People of a Certain Age

 

 

A couple of years ago, I was startled and a bit taken aback when I visited the UK, specifically London. Taking the underground from Paddington to Whitehall, I was surprised when I stepped onto the train and someone stood up from their seat, tapped me on the shoulder, and gestured for me to sit in the seat they’d just vacated.

Kind and polite though it was, given how crowded the train was, I didn’t fail to notice that the sign at that particular seat said to surrender the seat to the elderly or handicapped. And there was a woman struggling with a couple of kids and a suitcase nearby to whom no one offered a seat.

I am not handicapped. Neither do I consider myself “elderly.” To me, elderly is 80 or older. Elderly is someone with a cane, perhaps a bit of a hunched back, white hair, who possibly has movement issues – basically, someone who looks like what I consider a grandmother.

I have none of those things, although I admit the hair color is the product of a bottle, not naturally occurring anymore. But I’m not ready to embrace white hair, and I don’t like the look of iron grey hair on anyone. So, I’m not going to do it. I figured 80 was soon enough to consider no longer dyeing my hair.

While I admit I am “of a certain age,” – I’ve only just turned 70 –haven’t they said 60 is the new 40? --  I don’t really think about what I look like unless I’m facing a mirror. Yes, I have wrinkles, and when I smile, they’re kind of deep. I blame a good bit of weight loss several years ago for that. Until then, I really didn’t have much in the way of wrinkles.

But I still haven’t reached my weight-loss goal.

So, what’s the plan when I do? Well, it won’t be Botox, collagen injections or butt fat implants. They’re all temporary, and frankly make people look like clowns. I never aspired to Barnum and Bailey.

I’ve toyed with the idea of maybe getting a facelift. Maybe. The old-fashioned kind. Once. When it’s run its course, that’s it. I don’t want the Joan Rivers look where one wonders if the two sides of her face actually meet at the back of her head.

But those things are expensive. And considering two hair transplant surgeries eventually failed, I’m not sure it would be worth the expense.

Somehow, I don’t think I look old. I probably do, and I’m still living off the picture in my mind of me at 25.

Still, some of the things that are asked, I consider a bit bold – in the British sense of the word.

I recently had to find a new doctor because mine suddenly died. Apparently the whole way of practicing medicine has changed since the last time I changed doctors.

It used to be you could change doctors as easily as changing clothes. Pick up a phone, dial the number and make an appointment as a new patient.

Not so now.

It took an entire day of making phone calls. I wanted an individual doctor. There are none. They all belong to groups. What that means is a revolving door of doctors, and possibly never seeing the same one twice.

Worse, if you’re a new patient, you can wait anywhere from three to six months for an appointment. To my mind, if you have to wait that long, the doctor has too large of a caseload. And this is a group of doctors! I think it's a practice somewhat like hazing, where the person has to wait it out to prove their worthiness as a patient. (Or die trying.)

I was nearly out of a prescription that I require for continued good health. For that reason, I was able to whittle down the wait time to about three weeks, leading me to the assumption that they actually have open appointments, but they don't want to give them to anyone new. Their snide comment when you say you need something sooner is to tell you that you can go to an urgent care facility.

Right. I discovered that you not only have to fill out a lengthy questionnaire for them, most of which is about mental health – I suppose they realize that filling out lengthy forms when you need urgent care is likely to drive you to mental health problems – but you only get your first visit for “free,” by which I mean you aren’t charged a service fee that is not covered by your insurance, Medicare or anything else but a credit card. And this fee has nothing to do with the actual visit, and is rather expensive out-of-pocket.

And again, you may never see the same doctor again, so there’s no continuity of care.

In any case, I was able to see my new doctor for what she called an annual physical. This wasn’t anywhere near as complete as what I had from my now-deceased previous doctor.

She asked me if I experienced dizziness. Not sure why she asked. Nothing I told her about my medical history indicated that I might. She asked me if I had fallen. I don’t know why for the same reason as the dizziness question.

I walked into the office on my own, without cane, walker or any other mobility device. In fact the last time I used a cane was many years ago for about three weeks when I had surgery on my knee.

Okay, she probably had to cover all of the bases because I’m a new patient.

A couple of weeks later I went to a specialist with whom I have an annual appointment. I was asked the same questions, which I thought was really weird, since this wasn’t the first, second or even third time this doctor had seen me. And then she told me I should probably have a cane with me.

WHAT??

