baby boomer gift

Over the Hill on the Yellow Brick Road, I came to a high-rise. I entered the building and noticed a rickety, older elevator. I walked toward it and it spoke to me:

elevator

RICKETY ELEVATOR: Going up? I have to ask. It’s an elevator thing.

No way. I’m not going inside you. I don’t go in elevators. I’m claustrophobic.

RICKETY ELEVATOR: Good! Because I’m sick of taking people and their dogs up and down and up and down and up and down. All day. All night. I never have a say about the way I’m treated, or who I want to let into my life.

So, what would you like to be different?

RICKETY ELEVATOR: Well, after all these years, I don’t want to put just anybody inside me anymore. Why do I have to be open to everybody? Why don’t I have a choice? Why can’t I speak up and say, “No! I don’t like you! You’re not coming in here! Take the stairs!”

You deserve that.

RICKETY ELEVATOR: And furthermore! If someone pushes the third floor, I have to go there. What if I don’t feel like going to the third floor? I have to go anyway and keep my mouth shut. What if I just want to take a rest? When is it time for ME? When do I get to express MY feelings?

If not now, when?

RICKETY ELEVATOR: I’m with you! But…it’s hopeless. Why am I telling you this? You’re not an elevator. You don’t get it.

I do get it. Because I’m an empty nester. Sometimes my kids do things that are hurtful or make me sad, but I don’t get to speak out either.

RICKETY ELEVATOR: Why not?

Well, here’s the way I see it. As a parent in 2018, I’m supposed to walk on eggshells. Like, if I have concerns about girlfriends or boyfriends my kids have chosen, if I say the slightest, teeniest, tiniest negative thing, they go crazy and argue until I feel like a speck of dirt. I have to be quiet and let them decide what they think for themselves.

RICKETY ELEVATOR: What a bore.

And here’s MY big question: when I do I get to say how I really feel in a straightforward way???? Even though I’m the grown up!

RICKETY ELEVATOR: You said it, sister Rant on!

Listen to this! My daughter moved to the other side of the country to have an adventure.

RICKETY ELEVATOR: I know. I read your blog. You never stop talking about it. You’re obsessed.

Sorry. But now it looks like my daughter will live far away forever. As a Baby Boomer mom, I’m supposed to say to my daughter, “Oh my goodness! I’m so happy you found your life. I’m so happy you found happiness. I’m so proud of you.”

RICKETY ELEVATOR: What would you rather say?

I’d love to say to my daughter, “What about ME???? I HATE that you live so far away! I HATE that we communicate through some kind of screen most of the time! It hurts that you moved so far from me! Why don’t you care as much as I do? Why don’t you miss me as much as I miss you? Why why why why and why???? Come home now!”

RICKETY ELEVATOR: Got it.

So? When do I get to say that??? I’m an empty nester mom. Why don’t MY feelings get a chance to come out??????

RICKETY ELEVATOR: I don’t know. I’m an elevator.

I know. Well…even if there isn’t hope for me, there’s hope for you.

Really??????? How?????________________________________________________________________________________________

At that moment, I made an “out of order” sign and happily placed it on the elevator’s door. Now, whenever the elevator needs to “speak out” about being shoved around, it puts the sign on its door and takes a break.

But I still haven’t solved my own problem about speaking out. Do you ever let out your raw, uncensored feelings to your adult kids? If you do, how do you say it without upsetting them? Or…maybe they just need to know that parents have feelings too? When are we ALL adults?

Copyrightoverthehillontheyellowbrickroad2018

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:

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 on the YELLOW BRICK ROAD

Growing older with silliness, high spirits and a lot of heart.

Conversation With…A Rickety Elevator…about finally speaking out in older age.

Over the Hill on the Yellow Brick Road, I came to a high-rise. I entered the building and noticed a rickety, older elevator. I walked toward it and it spoke to me:

At that moment, I made an “out of order” sign and happily placed it on the elevator’s door. Now, whenever the elevator needs to “speak out” about being shoved around, it puts the sign on its door and takes a break.

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