Iris Ruth Pastor's Blog, page 4

Nothing in Moderation – EVER

I never do anything in moderation. What is the fun of that????

Monday, April 22, 2025 
6:20 pm 
I start my “little” clean-up project while watching national news. It entails removing the two towering piles of newspapers from under the rattan table, plopping them on the floor in front of the big TV in my family room in order to go through each edition looking for interesting articles to read and save.

6:55pm
I pause to gobble down dinner – a hefty bowl of my own making:
           Crumbled Feta Cheese
           Toasted walnuts
           Cut-up beets
           Drizzled Blush Wine Vinaigrette 
           Cut-up Medjool Dates
           Salt to taste
It is delicious.

7:02pm
I switch channels and start watching the Cincinnati Reds get trampled by the Maimi Marlins.
I reach for the first batch of newspapers – comprised mainly of Wall Street Journals and New York Times newspapers dating as far back as July 7, 2023 – papers I had saved with the purpose of ferreting out engaging articles. Week after week, the pile kept growing…..
It was time for action.

I eliminate all the sections which have little appeal to me:
           Business
           Sports 
           Tech Talk
           Outdated local news sections 
I haphazardly stuff those sections into bags for next day drop-off at my favorite thrift store – always in need of newsprint to wrap fragile items.

8:31 pm
A pre-recording of CBS Sunday Morning is my choice of background entertainment as I begin tackling the massive amount of newspapers still remaining untouched – specifically:
WSJ Off Duty section, the Mansion section, Review and Exchange
NYT Sunday Style section, Art and Leisure, Travel and Book Review

 I gleefully realize I have at least 30 “Modern Love” columns I have never read. I am in heaven just thinking about all the romantic twists and turns in store for me.

10:24pm
I lift my stiff body up from the floor, wash off the black patches of newsprint covering my fingertips and begin moving all the stories and articles I deem worth saving into my favorite basket.

10:48pm
I’m fading, but there is still more to do.

Keurig time: I opt for a strong cup of java, coupled with a wallop of  whipped cream and a generous portion of Kahlua.

I realize I have not followed any advice from the plethora of de-cluttering experts out there who have all advised to: start small and keep at it for less than 15 minutes at a time.

I begin flipping through my pile of pulled pieces.
           My single son Sam will be “so happy” to know i have found an article that I will soon be sharing with him – entitled ”Don’t Touch, Don’t go Dutch and Other Tips for Dating Success.”
           My son Lou will be “so happy” because I discovered the secret of a great guest room and am ready to compete with the other set of grandparents for his family’s travel preference being with us! It’s entitled “Make Sure the Kids Choose Your Guest Room to Visit.”
           My son Harry will be “so happy” to know that the city he served as a city councilman is being touted as “the new Miami.” (It may be old news to him, as it did appear in July, 2023 – Oh well)
           My sons Frank and Max will be “so happy” to know that the next time I see them, I won’t be reticent in detailing all the directives I want in my living will. I bet they can’t wait for that conversation. I learned it all from “A Living Will Covers Your Most Important Asset: You.”

I never knew de-cluttering could be so enlightening. And elucidating. 

12 midnight
Every article I deem worth saving has been filed away. 
I slide the empty basket back under the rattan table and rise slowly from the floor. 

A great feeling of accomplishment rolls over me – at the same time that I hear the Amazon truck stopping at my driveway.

Keep Preserving Your Bloom,

Clutter is King

My husband hates dirt and I hate clutter so we usually function pretty efficiently in the housekeeping arena.

But I have noticed that the longer we live in our house, the more I am accumulating and the less I am giving away. Thus, I am producing the clutter I abhor.

I am not alone.

In a recent Wall Street Journal article, I read that 71% of Americans in a recent Storable survey said they re-purchase items they already own because clutter keeps them from finding the original.

Guilty.

We own seven hammers, eight pairs of manicure scissors and five measuring tapes.

Apparently we Americans are fully vested in an environment where: 
        Plenty of cheap stuff is readily available 
        It is easier than ever to buy things online from the comfort of our homes and have them delivered within 24 hours to our doorsteps

        And one of the 58,000 storage facilities located across our country is within convenient driving distance to most of our homes  

The problem is that accumulating stuff can take a steep toll on our mental health, especially for those of us who don’t have basements or accessible crawl spaces.

