BAD NEWS

I had my twice yearly physical last week.  It was also the annual Medicare wellness check.  I dread these because I worry about being prescribed additional medicine.  Anxiety starts at the scale when I first go in.  Same with blood pressure.  Don’t you think these should/could be done on the way out??

Naturally, I went in expecting a lecture and was shocked when ALL of the lab tests came back better than the last visit.  Blood pressure was beyond good.  In fact, all the tests are the best they’ve been in the past five years. That alone feels like a small miracle.

At first I thought the lab techs mistakenly switched my blood with someone younger?  Is this just a dream?  And to top it off I was down four pounds.  I haven’t exactly turned into a “green-smoothie-forget-to-eat” kind of person so how did this happen?  The only thing I can think of is I now use a small lunch size plate for my meals.  My wonderful Chef Son in Law is used to filling plates to the very edge (and often twice) for teenage sons who now eat like lumberjacks.  I have no willpower growing up in an era where clean your plate because of all the starving children in ________ (fill in the appropriate country) so be grateful.

Despite such great news, I named this blog “Bad News”.  I could have named it something happy and wonderful  (because this really is great news) but I have noticed negative titles or sarcastic titles or titillating titles tend to attract way more attention and clicks.  Our brains are wired to notice danger or problems.  “Celebrating Good Health at 73” would get 3 views yet ”Bad News” seems to draw in those of us who have FOMO (fear of missing out).  Negative titles often hint at a problem we want to avoid or understand. Maybe readers think “Is this something I should be worried about too?”

In addition to all the lab work, weight loss and passing the dementia questions, I have maintained my height!  Take THAT osteoporosis spine!

RETIRED, NOT EXPIRED

Retirement isn’t the end of the road, in my humble opinion. It’s the on-ramp to a slower, comfortable drive on a scenic highway. I imagined I’d wake up every morning full of purpose, grace, and gratitude. Instead, I often wake up wondering: “Is it Tuesday or Saturday?” And more importantly: “Does it matter?”

My day starts out slowly. Very slowly. First, coffee. My SIL usually has a mug of cold brew waiting for me (filtered after brewing) as well as a mini smoothie. (I am really spoiled living here). I check my calendar to see if there are any “must do” items.

Then online reading begins. Email, NYT, local paper, left aligned weekly local paper, WSJ and then Facebook.  I’m not complaining. After decades of schedules, deadlines, and early mornings fueled by too strong hot coffee and obligation, retirement feels like slipping into a soft robe that’s just a little too big and occasionally trips you on the stairs. Comfortable, but slightly hazardous.

There’s a myth that retirement is a finish line. That once you “stop working,” you start… what? Golfing? Napping professionally? Living your best life while smiling at fruit in commercials? Be real. Retirement is fun. Wonderful—

The Pros:
You can wear comfy stretchy pants every day and no one can say a thing.

Your calendar is so free it makes your 30-year-old self weep with envy.

Every day is a weekend (except, ironically, actual weekends, when everyone else is out and the lines are longer).

You can say no without guilt.

Say yes to weird hobbies (I am now learning to paint rocks … for my daughters fairy gardens … which are selling like hotcakes).

Redefine productivity on your own terms.

The Cons:
You sometimes talk back to Siri because she’s your most reliable coworker.

You start Googling things like “Is knee clicking normal?” and “How to organize Apple Photos.” Yes, I started  organizing for fun!

You forget the names of people you’ve just met but somehow remember best friends from elementary school.

Worst of all, you get judged by your streaming habits. When you watch five episodes of a TV drama in one evening, it feels relaxing  — but tell someone else that, and suddenly you're deemed mindless.

So, no — I’m not expired. I’m just delightfully unbothered. Now if you'll excuse me, I need to go put on my "outside lazy wardrobe" for walking out to get my mail. 

HAPPY MOTHER'S DAY

I used to think I was a reasonably intelligent person. I managed a household, worked full time, raised a kid, balanced checkbooks (using a calculator) — and yet, somehow, my phone has made me question all of it. It knows what I want before I do, answers questions I didn’t ask, and mocks me with smug little autocorrects. 

Just last week, I text reminded Kate “I’m going to physical therapy.” which was autocorrected to: “I’m going to psychic therapy.” (Honestly, might be more fun.). (Another blog ... shoulder injury).  Now I changed my signature when writing from my phone to "semi-retired, fully committed, occasional fat finger typing and help from my friend, AutoCorrect"

Back in my day (oh yes, I said it), phones were attached to walls. They rang. You answered. Simple. Now, they ding, vibrate, flash, ping, and occasionally burst into song because I assigned family and friends with distinctive ring tones. 

