag and dump –

the leaves in fall and the grass clippings in summer.

Sometimes it’s painful to look out the kitchen window 

and realize that one day

there will be no more lunches to pack,

carrots to scrape, kernels to pop, hamburgers to fry,

and children to watch.

Keep Preserving Your Bloom,

Iris Ruth Pastor

PS: How did you cope with the empty nest?

Where Have All The Children Gone?

Where have all the children gone?

Think of the song by Peter, Paul and Mary: Where Have All The Flowers Gone?

The flowers went to graveyards. The children – our children and grandchildren – thank goodness – have not, but they are nowhere to be seen.

I walk my neighborhood and see lots of garages filled with soccer balls and bicycles, but no one kicking the balls or riding the bikes. 

I spot driveways with professionally installed basketball hoops, but no one practicing free throws. 

And the sidewalks?
They are devoid of activity except for plugged-in adult power walkers immersed in what their particular ear pods are blasting into their ears.

And the merry-go-rounds and teeter totters of days past? 
Replaced by carefully constructed, low-to-the-ground, low-risk playground equipment too easily mastered.

Where are the kids? 
I don’t see them playing in their generously proportioned back yards – chasing each other around, rolling in the dirt, spinning dizzily around before falling in the grass.

It’s like that in Newport News, Virginia, where I visit my sister and brother-in-law at in my hometown of Cincinnati.
It’s like that in the suburbs of New York City, where my adult kids reside with my grandchildren. And it’s like that in Tampa, Florida, where I call home.

Where have all the children gone? 

The children – our children and grandchildren – are encamped inside, playing video games, staring at screens, surfing the web, texting, e mailing, watching you tube. For about nine hours each day, research shows. 

Oh – and one more thing they are doing? Falling out of chairs when in the classroom due to lack of balance.

What IS going on?
Overscheduled kids
Autism on the rise
Waves of attention deficit kids unable to sustain their concentration.
Sensory and emotional disorders increasing alarmingly. 

I can tell you what is NOT going on: 
Active and Unrestricted Play
     Jumping rope
     Spinning dizzily
     Swinging high on a swing
     Having the opportunity to play away from the adult world.

If you are relating to this post, you may want to listen to the podcast nonfiction4life with host Janet Perry, Episode #104: “Balanced and Barefoot” featuring pediatric occupational therapist Angela J. Hanscom

Here are two key points taken directly from the show notes:
In nature, children learn to take risks, overcome fears, make new friends, regulate emotions and create imaginary worlds. These experiences create healthy bodies, creative minds, academic success, emotional stability and strong social skills. 

Outdoor play naturally motivates kids to move, strengthening their muscles and engaging all their senses. 

If you are a parent or grandparent and concerned your kiddos are getting way too much screen time and not enough of the benefits of “playing outside” time, this blog may be of great interest to you.  Angela J. Hanscom clues us in on not only the benefits of play, but how to get the kids to do it. And love it.

And here is the link: https://www.google.com/search?client=safari&rls=en&sxsrf=ALiCzsYD3bNdNhvlOd18lZKLPGWlFarqNg:1661212008510&q=nonfiction+for+life+episode+104&spell=1&sa=X&ved=2ahUKEwidsKf90Nv5AhW4VTABHRQMBHsQBSgAegQIARA1&biw=1366&bih=448&dpr=1


Keep Preserving Your Bloom,

Iris Ruth Pastor

If you have a novel activity you do with your kids and/or grandkids that involves active outdoor play, give a holler: irisruthpastor@gmail.com

46 Tidbits of Wisdom for Each Year I’ve Been Married

46 Tidbits of Wisdom for Each Year I’ve Been Married

My husband and I had a fairy tale beginning. We re-met at our 10th high school reunion over the 4th of July weekend, 47 years ago. The following year, we were wed.

On Monday, August 15, we celebrated 46 years of wedded “bliss.”

Here’s 46 things I’ve learned in those intervening years

Cherish the past magic, especially on days it doesn’t appear to still exist.

 2. Trust that the magic will appear again.

 3. Find comfort in being married to someone who has “your best interests at heart,” even when he tells you things “for your own good” that you would prefer not to hear, much less acknowledge.

4. Don’t short change frivolity for chores. 

5. Be kind.

 6. Say thank you.

7. Humor has been known to dissipate anxiety and keep things in proper perspective. Use it. Better than shrugging your shoulders and walking away when confronted with a moody spouse.

8. Prize the possessions willed to you upon his mother’s demise.

9. Pick your battles – there are worse things than resigning yourself to his messy side of the bathroom, living room and bedroom.

10. Nourish his spirit as much as your own. And nourish your own spirit as much as his own.

11. Sometimes an extra glass of wine is exactly what’s needed.

12. Binge watch at least one series together.

13. Err on the side of generosity of spirit and generosity of time even when it’s an effort.

14. Just because you think something, doesn’t mean you need to express it.

15. Just because you think something, doesn’t mean you need to express it.

(The above is not duplicated by accident.)