Over the last year or so I have purchased a six-step ladder,and two three-step ladders to store in my closets in order to reach the highest shelves. My intentions are good, but honestly, half the time it’s just not worth setting up the ladder and climbing up its steps to get down my black sweater with the comfy cowl neck. Why? Not because I don’t love its soft warmth on cool days but because it’s at the top of the pile in my twelve foot high master bedroom closet. Many seasons have passed since I’ve worn it.

My stuff is beginning to own ME.
I am buying things just to manage my things.

I am irrationally attached to things I rarely ever use – like non- prescription sunglasses, four inch black patent leather stilettos, keychains from short, non-memorable trips to  Birmingham, Alabama and Shreveport, Louisiana. and three University of Florida t-shirts from the 1960’s.

Here is what I have found in my own life:
         Clutter causes me to feel overwhelmed and anxious.
        Clutter causes me to have a harder time concentrating.
        Clutter induces in me a sense of chaos even when things are generally running smoothly in my life.
        And clutter reminds me of all the unfinished tasks in my life.

I didn’t fully realize this until I spotted this arrangement of tulips in my son and daughter’s-in-law home recently.

The starkness struck me – the beauty of the simple arrangement surrounded by nothing else made me realize how jumbled my home was. And how soothing and relaxing an uncomplicated scene can be.

I resolve to do better.
        I am going to start small – one drawer or shelf per day.
        I am going to work in short bursts – 15 to 30 minutes at most.
        I am going to research storage solutions and put in place those that make the most sense.
        I am going to get rid of something old if I buy something new.
        I’m going to take pictures of my beautiful, newly clutter-free spaces and keep them handy. 

Think this topic lacks timeliness? Tune into Apple TV+ series ‘Your Friends & Neighbors’ where Jon Hamm plays a hedge fund manager who loses his job. To continue to support his affluent way of life, he begins robbing the mega-mansions of his neighbors – stealing their liquor, pocketbooks and jewelry. And it all goes unnoticed due to the wild excess of their possessions.

As Hamm so exquisitely sums up: there is “this bizarre fascination with more (and) how ‘more’ has become the watchword instead of ‘enough.’”

Keep Preserving Your Bloom,

For those of you who celebrate Easter:
        May your bonnets be stunning
        May your decorated eggs outstandingly creative and easily found 
        And your Sunday filled with love, laughter and the joy of togetherness

Happy Easter 

The “Gift” That Keeps on Giving

On April 14, 1975, I made a fateful decision.

I decided to forego telling my very, very, very best friend that I was having a boob lift as an outpatient the very next day. Why? Because she had quite a yappy mouth. My boobs, after two pregnancis and a decade of wearing strechy, non-supportive bras, looked more like my grandmother’s than a woman of 28 years old. Tired of the premature sagging, I really didn’t want that broadcast to our wide group of friends.

Had I confided in her, I knew she would have insisited on accompanying me. Instead, I faked a stomach flu and asked my husband to drive me instead. She went bowling with our weekly Tuesday league and I went into surgery. Ironically, I survived the surgery – she didn’t survive the day.

And for all the days following – all the many days since we lost Andrea – I often ask myself if she would still be alive today if I had only asked her to go with me….

Dear Andrea,

On April 15, 2025 it will be fifty years since I’ve seen you. 

No one knows exactly what happened. Was your radio too loud? Were your reflexes too slow? It was obvious from the TV news coverage which showed your smashed-up car that you never had much of a chance against the onrushing train when you crossed the railroad tracks.

You were a young wife. And you were a young mother. And you had your whole life ahead of you. Or so we thought.

Fifty years…your husband remarried, divorced, remarried and now has passed away – lying beside you in the cemetery. Your babies are grown…one is an attorney and one in health care services. And they now have spouses and children of their own. 

You would have been such a delightful grandma. 

Time has dimmed your memory and eased the pain, but I never sail nonchalantly over railroad crossings nor hear your name without a surge of longing as I recall your generous heart and your fun-loving spirit and the crazy adventures we had together with our four little boys seat-belted in the big back seat of your car.

Fifty years…I watched your parents dance together in perfect rhythm at your youngest son’s wedding many years after you left us. And, though your brother’s wife told me your mom had Alzheimer’s, I didn’t believe her. When she saw my face after all those years and I mentioned your name, her smile went all the way up to her eyes. 

