Conversation with…A tattered flag…begging to stand for something new.

Over the Hill on the Yellow Brick Road, I noticed an old, tattered flag on the ground. It was just what I needed in my life so I rushed over!

flag 1

Hey flag! I see you’ve been through a lot.  Me too!

TATTERED FLAG: Don’t judge me. I know I look saggy on the outside, but I don’t feel that way on the inside. I’ve got a lot inside that wants to come out, but who’s gonna take an old, torn flag seriously?

I will! This could be the start of something big!

TATTERED FLAG: What are you talking about?

Here’s the thing. All my life, I’ve been kinda quirky, and I’ve always put myself down for it. I’ve called myself, “fearful” or “neurotic” or “weird.”

TATTERED FLAG: So?

So for better or worse, at this point in my life since I don’t think I’m going to become a completely different person, why not stand up for my quirky self and be proud of it?

TATTERED FLAG: What do you do that’s quirky?

 Well, I don’t like elevators because I’m super claustrophobic.  Whenever I enter a building, the first thing I look for is the staircase. I always apologize for myself and then take the stairs.

 TATTERED FLAG: Is that all?

No. I have a panic button that can go off at any moment. Like, if I’m in an office building and the fire alarm gongs, while others are standing around assuming it’s a mistake, I’ve already raced out the door and run five blocks away.

TATTERED FLAG: Anything else?

Sure. Even though I’ve traveled in a plane lots of times, flying always makes me insanely nervous. So I’ve done most of my world traveling on youtube.

TATTERED FLAG: I’m guessing there’s more.

Of course. When I’m at home and open a new container of cottage cheese or milk and use a little bit, I’m afraid I’ll forget I’ve opened the container. I’m afraid the next time I want to use the milk or cottage cheese, I’ll worry I bought an opened container and someone poisoned my food. So for peace of mind, every time I open a new container, I write, “OK” on it. That way, I’m sure it hasn’t been poisoned. And then other times I–

TATTERED FLAG: That’s enough. What does all this have to do with me?

Well, in my older age, I’m thinking, “Maybe I won’t apologize for my offbeat behavior anymore. Instead, I’ll embrace it and FLY MY FREAK FLAG.”

 TATTERED FLAG: And…I’m the freak flag?

Obviously. I’d wave you proudly as I write “OK” on my containers. If I’m taking a train to visit my daughter who lives 3,000 miles away, you’ll be furling in my hand. The next time I’m faced with an elevator, I’ll hold you up high as I’m taking the stairs. After all these years, I will accept the person I am and wave my freak flag in all my glory.

TATTERED FLAG: Whatever. I’m in. But right now I’m just a ragged flag that looks like it’s been through the wash too many times. How can I become a freak flag?

 Easy. Just add more eyeballs.

flag 2

TATTERED FLAG: I’m embarrassed I didn’t think of that myself.

 Don’t give it a second thought. Welcome to my world.

Copyrightoverthehillontheyellowbrickroad2018

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Do you fly a freak flag? Care to share?

Conversation With…A Dried Flower…about the parts of ourselves that die.

Traveling Over the Hill on the Yellow Brick Road, I came to a fork in the road.  The path that led to the left had a powerful, bright light at the end. The path on the right led to TJ Maxx. My favorite clothing store. Which was the correct way to go?! I noticed a dried flower floating toward the bright light. Actually, it was a beautiful, dried rose.  I asked her opinion…

dried flower

Excuse me! Dried flower?  Do you know which way to go?

DRIED FLOWER: It’s a matter of opinion.  I’m surprised you’re talking to me.

Why?

DRIED FLOWER: Because I’m dead.

No problem. I’ve always wanted to talk to someone dead.

DRIED FLOWER: Okay. Your choice. So, what do you want to know?

How do you know you’re dead?

DRIED FLOWER: I Googled it. The definition of death is, “the cessation of all vital functions.” Since I don’t have to make sure I have water or sunlight anymore to keep going or growing, it sounds like the right diagnosis.

How does it feel to be dead?

DRIED FLOWER: Kind of freeing in a way. I can let go of stress and move on. But this is crazy. I’m sure you can’t relate.

In some ways I can. I mean, even though I’m alive, some parts of me have passed on.

DRIED FLOWER: What are you talking about?