16. Slow dance in the family room every once in a while  – remember Johnny Mathis and make-out parties? Don’t lose the art.

17. If practicing gratitude, include one thing each day concerning your partner.

18. Ponder the magical meaning of being loved by living in the moment. As we age, we forget the past and have no guarantee of the future anyway.

19. There are more important things than a neat kitchen, organized drawers and spotlessly clean wastebaskets. 

20. How would you live your last day with your partner if you could plan it? Plan it. 

21. Now, DO IT.

22. It’s okay to vent, yell and cry, but don’t make him your therapist.

23. Every conversation does not need to include a listing of your aches and pains and newest treatment options.

24. Remember what made you fall in love with him.

25. Honor your vows.

26. Write each other a love letter for absolutely no occasion whatsoever and detail the one thing you find most lovable.

27. Set aside time for one conversation a week where you are forbidden to talk about health or family.

28. Cook a meal like company is coming.

29. On each birthday, tell him what you valued and cherished about him in the last year.

30. Don’t ask him if you look fat, if you don’t want to hear the answer.

31. Ditto for the phrase, “You can tell me the truth, I can take it,” unless you are prepared for the answer.

32. Don’t compare yourself or your marriage to others.

33. Facebook shows faces of people, not their lives – don’t be fooled into thinking you are the only one who goes through  miserable times.

34. Ditto for Instagram.

35. Buy a locket and put his picture in it – or put a picture of him on your screen saver.

36. He sent you a card that warmed your heart. Keep it in plain sight.

37. On days when the parts are jangling harshly, remember the Gestalt Theory – the whole is greater than the sum of its parts. So concentrate on the whole.

38. It’s always later than you think. Keep that in mind.

39. You don’t have to agree on everything. That includes politics, religion and your brother-in-law. 

40. If you long for your husband to reduce his girth, hide the chips.

41. When your husband walks in the door, notice his body language, as much as listening to his words.

42. Make it easy for him to exercise more and visit the gym regularly – place his gym bag in clear view of the door to the garage. 

43. Always praise the progress.

44. Always have his back.

45. Follow Billy Crystal, who said, “I’d like to think there is a heaven and it starts from the happiest day in your life. I’ll be 18 and Janice Goldfinger (his wife of many years) will walk by me in a bikini and I will follow her and it will start all over again. I’d really like to think that.”

46. Repeat all of the above.

And Keep Preserving Your Bloom,

Iris Ruth Pastor

PS: Just thought of one more! Train your husband not to expect a coherent answer to a substantive question when you are hungry.

The Height of Chutzpah 

I recently threw myself a 75th birthday party. 
 
It took a little chutzpah – I’ll admit – but I quickly got over my misgivings at how giving myself a party appeared so self-absorbed and self-serving. And I had a great time planning it too: Venue. Table decorations. Menu. Party favors. Guest list.
 
I started with neighborhood kids I had played with. I added cronies from elementary School, high School and adulthood. Each invitation included a written request to each of my guests to come up with one word that describes me and why they picked that word.
 
So, at my birthday party, it was kinda like being at my own funeral – tee hee – because I got to hear everyone say good and wonderful things about me – even though most were highly exaggerated. And, of course, I didn’t have to show up grotesquely made-up, confined to a coffin. I was carefully coiffed, greeting each guest effusively and then leaning forward eagerly absorbing every morsel of praise they heaped upon me.
 
It was glorious!
 
However, my husband’s remarks went in another direction entirely. Here goes: 
Iris is the mirror image of the energizer bunny – talented with many diverse interests and always fully engaged in all aspects of life.
However, I don’t want to give you the impression that she is perfect. She is often illogical and misses the obvious. And there is no person, living or dead, who has ever aggravated me more.
 
Here are a few examples:
When we first married, we lived in a second floor apartment with Harry and Frank, who were then 4 and 2 years old. When we were moving into our first house, I was saying goodbye to our first-floor neighbor who was a resident OB_GYN always short on sleep.  I apologized to him for all the noise he and his wife probably had been hearing from our toddlers running up and down the halls.
 
“Actually,” he said. “That wasn’t an issue. It wasn’t the noise of the kids that was disturbing, but the constant fighting of you and Iris that was so disconcerting.”
 
And he didn’t crack a smile when he said it. It was concrete proof of my wife’s ability to drive me nuts.
 
Steven continued:
There is a paper on your table labeled do not turn over. Please turn it over now and pass around the table. Before you take a closer look at it, let me explain the history behind it. 
 
Our son’s Frank’s’ bedroom, when he was about three, was decorated entirely in blues and greens and Iris was intent on finding a print with those same colors to hang above his bed. She found one, had it framed and asked me to pick it up. 
 
