Another Blog About Shoes

My Daughter thinks I should up my shoe game.


I have reached the magical age where I tell my Mother the things that she needs to do, and I send her reminders AND my daughter tells me all the things that are wrong with my personal style. Who said your late fifties weren’t fun?!

I recently went to a wedding. As I had tossed all my dressy shoes out early in pandemic (I decided that heels were the devil) I needed to purchase a pair of shoes that looked nice with my fun, party dress, but also treated my feet like the ladies that they are. So I bought a low heel shoe with some sparkle on top. Cute and practical and good for an evening out. I loved them. I showed them to my daughter via Zoom. She was less than impressed. Way less…

“How could you wear those shoes?” she asked

“I put them on my feet, strap the buckle and I walk” I replied.

She was not amused.

“Why are you making yourself old?” she asked.

I took a beat and thought about it. Does buying low heeled shoes signify getting old? Does it mean I no longer care how I appear to others? Does it mean that I am giving up?




I guess that the beauty of aging is realizing what is important to the individual. Yes, perhaps buying lower heels as I age signifies that my feet are not quite as springy as they used to be. I have some tendon issues that make angling my foot in a heel very tenuous. It also makes wearing flip flops a problem because I can’t really “grip” with my toes without causing pain. With age comes the realization that I don’t have to be put fashion first.

I also care about the way I look. I really wanted my shoes to match the look of my dress. I was wearing a cocktail dress, and I I wanted cocktail shoes…I wanted something that was a little fancier than my everyday kicks. However…I don’t care what others think of my look. If people mock me due to my pretty yet sensible shoes, so be it.

Of course, wearing low heeled shoes does not mean that I am old. It just means that I don’t wear high heeled shoes. Period. One does not correlate to the other.

We all change as we age. We toss some things out as we bring others in. It’s neither good nor bad: it’s just learning who we are and what makes us happy. So cheers to the upside of aging- figuring out who we are and liking it.

Last Stand?

I first read “Major Pettigrew’s Last Stand” by Helen Simonson about twelve years ago when I was in my mid 40’s….way before this blog and my body creaking as I tried to get out of bed…

When I read the book I thought it was a delightful read about some older people getting a second chance at a life.

I reread the book recently for book club. I enjoyed the book as much as I did the first time I read it. However, I was shocked to see that the elderly female character is supposed to be 58.



You can’t see my face, but a imagine a look of horror…

Guess which blogger is going to turn 58 in a few short months? This OLDER WOMAN in the book is actually supposed to be the same age as me…

They treat her like she’s feeble. They treat her like she’s ready for the pasture.

And while I get that this is what the author is trying to do, that she is trying to show that we can have a full life and love and fun at any age, that this was her intent, she made her character 58, because apparently there are those who think that 58 is old…

Do people really think 58 is old?

Am I old? Because if I am, I didn’t get the memo…

Do people think 58 is old?

Reading this book now, at this present stage of my life, I was a bit horrified to think that people think that others of this age have no life left in them… That people this age need to be coddled and told what to do. That people this age shouldn’t dance and wear fun clothes and flirt…

Just because I choose to wear sensible shoes doesn’t mean that I don’t still want to laugh and enjoy myself…I just don’t want my feet to hurt. Are you ready to put me out to pasture because I don’t want to limp around on stilts with pointy toes?

Maybe my idea of fun isn’t “young” fun. I’m probably not going to a three day outdoor concert in the rain…and maybe I’m not staying out all night at a club…but that doesn’t mean there’s nothing left for me to enjoy…

Just because our tastes and habits and activities are not longer the ones we had in the first half of our lives doesn’t mean that we are old. It just means we’ve found out things about ourselves and that we’ve adapted to the things we’ve discovered along the way. It means we’ve lived to tell a lot of tales…

I am 57. I am not old. I am me. And I’m pretty happy with that.

Don’t let anyone tell you that you’re old just because you need to scroll a bit to find your year of birth when you fill out an online form…

You are only as old as you allow yourself to be…

HIPAA and You

Spoiler alert: If you think this is going to be about COVID, I am sorry to inform you that it is not. However, if you want a fast paced blog about the problem with rules, keep reading…

We all know about HIPAA. According to the CDC (do I need to define them for you?):

The Health Insurance Portability and Accountability Act of 1996 (HIPAA) is a federal law that required the creation of national standards to protect sensitive patient health information from being disclosed without the patient’s consent or knowledge.

Does everyone understand why we have these laws? Basically to provide privacy to someone who is sick. And you all know that I defend the right to privacy. Completely.