Well, I used to have brown hair. Now it’s gray. I’ll never have brown hair again. That phase within my body has died. Passed on.

DRIED FLOWER: Interesting. What else?

I used to menstruate, but that part of my system has shut down. Died. I’ll never get my period again. And there’s more. There are emotional deaths.

DRIED FLOWER: Like what?

Well, I remember when I was a teenager, one summer I went to sleep away camp. I was obsessed with the boys and having a boyfriend. There was a newness, a crispness, a freshness about the anticipation of that experience. I can’t really describe it, but it was so exciting. Even if I tried to go back to that phase of life, I’d experience it differently because I’d bring wisdom and perspective to it now. That phase of my life has passed on. I’ll never feel quite that way again.

DRIED FLOWER: Hmmm…

But then, there are other emotional phases I’m happy have died. Like, for years I used to be terrified of thunderstorms. If thunderstorms were in the weather forecast, I’d hide in a bathroom with no windows while the storms passed through. But then! When my son was born, I suddenly wasn’t afraid of thunderstorms anymore. Out of nowhere.

DRIED FLOWER: Maybe you realized you had bigger things to worry about.

Maybe. Now I actually love thunderstorms.

DRIED FLOWER: That’s nice.

So you know? Maybe life and death aren’t black and white. Maybe deaths are just series of cycles that move on to new cycles…even during life. I mean, look at you. You’re dead, but you’re an elegant, rust color. You’re very beautiful.

DRIED FLOWER: Thanks, but I gotta go now. I’m feeling pulled toward the  bright light.  Want to come?

No thanks. I’m going shopping.

DRIED FLOWER: What’s so enticing about TJ Maxx?

When you go in, you have to wade through a lot of stuff to find something you really like. You might find something, you might not. But if you do, it’s the greatest feeling, and it’s probably on sale so it’s within your reach.

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With that, I took a few steps toward the store. I turned around to say good-bye to the dried flower, but she was gone.

Copyrightoverthehillontheyellowbrickroad2018

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Are there parts of you that have died?

Conversation With…The Witch from Hansel and Gretel…about her retiring stomach

Over the Hill on the Yellow Brick Road, I came to a sign that said, “Hansel and Gretel’s Wicked Witch, This Way!” I followed the sign and anticipated seeing an old witch beside a house made of candy, cake and cookies. Instead, I found an aging witch who looked completely nauseated. She was sitting beside an empty plot of land. What happened to the house made of junk food? I had to ask!

WITCH VOMIT

Excuse me witch, what happened to your candy and cookie house? From your story?

WITCH: I ate it.

What? Why????

WITCH: I was lonely. I’m an emotional eater.

Oh. I’m sorry to hear that. I am, too.

WITCH: I feel like I’m gonna throw up.

I realize this is none of my business and my judgment might be off, but do you think eating the whole house at once was a bit too much?

WITCH: Honey, I’ve been eating my houses for years and it never upset my stomach. Every time children don’t stop by my house and I feel frustrated, angry and lonely, I wolf down a house. I wash it down with Coke Zero. Very satisfying.

So where do you live after that?

WITCH: I call The Gingerbread Boy’s mother and ask her to bake me another house. She’s fast and an amazing baker—does a lot more than gingerbread.

I see. So why do you think you’re suddenly feeling nauseated after eating just one house?

WITCH: That’s the million dollar question. I’ve had a lot of tests done—blood tests, fecal tests, an ultrasound, an endoscopy…but so far the doctors haven’t found anything wrong with my stomach. So Why why WHY every time I eat a house does my stomach hurt?

Well, you’re getting older. Like me. Maybe we can’t challenge our stomachs the way we used to. Maybe they just can’t handle being on overload anymore. I know I have to eat six smaller meals every day instead of three big ones.

WITCH: Are you suggesting I eat the first floor in the house for breakfast and the second floor a few hours later?

You could try it.  Also—your digestion problem might be stress related.

WITCH: Well, I’ll admit I’m lonelier than I used to be. Children never get lost in the woods anymore. They all have cells phones. So I sit around feeling sorry for myself and eat house after house and house after house–

Maybe you could make your candy and cookie houses easier to digest. Like, the shingle around the house could be made of high fiber cereal. I find that helps my digestion.

WITCH: Really?

Yes! And the doorknobs could made of banana slices. They go down pretty easily. And the shutters might be made of pieces of Ex-Lax. But only eat two at a time.

