SAFETY TIPS for the OVER 50 Crowd (writers, too)

I am not deliberately writing this to be man when I tell you that many of the authors I’ve met who are over 50 are out of shape, me included. Boomers are the worst when it comes to taking care of ourselves (me, again) because we read and write and therefore we sit more than we do anything else. We know we need to do more but hey, we eat while we write (and drink). Although many of us are now trying to eat less chocolate and more kale (not me), the fact remains that we are out of shape. 

And it’s not just authors, but the Baby Boomer Generation is the new, largest generation. And no matter what our individual positive and negative traits, we are a generation older and out of shape and therefore more prone to personal accidents and injury. We are children of our times.

If you’re like me, you grew up on red meat and potatoes. Hamburger, hot dogs, sloppy joes, creamed corn, creamed chip beef, gravies, biscuits, toast, corn cereal (rice crispies anyone?) French fries, fish sticks, meatloaf, spaghetti and meat sauce, meat, meat, meat and starch starch starch. Don’t forget Vienna sausages and Spam. Sure,I had salads too, served along with friend chicken. The only fish in my house was breaded and in a stick. And I’m overweight (struggled all my life, even in the military). Diet has a lot to do with what happens now in my present and future. 

I mention it because authorship/writing/sedentary research/reading contributes to my reason for this article. But so does age. Combine the two and you need some tips to keep you from ending up in the hospital (after someone posts a video of you on AFV). Yes, we know how to eat better now, but we still have half a century of lessons to overcome. That doesn’t happen easily or overnight.

So here are some tips to mitigate accidents while you change your habits, lose the weight, or just age gracefully:

Remember these three things as we discuss safety: You are older and you lose strength and balance as you age. Unless you work it, your “core” muscles that support your every moment go flabby and you don’t have the strength to stop certain mishaps. And finally, blood pressure is a concern as we age, often impacted by other factors (disease, medicine, age, and carelessness).

THE BATHROOM:

1. The shower and tub can be scary places if you fall and are alone. First, if you bend over to wrap your hair, go slowly. Many have tumbled forward due to loss of balance and blood rushing to the head. Instead, lean your butt against the back of the shower with weight on your heels. Wrap your head and then rise up slowly. The solid wall behind you will give you a focus. Also, never contort or bend in the shower with your back to the curtain or to the doors (especially glass). Should you slip and go backwards, well, it will be a terrible accident.2. Hand rails are your friends. Nothing wrong with giving yourself an aid. Install a handrail (no plastic or PVC – get bronze or chrome over steel) at waist level. So that the average person in the shower (sorry all you people 6 feet tall and over), reaches with a slightly bent elbow at waist level. Should there be a slip, you have something real and firm to grasp that won’t pop out of the wall. 

3. If you do fall out of the shower/tub, be sure to have a cell phone or land line available. Don’t leave it in the other room or up on the counter ten feet away. I put mine right outside the shower. If I’m on the floor (I’ve fallen and can’t get up) then I want to be able to reach a phone with minimum crawling in case I’m seriously hurt.

THE STAIRS

l. Most people over 50 who are out of shape still think they can run down stairs like they are 20. If you exercise and are lithe, yes you can. If not, well, let me tell that you can fall at any age for any reason but stairs will do you in as you age. First, your eyes and your glasses! Bifocals change everything about what you see below the nose. When I first got my bifocals I had a hard time adjusting to lowering my head enough to continue normal vision. As a result I did take a tumble down stairs, twice. Once only three steps but I landed on my hip on a concrete floor. Ouch! The other fall came on marble stairs when I did even see the step because I caught it in my glasses “blind spot.” I tumbled down six stairs before I caught myself. Fortunately, only my pride took a bruising. Glasses, combined with a weak center core will contribute to falling.

2. The weak center core (your stomach muscles) cause you to have less control over your body. And it also adds to bad posture. If you don’t stand up straight when you take stairs (especially going down) you force your body to lean more forward than it should. If your core is strong, your body will compensate. If not, hello tumble. Good posture also gets forfeit by writers who lean over when they should sit up straight to type, type while leaning over or laying flat in the bed. Hunchback over a keyboard (shoulders not pushed back), neck bent, also weakens the core and bad posture means less control of the body. 

3. Shoes matter. The higher the heel, the less steady you will be. If you are wearing stilletoes, then be elegant and cautious and glide slowly. Be the queen. Don’t go chomping down the stairs like a horse on rails. You will fall.

I know, seems crazy, but add years of this behavior and you have a recipe for a serious injury waiting to happen.

3. The stair solution is simple. Use the handrail. Don’t speed down the stairs as if you were 20 again. Strengthen yourself by walking on a treadmill and lean on the rails or even use one while walking. Learn to walk without assistance and Stand. Up. Straight. Eyes forward. Don’t hunch or bend over to read while trying to walk. Seriously, don’t do it with your cell in real life so don’t do it while on the treadmill.