I can’t imagine what I would need a cane for, other than to bash doctors about the head for suggesting that I need a cane. My balance is fine. There’s nothing wrong with the way I walk. I have no mobility issues. Therefore, there’s no reason for me to have a cane. (Perhaps they're thinking of introducing Vaudeville medicine?)

While I do have some arthritis here and there that bothers me occasionally, I’m an occupational therapist. I know what to do and how to minimize pain. My house is safe. I work out at the gym three times a week, and the only reason I no longer take kick-boxing classes is that they got too expensive and then the facility I used to go to closed after the Covid-19 shutdown. I’m perhaps more sedentary than I’d like, but I now have a dog who doesn’t hesitate to tell me when he wants a walk – and is very insistent on it.

I recognize that David Bowie and several other rockers died a year younger than I am now, but I don’t have cancer or any of the other issues that took their lives. I’ve lived longer than my father did, but not longer than my mother yet.

We live in a world where we’re living longer and better than our parents and grandparents. There’s more of an emphasis on healthy foods and healthy lifestyles despite the obesity epidemic and people’s preference to take a pill to solve their problems than actually doing something positive.

Personally, I’d rather focus on health and the positives.

And you can keep your cane, and unless I have a suitcase, give up the seat to the lady with small children.

When Commercials Were Fun

 

Over the years American TV commercial producers have found catchy ways to sell products.

One of my earliest memories of a commercial was the one for Nestles chocolate powder to flavor milk. While we used Bosco in our house on the rare occasions we were allowed chocolate milk – it was considered a treat rather than the norm in our house, and the jar lasted at least a year – Nestles was the winner as far as commercials. They had a marionette  dog singing, “N-E-S-T-L-E-S, Nestles is the very best…. Chocolate.” I believe the dog’s jaw clicked closed at the end. Quick and to the point. And he looked like that wooden pull-along dog many toddlers had.

Then there was a series of commercials with Madge the Beautician, who soaked her clients’ nails in dishwashing liquid to soften their cuticles, demonstrating that Palmolive liquid was gentle on hands, making dishwashing somehow more pleasurable.

The Wicked Witch of the West actress Margaret Hamilton (as herself) pedaled Maxwell House “Good to the last drop” coffee.

There were singing twins who sold Double mint gum, Speedy Alka Seltzer, who looked like a prototype of the Pillsbury Dough Boy in a bellhop uniform promising to make your stomach upsets a thing of the past, and Choo Choo Charlie sold Good-N-Plenty candy, which, if you shook the box slowly, sounded something like a train.

In those early days of television, feminine hygiene products and prescription drugs weren’t advertised. But cigarettes were.

“Come to where the flavor is… Come to Marlboro Country.” Presumably, this is where cowboys lived, since it was always advertised by a man with a horse, boots and a cowboy hat. In those days there were more Westerns on TV than there currently are spinoffs of Law and Order.

“I’d walk a mile for a Camel,” and probably be coughing all the way considering Camels didn’t originally have filters.

“LSMFT – Lucky Strike Means Fine Tobacco.”

All of the elegant people were shown with cigarettes in hand, be they Pall Mall, Salem, Chesterfield or Winston’s. “Winston tastes good, like a cigarette should.”

And then in the  mid-60s, despite Rod Serling doing the prologue and epilogue to every Twilight Zone episode with a cigarette smoldering between his fingers, cigarette commercials were banned on TV.

With the rise of the hippie movement and Broadway productions like Hair, some fun commercials began.

Santa riding an electric shaver down a ski slope while, “Floating heads, floating heads” to the tune of Jingle Bells played in the background was shown every year at Christmas time for probably as many years as the current scratch-off lottery ticket commercials by Gus (the second most famous groundhog in PA). But that commercial did make one wonder what the writers were smoking when they came up with that idea.

The loneliest man was apparently the Maytag repairman, because the product was so good, it made his job obsolete.

There were a few funny commercials that people could recite verbatim that didn’t last because no one could remember what product they were selling.

An unusual one was the late ‘60s/early ‘70s Coke commercial that featured the song, “I’d Like to Teach the World to Sing.” Initially only a snippet of the song played, but eventually, they showed a version with a mass of people singing the entire song – in three-part harmony.

The strangest commercial, to my mind, was the one advertising hand lotion – I don’t even recall which one – that claimed it made your skin feel as soft as a baby’s behind. Imagine using that on your face? I guess we know where Beavis and Butthead came from.