And don’t even get me started on voice assistants. Alexa and Siri might as well be mean girls from high school. I'm trying.  I've given up on Alexa but am making progress with Siri.  And really, she gets it right most of the time.  I need to use her more. Texting? I’ve learned to use one finger, very slowly, like I’m diffusing a bomb. I haven't been brave enough to ask Siri to write my text. 

Passwords are another modern torture. Fortunately, my tech savvy nephew recommended One Password a couple of years ago.  In the past, I would use a birthday (let's say mine) with my first pet's name in between the 19 and the 52.  Then if I had to change that password, I would use a grandchild's info. Now I let it create a new password like  

het4jmr8KET8azn.rmz  

Because the software works on my phone and my computer.  AND - I am finally letting facial recognition open things on my phone.  Then I don't have to put on my readers.

But here’s what my real problem is ... finding a file or an email from two years ago.  Or a recipe for salad dressing but can't think of what I named it. So I’m taking an online class on digital organization. 
The first best thing I've learned is to use a dated and very long description for easier finding.  For example:

2025.05.02 JB dressed up to go out

for dinner for my birthday.

Now I can go to the little magnifying glass and search for "my birthday" or "photos in May 2025".  It's not much and the best advice?  Just start NOW with the new naming system.  I can always go back and rename just ONE of the photos I took of that sunset in April 2013 while deleting the other 13 that I took "just in case"

Happy Mother's Day to everyone who has a special someone in their lives ~

 

My Mom

                                                               My Daughter

MAY MADNESS

I start the month of May with my birthday!  It's a perfect time of year ... not too close to other gift giving celebrations.  Two friends also celebrate theirs on May 1.

(yes, I even put on makeup!)

Many cards in the mail.  Lots of text messages (even one of my younger brothers who is more of a hermit than me).  Facebook peeps got reminded.  My dentist sent me a text!  The grandsons made their cards for me and they were a hoot!  Little guy said "I can't believe you are 73 ... just think in 7 years you will be 80 and THAT is old."  Don't they say the cutest things??

My best friend neighbors invited me over for lunch on their patio.  We had an unusual 80 degree day! Sweet and spicy salmon atop rice.  And cabernet in the middle of the day!  Dark chocolate for dessert.

Kate made a gourmet dinner of fresh halibut with lemon cream sauce, a beautiful butter lettuce salad with homemade balsamic vinaigrette.  Crusty French batard with roasted garlic and St. Angel cheese.  Roasted baby potatoes.  Store bought cheese cake for dessert. Even got sparkling juice for the boys to drink in wine glasses.

Iza brought me flowers ... I'm keeping them in my room.  Family bought a huge bright bouquet which is on the dining table.

Friday night, we all went to dinner at a fancy local restaurant.  Despite our waitress having many, many large tables to manage, we had the best service.  I invited Braeden's girlfriend, Iza, so there were six of us.  We shared three appetizers. Non alcoholic pina coladas and after a huge dinner (again sharing tasted) we shared three desserts.  Best thing of all?  My kidults used their own money to pay.  First time ever!  I shudder to think how much that was ...

I have so many family members and friends with May birthdays!  And add in Mother's Day.  It's just party after party.

One tiny bit of sadness as Mr. Ralph passed away the day after my birthday, a dozen years ago.

I love this photo as it was his last time in the ocean.  At sunset.

The Joy of Quiet: Embracing Life as a Happy Introvert at 70 and Beyond

At this stage of life, we finally have the freedom to be exactly who we are — no apologies, no explanations needed. For those of us who find peace in solitude and joy in quiet moments, being an introvert isn't something to "overcome" — it's a gift to be celebrated.

In a world that often praises the loudest voices and the busiest calendars, introverts know a different kind of happiness: the satisfaction of a slow morning with a good book, the quiet thrill of a long walk in nature, the deep comfort of a heartfelt one-on-one conversation.

I grew up in a time when being "shy" was misunderstood and I blushed beet red when people asked me why I was so shy. Introversion simply means we recharge by looking inward, not outward.  Being with a group now just drains me!

With fewer social expectations and more control over our time, introverted seniors can truly thrive — embracing hobbies, passions, and friendships that feel authentic.  It's never too late to stop worrying about what others think. Being an introvert isn't a limitation — it's a superpower for living deeply and fully.

Happiness doesn't always come with a crowd or a grand adventure. Sometimes, it’s sitting on your porch as the sun sets, smiling to yourself, and feeling perfectly content — no noise, no rush, just you and the beautiful, rich life you've built.