Sometimes we create rules to protect that end up screwing the person that most needs protection.

Case in point: My Dad has long term health care insurance. In order to qualify to reap the benefits of said insurance, you need to meet certain criteria: namely, that the person needs help doing normal, everyday things. It means that the person probably needs help advocating for themselves.

As my Father does not have the ability to sit on hold for 90 minutes waiting for a customer service rep, I have been helping him out.

Here’s the rub: I am not allowed to ask questions about the policy without his consent. Which is fine. I get the law and how it’s trying to protect people. And I call my Mom and get her to put my Dad on the phone so that he can give consent, for that day and that day only, for me to help. And my Dad is ill. And I’m trying to get him help with THINGS HE PAID FOR FOR THE PAST 20 YEARS…

Can you feel my frustration about this.

So, after I lost it last week and I emailed the CEO of the insurance company, and got a senior executive to answer my call…I will share with you what I told him left me a tad frustrated…

I asked how a long term care policy could be put into effect without the policy NEEDING to have at least one authorized individual who can speak for the insured. I carefully explained, like I stated above, that by the time the insurer needs the policy they can’t actually do the leg work. I told them that it SHOULD BE REQUIRED THAT EVERY POLICY TAKEN HAS AN AUTHORIZED PERSON THAT CAN ACT FOR THE INSURED. I said that you can send out an update form on a yearly basis as to who that authorized person should be, with updated contact info. I asked how, MY MOTHER, his WIFE OF 59 YEARS IS NOT ALLOWED TO DISCUSS THESE THINGS- and how she wasn’t put on the policy 20 years ago…which my parents swear that they did…

I then pointed to the part of the policy that states that I am the one to be called if for any reason they payments lapse. I told the Sr. Exec that my parents assumed by putting me on that, making me responsible for the money and all, would allow me to have access and speak for my father.

Next, I told him how my parents filled out the necessary paper work so that my Mother and I could have access to speak to the insurance company, and how the insurance company DENIED THE PAPERWORK because the SIGNATURES DON’T MATCH. My father is ill and has trouble feeding himself sometimes. DO YOU THINK HE HAS THE SAME MOTOR SKILLS?

I understand rules/laws are meant to protect people. But sometimes the rules/laws hurt the very people that they are supposed to protect. When we set a standard, we need to make sure that people truly are protected, and it’s not just an additional 80 levels of paperwork and bureaucracy…and added levels of angst and frustration.

So, the moral of the story is: if you have long term health insurance, make sure you have someone listed as an approved person to discuss matters.

And if they do amend the law that every care policy like this MUST HAVE A DESIGNATED PARTY TO SPEAK ON ONE’S BEHALF…

You’re welcome…

Old or Older

“Which of my friends looks the oldest?”

When you read this statement, what do you think? Do you think the speaker is under 25? Over 50? Male or female? What is your initial gut reaction?

When you read this statement, are you thinking the person wants to look older? Or are you thinking they want to look younger?

Who do you think is more likely to have made this statement: my 19 year old daughter, the one who wakes up on the wrong side of 50 every day, or my husband ?

I know this is a tough one, because doesn’t it seem like we all, in our own unique way, are constantly wondering about our appearance? When you’re older you want to look younger. When you’re 19, for some unknown reason, you want to look older…

So the answer to the question is: My 19 year old daughter…

My 19 year old daughter, and her friends, are obsessed with looking older.

She asked me to say, in order, who looks the oldest and who looks the youngest.

To me, they are all beautiful: skin glowing, everything in the right place, full of life and vitality. Why does it matter how “old” they look. None of them can actually pass for 21+, which is what they are aiming for. To me, they look like the college students that they are.

So my question is: are we all eternally trying to look like we are in our mid 20’s?

Is somewhere in the 20’s the beauty ideal?

How much angst do people feel when they are 29? How many people feel like the minute they cross that plane from twenties to thirties that their life is essentially over?

I admit- 25 was a good look for me. I just started making actual money. I was on a good career path. I did look physically good… All the puzzle pieces did fit into place…

Do I wish I looked that age now?

Ok- I admit that I liked that at 25 my body didn’t creak… I would like some of the flexibility that I had back then (and I freely admit that it’s my fault that I am as stiff and inflexible as I am- news flash- want to be young forever? Stretch. Stretch some more. Exercise to keep limber- that’s the real fountain of youth)

But do I want to look 25 again?

I mean, every product on my bathroom shelf thinks age is an enemy.