WITCH: Wait a minute. Let’s think this through.  What kid in his or her right mind would stop by and be tempted to eat a house like that?

I don’t know. Maybe you’ll have to change your victims. You could lure older adults with retiring stomachs into your house instead of children.

WITCH: But they won’t fit in my oven. Anyway, I’m not sure older adults will taste as good as children.

I can’t get involved on that level. But I’ll say this much. I think the least you can do is call The Gingerbread Man’s mother and see what kind of house she can bake that’s easier to digest.

WITCH: Nah. This plan isn’t wicked enough.

Okay fine. I tried to help.

WITCH: Hey wait. If I just go on eating candy and cookie houses and I STILL get bad stomach aches, what am I supposed to do about it?

Get a colonoscopy.

WITCH: I’ll see if the Gingerbread Man’s mother can make high fiber cereal shingles right now.

copyrightoverthehillontheyellowbrickroad 2018

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How do you deal with your stomach?

Conversation With…Mother of Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer…about empty nester worrying

Over the Hill on the Yellow Brick Road, I came to a huge building known as “The Worriers’ Warehouse.” In my older age, I worry more than ever. So I went inside and immediately noticed an older reindeer nervously biting her hooves. It was easy to start a conversation:

R 2

 

Hey Reindeer, what are you worried about?

RUDOLPH’S MOM: My son Rudolph.

Wait. Are you telling me you’re Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer’s mother?

RUDOLPH’S MOM: Yes. And I’m constantly refilling my Valium prescription.

Why? What could you possibly be worried about? He’s Santa’s personal assistant! You raised this heroic, caring reindeer who pulls a sleigh filled with presents to children all over the world.

RUDOLPH’S MOM: Christmas Eve makes me crazy for the entire year. It takes me 364 days to recover from it.

Why?

RUDOLPH’S MOM: How would you like it if your son flew across the sky all night lugging a five billion ton sleigh filled with gifts? What’s holding him up there anyway?

Magic?

RUDOLPH’S MOM: Not the most reassuring concept for a mother. What if he makes a crash landing?

I never thought of that—

RUDOLPH’S MOM: Or if he doesn’t crash, what about his physical health? He’s dragging a sleigh full of gifts for kids all over the world with just a few other reindeer. He could pull his back out.

I see your point.

RUDOLPH’S MOM: Not to mention, my Rudolph could pass out from exhaustion! Thirst! Hunger! It’s a busy night! No breaks! Very high pressure! And I know him! He’ll never say no!

Another point well taken.

RUDOLPH’S MOM: And what if Rudolph has to fly through a blizzard? Or a tornado? Or a severe thunderstorm? Who knows how high those reindeer go? My son could be hit by a meteor! Or slam into the moon! He could—

All this makes complete sense, but you’re not alone. I worry about all kinds of things with my adult kids, too.

RUDOLPH’S MOM: Like what?

Bad relationships, lack of relationships, driving at night, driving too fast, driving when the sun is rising and blocking vision, driving when the sun is setting and blocking vision, traveling in planes, buses, trains, taxis, living on pizza, needing help when there’s no one around–

RUDOLPH’S MOM: Okay, okay. We’re on the same worrying page.

But with all that, I also think we’re giving our kids one big, giant, great gift.

RUDOLPH’S MOM: Oh good. Because I never know what to get Rudolph for Christmas. What’s the gift?

The gift of freedom. That way, our adult children can DO all the things we worry about. They have a chance to figure out where they belong in the world. When we don’t call or text them every five seconds or stalk them on Facebook, we’re letting them go. It’s a gift. Even though it kills us inside.

RUDOLPH’S MOM: Well in that case…why can’t we just say to ourselves we raised mature, intelligent beings who can take care of themselves and make good choices? What if I stopped worrying about my millennial reindeer so much?

What if I stopped worrying about my adult kids so much?

RUDOLPH’S MOM: Would something be missing from our relationships with our children?

Yes. Our connection.

RUDOLPH’S MOM: Are you sure about that?

No. But I worry about it.

Copyrightoverthehillontheyellowbrickroad2018

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How do you control the amount you worry about those you care about? (This includes pets.)

Conversation With…An Older Imagination…Dealing with what’s imaginary as we age.