My WLLO Village social calendar is filled with activities with large crowds … happy hour, bingo, walking, chat and craft, etc.  Last month I started a monthly Itty Bitty Lunch Bunch with just FOUR people (me being one of them).  We had a great time, more in depth conversations and we all agreed smaller is better, for us.  One attendee may host another small group as soon as she decides lunch or happy hour.

Does This Hairstyle Make Me Look Old?

(A Grey-Haired Confessional from Someone Who’s Finally Letting Go and Letting it Grow —Sort Of)

For the record, I’m not trying to make a statement. I wasn’t trying to “embrace my truth (or youth)” or “age gracefully” or any of those phrases that sound like compliments but are really just code for “you look older now, but we support you emotionally.”

I was just tired.  And cheap.

Tired of sitting in a salon chair every five weeks while a 28-year-old stylist asked me, “Are we still covering the silver today?” like she was performing a mercy killing. Tired of pretending the roots weren’t winning.

So I stopped. I let the grey come in. And let my bob grow longer.

It wasn’t a grand gesture. There was no Instagram reel with a dramatic filter and a voiceover saying “this is me now.” It was more like a slow surrender. And honestly? At first, it was… weird. I used Covid to my advantage.

There’s an awkward in-between phase no one talks about … where you don’t look confidently silver yet, just vaguely unkempt, like someone who forgot about their hair for a while. Strangers assumed I was older, especially since I don’t usually wear makeup any longer. One young guy in the produce section called me “ma’am” with a reverence usually reserved for Civil War re-enactors.

And suddenly, the question wasn’t “Does this hairstyle look good?” It was: “Does this hairstyle make me look old?”  Followed immediately by: “...and is that  necessarily a bad thing?”

Because let’s be honest—what does “old” even mean anymore? I’ve seen 70-year-olds running marathons (I even know one!) and 30-year-olds who pull out their backs brushing their teeth. If grey hair makes me look old, so be it. I’ve earned old. I’ve survived low-rise jeans, Aqua Net, perms, and a regrettable mullet in 1983. I’m not scared of grey. I’m just trying to figure out what to do with it.

Some days, I want it long enough to pull it into a loose bun and feel like a French art teacher. Other days, I leave it wild and wavy and pretend I’m going for “elegant eccentric.” And sometimes I look in the mirror and wonder if I should just dye it purple and lean into the whole “cool grandma” thing.

But mostly, I’m learning to let my hair be what it is: mine.  It’s not trendy. It’s not youthful. It’s not trying to trick anyone into thinking I’m younger than I am.

 

It’s just honest.

And in a world full of filters, facelifts, and Photoshopped and AI enhancement perfection, maybe honest hair is the boldest look of all.

TAX TIME ALREADY??

Luckily for me, I now use a CPA to figure things out.  It's a shame that so many of us cannot do our own tax returns.  All my eggs are in one basket at Schwab.  I always file late because they usually send at least one corrected 1099 and usually more.  Just got my third one at the end of March.

Turbo Tax and I do Kate's return.  She makes so little for having two dependents that she always gets money back despite letting her employer know to deduct 3.  I usually break even.

The whirlwind visit with my sister + family was fabulous (they know all the super great restaurants in my town!)(because they are usually out of my price range).  This time they chose an Italian fusion place.  The five of us shared three appetizers, four salads, five main dishes and four desserts. SOO decadent.  They are mostly vegetarian so it was fun tasting such interesting combos.  A beet salad that was smoked and topped with a mustard gelato, for instance.  Every single bite was incredible and the conversation boisterous.  

We hosted them one night with bake-your-own pizza in our small Clubhouse Room.  I put out some munchies ... 3 kinds of nuts, potato chips and pretzels and Jesse opened a bottle of Prosecco (I can only have sparkling wine when I have company ... even when recapped it loses the bubbles).  They brought the salad and I chose frozen mini eclairs for dessert.  Cute and delicious.  And then an hour or two of Uno.  We had the gas fireplace going.

My visits with Janet will be fewer in the future as her daughter and bride are moving to Seattle for Audree's residency.  Tahlia works remotely.  They have their small 100 year old home to rent as well as the Tiny House in their backyard.  Good thing they are young and can handle all the ups and downs of a busy life.  Janet owns the house next door to them and is using it as a short term rental (one month minimum).  So if she stops in Portland, we could drive or take the train to Seattle together.

I've been nominated for a Board spot for WLLO Village.  I will be even more of a Keyboard Koala (snuggled up at home and always clickin' away) keeping up with the added responsibilities.

My kidults are charging into Spring with creative crafts using native plants.  They have gotten so much interest they are going to make it official and a get a business license!  Still trying to decide on a name!