Absolutely ageless






Anti wrinkle


These are the words of wisdom that face me every morning when I open up my medicine chest…

Do I want to turn back time? Or do I just want to keep up with what I have?

Do we all want to be some magical age where we are at peak attractiveness without having to keep a plethora of elixirs in the bathroom?

Do we want to walk down the street and have people think we are attractive?

Do we want people to think we are a certain age, no matter what age we are?

After thinking about all this, I can only surmise that we spend far too much time focusing on age, and aging. Yet I know I will continue to use products that want me to be ageless…

So the real question is: Why do we care so much about aging and our appearance?

When do we make the switch from wanting to look older, to doing everything we can to look younger?

The Stages

Speech: “All the world’s a stage”

BY WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE(from As You Like It, spoken by Jaques)
                                        All the world’s a stage,
And all the men and women merely players;
They have their exits and their entrances;
And one man in his time plays many parts,
His acts being seven ages. At first the infant,
Mewling and puking in the nurse’s arms;
And then the whining school-boy, with his satchel
And shining morning face, creeping like snail
Unwillingly to school. And then the lover,
Sighing like furnace, with a woeful ballad
Made to his mistress’ eyebrow. Then a soldier,
Full of strange oaths, and bearded like the pard,
Jealous in honour, sudden and quick in quarrel,
Seeking the bubble reputation
Even in the cannon’s mouth. And then the justice,
In fair round belly with good capon lin’d,
With eyes severe and beard of formal cut,

Full of wise saws and modern instances;
And so he plays his part. The sixth age shifts
Into the lean and slipper’d pantaloon,
With spectacles on nose and pouch on side;
His youthful hose, well sav’d, a world too wide
For his shrunk shank; and his big manly voice,
Turning again toward childish treble, pipes
And whistles in his sound. Last scene of all,
That ends this strange eventful history,
Is second childishness and mere oblivion;
Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything.

The above passage might be my very favorite Shakespeare. I love how he breaks down the stages of life. Pretty accurately I think.

A few weeks ago I wrote about the five stages of womanhood- (I only wrote five because I’ve yet to reach the others) I think that each decade adds new dimensions and layers to our lives, we learn and grow: adapt and change.

I highlighted the words that were most descriptive for Shakespeare as he broke down the ages. I used computer speak naming then 1.0, 2.0 etc.

What do you think the stages of life are?

How would you name them?

Anything Can Happen Friday: Practical

This week I’ve vented and ranted and got out all my emotions. But now it’s time for the practical:

I’ve reached the age where I now have to take medication and supplements.


This happens.

But how do you put on your person what things you are taking, or what conditions you have?

Do you put it in your phone with an ICE (in case of emergency) number?

Do you keep it on a piece of paper in your wallet?

Do you take it behind you license?

Do you tape it behind your phone?

How do you let the world know what medicine or supplements you are taking if you were ever to fall ill and not be able to speak?

Where do you keep the phone number of your primary care physician?

I’m adding this after the initial writing because I realized that I wasn’t clear in why I was asking:

Say you pass out somewhere. EMT comes to your aid but you are unable to communicate. How do they know what they can and can’t give you medicine wise? Or treatment wise? Knowing what medicine you’ve taken could help medics help you

Inquiring minds want to know

Nice &%$ Grandma

I went to the gym last week, did my usual hour on the elliptical. As I was watching HGTV, the guy on the elliptical next to me started chatting me up, in a pleasant manner.  He was age appropriate and rather attractive, so I was enjoying the banter.  I admit, though I am totally in love, the positive affirmation from someone I don’t know did make me feel good.

But, here’s the thing. You can never let yourself get too cocky…

A short time later I was running errands (my daughter had pre ordered her Halloween costume and I told her I would pick it up at Party City). As I was walking home, some random person shouted:

“Nice Ass Grandma”

Of course I relayed this story to my friends.  I got the following responses:

  1. OMG- I just told my Husband and he’s hysterical
  2. Well, at least he thought it was nice
  3. GILF
  4. On behalf of all men I apologize
  5. Only in NYC
  6. Tell me more about the attractive guy at the gym

What was my response?

GRANDMA.  He referred to me as a Grandma?

Now, I realize I am old enough to be a Grandma.  I know that there are plenty of women my age who are Grandma’s.  My cousin D, who is six years younger than me, just found out she is going to be a Grandma.  So I get that.  But I just don’t feel like a Grandma.