4. I’m going to add stepladders and step stairs as an additive. Going to fix something in the house or yard and need the ladder? Get one with rails. If you aren’t used to cleaning the gutter, don’t suddenly decide to climb the 16 foot ladder and start reaching wide up high. 

Rule of thumb, if you haven’t done this in the last two months or less, don’t do it now. Some deeds are NOT like riding a bike. Your body does NOT remember and you don’t maintain muscle memory for something that you used to do 30 or 40 years ago!

Which brings me to the last category:

PLAY

You’ve decided you want to play along with your teens or your grandkids. Or else you’re out with “the girls” or “the friends” and you go somewhere where your “professional peers” are doing things that look like great fun. You want in! Problem is they are 20 years younger than you or it’s something they’ve done many times in the recent pass and you haven’t done it since junior high. Like:  

Wanna ride your kid’s mountain bike down the dirt hill? Or how about using the pogo stick? Feel like racing down the street? Climbing the jungle jim? Rock wall? Roller skates? So I’m going to ask you how long it’s been and do you have on the right shoes?? Have you been drinking? And are you nuts?

I’m not saying don’t have fun or don’t stay young. If you want to do wild and crazy things then get in better shape by improving your center of gravity and making sure your shoes, your glasses, and your clothes aren’t going to get you into trouble. Flip flops may be comfortable but they aren’t secure. Bifocals help you to read but aren’t great when you are climbing. Dresses aren’t for rock walls or strolls through the brush due to brambles, poison ivy or things that bite. See my point?

Safety requires change as we age. We aren’t who we used to be. We can be close if we work at it. If not, and you just want to live your life, then do it gracefully, smartly, and think before you act. Remember that healing also takes more time than it did when you were twenty. And hips and knees are expensive if surgery is required. Save your money and take some tips.

The characters in our books may survive going over the cliff, but your odds? Well, let’s work on that core first and oh, don’t forget to change your shoes.

Thanks for coming by. Here’s to a safer, healthier summer while we write our bestsellers.

Yours Between the Lines,
Sherry

Salt on My Tail Feathers

by the Scarlet Phoenix (aka Sherry Rentschler)
Originally published July 10, 1998

I’m a tolerant person by nature. I believe that we should let people live their own lives, make their own choices, and learn by their own mistakes (and boy have I learned a few hard lessons!). I try to live and let live in the truest sense. But sometimes people don’t know how to do that for other people. Sometimes people judge you on their lives or their standards or their expectations. Like how I was treated for not having children. That’s the salt on my tail feathers!* 

     When I was in the military, I made a choice not to have children. Even before my first four years were up, I knew that I didn’t want little rug rats. Oh, not that I didn’t like children – in fact, I think they can be very adorable…sometimes. When I was a fresh, young teen, I was in great demand as a baby-sitter. Kids liked me and I was good with them. No, it wasn’t that I didn’t have an affinity for kids; I was too engrossed in my own life. I knew that I was too selfish and self-absorbed to give up any of my time to child rearing. However, when I married at 19, it didn’t take the women around me very long before they felt compelled to “reassure” me that soon I would want a home, and a van, and a dog…and my allotted 2.4 kids. I laughed at them and “reassured” them that I had no such plans. Smiling smugly, as if they carried some secret knowledge about me, I was hugged, patted, and told in time I would change my attitude. It was 1973. The flower children were ready to have children. But not me. 

     The years went on and I began to fulfill my dreams for myself. Travel (the military is good for that), meeting lots of interesting people, writing, and paying my own money for my college education. Somewhere around the fourth year of marriage, my husband began to hint that he thought it was time for “me to have kids.” (Notice the “me” part.). Yeah. Well, he married me knowing how I felt about not having children, but even he thought I would “come around.” No dice. 

     Good thing I didn’t; we got divorced. The women around me were now saying what a blessing it was that I didn’t have kids (those same women who earlier said I would change my mind and pop a bundle of joy). But when the right man came along, they were positive that I would rush right out and buy up all the baby clothes in sight. I kept laughing, amazed at their “faith” in my heretofore unseen and unfelt desire. Nevertheless, they were keeping the baby blankets warm for me anyway.   

     The years came and went and I married again (remember I said that we had to learn from our own mistakes?), and divorced again (I promise this was progress). It was 1984 and the baby boomers were now discovering that they could “have it all.” Well, I’d had enough! Once again, I was amazed at the number of women who felt compelled to tell me that it was “all right,” and that there was still “plenty of time for your babies.” Every time someone brought a baby to the office, the new mother seemed to land in my doorway asking me “don’t you want one just like him/her?” (Hello? Is there anyone listening to me, I wondered?) Somewhere in the middle of all that I got “fixed.” There would be NO children.