Over the Hill on the Yellow Brick Road, I came to a glob of mist with eyeballs. When I asked who it was, it answered, “I’m an imagination. An older one.” I absolutely had to start a conversation.

imagination

Hey Older Imagination, I’m glad I met you because I’ve always had trouble balancing the good and bad sides of my imagination. As I grow older, I find it’s even harder. Maybe you can help me.

IMAGINATION: I doubt it. Though I’m older, I still have very little self-control. But I do see the good side of your imagination. I mean, right now you have a ton of imaginary friends.

What? What are you talking about?

IMAGINATION: Everyone who lives here, “Over the Hill on the Yellow Brick Road,” is imaginary. They come from inside your head.

I never thought of it that way. I guess they blossomed from my imagination, and then took on lives of their own.

IMAGINATION: Is that when the bad side of your imagination comes out?

Nope. It’s still the good side. Because talking with everyone here has led to conversations about being an empty nester, feeling fragile as I grow older, not knowing what to wear as I age, and all that stuff. Talking about those things helps me get through this phase of life.

IMAGINATION: And what happens next? The dark side of your imagination creeps in?

No. The conversations about growing older actually led to my book “Over the Hill on the Yellow Brick Road.” I’m really proud of it.

IMAGINATION: Phew! So I guess there really is no bad side of your imagination!

Yes there is. As I get older, if I feel a particular pain I don’t recognize or I feel anxious about my age, my imagination makes it much worse. It exaggerates the bad feelings. Makes them run wild.   

IMAGINATION: Guilty as charged. But knowing my limits after all these years…might there be another way to relieve your pain and anxiety as you grow older?

Well…I can pray more. Like, I pray my children, who are not always near me anymore, will be safe and well. It helps…unless, of course, God is really just another form of an imaginary friend.

IMAGINATION: I see the way the good and bad sides of your imagination work together.

Drives me nuts.

IMAGINATION: I’ve gotta stop talking now. If I don’t, I’ll start coming up with really weird ideas and we’ll both freak out. This conversation is becoming overwhelming for me.

Me too. It’s giving me a stomach ache. Or… am I imagining it?

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Copyrightoverthehillontheyellowbrickroad2018

How do you stop your imagination from making life crazier in older age?

Conversation With…A Wise, Older Butt…Enjoying looking back with wisdom and perspective

Over the Hill on the Yellow Brick Road, I noticed an older butt bopping happily down an endless, winding path. It seemed perfectly content with the world, so I ran to catch up with it and find out why.

butt 2

 

Excuse me, butt. Mind if I walk with you?

BUTT: Not at all. It’s a beautiful day for a walk. Actually, so is every day.

You know, I couldn’t help noticing, even though you’re older, you have such a happy way about you.

BUTT: Of course I do. As a butt, I was born to grow older.

Why do you say that?

BUTT: Well, I think I can speak for all butts when I say we’re always the last part of the body to get where we’re going. So, as a butt, I love looking back on where I’ve been and what I’m leaving behind. I love the perspective and wisdom it brings. Every day, as I grow a day older, I have more to look back on and ponder.

I see. I guess I could look at the world that way, too. I mean, I have a butt.

BUTT: Clearly you haven’t had a conversation with it.

Not to date. 

BUTT: I think the best part of being a butt is, you can look back on a situation or event in your life, leave it behind, and watch what it’s like as it continues to go on without you.

What’s great about that?

BUTT: It gives you closure. So you can move on with your life. To your next adventure.

I’m not sure what you mean.

BUTT: Well, for example, I guess you could relate it to being an empty nester. You can look back and watch your kids enjoying their lives even though you’re not there with them all the time. You can see how happy they are. Maybe that will bring you peace.

No. I don’t want my kids to be happy without me.

BUTT: Okay then, here’s another advantage. Looking behind, watching a moment that has passed, helps you draw upon inner strength.

How?

BUTT: If you’re having a problem, you can look back on another, similar problem you’ve had in your life and watch the way you handled it and made it through.

True. I mean, like, during my lifetime, I’ve been in situations where my mind said it wanted to do one thing… but my body did another.

BUTT: Like when?

I had infertility issues. My mind wanted to have a child, but the rest of my body would not. Another time when I had headaches, my mind wanted them to stop but my head would not. And another time, when I had tinnitus, my head wanted the noise in my ears to stop, but my ears weren’t up for it.