What does a Grandma feel like? I don’t really know, except to say that I don’t feel like one. When I think Grandma I think cozy cardigan sweaters, and little wire rim glasses- sort of like Mrs. Claus.  And I know that’s not how Grandma’s look nowadays.  I know Grandma’s can be hip and cool and fun.  My Mom, obviously a Grandma, still looks youthful.  But there’s just something about the connotation…

I know I have to come to the understanding that I am getting older.  And getting older is not a bad thing- as we’ve stated before, it’s better than the alternative.  I need to accept the fact that I am still the same person I have always been, but with a few extra lines and dryer skin, and knees that hurt when I take the stairs too quickly. But it’s OK. I know that one day I will be a very cool Grandma….

The Answer to the Question is…

I recently went to the beach with some friends.  We set up our umbrellas and chairs in a little circle about fifteen feet from the waves.  The sky was a greyish blue, the sun peaking in and out of the clouds.  Temperatures were perfect- not too humid, not too hot, not too cold.  Light breeze.  We sipped on water and adult beverages (sssh- don’t tell) and ate grapes from the cooler. Then the conversation opened: “When did you have your last colonoscopy?” Which was followed by various dates and measures and frequency.  So the answer to the question “At what age do people start talking about their health, the amount of pills they take, and other medical related things” is 58.7, the average age of the people around our little circle.

I am now afraid to ask someone “How are you?” because I know I will probably not hear the response “Fine.  And you?” I will probably get shown their portable pill case, which is fine and all, but not necessarily the topic I want to discuss at a cocktail party or beach outing.

Don’t get me wrong.  I seriously care about the health of my friends.  I truly do want to know how they are doing, what issues they are dealing with, and how they are treating them.  But why do Doctor’s appointments have to become the opening line of conversation? Can’t we just go back to discussing the weather? “Wow.  Can you believe all the rain we’ve had?” “I know.  But at least it will stop the humidity.”

I know I’m fast approaching the age where health will become the major concern of my life.  I know it will be the first thing I think about when it takes me 15 minutes to get out of bed. (Fun fact- the name of this blog came about when I realized that at 49 I was able to spring out of bed with the first sound of the morning M101 limited streaming up from the street, and at 50 I had to set the alarm ten minutes early not so I can snooze, but because it took me ten minutes to stretch and unlock all the joints needed to get out of bed) But…can’t we try to not have it be the very first thing we think about/discuss?

There is nothing bad about getting older.  In fact, I’d rather get older than the other option.  But age is a mindset.  While we must learn to take proper care of our older bodies, and be on the lookout for new and interesting maladies, we can’t keep thinking about our health and it’s slow deterioration.  It’s inevitable: our bodies will show signs of wear and tear.  That doesn’t mean we have to be hyper focused on it.

So yes, read about health related issues.  Go to the Doctor.  Talk to your friends about what’s going on. Lead a healthy lifestyle. But on a beautiful day, when you’re sitting at the beach, just look at the ocean and think about how great it is to be alive.  Cause that’s the thing- live while you’re alive.  Find new things to talk about, and challenge yourself in different ways. Don’t think that because you have to watch heartrate or cholesterol level you must constantly focus on health related issues.  that it becomes the main topic of conversation. Remember all the other things that make up who you are. Come up with a better opening line.

And just live life the best you can, no matter what age you are.



My Secret Obsession

20180709_0934431734729047.jpgI have a tendency to take things to the extreme-I become really passionate about something, and I go all out.  This mainly manifests itself in my organizing habits, but really, it’s a pattern in everything I do.  I become crazed with trying different recipes every night, trying to read a certain amount of books every year, or watching everything nominated for an Oscar.

This is just me- it’s part of my personality- and for good or for bad, it defines who I am.  To know me is to know and appreciate my quirks. I don’t have any obsessions that are particularly harmful, just a little embarrassing.  People often look at me funny when they find out about some of these habits/routines that I have developed.  And while I don’t really care what anyone thinks about me, I do sometimes feel a little odd.

Sometimes I don’t realize something is an obsession until there is a catalyst- a moment of pure clarity.  This happened to me recently.  I read about a product in a beauty article, went to Sephora and plunked down my hard earned cash for it.  I got home, totally excited and greedily read the instructions.  Seriously, buying this thing was the second best thing to happen to me this year.  And in my moment of excitement, the cold hard truth hit me right in the face: I am obsessed with products for my eyes.

While I normally buy drug store brands for cosmetic needs, I realized that my Sephora VIB status was earned mainly by eye products.  I saw that I had all these pretty little jars and tubes, gels and creams.  And I use them all: some are at night, some are for the morning, some are for mid day.  I have an eye product for every occasion.