Time has dimmed your memory and eased the pain, but I never see good friends lunching and laughing without a twinge. And I always think of all the years of living you’ve missed when I mark the date of your accident by buying myself a single, long-stemmed red rose, placing it on my kitchen counter and noting it’s gradual loss of bloom.

And this year, five decades later, I visit your resting place beside your husband and place a stone on your monument.

And although, to me, dear Andrea, you’ll always be twenty-seven –  vivacious, naive and irrepressible – with your big beautiful blue eyes and your unruly head of chestnut colored hair – it may surprise you to know your best friend is now close to 78 – and a little wiser and a tad more subdued.

I’ve learned many things in the years since I’ve lost you, Andrea, but the two things that seem to always hover close are:
         Don’t tangle with trains.
         And best friends are forever.


Keep Preserving Your Bloom,

PS: For those of us who will be celebrating Passover…

May this special time bring you closer together to those you love to both share stories and traditions and create cherished memories around the Seder table.

The Pitfalls of Everything

Pick up a newspaper and you can be assured that it will it be filled with things to be avoided and things to brush-up on so that – G-d forbid – your quality of life will not suffer.

Take the subject or Retirement:

There seems to be a pervasive fear that those of us who take the plunge and step away from work commitments to enjoy leisure will fall into a rabbit hole of decrepitude, depression and desperation. 

I always viewed this time of freeing of obligations and responsibilities as an opportunity to pursue hobbies, spend more time with family and friends, explore new interests, and have more adventures. And yet, many articles I read have an underlying, ominous message: Be prepared or you will descend into a dark abyss. 

Just in case you, too, have some trepidation about retirement, here are a few carefully culled suggestions:     Start early like a couple of years before retirement – to seek out engaging routines and new experiences. 
     Find a purpose. 
     Find a passion.
     Begin connecting socially through avenues like book clubs, Pickleball and Canasta games.
     Volunteer.
     Explore OLLIE (Osher Lifelong Learning Institute) in your community. This institute offers diverse courses in a collaborative setting where participants share their knowledge and experiences. (My good buddy in Ohio has taken classes for years – centering on Shakespeare, gardening and mindfulness.) 

Retirement can be grand with a little foresight.

What’s another fear-inducing situation we face as we advance in years?

Take the subject of DATING: After my divorce in 1975, I was terrified to dip into the dating scene. Maybe that’s why an article in “The Wall Street Journal” titled “How to Avoid Online Romance Scams” caught my eye. 

Here’s what we Know:

People over 60 seem most susceptible to romance scams, particularly if they have gone through a major life change like divorce.

The FBI suggests  going slowly in forming a relationship and asking lots of questions when meeting someone online. Warning signs that signal something may be amiss are: 

haven’t physically met after a few contactsthe person tries to isolate you from your family and friendsthe person rarely pays, seems overly perfect and professes love for you quickly

It’s not all doom and gloom. There are plenty of people who find deep and lasting relationships later in life. Just be cautious.

Me? I found my “true love” by going back to my hometown and attending my high school reunion.

Roots are roots.

Today, with all the amazing search engines and ways to connect, delving into the plethora of people you know from the past may just yield a treasure trove of trusted, reliable and fantastically possible partners. 

Keep Preserving Your Bloom,

Bonding Over Baseball

Traditions are special to me.
Traditions that involve my family are even more special to me.
Not surprisingly, I loosely assume that is the case for most of us.

Traditions are established or customary patterns of practices, customs, values and/or actions passed from generation to generation and usually not written down.

The one I am focused on today took place yesterday in Cincinnati, Ohio.

Cincinnati, Ohio – my hometown – is a baseball town. It has the honor of having the oldest professional baseball team in the United States – going back to 1869 when the team was called the Cincinnati Red Stockings.

The Cincinnati Reds is a team baked into my DNA.

My grandfather was a local florist who in the 1930’s advertised regularly in the printed programs passed out before each game. My father-in-law and my mother went to games as kids, as did both my husband and I.My father bought season tickets immediately behind home plate in 1975 and took his children and grandchildren to as many games as he possibly could. 

Going to Opening Day in Cincinnati is a cherished tradition in my family – providing us with a sense of identity and continuity. We all try to attend each year – in spite of living out of state, work deadlines and children’s sports practices and school commitments.

