Bifocal contacts & me: a love story

I can't believe this. I got bifocal contacts. And I love them. My optometrist suggested them. He is young and fresh faced, and very concerned that I see correctly. His name is Dr. Brown, in Irvine. I have somewhat complicated eyes (one drifts, kinda, I'm very nearsighted and my reading vision is pretty good, but I read a lot and my left eye starts to focus elsewhere and reading glasses are not my cup of tea [though I do have 5 pairs that I never wear; was searching for the perfect one]. Phew.)
Well, I tried these contacts and absolutely fell in love. No, not with Dr. Brown (though I do recommend him for getting a good glasses prescription!).
The point of all this is I'm too young to fall in love with bifocal contacts. I'm too young to say I'm so happy I have them.
But I am happy to have them.
-m

Suddenly Hot - The, ahem, mature consumer? You betcha!

Once ignored in the marketplace, the real grown-up has finally come into his (or her) own. Yay!
Read about it in The New York Times:
http://www.nytimes.com/2009/04/20/business/20adcol.html?_r=1&th&emc=th

We bought a blood pressure cuff thing

We have bought a blood pressure cuff, one of those automatic, digital read-out devices. My husband and I take our blood pressure in all rooms of the house; reclining, sitting, half-reclining. Maybe a little compulsively. It has become somewhat addictive; we keep doing it until we get a number we like. Mine runs lower, his higher. I am too young to be doing this. I am reminded myself of my mother, who used to do this with her blood-sugar monitoring. "I've test myself until I get a number I can live with," she used to say.
You're crazy, I'd think. It's not a party toy.
But now I think, you know, it's kind of fun, especially when you hit the jackpot.
When she got a number she could live with she went out and had a milkshake. Or a Milky Way. When we get a number we can live with we take our BP again to make sure it was accurate. I think my mother might have been more fun to hang out with--or maybe not?

PS: It's been 2 months--I'm still not in the know about Facebook. But I am learning about My Space.

Facebook ignorant--completely

How can it be that I don't know what Facebook is?

I'm going to find out!

Join Us: Help Save Lori's House

Age has nothing to do with this post. Being too young or old; or how old you feel or think you are. Nope, not today. This post is about someone I don't know personally, and it's likely neither do you.

It's likely, too, that you can't imagine going through what she's recently had to face.

But first, a little about her: Lori Hall Steele is only 44 years old, and as a writer she's published more than 3,000 (3,000!!) articles for local, regional and national publications. She edited Michael Moore’s book Dude, Where’s My Country? and helped launch his Traverse City Film Festival.

That was then.

Now Lori is fighting for her life. And her home. And to keep life right-side up for her young son. This single mom lives in Michigan. Last September she mysteriously lost the ability to move her feet. The paralysis spread. She was soon diagnosed to ALS (Lou Gehrig's disease). She's unable to work in the career that allowed her to shine. Fellow freelancer writers over at FreelanceSuccess.com have built a website in order to collect funds to save her home which risks going into foreclosure.

Fellow freelancers have turned into social workers: making endless calls to the ALS society, United Way and state and local government offices. They've drafted wishlists. A silent auction is in the works. And they've set up a site--Save Lori's House--where donations are accepted through PayPal and credit cards. And also where you can learn more about Lori, like I did.

http://www.savelorishouse.com/

Whether you donate or not, please pass this on to others. Martin Luther King said: "Everyone can be great, because everyone can serve."

Perhaps this is the path of service, just for today? Perhaps, in this way, we all get to know one another, and touch another's heart.

Meredith

http://www.savelorishouse.com/

The music is too loud

I never thought I'd wear earplugs to TKB (turbo kickboxing at 24 hour fitness).
I never could have predicted I'd hate the music the play at the MAC counter, much less think any kind of music was too loud.
I never imagined being bothered by the bass in another person's car radio--when I was younger I didn't find that body-shaking effect troublesome in the least.
I never fathomed I wouldn't be able to understand the words to songs. Understanding the words to songs not to mention memorizing them was always my specialty.
I never saw myself as someone who someday would be concerned about loud music, streaming through an iPod, might damage one's hearing permanently; now I think it whenever I can dissect some of the words (still can't understand all of them) in someone younger person's iPod.
I never guessed I'd turn the volume up to hear the news, but turn it down when a song came on.

But maybe someday I'll be an old lady who turns up the volume so loud on her television set that the walls shake and kids who use iPods won't be able to hear the words I don't understand.

Then we'll see who thinks the music is too loud.

Could it be 20 years ago today?

I just packed up 2 books to send to a former employer. Not as a gift but as a return. I found them on my bookshelves, 2 little ones by Thomas Hora, no bigger than pocket calendars. They were from the Spiritual Care Department of St. Joseph Hospital in Orange, CA. I’d worked there as an LCSW and someone from the then Pastoral Care Department (note the department’s name evolution) gave them to me to help me enlighten myself.

I’d held onto them, I’ll admit, because I liked their simplicity. The Soundless Music of Life and A Hierarchy of Values. Back when the books were loaned to me I was too young to really understand their message. Now I understand more—the whole issue of spirituality is definitely mainstream these days. But not then. Which is why, I suppose, I felt that having them on my bookshelf brought me one step closer to knowing what the soundless music was all about, and what a hierarchy of values really meant.

Time helped with that, too. And life. But what I realized, in addressing the envelope, in listening to the person on the other end of the line tell me warmly, “You’re feeling guilty!” that what is most poignant for me is that I’m too young for this—or so I thought. Those books came into my home 20 years ago. I was single then, living in a studio, and then with roommates. Since then I’ve changed careers, gotten married, adopted two children, added dogs to your family, bought a home, had five cars…the list goes on. Twenty years ago.

It just still feels like I’m too young to be a woman this old.