When I went to the frame shop to get it, the owner unwrapped it to show me the finished product. I looked at it and said to him, “There must be a terrible mistake, Iris would have never picked this out for our young son, even though the colors are correct and it LOOKS childish.
 
Here is the picture:

 
As you will note, there is Noah and his wife in the ark and the cute little animals walking up, around and into the ark two by two. But they are not just walking, they are also FORNICATING!
 
I called Iris and asked her if she had looked closely at the print.
 
“Yes,” she insisted.  “I know what I picked – it’s got animals and it’s got all the right colors to match Frank’s room.”
 
Without hesitation, I turned to the owner and said, “Wrap it up!”
 
That picture hung, not in Frank’s bedroom, but in every master bath in every home we lived in as a constant reminder of my wife’s endearing  cluelessness. And it will be willed to Frank upon our passing.
 
These days the nest is empty, but the squabbling continues. Mostly age- related issues:
     You are mumbling. Speak louder. 
     Where’d you put the damn remote? 
     I can’t believe you didn’t write it down!
 
Iris and I soldier on in spite of age-related aches, pains and decrements, savoring our children, our grandchildren and each other.
 
The party was a great success in a way I hadn’t anticipated. Comments following the party centered on how wonderful it was to get together with people from our past – with people we played with, squabbled with, trusted and adored. 
 
I highly recommend giving yourself that experience too.
 
Keep Preserving Your Bloom,
 
Iris Ruth Pastor
 
PS: How are you celebrating your milestone events these days?

A mere ten seconds hurdles me back to 1964

My friend Faye and I have been friends since first grade – we shared scraped knees, chicken pox, pimples and boyfriend woes. And then for many years we lost touch.

We reconnected recently and I invited her to go with me to see the Cincinnati Reds play the Miami Marlins while I was visiting my hometown.

Munching on peanuts and diet cokes, I pointed out that I had never run into one person from grade school while at a Reds game.

The game ends. We walk briskly to my car and I carefully back out – warily watching for clueless fans who meander around the parking garage without looking. As I accelerate forward, I spot two men to my right, instantly recognizing one of them.

“Omg! It’s Tommy!” I exclaim to Faye.

I jam on the brake, frantically searching for the power window release to roll down the window. I yell out – like a mad woman – “Tommy! Tommy! Tommy!”

Tommy turns quickly, instantly recognizes my friend and I and yells, “Pull over – pull over!”

And I do.

The conversation and intense hugging that follows among us is pretty predictable for grade school buddies who haven’t seen each other in years. But that isn’t what struck me so powerfully.

What did strike me so forcefully? Driving in a car
A good buddy beside me
Spotting a friend
Waving frantically to get his attention

It was one of the most powerful Deja Vu experiences I have had in years.

In those short seconds of initial connection with Tommy, I recalled vividly:
The joy of being sixteen years old
The freedom my driver’s license brought me
The happiness of having a friend beside me
And the sheer pleasure of running unexpectedly into another

I needed to be reminded of the pure joy being alive at age 16 could bring.

And I need to bring that sense of wonder and excitement forward as I turn 75 today.

Keep Preserving Your Bloom,

Iris Ruth Pastor

PS: What throwback moment hurdled you back to your coming-of-age years?

What Turning 75 Looks Like

Maria Shriver writes in her Sunday Paper column about what Kara Lawson, Duke University women’s basketball head coach, said recently: We wait for stuff to get easier. It will never get easier. What happens is you handle hard better.” 

OMG. I love that statement!

Turning 75 is not easy. For me, it’s a difficult milestone, but the alternative is far worse. As they say, better over the hill than under it.

And my life experiences have made “the hard” somewhat easier

So here is what turning 75 years of age looks like from my vantage point:

Miralax with my first glass of water in the morning.

Lining up my very high heeled shoes to cart off to the Salvation Army Thrift Shop. 

Here’s the more practical replacements: 

The contents and titles of my file folders have also gone through some transformation. 

I used to search the world wide web for challenging hiking trails out West and hot yoga classes in my neighborhood and sales for black stiletto shoes with bright red bottoms. 

My recent internet searches reflect the growing number of decades I’ve been around:

Gel packs for arthritic knees

Chair lifts

Creams for saggy, crepey upper arms 

And yet I’m still young at heart on the inside, though my outside reflects more wear and tear.

I still recall my teenage yearnings centering on puppy love and silly crushes. And romantic images still lurk below the surface of my now much more pragmatic, but very forgetful, mind

I realized this last night while watching an episode of The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel. The episode ended with the song Dedicated To The One I Love.https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UnLyypuGG6o

I just wanted to jump up, grab my husband and slow dance around the family room, but he had already gone upstairs to bed …..

Keep Preserving Your Bloom, 

Iris Ruth Pastor