Where is my watch?

A couple of years ago, I fainted in my kitchen.  I had a glass in my hand that shattered as I landed on the tile floor.  My husband came running, telling me not to move because I was surrounded by shards of glass.  That morning was the beginning of months of fainting, testing, and wondering what the heck was going on.  My primary care physician sent me to a cardiologist who ordered test after test:  table tilt, stress test, electrocardiogram, echo cardiogram.  I missed a lot of work, and still no answers.  When I returned to the primary care office, I saw the Physician Assistant, who looked at all these tests and asked, "Did the cardiologist put you on a heart monitor?"  Well, no.  She ordered the heart monitor, in my case, a cardiac event recorder (see  https://www.heart.org/en/health-topics/arrhythmia/prevention--treatment-of-arrhythmia/cardiac-event-recorder ).    My life changed.   The very next day I got a call from the cardiologist, who invited me to get myself to his

I have been a member of WW (formerly Weight Watchers) for 30 years, off and on.  I joined after I had my second child and was struggling to get back to my "fighting weight."  Back then, there was a lot of calculating involved in food "exchanges" for fat, protein, vegetables, milk bread, etc.  I still have one of the cookbooks from those days that has some great recipes, copyright 1984!   Today's WW is so much easier to follow and, I think, the healthiest way to maintain a goal weight.  Just like the olden days, a very important part of WW success is tracking one's food consumed and exercise done.  WW has an awesome app that makes tracking nearly painless (of course, tracking things like cheesecake still causes me some guilt).  The app includes a scanner so I can scan the bar code on salad dressing, pasta, canned soup, frozen meals, etc.  It's easy and can be really surprising; just when I start thinking that I've got this, this scanner will remind

They're here:  another indication of my getting older.  Not old, just older than I was.  I'm good about going to the doctor, the dentist, the ophthalmologist, etc.  I actually enjoy knowing that I am about as healthy as I can be.  But, some things just come naturally with age: osteopenia, graying (or, as I refer to it, silvering) of the hair, wrinkles in the skin, and...cataracts.  The good news is that there is a fix for this, and, apparently, it is quick and painless (so I've been told).  One of my friends even said that his cataract surgery was the best thing that had happened to him in years; he was able to get along without glasses.  Lucky!   I doubt I will be able to toss my glasses out the window.  I was born with crossed eyes that became worse with each year.  When I was about 5 years old, my parents took me to the hospital to have my eyes corrected.  I don't remember that, but I have vivid memories of the aftermath.  There I was in kindergarten, with glasses

I retired on May 31.  I had the idea that I would JUMP into retirement and do all the things that I never did before because I didn't have the time.  That didn't happen, and I am working on getting it together.  One of the things that is helping me is a book recommended by my friend: Meditation for Fidgety Skeptics  by Dan Harris.  My friend recommended this book a few years ago, but, of course, I didn't have the time to read it.  (Note: I did have the time!!!  I was afraid of failing.  To be perfectly honest, I was afraid that I would spend my super duper valuable time on the book and then fail.  Isn't that silly?)  The book is brilliant!  I'm only 60 pages in, but it has been quite a revelation.  I am fidgety.  I can't just sit and read the  newspaper...there's so much else I should be doing!  It's always amazing to realize that one is not alone, and I now know that my fidgety habits are shared by many of us. This brings me to an entirely different

I've lived in a few places:  my parents' house, my dorm at college, my first apartment, my second apartment, my third apartment, my first home with my husband, and our second home, and finally (I hope) our third and last home.  With each place, I discovered that I liked some things and never wanted to see others again.  Never again a corner house, never again a hundred year old house with no air conditioning, never again a house in a flood zone, never again a house that backs up to multiple other houses.  I've found that I value my privacy and a back yard that enables it.  We bought our house based on the back yard; the house itself is fine, but the yard is beautiful.  We have trees, a covered porch, and, because we live in Florida, we have a pool.  My favorite thing is to sit on the porch in the evening, watching the birds at the feeders and the birdbaths, and listening to the quiet.  Yesterday there were two raccoons checking out the yard and the feeders.  The occasional

When I was young, I was pretty, or so I was told.  Being pretty is valuable, but also dangerous.  I came to depend on my looks to get me things:  attention, compliments, boys.  Pretty is fleeting, and irreplaceable for those who depend on its power.  I try to keep myself attractive; it's ingrained in me.  But, my skin is sagging and there's no hiding that, short of covering up every inch.  I read that Jane Fonda said that her character in the Netflix series "Grace and Frankie" covers everything; as I watched the show, I realized that I never see the characters' arms or legs.  We do see their faces; I know that plastic surgery enabled that.  I'm not being judgmental or unkind; appearances are inordinately important for people who are in the public eye.   When my son was three years old, I enrolled him in a preschool.  On the first day, the teacher asked each new enrollee about themselves and about what they had done during the summer vacation.  Dan said, &qu

When I was born, my hair was blonde.  Many babies have blonde hair, and mine remained blonde for a few years.  When it started to turn darker, my mother was unhappy; apparently, she really wanted a blonde daughter.  Out came the peroxide, and my first bleach job. Through the years, my mother was dedicated to the task of keeping me blonde. How she found the time, I don't know.  She was an obstetrician/gynecologist, the only female OB/GYN in the area.  Her office was in our home, and she was very, very busy.  I don't remember much from my young childhood, but I have vivid memories of trips to the drugstore during my adolescence.  My mother and I would survey the hair color aisle to choose the blonde of the month; ash blonde, golden blonde, dirty blonde, etc., then go home and fix me.  I never thought much about it until I was getting ready to go away to college: the maintenance; the deception; the identity crisis!  In an act of sheer and total rebellion, I took myself to a hair

My husband and I recently went on a Carnival Cruise, visiting Princess Cays and Nassau in the Bahamas. I learned that I am OLD!!! That ship was PACKED to the gills with 2019 graduates, mostly high school grads.  Those kids can party, loud and long. In my mind, and in much of my behavior, I think I am still young, but those kids proved me wrong. My vacation left me exhausted; I am glad to be home so I can get some rest.  On the plus side, my husband came in second in the Black Jack Tournament!!! Some kid beat him. No, seriously, a young man who teaches middle school won the $500 prize; our young teachers need all the victories they can get.  My husband got a ball cap.  He wears it with pride.  I am still in recovery.  

One day last week, I looked at my wrist in the middle of the afternoon and realized my watch was missing.  I've worn a watch every single day for as long as I can remember, way back to early childhood.  So, what is going on?  Oh, yes, I retired from work nearly three weeks ago.  I don't need that watch anymore.  Somehow, my early morning brain processed that information, but my mid-afternoon brain missed the transmission.   Life without a watch is strange.  Of course, there are clocks all over the place, and certainly readily available in the ubiquitous accessory, the cell phone.  It's just a reminder of my newly unbound to the clock status:  no meetings, no deadlines, no rush hour!  I think I can get accustomed to this!