Long, long ago, in a land far away (so it now seems), I walked into the Office of the President of Kennedy’s, Inc. and into my first job after college.  Kennedy’s was a Boston-based chain of twenty men’s clothing stores.  I was the assistant to Herbert Weiss and shared an office with Barbara who is still a good friend.  I ran the daily sales numbers (on an adding machine—remember them?) and I was the editor of a new company-newspaper, called Ken Dee’s Ink.

Herb Weiss died a week ago at the age of ninety-two.  We had stayed in touch, and usually had lunch together once a year. 

Yesterday I received a letter from my former office mate (she now lives on the West Coast). Included was a copy of the issue of Ken Dee’s Inc. in which I (then Judy Faskow) wrote about my boss of sixty years ago.

May he rest in peace.

Three of my close friends died in their forties leaving seven grammar-school students motherless.  Two of the mothers died of lung cancer in spite of the fact that neither of them smoked, and the third died while waiting for a liver transplant.

Something about this year has made me think of them often.

When they died, our generation had never experienced a pandemic.  Nor had we experienced the sadly divided United States that went to the polls last week.  Or perhaps it’s because if a member of our generation dies now it’s sad, but not tragic.

When I think of Helen, Linda and Patti, I think of the wonderful years they have missed.  I would not include 2020.

I seldom write about my amazing husband.  Ageing has its challenges, and for him, it’s Parkinson’s Disease, a cruel, incurable disease that he’s been living with for fourteen years.  His mobility is greatly compromised.  A former marathon runner, he now struggles to walk a mile with his rollator. 

It’s easy to spot Peter when he is out walking – stooped, walking tiny quick steps, behind his fire-engine-red rollator (named Clem because it’s too hard to say rollator).

The other day I was walking toward Harvard Square with a friend when we spotted Peter walking toward us behind Clem, clutching a bouquet of daisies.  It seems that he caught me in a moment of feeling unappreciated (caregiving can be hard) and he knows how daisies cheer me up.  My friend was amazed.  It was a Hallmark moment.

A week later, I woke to the unmistakable cinnamon smell of a coffee cake in the oven.  (Gluten-free of course.)  Yes, the kitchen was a mess from his unsteady hands, but the cake was delicious.

One out of four people over sixty-five fall every day, and as our aging population grows, the total number of people falling increases.  In 2016, almost 25,000 people seventy-five or older died as a result of falling.

There are several things you can do to lower your chances of falling.  Have your vision checked regularly.  Make sure that your medications don’t make you unsteady. Always stand up slowly.  Do strengthening exercises regularly. And I would add (from personal experience) look where you are going.

I wonder what resources are being allocated to deal with this problem. The U.S. government allocated more than $9 billion to develop a Covid’19 vaccine, a pressing need at the moment.  But is there money devoted to helping the elderly with their balance?

The Center for Disease Control does have some information on its website, and I hope that they are beginning to realize that this is something that we need to address.

In the meantime, watch out.  Wet leaves can be slippery.

When the leaves start to fall, my thoughts turn to Thanksgiving, my favorite holiday.  Food, family and no presents.  But not this year. For the first time since we’ve been grandparents, our whole family will not be together for Thanksgiving dinner.

Nobody seems to be having their traditional Thanksgiving this year.  Normally, I would be starting to bake our must-have desserts to store in our freezer. I’ll probably make most of them anyhow, hoping that Seth will be able to come from New York for his 50th Thanksgiving dinner.

We’ll have a whole turkey because somehow just a turkey breast won’t work for me.  We’ll have to deal with the leftovers.

We will still share our Grateful Jar with the whole family via Zoom.  And we will take individual photos and ask one of our technology-savvy grandchildren to photoshop them into our annual family Thanksgiving picture.

I’m keeping my fingers crossed for Thanksgiving 2021.

Today we welcome a guest column by Leo Kugel, Albert Einstein High School, Class of 2022:

Given my current status as a young person, Grammy, or as you probably know her, Judy, asked me to give some definitions of modern-day slang. Of course, I happily obliged (only in part to repay my debts from years of eating all the pies during Thanksgiving). Without further ado, here are a few of my favorite terms that the kids are using these days:

Good looks: Basically just saying thank you. “Good looks for the gift, man.” 

Cap: A lie. “Stop capping. You did not get a 100 on your exam.”

Bet: Word of agreement; synonymous with okay. “Bet that man. I’ll see you at 5.” 

OC: Essentially just means that there is a lot of something. “That’s oc food. Are you going to eat all of that?”

Jaunt: Just means a thing. “Pass me that jaunt.” 

Clowning: When someone does something dumb. “You’re clowning bro.”

Grats: Short for congratualations (stet) because no one my age knows how to spell that. 

Now all you 80-somethings can fit right in with the high school crowd. No cap.

I voted last Thursday.  Despite how much I trust our mailman, I was determined to deposit my ballot in an official ballot box.  The nearest one was at Cambridge City Hall, 1.2 miles away.  It was a crystal-clear-fall day, so I decided to walk.

Actually, I meandered.  I think I stopped at every brilliant red maple tree.  I definitely stopped at the beautiful dahlias taking their last stand.  I read restaurant menus and store closing signs. I smiled at everyone (although I’m not sure if people can tell you if are smiling when you are wearing a mask).

At City Hall, there was no sign directing voters to the box.  Luckily, a man who saw me holding two ballot envelopes asked if I was trying to vote and directed me to the back of the building.  There were no signs there either, but I spied a box about the size of a fire-hydrant that said “official ballot box” and deposited our votes.

In these uncertain times, I want to be sure that my vote is counted.  Please make sure that yours is too.

For more than half a century, I have watched Harvard Square change.  I miss its two movie theaters.  I miss Elsie’s amazing roast beef sandwiches, The Wursthaus’ German specialties, the iconic Out-of-Town Newsstand and more.

Now, thanks to Covid-19, Dickson’s Hardware Store is closing. For over fifty years, it was my go-to place for everything you’d expect in a hardware store and lots of things you wouldn't.  How many shower curtain liners, cans of WD-40, and potholders have I bought there?  How many keys have I copied and how often have I bought hard-to-find light bulbs?

When I heard the news, I asked them why.  Answer—the pandemic.  The elderly owner decided he’d rather just play golf.

I’ve watched their inventory diminish over the last month, but I went in there the other day looking for an eyeglasses repair kit after failing to find one at my local CVS.  Sure enough, they had one. 

At least they can’t take Harvard out of Harvard Square.

In the more than a dozen years that I have been writing this blog, I have periodically reported on the state of my body.  Today’s report, which is way overdue, was prompted by a friend’s comment during one of our regular phone chats. 

She said, “I know that I have visibly aged during this pandemic.  I am avoiding the many mirrors around the house that constantly remind me of this.”

As soon as we finished our call, I headed to our full-length mirror.  Here’s my report.

By and large, I’m doing fine. My weight is stable. My “Cologuard” (a colonoscopy substitute) said that part of my body is OK.  The puffiness under my eyes does seem to be more prominent.  I have fallen a couple of times (luckily without breaking any bones) so I am paying more attention to my feet on my walks. I do have “golfer’s elbow” even though I don’t play golf.

On wardrobe, I give myself a C+.  When I am not in tights or sweatpants, I might dress up to slacks and a nice top. The days of skirts and tall boots are long gone.   

End of report.