While today we have blue cartoon bears advertising Charmin bath tissue, telling you to “enjoy the go,” years ago Mr. Whipple a store manager admonished customers, “Please don’t squeeze the Charmin.” One wonders who does?

There was also Kool-Aid, a powder mixed with sugar and water for kids to drink, advertised by a pitcher with a face. Later, Funny Face, which was essentially the same thing, had to amend its flavor names because some were politically challenging. Chinese Cherry was changed to Choo Choo Cherry, and Injun Orange became Jolly Olly Orange to fit in better with Goofy Grape.

A woman who gave the impression of being naked as she stood in the midst of bushes announced, “Hi. I’m Eve.” Her job was to sell Ocean Spray Cranapple juice drink. That was probably as risqué as American commercials got.

In the ‘80s we had a long-haired, shirtless man who looked like he’d just stepped off the cover of a romance novel touting, “I can’t believe it’s not butter!” in a non-descript European accent to a nearly swooning housewife. While I haven’t seen any ads for that product lately, It’s still sold in stores. The commercial fit in well with shows like Knott’s Landing, Dallas, and 90210.

In high school, I wrote a parody poem about TV commercials. I’ll include it here so you can decide whether or not my college poetry professor was correct in telling me to give up poetry, and see if you remember which commercials are spotlighted.

 

And Now, a Word From Our Sponsor

 

Her skin was as soft as a baby’s behind,

And she smells like a fresh-cut lemon.

She’s conquered split-ends with her thick, rich shampoo

And feels baby-like softness that was born in her hair.

 

Her man’s beard stands soft to a barber-close shave

That’s 50% closer, they say.

His hair has the dry look, he smells like a lime,

But his skin isn’t soft as a baby’s behind.

 

But her father is having conniptions, they say,

‘Cause she uses a whitener instead of the Gleem.

Her guy’s aftershave’s irresistible;

Her tingling, clean mouth is ever so kissable

And their antiperspirant keeps the whole track team dry.

 

While he’s bathing to make himself feel cleaner than soap,

She’s fogging his specs in the sink, like a dope.

Her coffee’s the greatest – even better than freeze dried,

And her cake is so moist,

All the neighbors come back for more.

 

She always drinks Tab so he’ll notice her dresses,

And keeps a live tiger to put in her tank.

She opens the dog food with her bare hands;

Has revolving credit now at the bank.

 

Yes, she’s the American Woman,

And he’s the American Man

They use Heinz 57 all over their steak,

And their chicken’s

Finger-lickin’

Good.

 

Commercials have changed significantly, and perhaps reflecting the times, aren’t as entertaining, even when they’re trying to be.

Like many of my cousins in the UK, I’m appalled by TV ads for prescription drugs, so I have a nostalgic place in my heart for the old-time commercials.

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Grammar refresher: To/two/too

to: direction , intention.  e.g.: 1)We are going to the mall. 2)I want to tell you something. 

two: the number. e.g.: There are two prizes left.

too: 1) also; 2) more than desirable. e.g. 1) Larry will be there, too. 2)Too many marbles have been lost for us to play the game.

A Time of Outrage

 

Some people look for reasons to be outraged or insulted.

I don’t know how many other people have this issue, but often when I’m on social media, I forget the fact that everyone in the room, drunk, sober, class bully, village idiot (by that I mean people who intentionally try to appear stupid), the uninformed, those looking to pick a fight, as well as your friends can see what you’ve written.

A simple comment about a television program or some celebrity meant to harm no one ends up being attacked by people you wouldn’t even want to meet in real life. Often those attacks contain rather coarse expletives – the sort you used to be banned from using on social media – for no other reason than the person disagrees with your opinion.

And that is the key word: Opinion. Most of what is posted online is nothing more than opinion. And for that, we are subjected to name-calling.

I can’t tell you how many times I’ve been called a snowflake for having a conscience. Fine. You know, avalanches are made up of snowflakes. And that statement is often my response to being called a snowflake, if I even bother to respond.

Often, I don’t deem the bullies worthy of a response. If they’re being particularly aggressive, I block them as well as not responding.

Not long ago, I responded to something posted online and several people’s responses showed that they had either not read what I wrote or not understood the way I wrote it. I suppose sometimes my sentence structure is too advanced for those who are looking for an argument, and they jump on what they think they saw. It kind of reminds me of Charlie Brown playing football with Lucy.