And every year, some of us make it and some of us don’t. 
Here’s this year’s gang:

The more we mark Opening Day with our continuing presence, our commitment to this yearly trek to Ohio becomes even more cherished and more meaningful. It is a torch my husband and I aspire to pass on to the next generation and beyond. 

And what makes Opening Day special?

The parade in downtown Cincinnati featuring not just the present team, but former players and coaches Live music, vendors hawking their wares, Reds’ t-shirts for sale on every street cornerThe photo ops in front of the iconic bronze sculpture of Pete Rose headfirst slide into a baseThe proud singing of “The Star-Spangled Banner”The Seventh Inning Stretch when the crowd croons “Take Me Out To The Ballgame”And the sheer joy of seeing a full stadium packed with fans 

But most of all, what does Opening Day scream out?  

HOPE
Hope – that against all odds – someday soon – the Cincinnati Reds will resurrect the Big Red Machine and bring home a winner. 

And if they don’t? 
If this year is hotly contested or just mediocre? 
If they lose more than they win? 
Or win a little more than they lose? 
If they are grounded by injuries or if the new manager doesn’t turn it around?
No matter – we will be back again next year to hope for a better result.

And if, by some outlandish streak of luck and expertise, they actually clinch a coveted championship title, what then? 
We will be back next year – ensnared in a circle of hope that they can pull it off again!

Why? Because that’s our tradition.

Traditions ground us, define us, give our world richness. 
May we all be blessed with an over-abundance of traditions. 
And, if we find our life lacking those defining rites of passage, may we “strike out” on our own and make new ones.

Keep Preserving Your Bloom,

PS: Entering into the 9th inning, the Reds maintained their 3-2 lead. In the 9th inning, the Giants scored 4 runs to pull off a 6-4 comeback victory over the Reds.

Wardrobe Woes and Other First World Problems

Her name was Kara and she totally intimidated me.

She was my roommate when I transferred to University of Florida as a broken-hearted sophomore. (That’s a whole other column!) 

She was from Atlanta, an only child, seemingly spoiled rotten. I gauged this assumption based on the frequency and size of the care packages that arrived for her weekly from her mom and by the immensity of her wardrobe.

She agonized over her clothes, her accessories and how she could put her vast amount of accoutrements together. Panic ensued before each vacation break as her parents peppered her with their future plans – centered around whisking her off to a tropical beach, a snowy ski resort or a mineral rich spa.
 
After sleepless nights, much scrutinizing in front of the one full length mirror down the hall in our dorm and the interchanging of endless amounts of her skirts, blouses and short shorts, she succeeded in creating an aesthetically pleasing wardrobe that appeared effortless – though in truth she was being intentional down to every detail.

I was in awe of her ability to do so. Totally exhausted by witnessing the amount of effort it took for her to pull it off, I knew two things: I lacked the energy to do what she did And that there had to be a better way to achieve simplicity and wardrobe functionality and eleganceI lost track of Kara decades ago, but I often wonder if she is still obsessively agonizing over her wardrobe choices and still stopping traffic by pulling off creative, stunning and flattering outfits.

Even though I have managed to achieve a “fairly organized” closet by color and by type of clothing, when it comes to pulling together outfits for travel, I am at a loss. Actually, I am quite crazed. I rapidly descend into a rabbit hole of monumental proportions.
 


I always start off by packing the same jeans, my black oversized sweater and my black high top Converse gym shoes. And then my attention deficit disorder kicks in. I lose focus and patience and I invariably end up both overpacking on things I don’t need and leaving at home essential items that could have enhanced the enjoyment of my trip exponentially. (There’s nothing more aggravating than seeing someone else sporting a stunning orange sundress on your moonlit cruise just like the one you left hanging in your closet.) 
 
Well, dear readers, I have come up with a solution. I had an epiphany following what my good buddy Lynne off-handedly remarked about her favorite piece of travel wear: her jean jacket. “I never travel without my jean jacket. It’s always packed in my carry-on.” 

That’s when I realized the perfect fashion marriage: my collection of upcycled jean jackets paired with a clothing line curated by my new friend Esther. 

Esther is, among many things, a marketing professional who has turned her expertise in the direction of fashion coordination. Her specialty: curating clothes for travel. She believes that “when we travel, we tap into a bolder and brighter version of ourselves – that in these moments we dream bigger and believe we can do more. And we can.”