BUTT: See? And I assume you got through all that stuff.

Yes. And now, my stomach is giving me trouble. My head wants my body to be all right, but my stomach’s not having it. And–

BUTT: Okay, okay. You don’t have to tell me everything. I’m not that interested.

I’m just saying, looking back on situations I’ve made it through helps me remember what I’m capable of.

BUTT: That has been my point all along.

Well, thank you for your help.

BUTT: And I want to thank YOU. During our entire conversation, you haven’t made one butt joke. I appreciate it. Those jokes are so annoying.

I know. They’re AS-inine.

BUTT: Are you proud of yourself now?

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That ended our conversation. The butt waddled down the path, while I looked for a place to rest. But this time, I looked for a spot to sit that was exceptionally comfortable.  

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How do YOU create closure so you can move on?

Conversation With…A Worn Violin Case…Trying to hold the music inside it.

Over the Hill on the Yellow Brick Road, I passed a concert hall and noticed an old violin case sitting on a bench looking forlorn. I sat down beside it and we started to chat.

violin case

Violin case? Are you okay?

VIOLIN CASE: No.

What’s wrong.

VIOLIN CASE: I hate getting old.

Me too. What’s your deal?

VIOLIN CASE: Well, you know, I carry music inside me. An extraordinary violin. There is nothing more beautiful than the moment I open and its melodies fill the world.

I know! There’s nothing more incredible than hearing a violin sing Vivaldi’s Four Seasons.

VIOLIN CASE: That’s my favorite too. But as the years go by, it gets harder to be my violin’s case.

Why is that?

VIOLIN CASE: More and more things happen to me during the course of life. At this point, I’m worn. I mean, look at me. My leather skin is torn after being banged between subway doors and bumping into turnstiles at concert halls year after year–

I see that. No offense.

VIOLIN CASE: None taken. And one of my buckles doesn’t close properly anymore. I’ll probably have to go for buckle replacement. And my handle is loose, so when someone carries me, I’m crooked. And the worst thing is…ah…never mind. I’ll shut up. You don’t want to hear my problems.

All I can say is, you’re not alone. I’m a case, too.

VIOLIN CASE: Are you serious? For what?

My soul. My spirit.

VIOLIN CASE: But you can’t see a spirit. How do you know it’s there?

I just know. I feel it. And when that spirit comes out, it brings such beautiful thoughts and words into the world. And such warmth and love to its family and friends. And sometimes it brings laughter. That’s my favorite.

VIOLIN CASE: That makes me smile.

But like you, as the years go by, it gets harder to be the case. I’m not as strong as I once was. My lower back isn’t as strong as it used to be. I have to exercise a lot to be sure it’s aligned and I won’t dislocate a disc.

VIOLIN CASE: Ah.

And my stomach doesn’t digest food as well as it used to, so sometimes I don’t have as much energy as I’d like. And my brain isn’t as sharp so I don’t remember names of people or phone numbers as quickly, and–

VIOLIN CASE: Here’s what I think. I feel, as a case, I won’t go on forever. But the music inside me will.

That’s exactly the way I feel about my spirit.

VIOLIN CASE: But for now….oh how I want to be here.

Me too.

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Copyrightoverthehillontheyellowbrickroad2018

CONVERSATION WITH…An aging staircase…refusing to conform to conservative styles

Over the Hill on the Yellow Brick Road, I came to a creaky, Victorian staircase that was painted with a pink ombre. It was the coolest thing I’d ever seen. I thought to myself, “Am I too old to have that kind of designing fun in my house at this stage of life?” I had to check into it, so I started a conversation with the staircase. I said:

pink steps

OMG staircase! You look amazing!

STAIRCASE: Thanks. The floral carpet that covered me for decades was fine. But at this point in my life I’m not feelin’ it anymore. So I took a break from tradition. Just because I creak doesn’t mean I have to look old.

So how did you come up with this new look?

STAIRCASE: The idea caught my attention off a blog at:  https://littleblackdomicile.com/  And the photo was taken by Arsenic and Lace.

I just love it!

STAIRCASE: Then go for it in your own house.

I would love to! The staircase in my house is exactly like yours. But here’s the problem. I’ve lived in my house for 27 years and never want to leave. But my kids have grown up, and if I try to sell it sometime, who will want to buy a house with a pink ombre staircase?

