parents

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

/ overthehillontheyellowbrickroad / 110 Comments

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

 

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

/ overthehillontheyellowbrickroad / 65 Comments

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

/ overthehillontheyellowbrickroad / 75 Comments

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

/ overthehillontheyellowbrickroad / 54 Comments

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

/ overthehillontheyellowbrickroad / 85 Comments

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.  

Copyrightoverthehillontheyellowbrickroad2018

How do YOU create closure so you can move on?

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

/ overthehillontheyellowbrickroad / 61 Comments

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

/ overthehillontheyellowbrickroad / 96 Comments

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

/ overthehillontheyellowbrickroad / 45 Comments

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

/ overthehillontheyellowbrickroad / 84 Comments

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

Conversation with…An Older Sponge I Met Once Before…No longer trusting her physical capabilities

/ overthehillontheyellowbrickroad / 88 Comments

Over the Hill on the Yellow Brick Road, I was feeling anxious. It was a hot day and I forgot to drink a lot of water, so my mouth was dry. I couldn’t accept the fact that dry mouth could be a normal reaction to slight dehydration. I thought my tongue was no longer working properly and I was going to die.  I was obsessing with it. That’s what happens to me sometimes as I feel myself growing older. I don’t trust my body to get its act together and move on. So I kept walking in a panic and passed a spa. I decided to stop in and try to calm myself down. I was heading to the spa café, when floating around nervously in a hot tub, I noticed a sponge I’d met once before. I wandered over and asked:

sponge in hot tub

Hey sponge, do you remember me?

SPONGE: Yeah. We met when I was soaking up sadness from other peoples’ lives and wondering if I was crazy.

Right. So what are you doing here in the hot tub?

SPONGE: I’m trying to calm myself down because I’m scared! I’m anxious! Every day I obsess with a different symptom and I can’t pull myself out of it! I don’t trust myself to get well anymore! Because I’m getting older!

Me too! A few days ago, I had a headache and thought something was wrong inside my brain. I got over that, but the next day I ate some broccoli and a small piece got stuck in my throat. I thought it would never go down because my throat was too old to push it and I’d stop breathing. Today I have dry mouth, and yesterday–

SPONGE: Don’t tell me any more of your symptoms. I’m suggestable. I’ll think I have them too and sink deeper into my sponge holes.

Why do you think we’re panicking now?  What clicked in our brains to make us distrust our physical selves??

SPONGE: Maybe we’re looking at situations around us differently, with an older eye. It’s not always pretty.

How do you mean?

SPONGE: Well, I don’t know about you, but I had a terrible Mother’s Day. My adult children were too busy to come and visit me. I feel like I don’t matter anymore. Maybe I shouldn’t even be here. I think that’s why I start thinking all these things are wrong with me physically.

I think you’re on to something. Like, since I’m older, I’ve decided it requires more effort to be sure people take me seriously the way they used to. I feel less useful and my world of possibilities is smaller. It makes me so sad. Maybe I shouldn’t even be here. That brings on the symptoms of doom. They’re based in deep sadness.

SPONGE: Well as I said, that’s why I’m in this hot tub. I comfort myself by floating around in here for weeks. The problem is, it’s not good for me. The more I sit in here, the deeper I sink and the heavier I get. When I’m heavier, it’s harder to get myself back on track. I’m all sogged-out.

I do the same thing with food. I eat because it’s comforting. But when I keep eating and eating and eating, even though I love it because food is so delicious, it makes me heavier and lethargic, and it’s much harder to get back on track. The food sits in my stomach longer and I gain weight much more easily these days.

SPONGE: So what can we do to calm ourselves down in a healthy way when we’re older?

Take medication?

SPONGE: Nope. Hate that stuff.

Me too. I won’t even take Advil.  Meditate? Or go for a walk?

SPONGE: When I’m in a panic mode, I can’t get myself to do that.

Me neither. Try tapping methods?

SPONGE: Nope. When I’m in a panic, I can’t pull it together.

Same here. Get a massage? With oils?

SPONGE: Not happening.

Acupuncture? Physical therapy?? Go to a chiropractor???

SPONGE: Nope, nope and nope.

So… you think there’s no way to make ourselves feel better when we’re anxious in older age?

SPONGE: I don’t know! I guess some conversations just can’t end with comforting answers.

I guess not…

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With that, I told the sponge I’d catch up with her later. I wished her well, and just before I left, we embraced. Oddly, the sponge immediately felt better. By wrapping my arms around the sponge, I’d squeezed all the water out of her. All the water that was weighing her down. She felt refreshed. Temporarily. And so…I guess I can say… sometimes, the best cure for anxiety in older age is simply…a hug.

How do you make yourself less crazy?

copyrightoverthehillontheyellowbrickroad2018