Who doesn’t want to effortlessly be able to mix and match to get the perfect ensembles for every facet of our trips– whether we are walking the Camino de Santiago, unwinding on sun-kissed shores or just hanging out with good friends and family in places heretofore unknown or highly familiar?

The most reported reason for travel is relaxation and stress relief. Few of us wants to emulate Kara and agonize greatly before a trip?

So here’s Iris’s and Esther’s plan:
On May 18, from 1pm to 3 pm, at my house, Esther and I are hosting an exclusive shop and learn event. The title is:SIMPLIFY YOUR WARDROBE
AMLIFY YOUR ADVENTURETo maximize the experience, we are limiting attendance to the first 20 women to respond. 

What’s in store for you? Refreshments (of course, plus a signature drink of the day)An experiential presentation on wardrobe selection with individual pieces that are as transferable as possible across many different scenarios, coupled with the ability to mix and matchPacking and travel tipsA personalized shopping experienceWhat’s our aim?We want you to get the same striking results as Kara did, without the drama and exhaustion. We want to provide you with an opportunity to update and  fill-in your wardrobes so you will ultimately travel with high quality basics providing a focal point, a striking accessory or two to up the dramatic impact and a few items serving  as supporting cast to our main scheme. After all, it’s all about fashion curation, not accumulation. 
After all, it’s all about comfort blended with style. 

When we learn to arrange our wardrobe pieces with intention, we are not just creating outfits, we are creating opportunities to feel our best every single day while we travel.

If you would like to reserve your spot now, Esther and I welcome you wholeheartedly.
Just e mail me at funkycreations47@gmail.com in order to secure your spot and I’ll then send you my address.
 
And Keep Preserving Your Bloom, 

I Hate Everything

Just like Alexander in the book Alexander and the Terrible, Horrible No Good, Very Bad Day, I am not having a good day. And I hate everything.
 
I hate that this country is so divided.
I hate that anti-Semitism is rising exponentially. 
I hate that all media outlets are biased. 
 
I hate that my printer malfunctions and can only be replaced and recycled, not fixed. 
 


I hate that I have a newly instilled fear of flying after hearing about near misses and mid air collisions. 
 
I hate that there are still hostages, homeless families and hungry people. 
 
I hate that I’m less efficient, more forgetful and more absentminded when participating in my activities of daily living. 
 
I hate that it takes twice as long to get ready to go out to a party to look half as good as I used to look.


 
I hate that there aren’t many parties to go to anymore, anyway.
 
I hate that when I take a walk and, out of 22 people I pass, two actually make eye contact. 
 
I hate that I employ a friend and it ends badly.

I hate that my husband and I Increasingly get into heated tongue lashings with each other over messy kitchen counters. 



I hate passwords and usernames and talking to pre-recorded voices. 
 
I hate watching my friends get old – use walkers – break hips – fail cognitively. 
 
I hate that at times I feel irrelevant to my grandkids. 
I hate that I secretly wish that my sons needed me more for input and advice.  
 
I hate that I miss my parents. 
And the big rambling house I grew up in. 
 
I hate that I miss my high school buddies 
and Friday night slumber parties. 
 
I hate that I miss imagining and planning for what I’ll do and be when I grow up. 
 
I hate that it’s been almost 60 years since I graduated from high school. 
 
I hate that it’s been many decades since I tailgated before a college football game, slept through an 8 AM midcentury history class and ogled the butt of the new waiter serving me dinner at my sorority house.
 
I hate that now lunching with friends entails catching up with who’s sick and who’s sold their house and who’s moved into assisted living. 
 
I hate that on April 15 it will be 50 years since my very best friend was killed in a car crash involving a train.
 
There ARE some things I don’t hate though….
I don’t hate that I still write a weekly column. 
I don’t hate that I still have a bunch of incomplete projects on my to-do list. 
I don’t hate that I still have a to-do list.
 
I don’t hate that I’m financially okay and in pretty good health. 
 
I don’t hate that I have a large functioning family and wonderfully supportive tribes of friends.
 
I don’t hate that I still love my husband passionately.
 
And I don’t hate that I’m still here. 
 
Maybe I don’t really hate everything. 
 
Maybe I just hate that I wasted a precious day 
feeling terrible 
horrible 
no good 
and very bad
when I could have been counting my many blessings 
and coming up with ways to improve the world, not just rally against it. 
 