STAIRCASE: Well, YOU like it.

I know. But shouldn’t I be thinking about home designs that are more conservative or generic? Styles almost anyone would like?

STAIRCASE: ZZzzzz. ZZZZzzzzzzzzz  ZZzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz

Excuse me. Wake up.

STAIRCASE: Oops. Sorry. Your last comment was so boring it put me to sleep. I mean, how can you possibly consider decorating your house for a random person who might or might not buy it? The thought of that is so depressing.

Don’t you watch House Hunters?

STAIRCASE: No. I’m a staircase.

Well, it’s a television show where customers walk through houses they’d potentially want to buy, and choose one. The customers hardly ever like funky paint colors. And forget about wallpaper.

STAIRCASE: What’s wrong with wallpaper?

It’s never in sync with a customer’s taste. Personally, I’d love to try a wallpaper design like this:

wallpaper

See the background? My friend Claudia created it at: https://claudiamcgillart.wordpress.com

STAIRCASE: I looove it!

Me too. But a home buyer might not go for it.

STAIRCASE: Here’s the bottom line. I can only share my perspective.  If you design your home to please other people, you’re being incredibly unfair to staircases, walls, kitchen counters…and most importantly…yourself.

Copyrightoverthehillontheyellowbrickroad2018

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Should I do it? Should I go for the pink staircase?

Reblog: Conversation with…My Book…resisting physical changes in older age

Hi friends!  Of course, I’m still traveling Over the Hill on the Yellow Brick Road, looking for anything and everything weird enough to converse with me. In the meantime, I thought I’d remind you about my new book because it might make a great Father’s Day gift for your dad, grandfather or even your husband. (Okay, call me crazy, I give my husband a gift on Father’s Day.) The book consists of conversations I have “Over the Hill on the Yellow Brick Road” that are not currently found on my blog. I turned those conversations into a story. Here’s a reminder of that conversation…

Traveling Over the Hill on the Yellow Brick Road, I’ve spoken to people and things while passing through the Neighborhood of the Empty Nesters, the Avenue of Ages and Stages, climbing over Makover Mountain, visiting the Career Change Cafe, and looking back on my life in Reflecting Ridge. I’ve put all those conversations omtp a book!  Here it is! The only problem is, my book is being a hypochondriac.  While I was setting up links to Amazon.com and barnesandnoble.com, my book screamed at me: 

over_the_hill

BOOK: Ah!!!! Don’t make me travel across the internet!

Why not?

BOOK: Because I’m filled with conversations about growing older. I feel really fragile and responsible. If something happens to me on the way to Amazon.com or barnesandnoble.com, I’ll never forgive myself.

What can happen?

BOOK: If someone clicks on me, it could really hurt. I could end up with internal bruises that will take forever to heal.

I understand what you mean. Whenever I stub my toe, I’m afraid I’ve broken my pinky bone. Or if I reach for something and feel a pain in my back, I worry I’ve torn a muscle.

BOOK: And that’s not the worst of it. What if someone clicks on me, and then, as I’m on my way traveling to Amazon.com I pick up some kind of internet disease?  Something with strange chemicals. I don’t want to get sick.

I know what you mean. I don’t like flying in my older age because I’m afraid I’ll contract a disease. And I don’t like visiting foreign countries because I fear I’ll come down with a virus and I’ll be too old to fight it off.

BOOK: So, if you understand my feelings, why do you want people to click on me? Why are you torturing me by sending me across the internet?

Because, as a book, you carry a lot of wonderful conversations along with a story.  My virtual friends might want to give a copy of you to someone special as a birthday gift, a Mother’s Day or Father’s Day gift, an anniversary present, a Christmas or Chanukah present, or someone just might want to have a copy for herself or himself. Maybe they’ll even write a nice review. And–

BOOK:  Alright. I can’t argue with you. How much clicking is involved?

Well, if you go to Amazon.com and click on the Kindle edition, you can see the introduction and first few conversations in the book.  And if you click on the paperback version, you can see a book description. And–

BOOK: Stop! That’s too much clicking.

Oh come on.

BOOK: Okay. I’ll do it for you.

I appreciate it! Virtual friends, I hope you’ll take a look at my new book. And if you need to click on the book cover, please do it gently.