Now being me, I had to figure out why I was so obsessed. Did you think I wouldn’t overanalyze this?  Why did I own all these products?

Obviously, I think there is something wrong with my eyes. And no, there really isn’t anything “wrong” with my eyes They are just not the same eyes I had when I was younger.  They now came with baggage.

This was a tough realization for me.  My eyes were always a point of pride: they are big,  I have decent lashes and eye brows, and they are a funky hazel that spans all sorts of shades of green. I have very few wrinkles (genetics). My eyes are also extremely expressive- they tell a story for me better than I tell it with words.

And now they have big bags underneath them.

I am not happy about this.

So when I went to Sephora, I purchased a little vibrating wand that I’m supposed to use twice a day.  Supposedly, the vibrations help break up the loose floppy skin.

Seriously.  I spent good money on this product that vibrates my eyes.

Yes. I know.  You’re all thinking, how narcissistic is this woman? And some of you are thinking a whole lot of other things.

This woman is completely narcissistic about her eyes. And a whole lot of other things.

This bothers me.  I never thought of myself as being obsessed with my looks.  I accepted the fact that I was reasonable attractive, but I really didn’t do too much to enhance it.  I exercise and wash and moisturize.  Make up when I feel like it, because I like playing with cosmetics.  But I was never one of those women spending hours and paychecks on being beautiful.  I was happy with who I was.

And now – well, I’m still happy with myself, but….I feel like I need some help.  My eyes, and the areas around it need help. And no matter how many times my intimates tell me I’m beautiful, I still don’t always feel it.  But that’s all on me-

I still go out in public.  I have no intention of going “Phantom of the Opera”. And I will probably continue to spend money on products that will work on my eyes.  If you want to sell me snake oil, make it pink and promise that it will make my eyes beautiful…

FYI- I have not been paid by any of the products that I have pictured.  That’s just a peak in the real products that I use.





New World Order

Change.  Whether we like it or not, change is inevitable.  Minutes, hours, days, weeks, years pass before us and like it or not, nothing stays the same.  But some changes are harder to fathom than others.

I consider myself somewhat of a Darwinist: I embrace the thought of “Adapt or Die”.  I feel it change is necessary in order to survive.  I may not love how tech has seemingly taken over the world, but I realize that I must keep up with it of I will go much the way of the dinosaur.  I have to accept that tech is not going anywhere.

But the one change I never saw coming was the role I play in my family.  I am older than my sister by almost seven years, so I had the early upbringing as an only child, yet somewhere in first grade there was an addition.  I’ve always been the quieter, responsible one, a protector of sorts- when it came to her.  But my parents were my parents- they provided and nurtured as best they could.  They were in charge.

My Father turned 80 last month, and my Mom will be celebrating her 60th high school reunion next weekend (I’m not supposed to reveal her age…).  And they are still mobile.  They still have their mental faculties.  I am blessed so far that there health remains pretty good.  But they are getting older- I can’t deny this.

Last month we went to dinner for my Dad’s birthday: my husband and daughter, my sister, brother in law and niece, my Uncle and my Mom.  We went to an iconic New York steakhouse (my Dad’s favorite) which serves its steak dinners family style: big platters of porterhouse and creamed spinach and German fried potatoes in the middle of the table. So when the food is to be shared by the table, you must figure out how much to order. Two steaks for two and two steaks for three?  What temperature?  How many tomato onion salads? Who wants shrimp?

I watched my parents fumble at ordering food.  They were having trouble ordering food at a restaurant we’ve been going to for years.  My Father who ran a successful business, my Mother who inserts herself into any situation, were stumbling.  My Sister was adding to the confusion  by wanting to massively overorder.

I had to take charge.

I had to usurp my parents authority.

This was the first time I envisioned the future of my parents.  This was the first time I realized that things are going to change, and my parents may not be able to make their own decisions anymore.

So I told the table- ie my parents- that I was going to do the ordering.  I knew how much food we needed.  I knew how much steak to get medium vs medium rare. The waiter instantly recognized me as the “go to” person, even though my Father was footing the bill. And though that day was about steak and potatoes, I saw my future in front of me. I was their protector now too.

I never saw that coming. But I need to adapt.  It’s a new world order.

And the dinner went off great.  We had the exact right amount of food.  I made sure my Dad got the pieces of steak he wanted, and I ordered him an extra piece of pecan pie because I knew it wasn’t fair to make him share a piece with all the others.  I wanted him to have a good day, because I realize there aren’t many good days left.  That’s just life. Things change.