Keep Preserving Your Bloom, 

Keeping the Family Together In Spite of Distance

My mom and dad kept the family together by hosting weekly dinners at their house on Sunday evenings during the years my husband and I were raising our kids. The menu didn’t vary much – the mainstay was grilled filet mignon steaks. A huge favorite for my kids was the “free samples” they got from my dad as he was grilling. The boys loved the treat and they loved him.

My parents were fortunate that all five of their grandsons lived within five minutes driving time of their house during my kids’ most formative years.

Not only was that NOT viewed as uncommon, it actually was the norm.

Most of us today, however, are not so fortunate. I can count on one hand the number of people I know who have all their adult children and grandkids in one place – NEAR THEM. 

Years ago, it became clear to my husband and I that three out of our five sons would probably spend their adult lives in the New York City area and that two would live near us in Tampa. 

Worried that we would all lose touch, I wracked my brain for a way to keep the bond cohesive without the ties that bind becoming a burden.

I knew better than to try a weekly zoom call – impossible to coordinate. But still, I longed for some simple action that would lend consistency and continuity to our relationship with our five adult sons and one which would solidify the connection among the five of them too.

Epiphany! A weekly group text.

Every Friday, around dinner time, I send a text to my five sons and my husband asking them to tell me something about their past week or upcoming week that would be of interest to the group. And I share something too.

Examples of things shared:
Pictures of a newly renovated master bathroom 
A child’s winning basketball shot 
A trip to Key West

A long-forgotten memory from childhood 
A new puppy

Highlights from a recent business trip to India 
A video of one of my granddaughter’s catching her first fish and screaming, “Daddy, come help me!”

Because we are Jewish, I also wish them a “Shabbat Shalom” (a peaceful Sabbath) and include a beautiful graphic too – graphics I copy and paste from a friend’s weekly Shabbat e mail.  

Here’s a few:

I have to admit that group text has worked pretty well. Most of the time, over the course of 24 hours, we get 100 percent participation.

And the surprising thing is that during the week if something relevant occurs personally or professionally, a random text will pop-up in the group text chain. Current events and sports highlights are popular add-ons.

So, after years of sending out my Friday text to my sons and husband, I decide to start a second Friday text chain to my grandkids – five out of the eight who have their own cell phones.

Same format.
Same frequency.

Three out of the five responded the first week.
I’m hanging in there – ultimately aiming for 100% participation. 

Worthwhile things rarely get integrated into a lifestyle without perseverance and patience.

And I’m open to any suggestions on how to keep in touch with adult kids and grandkids and how to keep them keeping in touch with each other too. 

Let me know – share your strategies – and I’ll keep you updated on my progress too.

Keep Preserving Your Bloom,

The Best Anecdote to Aging

Okay.
I’m 77 years old.
 
I’m finally coming to terms with things I will never be good at:
Accounting
Giving blood
Ballet
 
On the other hand, I’m cultivating and enhancing things I’m already partially skilled at – taking them to a new level. Like having FUN!
 
Yes, I’m taking time for frivolity. 
 
We in Tampa have a Mardi Gras type celebration in the month of January: Gasparilla Day. Gasparilla was the nickname of the legendary pirate, Jose Gaspar. It has been said that Gaspar in the late 18th and 19th Century was a feared pirate, terrorizing the coastal waters of the Gulf of Mexico. Gasparilla Day is celebrated by a massive parade, with a huge population of people donning eye patches, fake swords and ruffled blouses roaming around as pirates. The fact that Gaspar himself may never have existed and the fact that the massive amounts of buried treasure he supposedly left behind may also be a huge urban lagend does nothing to dull the palpable excitement of the day.
 
My husband Steven and I, after living in Tampa for nearly 20 years finally dressed up this year for Gasparilla Day. 
 

 
Why? Because it’s all part of my new philosophy.
 
Every month or so, it seems another health issue pops up:
Sleep apnea
Osteoporosis 
Hearing loss
Memory issues 
Cramping in my lower extremities
Elevated blood pressure
Elevated cholesterol level
A loudly clicking jaw
 
This column isn’t about my physical therapy regimen for osteoporosis, my night appliance to reorient my jaw to eliminate the dangers from sleep apnea nor about my frustration with my hearing aids. This column is about a decision I made that applies to every new health challenge I am and will be facing. 
 
