Three years ago, I went on an amazing journey in Brazil with my son Seth. We traveled to the State of Mato Grosso’s Pantanal, the world’s largest tropical wetland area and a place to see an amazing array of animals in their national habitat.  The capabara, (also known as Hydrochoerus hydrochaeris) is a very large rodent that is a common sight along the Paraguay River there. Although rat-like, there is something cunning about the families as they scurry along the shore.

All of the above is to explain why I just purchased my first stuff animal (pictured above) in decades.  I’m not sure where I saw it online, but I knew I had to have it.

Now, in my old age, I am in love.

With a stuffed animal! 

Long ago I owned a bright red suit. I loved it, and it was a big hit at work. My boss was the one who called it my tomato soup suit.  What’s weird is that I remember putting the suit away one spring and thinking “What if I don’t live through the summer and I never get to wear this again?”  That was probably thirty-five years ago, and I’m still here (although the suit is long gone).

I do remember a piece of clothing from even longer ago.  I must have been about twelve years old in a photo of me taken in front of the house where I grew up.   The most amazing thing about it is that I was wearing a suit and a grown-up ladies’ hat with a feather.  I’m pretty sure that’s the only hat I ever owned that went with an outfit.

Back then, my mother had several shelves of a closet filled with hat boxes, and I clearly remember how much I hated going along when she went hat shopping. 

Borrr-ing!

When I lived in Cambridge, I could go to three different branches of the Cambridge Public Library from my apartment by walking a mile in three different directions.

Now, I must drive 3.5 miles to the nearest library.  During my first visit there, I reserved a new book I was eager to read.  I received an email the other day saying they were holding the book for me.

I was sure I remembered how to get to the library.  However, I got hopelessly lost and had to resort to my phone.  In the library I saw a big “reserved” sign and went directly to the “K” shelf.  However, my reserved book was not there. Blaming myself for missing the pickup deadline, I went to the desk to reserve it again.  The librarian checked and she said it was still waiting for me on the reserved shelf.  When I pointed out to her that I had looked there, she informed me that I had looked on the reserved-for-children shelf, and the adult reserved books were in a different location.  Sure enough, my book was there.

First, I couldn’t find the library.  Then I couldn’t find the right reserved shelf.  It’s just plain hard to be

A new girl in town.

Six years ago, I posted a blog post called “How Old We Are”.  I probably asked a bunch of people how old they feel after asking myself the following:

“How could an 81-year old do 21 pushups every day? My answer: “They     couldn’t, so I couldn’t possibly be 81.” (By the way, I now do 30.)

So I asked some other people how old they felt.  Some answers follow:

1. It depends on how much sleep I got the night before.
2. Ten years younger than I am.
3. I’m 64, but feel 44.
4. I’m 77, but mentally 50.
5. I’m 75, feel 50, look 65.
6. And my husband Peter responded: “Here’s the age I don’t feel I am: 

Young!!!

In 2021 I drafted a post entitled “Pronouns,” but never published it. Recently, my blog host closed down and in changing to my new one, the long forgotten post (written shortly after my husband Peter died) appeared. A lot has happened in four years, but here it is…

Pronouns

I am enrolled in three classes.  This does not go well with trying to process losing a husband.  However, one of my classes is quite practical.  It’s called Understanding Gender Identity.  I chose it because I want to be up-to-date on the ever-changing vocabulary that goes with sex identity.  To me, referring to a single person as “they” does not come easily. 

My own vocabulary is challenging at this moment.  My apartment is no longer ours.  It’s mine.  We don’t have tickets to a concert, I do. 

And when I went to a dinner party last weekend, there were five people, not six, although in my heart, Peter was there. He would have loved the conversation.

And the dinner.

I have a photo of me at about four years old.  I am posing in my bathing suit with a new friend on vacation.  Although I am slight in the photo, my belly protrudes and my knees look at each other.  Currently, neither is true.  But my knees are not my own, one being replaced when I was seventy and the other when I was 80-ish.

I was reminded of those pain-now-forgotten events this week, when my good friend had her first knee replacement.  Home after one day in the hospital, she reminded me that such surgeries are painful, especially after the heavy painkillers wear off.

Her family is visiting in shifts from three different parts of the country.

I am the backup.

My son Seth worried that I would miss Cambridge when I moved.  He made me promise that I would go there twice weekly.  And I do.  I audit a course that meets in Cambridge twice a week.

This past week, I had a whole day of what I loved about living there, as follows: 

10:30-12:00:  Class

12:30-2:00:  Lunch with a friend who, like me, had to relocate after our building was found to be unsafe

2:15-4:00:  A (very) long walk along the Charles River with another friend

4:30-6:00 A talk by former U.S. Senator Phil Graham and the former president of Harvard, Larry Summers, at the Kennedy School plus a quick reunion with some former colleagues there.

But instead of my old 5-minute walk home, I sat in rush hour traffic for 45 minutes.

Still, I know my old life is there when I need it.

Long ago, I copied some advice written by someone I can only identify by the initials RNB. I came across it the other day tucked in a random file folder, and I thought it was worth sharing with 80-something readers.  RNB says if we follow this advice, people won’t run when they see us old folks coming…

1. Listen as much as you talk.
2. Keep notes on what you’ve told others so that you don’t repeat yourself.
3. Take the time to respond to someone’s story before telling yours.
4. Live in the present. Have new opinions about new things and people will find you interesting.

Well, I count on my memory (so far) so I don’t keep notes on what I’ve told others, but the rest is

Timeless advice.

No matter where you are in life, you have laundry.  In my 87 years, I have sat in laundromats depositing an increasing number of quarters, lugged laundry baskets of cloth (yes!) diapers down to a basement, and had lovely conversations in the laundry room of my former apartment building that will be demolished next month.

But as I write this, I hear the comforting noise of my laundry spinning in my own apartment.  It’s true that my washer and dryer are small, but they are right here!

And speaking of laundry, let me report that my ironing board is now 65 years old, I don’t know why I got this prize when my three roommates and I split up years ago.  It’s had a few new covers, but it’s in better shape than most 65-year-olds.

My children will likely fight over this antique someday—but hopefully,

Not anytime soon.

On Tuesday of this week, neither the North Pole nor the South Pole tilted toward the sun.  Twice a year, the Sun is exactly above the Equator, so its rays fall equally.  In Spring, I celebrate the coming longer days; fall’s shorter days—not so much.

This week our Monday Morning Walking Group explored a suburban neighborhood of elegant homes.  But one could not miss the vibrant reds and yellows spreading across the wooded areas.  This has been a beautiful New England fall. 

But winter cannot be far behind.