BOOK: Thank you for your consideration.

over_the_hill

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Conversation With…Fading Tinker Bell…About believing in older fairies

Over the Hill on the Yellow Brick Road, I noticed a fading, flickering light in the distance. As a fan of fairy tales, I knew who it was right away. Tinker Bell! From the story of Peter Pan! I remembered her light faded the same way during her story, when Captain Hook poisoned Peter Pan’s medicine and Tinker Bell drank it to save Peter’s life.  After that, children everywhere clapped their hands to voice their belief in fairies…and Tinker Bell came alive So, why was she fading again? I rushed over and cried, “Excuse me, Tinker Bell. I’m not the paparazzi. I’m a loyal fan. Why are you flickering?  What’s wrong?!” She answered in a weak, faint voice:

Tinker Bell

TINKER BELL: I flew Over the Hill on the Yellow Brick Road to rekindle my spirit, but it isn’t working. I’m dying.

You can’t die! How did this happen? Did you drink Peter’s poisoned medicine again?

TINKER BELL: No. The situation is quite different this time. You see, after all these years, Peter has stayed young as he was meant to. But I have aged. I’m ever so much more than 110.

But you’re a fairy! Maybe you can live longer! Why is your spirit dying?

TINKER BELL: Because I’m not useful to Peter anymore. Do you remember our story? We appear outside children’s bedroom windows at bedtime and fly them to Neverland.

Of course I remember your story! I was always waiting for you!

TINKER BELL: Well, my eyesight isn’t what it used to be. I can’t fly in the dark as well anymore.

So? You’re not alone. I can’t drive at night as well as I used to.

TNKER BELL: I appreciate your kind words. But that isn’t the only problem. You see, I always carry fairy dust to help children fly. But these days, I can no longer carry it. The weight of all that fairy dust throws my back out.

I have back issues too. But that’s no reason to give up on everything in older age. Can’t you try to adjust? That’s what everyone else does.

TINKER BELL: How?

Well, as long as we’re on the subject, I’ll blurt out something that has bothered  me about the story of Peter Pan for decades. It might help.

TINKER BELL: Go ahead. I fear I’m almost dead anyway.

Stop saying that!  Listen to me! Every time I read the story of Peter Pan, I feel it’s unfair that only children get to fly to Neverland. What about adults, like me, who will always be young at heart?  Why can’t we go too?

TINKER BELL: That is an excellent question. I’d like to fly you to Neverland myself, but as I told, you, I don’t see as well at night anymore. I muddle through it with Peter, but I don’t think I can add extra excursions.

You’re missing the point. I can’t see as well at night either, so I’d be happier flying to Neverland during the day! I bet others who are young at heart would say the same thing.

TINKER BELL: Hmmm…perhaps I could manage that. But what about the fairy dust? I can’t carry it.

I’ve got that figured out too. When you decide which bedroom window you’d like to visit, go ahead and order fairy dust from amazon.com a few days in advance. Use their two-day delivery service with free shipping.

TINKER BELL: Hmmm….Tempting thought.

Yes! And that way, the fairy dust will be waiting for you on any  bedroom windowsill as soon as you arrive there.

TINKER BELL: You know, I think this could work.

Yaaay!

TINKER BELL: But there’s one other thing I’ll need before I begin taking others on daytime trips to Neverland.

What’s that?

TINKER BELL: Heartfelt support to keep me alive.

What do you mean?

TINKER BELL: I’ll explain. As you recall, in my story, when I drank Peter’s poisoned medicine and almost died, Peter asked children everywhere to clap their hands to prove they believed in fairies.

I remember I clapped so loudly, my hands almost fell off.

TINKER BELL: That was you? Oh thank you. Anyway, now I must ask all those who will always be young at heart to clap for me again, and chant: “I believe in older fairies. I believe in older fairies.”

I’m in. And…everyone reading this post who feels the way I do, please, please clap your hands and chant along with me: “I believe in older fairies! I believe in older fairies! I believe in older fairies! I believe in older fairies!!!!!”

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I’d like to extend a huge, heartfelt thank you to all those who clapped and chanted. We brought Tinker Bell back to life. From this day forward, please listen for a light tapping on your bedroom window. Yes, it might be a woodpecker. But you never know. It might also be Tinker Bell, waiting to fly you to Neverland.

Copyrightoverthehillontheyellowbrickroad2018