For every additional decrement of aging I am diagnosed with, I am committed to matching it with a new experience – an experience outside my comfort zone. 
 
Because we all know getting out of our silos encourages personal growth, builds self-confidence, helps us learn new skills, broadens our perspectives, fine tunes our resilience and enhances our creativity.
 
So far, here’s just a few of my new adventures:
Treating myself to a tarot card reading
Resurrecting my dormant practice of yoga. 
Upping my traveling: A long overdue, first time visit to Key West with my cousins led me to driving a golf cart for the very first time. 
 

 
Ditching my random scraps of paper that I write my daily “To Do List” on  and replacing the scraps with a spiral binder where I write down everything I need to both do and to remember. 
 

 
Checking out from my local library memoirs of inspiring men and women navigating life’s challenges instead of incessantly ordering novels of escapism from Amazon that I don’ t read.
Embarking on a closet purge to donate things I no longer wear to my favorite thrift store – starting with throwing out my faded, holey old lady underwear. 
Putting a fat purple streak in my hair and henna tattoos on both of my hands. 
And switching to a whole new style of underwear!

 

The nasty decrements of aging may continue to rear its ugly head, but I will courageously meet each one with a new experience. 

Welcome to old age, baby, and…. 

Keep Preserving Your Bloom,

I’m Ashamed of Myself

I’m ashamed of myself.
 
This month my book club elected to read a book on the NYT Best Seller List: James – a reimagining of Adventures of Huckleberry Finn.
 
I ordered it from Amazon and when it arrived – without reading much about it – I casually glanced at the opening pages and was startled to see a very unfamiliar lingo. 
 
I quickly flipped back to see how many pages James contained: three hundred two pages. 
 
I simply could not – in my attention deficit mode of existence  – imagine reading slave dialect for all those pages. 
 
I shut the book – without further exploring the book’s chapters. I called a friend who also belongs to my book club to suggest maybe choosing an alternate book to read for our upcoming meeting. 
 
I was surprised at her reaction. “It’s not cumbersome at all,” she retorted. “And once you immerse yourself into the story you’ll understand why this book got such rave reviews.”
 
And there were certainly rave reviews – readers describing the book in a variety of glowing terms:
a masterpiece, 
provocative, 
majestic, 
funny, 
wise
and brilliant.
 
Later that evening I got a succinct text from one of the other members of our book club: Read it. It’s well worth it.
 
“Maybe,” I thought, “I should give this book another try. So I skipped the first five pages of James written in tiny script, titled “The Notebook of Daniel Decatur Emmett” and somewhat hesitantly started reading Chapter 1.
 
I was simply blown away.
 
Percival Everett, author of James, is an esteemed author of numerous well received books and a distinguished professor of English at the University of Southern California. In James, he tells the story from the enslaved Jim’s point of view – showcasing Jim’s inherent intelligence, wit and compassion – as never before having been presented.
 
Here are some of Jim’s observations – made all the more riveting by his fluid ease with the English language – a talent he wisely keeps to himself and his companions – far from the “massa’s” ears. (master’s)
 
I was sold when I was born and then sold again. My mother’s mother was from someplace on the continent of Africa…I cannot claim to any knowledge of that world or those people…
 
White folks expect us to sound a certain way and it can only help if we don’t disappoint them. The only ones who suffer when they are made to feel inferior is us. 
 
Mumble sometimes so they can have the satisfaction of telling you not to mumble. They enjoy the correction and thinking you’re stupid. Remember, the more they choose to not want to listen, the more we can say to one another around them.
 
Waiting is a big part of a slave’s life, waiting and waiting to wait some more. Waiting for demands. Waiting for food. Waiting for the ends of days. 
 
We started to laugh and then we spotted a white man up the road. There was nothing that irritated white men more than a couple of slaves laughing. I suspected they were afraid we were laughing at them or else they simply hated the idea of us having a good time.
 
 
The ending of James will surprise you. 
 
The continual struggle for equality, however, will not surprise you. Check out the history of Zion Cemetery in Tampa – founded in 1901 to bury members of the Black community. It was erased from maps and an apartment complex and other buildings were built over it after a developer assured officials all of the bodies had been moved. They had not. 
 
I hope you take the time to read James.


Keep Preserving Your Bloom,