     Now came the years just for me. I had a cat, I bought my first home, I had a sports car (a corvette!), and I had plenty of male company if I wanted it. Best of all, no feedings, no carpools, and no day care, no pediatrician, no PTA, no teen angst. My life was my own. I sometimes wondered if there was something “wrong” with me. I mean the ol’ internal “ticking” clock never “tocked.” I liked the silence and never considered regret.

     Just before I retired from the military, I married a wonderful man who had four, early teenage children from a previous marriage and had no desire for more. He understood my not wanting any and never found fault with me for having chosen an office instead of a nursery. Like me, he thinks I’m okay just the way I am. Our best friends were a couple who also didn’t have children. When we have parties, we don’t invite children to come. We like to go to resorts for couples only and prefer not to go to the movies on Saturday matinee because of the little kids and babies. We enjoy this life and it’s a life of our choosing. When I want to stay up until 2 a.m. it’s my choice, and not because a child needs feeding. If I choose, I can sleep in until…whenever…and my choice allows me NOT to be bitter, resentful, neglectful, or abusive. I’d say self-awareness is a good thing (because in my early years I was self-absorbed, short-tempered, and unsettled).

     Okay, so maybe when I’m 88 I’ll be alone with no children to hug me and tell me that they love me or that I can’t drive or that I don’t remember my name. I’ll always have ME, the man I love, limited friends, and I’m comfortable with that. I am not incomplete. I can assure you that I haven’t missed a thing in my life so far. Also, it’s okay if you don’t agree with my life choices because it was/is my life. So, if I’m comfortable with it, shouldn’t people just be glad for me? Am I less of a friend, or a boss, or a writer, or woman because I said “No” to kids? Live and let live…tolerance…a little respect for my womanhood as I define it, please! It’s no less than what I give to you. 

     As I write this, I’m 44 years old. Would you believe that just last week two women my age told me that it’s not too late to adopt? Nope, now I’m sure no one is listening because the moral judgements continue.

~ And that’s the salt on my tail feathers! ~

* * *

Post script:  April 16, 2018 I’m 64 now and I’m a happy grandmother. There are eight grandchildren plus two great-grandchildren and though I don’t see them, I care about them. One in particular, whom I held as a newborn, captured my heart and smooshed it with love. It was an enlightening and joyous experience. Perhaps it was a glimmer of what mothers all over the world feel. I feel honored to know this particular love. But my mommy clock never quivered.

I want to share one thing. People mellow with time and attitudes soften, but fundamentally we are who we are. I find there are many women who experienced the cynosure I knew as a woman who made a choice and felt forced to defend that choice most of her fertile life. Even into my mid-50s, there were women who told me that I could still carry a baby with someone else’s eggs if I wished or said, “don’t give up, adopt!” (and thus proved that no one listened!).

Today, women are waiting until they are older – even in their 60s – to begin a family, adopt or even foster. Women are not condemned for working and juggling families and more and more women are finding ways to have those families and stay at home. A new generation is choosing not to have children at all. I admire each of them beyond words. Moreover, they have societal support and blessing. Thank goodness for changing times. Because women are not condemned for choosing a life without children too. It’s about time.

The best part? A few of today’s women have said to me, “I wish I’d been as honest with myself as you were to you.”

Ah, the breeze has cooled! I’m free to fly, at last.

_________________________________________________________

The moral to this story is when you believe something in your heart and soul, then trust your instincts. Don’t allow doubt or the opinions of others to dictate your life. In the end, no one has to live with the decisions you make but you. Trust yourself and never apologize for the path you choose. Whether you are a mother, hippie, transgender, self-published author, a military member, wannabe artist, student or office geek – whatever path you are on, let honesty and belief be your guides. Do not let social mores or societal judgements cause you to be or do something that you don’t want (and we’re talking about keeping true to the law too). Go forward without fear and regret.

I trusted myself in a time when the pressure was on to be more “stereotypical.” I rebelled though it wasn’t called that back then. I was shamed and shut out by my own gender. And men wondered what was wrong with me. I doubted myself but stuck to my guns.  I’m happy that I did. Let it be that way for you too.

*(reference to being a phoenix with tail feathers, and unable to fly with salt on them).

Thanks for listening,
I remain, Yours Between the Lines,

Sherry

Next time, more on poetry and other goodies!

WELCOME TO THE BIRD FEEDER NEIGHBORHOOD

The calendar said it was Spring but this year I’m happy to say Winter has a firm grip and isn’t letting go. We’ve had snow flurries three times this month here, and poor New England is buried after four Nor’easters. I can’t say I’m happy for those up north but I’m delighted to be lingering under a blanket with hot tea, watching cold rain fall while I either read or write. Very satisfying.

