Like so many 80-somethings, my last week included two medical appointments—taking up the better part of two days.  My “wellness visit” was mostly a chat with my primary care physician and some tests that he ordered..

I’ve received my healthcare for more than 50 years from the same organization, but with four different primary care physicians.  My current M.D. has so many patients that my time with him is precious, but I have his full attention when we meet.

I remember physician number two telling me, “You’re healthy as a horse”.  I don’t hear that anymore, but we did make another appointment for a year for now. 

Pretty optimistic.  I hope he’s right.

As a classical music lover, I’ve been to Boston’s Symphony Hall countless times.  But I had never heard a huge chorus of children singing on stage there until last week.

The Boston Children’s Chorus was founded in 2003, and they have performed here and even abroad since then.  Their program reflected Martin Luther King’s legacy, and the audience loved it.  The children knew the music by heart.  They were accompanied by a small orchestra of dedicated musicians. 

The singers, between ages seven and eighteen sang their hearts out.  The audience roared their approval.

At my regular CLL (Chronic Lymphocytic Leukemia) checkup at the Dana-Farber Cancer Institute, I had a good report, always a relief. 

My regular appointments there begin at the lab where they take blood samples.  As usual, there were dozens of people waiting.  When your turn comes, they call you by first name, last initial.  Imagine my surprise when a friend of 45 years walked right by me, a cancer from decades ago having re-appeared. 

Even more amazing, 30 minutes later, and five floors higher, we were waiting for our physicians in examining rooms right across the hall from one another…

Strange things can happen…

At age almost 88, one can’t help but think about how to be remembered.  What difference did I make in the world?  (Not much.)  In my family? (I hope I get some of the credit for the accomplishments and contributions of my children.) One thing is for sure. I get credit for my lasagna recipe. 

Seth lives 4,801 miles away, but that recipe travels well.

And I find comfort in knowing that he and those who share it are grateful to his mother.

When I was little, I wrote thank you notes to all my relatives for their annual $5.00 birthday checks.  The notes were always three sentences long as follows:

“Dear Aunt So and So and Uncle So and So,

Thank you very much for the birthday check. 

I plan to spend it on something wonderful. 

Thanks again. 

Love, Judy”

Now my 3” x 4” cards with my name engraved across the top sit in a box, untouched.  Of course, I don’t have any aunts and uncles now, but with rare exceptions, I express any thanks via email.

Doesn’t everybody?  And isn’t that a bit sad?

P.S. if you subscribe to 80-something via email, you may have missed the last few entries because of technical problems. See them at 80-something.com

I have always loved movies.  If I remember correctly, the Saturday matinees of my pre-teen years cost 15 cents.  Often there were double features.  Now that sounds like ancient history.

But I did see “Hamnet” in a movie theater a few evenings ago.  It cost $16.  The theater was in a shopping center, rather than walking distance from my home.

My seat reclined, the sound was stereophonic, and the theater was full.

How times have changed!

Back in the day, we had two toasters, one for Peter and one kept gluten-free for me.  I recycled  his and use my toaster oven if I have visiting toast-eaters.

But toasters do die, and the other day, mine gave up with a good-by shower of sparks.

And why is this interesting?  Because Amazon promised a new one by the end of the day.

And kept that promise!

Decades ago, I chose to go away to college.  Most of my high school classmates stayed in state, either attending the University of Pittsburgh (where I lived) or Penn State.  But I chose to go away, and it was the right decision for me.

At college, I never ever feared for my life. My biggest worry was whether or not I would be caught coming back to my dorm after curfew.  (I wasn’t.)

Never would it occur to me to fear my life because of a random gunshot.

How do we stop this?

Since once again, I have not achieved perfection in 2025, I will continue my quest in ‘26. It’s never too late to improve, and although I’ve been at it for a very long time, I keep hope alive.

I’m not sorry to bid farewell to 2025.  It was a disruptive year for me—moving twice (not by choice) and the second move, a huge change in lifestyle, from totally independent living in the bustle of Cambridge’s Harvard Square to not-so-totally independent living, five miles away surrounded by woods. 

On the other hand, Seth’s wedding in Brazil was a complete joy, one long-awaited.  And his brother’s family continue to make me proud as can be. All good.

Here’s hoping for a peaceful and prosperous 2026.

And thanks for reading 80-something!

Who knows where the Xmas phone calls will come from?  I expected calls from my children and grandchildren who were with me at Thanksgiving, but spend Xmas with the in-laws. And, of course, I wasn’t surprised to hear from close friends.

The surprise calls came from former residents of our doomed apartment building, a little over a year since our forced departure.  Some are happier than others about where they have landed, but all of us miss our regular encounters in the lobby or the garden. Perhaps most missed of all, our picture-perfect view of the sunrise rowers on the Charles River.

I am ever-so-grateful for my time there and the lasting friendships that made that life so special.

I am ever-so-resentful of the people who used inferior materials 80 years ago to construct the home I badly miss.