I’m no more a genius than anyone else. I’m just your average person trying to get by in the world. I have nothing going for me that could, in any way, make me influential. The only awards I ever received – other than a couple of fencing medals – were for perfect attendance, and I was even criticized by my peers for those.

I would say my biggest error online is when I get into a conversation with a friend on a post, whether it’s mine, theirs or someone else’s, and I forget that everyone else out there can see what I’ve written. Then someone else comes in and makes a comment on what I’ve said, usually in a negative way. My first thought it, “Mind your own business; I wasn’t talking to you!” And then I realize, oh, yeah, I did post that in a public forum, and anyone can nose in.

I often get into the mindset that, especially if it’s my own post, it’s like being at a cocktail party. You may be in a room with lots of people, but you’re not talking to all of them. You’re talking with a circle who are standing around you, and if someone from across the room comes over and butts in – especially if they don’t have a history with you on the subject – you feel annoyed, to say the least.

Unfortunately, social media is not a cocktail party, and everyone in the room has a microphone.

What I really find obnoxious, though, is when you ask a question about a post, and someone feels the need to put you down for what you’ve posted.

I see social media as an opportunity to learn things on a social level. It’s certainly not an educational forum, but if you look at it like “The Kelly Clarkson Show” or “Evening Magazine” (is that even still on?) it’s the online version of “entertainment news.”

For example, someone posted about the Eurovision contest. I know what that is, but I was unaware of what countries can participate – or even if it’s restricted to certain countries. The post was about one country not participating if a certain other country – a non-European country, in fact – participated. Not knowing what countries participate (I know the US doesn’t, but I don’t know whether or not we’re allowed to), I asked if countries outside Europe were allowed to participate. One person replied that Australia does. That was fine. But the next comment was simply rude. The person said, “Maybe you shouldn’t comment on things you know nothing about.”

I don’t know why that person couldn’t have just scrolled on by. But I replied, “I didn’t comment. I asked a question. Generally people ask questions to learn something, which was what I was trying to do.”

I didn’t grow up watching the Eurovision contest. They don’t play it here. What was wrong with my question? It never got answered, so I still don’t know. But I won’t bother asking on social media.

My real pet peeve on social media is the group of people who just look to be affronted. They see the slightest comment as an attack on them personally. If you talk about educational standards going down, they attack you for calling them stupid. (Hey, first of all, I wasn’t talking to you. Second, I wasn’t talking about you. I was talking about the state of education at this moment in history. Get a grip! – of course, I never say that.)

If you express a dislike of a particular actor, you get a diatribe about how stupid you are because you don’t love what they love. I’ve learned to couch my dislike of actors, singers and others in the performing arts as “not my cuppa.” Many of the attackers apparently don’t know what that means, so they give it a pass.

Reggae isn’t my cuppa. But that doesn’t mean I don’t think anyone should like it. (I’m waiting for those who will misinterpret that sentence because they don’t understand the sentence structure) Like away. Be happy. I’m not saying it’s not music, or that it’s not worthy of fans. I’m only saying I’m not on that fan list. As the song said, “Different strokes for different folks.”

I was teased practically to the point of torture when I was a teen for saying I liked the Monkees and the Bee Gees. After that I kept that information to myself based on prior criticism. Now that there’s only one member of each band left alive, it’s almost cool to be a fan. (So does my cool factor improve if I divulge that I have nearly all of the albums for both bands, mostly on vinyl?)

I used to spend a good deal of time on Social media, probably more than is good for me. I think I’m over it. I now check out whether or not anyone’s messaged me, looked to see if anyone I know has commented on anything I’ve posted, scroll around to see if any of the fun things are there – I have a fondness for videos of Casper the dog, who gives his “father” explanasions  of things, and of course, wants treats – and then I sign off. After all, I have books to write.

I used to love ceiling cat, but I don’t know whatever happened to him, or many other fun pages. I hate the political horror pages, but I do look to see what the comments are occasionally. I’ll even go so far as to type a comment, then leave the page without posting it because I don’t like the negativity.

I think one of my New Year’s Resolutions should be something one of my cousins said about social media several years ago. She said she doesn’t check what anyone she doesn’t know has to say on her posts because it’s none of her business.

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New service: grammar refresher. This month's words: Then/than

then: a time reference. E.g. :She won the race, then received the medal.

than: comparison. E.g.: The giant is taller than the bunny.