My writer’s mind is always working but seems to work overtime during the fall and winter months. I suppose that’s why I enjoy doing National Novel Writing Month in November because it suits the weather and my “spring” fever that only comes in Autumn. When Winter arrives, I write and read like a mad woman, though much of what I write doesn’t ever see the light of day. Still, satisfying.

One thing I can tell you about writing every day is this opens your mind to new ideas and new ideas brings you more prolific moments. You know I like to take real life and turn everything into an opportunity for scene work, character development, or world building. Real life moments are what make me a better writer. Even dark and dank, (ma)lingering Winter ones.

For example, recently we put up a new bird feeder. This has been a never-ending source of incredible excitement for the local songbirds. For my husband and me too. We watch out our kitchen window as the cardinals and their mates (or potential mates) flitter and fuss over fallen seeds, the bluebirds, wrens, and sparrows becoming regular patrons. Doves rarely came to my yard before and now two pair seem to have moved in. And a gorgeous red-headed woodpecker that I saw once or twice a year is now a daily friend.

The squirrels are like potential shoplifters. We had to grease the bird feeder pole to keep one particular squirrel from climbing and pilfering the seeds. He seemed oblivious to the local bluejay security guard so we solved the problem. Just like a greedy kid, the squirrel will have to manage like everyone else. I’m keeping an eye on him.

I liken this whole moment to opening a new apartment building. Suddenly you get all sorts of people moving in and out, strange and beautiful. Dating and mating and married for life-ers. There are the fussy, the troublemakers, the slow movers, and the ones always in a hurry but going no where.

And just like real life, you get the ugly moments too. A raccoon died in the road out front of the house. A black vulture dragged it to the end of the driveway. Then into the side ditch. Then back onto the driveway. Then UP the driveway. That’s when the friends showed up. For two days, we watched this go on and then when the raccoon ended up in the middle of our drive, hubby loaded it onto a shovel and tossed it into the neighboring pasture (that’s called passing the buck). Now we see the vultures from a distance. Close enough to see them manage their meals but far enough away that the gruesome factor is mitigated. Let those demons attack elsewhere, right?

Same as it would be for my neighborhood apartment building. Death in the streets is a natural occurrence. Robbing and dragging. Gangs showing up for spoils.

The rains are back. The birds are scattering. They too need time in their cozy nests. I hear a redtail hawk overhead. Squirrels run for cover. Like sirens screeching by in the road, these sirens in the sky warn of danger and accidents. Like me, like people, the birds and animals know.

A doe and two young fawns make their way over barbed wire fence (what separates me from the neighboring pasture) and come to feed on unborn tulips and fallen bird seed. The birds scatter at first, then return, realizing the diner is big enough for everyone. It is a peaceful neighborhood and diversity is possible. Deer, dove, large birds and small. Oh look! A bunny. Ah, that was a nibble on the run much like young folks who are too busy to stop and chat.

(Not my pic, but funny)

Like a true diner, the bell over the door is silent but when the diner is open, it serves many and all.

Life is happening outside my window and in my writer’s mind it is a world not dissimilar to the one I live in. Even in the darkness, when I know the “others” come – the fox, the coyote, the possum, and raccoon – the 24-hour diner continues to serve, their world turns and life is a cycle of comings and goings, birth and death. But this “local diner” is now the hub of activity and feels comfortable.

Uh-oh, there’s the black cat that lives somewhere around here. I think of him as the mafia don, always looking for a payment. Everyone has fled and the cat sits atop my firepit surveying the scene. He’s looking mighty plump these days so business must be profitable. From the tail twitch, someone’s going to pay up soon. When he’s gone, the small birds return. Life goes on.

Thrones, anyone?

That’s the way our book series work, too. We build a world, make the lives, stay with them day in and day out, get comfortable with our characters, look for them, get to know them, need them.

Even when Winter has to let go for Spring, life around the diner will be a never-ending story to savor. I’m certain that’s when I’ll finally see the falcon who gives the hawk competition. Of course, the owl who cries “whooooo” as the police on patrol, lets me know all is well in the neighborhood.

Let the life outside your window give your imagination fodder for your characters as mine does. You’ll writing will sparkle with realism because it will reflect the life’s truth in microcosm. And the fun you’ll have is endless.

We’ve put up a hummingbird feeder close to the window. It’ll be like going to ballet. I can’t wait for that show to come to town. When Spring is allowed to arrive, that heralds the butterflies and bats, and finally Summer’s fireflies. It’s like waiting for the circus.

We’re putting in a birdbath soon. My own neighborhood bathhouse.Stay tuned! And keep writing.

I remain, Yours Between the Lines,
Sherry

P.S. Look for my poetry contest!  Rules at the end of this week.