I never thought something as simple as walking around in my house could change life so much.

It happened quickly—one misstep, a slip, then a blur of motion and sound. The thud was loud, but the silence afterward was louder. Lying there on the kitchen floor, with the familiar tiles suddenly unfamiliar beneath me, I realized I wasn’t just hurt; I was in shock.

We often hear about falls as we age, almost as if they’re an inevitable rite of passage in our golden years. But when it happens to you, it becomes very personal. The bruises fade. The fractures (in my case, a humerus and shoulder socket) begin to heal. However, the experience lingers, whispering doubts into your daily life.

While I had only outpatient care, I returned home from the ER to a place I no longer trusted. My cozy, memory-filled house suddenly looked like a minefield—rugs that once added charm became hazards, steps seemed steeper, even the bathroom felt like a potential trap. And the fear… oh, the fear of falling again can be more paralyzing than the injury itself. It happened to my mother in her later years and now to me.

I felt embarrassed at first. I didn’t want to talk about it, and I didn’t want people to see me as helpless and needy. But I’ve learned to accept help when I need it. (I actually asked a stranger walking by my house to remove a bubbly casserole dish from the oven.) 

I had to change my negative self-talk and reclaim some power—I wasn’t just an older woman who had fallen, I was someone recovering, learning and adapting. 

Gratitude was the solution. I have a network of people who support me. A friend offered to help with litter box duties (I simply couldn’t, but the offer said so much), my hairdresser offered to wash my hair any time throughout my recovery, offers of rides were so kind and a casserole of comfort food showed up unbidden. In a few weeks’ time, I sorted out a few things to make activities of daily living doable. My daughter came by for some odds and ends, and the rest could wait. 

Time is helping my body heal, but I accept that I’m not invincible. I also made some changes in the house: installing grab bars in the bathroom, improving the lighting and reorganizing the kitchen cabinets—not because I’m giving in to age, but because I’m choosing safety over stubbornness. The fall didn’t break me. It reminded me that life doesn’t come with guarantees, no matter how many birthdays you’ve celebrated. And it did give me a new lens to look through, one that values preparation, community and the quiet strength to ask for help when I need it.

After the dust settled, I was left with a feeling much like that of being in a car accident. Fear and discomfort, yes, but also the loss of control and powerlessness we often feel in life. It’s OK to feel shaken. It’s OK to take your time. Recovery isn’t just about healing bones. It’s about reclaiming your life, one confident step at a time.

I’m still walking—a little slower, maybe, but with more intention and grace. And that, I’ve come to learn, is its own kind of victory.

 

My long-time friend of over three decades is an avid exerciser and has been as long as I have known her. She has a gym membership (maybe two) and attends classes daily. Her reasoning was not to look good in spandex but to keep a strong core to protect her spine as she ages. 

By way of contrast, I am an avowed couch potato. I detest exercise of any kind. I don’t like to perspire or pant, and I’m not fond of the outdoors. I can lift a 40-pound bag of cat litter, although not as easily as I once did, and I carry my groceries without breaking a sweat. If I can button my jeans, that’s fit enough for me. 

That is, until now. Recently, I tripped and fractured my arm, landing myself in a cast from neck to wrist. As unattractive and cumbersome as this is (I can’t wear a bra or change my shirt), the real pain is when I bend to pick something up. I get on my knees but then struggle to get upright again. My thigh muscles scream at me, and my “good arm” aches from pulling myself up. Could a strength-training habit have helped me in this situation?

As we age, muscle mass naturally decreases, which can lead to weakness and mobility issues. A good exercise program is effective for increasing bone density and reducing the risk of osteoporosis and fractures. Resistance exercises stimulate bones, making them stronger, which is crucial as bone density tends to decline with age. Strength training helps to preserve, or even build, muscle mass, keeping us stronger and more agile, and improves balance by strengthening the muscles that support our joints. This can reduce the risk of falls, which become more common with age and can lead to serious injuries. 

It’s also worth noting that these exercises should be accompanied by a balanced, nutrient-rich diet, as you need sufficient calcium to keep your bones healthy and vitamin D to help your body absorb calcium. 

I live alone with no one close by for support. Many people have offered their assistance, but I don’t need groceries (I have Instacart) as much as I need to be able to do the little things that two-armed people take for granted, like opening a can of tuna. I can hardly ask a friend to apply my deodorant, can I? 

So a word to the wise: don’t get so out of shape you can’t get off the floor (and have an emergency plan in place in case life trips you up).

When my husband died almost 20 years ago, my daughters were only 7 and 9. The younger one had a more difficult time processing her grief and the changes to our family routines. A guidance counselor gave me a brochure for a free camp that was open only to children suffering from the loss of a family member. I showed it to my daughter and read the blurbs about the cabins, lake and nature. She hesitated, then quickly asked, “You want to send me to a camp for sad kids?”

At that time, I wondered if they had a camp for sad moms. Now, I see there are more getaways for the grieving. 

Losing a loved one is one of life’s hardest experiences, and for older adults, the grief journey can feel particularly isolating. As they face the loss of spouses, close friends or family members, finding support can be difficult. 

Grief retreats can provide a dedicated, healing space for people to process their emotions and begin to move forward with the help of professional guidance and peer support. These retreats offer a chance to gather in a safe, understanding environment with others who are going through similar experiences. Sharing stories and emotions in this setting can help reduce the isolation often felt during grief, creating bonds that can last beyond the retreat.

A typical retreat for older adults includes therapeutic activities to help process grief, such as journaling, art therapy, gentle movement, guided meditation and nature walks. For many older adults, engaging in these activities can be a powerful way to release pent-up feelings that might be hard to express through words alone.

Professional grief counselors or therapists typically lead these retreats, offering support, guidance and coping techniques specifically tailored to older adults. This expertise helps ensure that the retreat is a structured, safe space where healing can take place at a comfortable pace. 

Grief retreats can be weekend getaways to longer, more immersive experiences. For those with mobility challenges or limited time, online grief retreats are also an option.

Here are a few options to start with, if you’re interested in a grief retreat: 

Kripalu Center for Yoga and Health: Known for its holistic approach, Kripalu offers grief retreats focused on healing through yoga, meditation and mindfulness.

The Grief Recovery Institute: This organization offers grief recovery programs and retreats designed to help individuals process loss and build a healthier, more fulfilling life afterward.

Center for Loss and Bereavement: Specializing in workshops and retreats, this center provides tailored grief support for individuals dealing with specific loss situations.

My friend dreaded turning 60 on a recent weekend, but to her surprise, her husband and their young adult daughters threw a party with “Team Michelle” T-shirts and a lot of fanfare. She hadn’t let on that this was the Big 6-0, or I’d have tried to acknowledge it with some of our mutual friends.

Of course, it made me think of my milestone birthdays. At 21, I was celebrating with my drinking buddies in our favorite watering hole, despite having been a customer there with my fake ID for quite some time. As I turned 30, I experienced a time of deep reflection and knew I was sick and tired of being sick and tired. I took stock of my life and knew I had to give up drinking (and the lifestyle that accompanied it) to fulfill my potential that people always talked about. I made new, healthier friends, started a successful small business and embraced community service meaningfully.

I met and married my husband, and at my 40th birthday party, I surprised family and friends with the news that we were expecting our first child. Shortly before my 50th birthday, I lost my husband to complications of heart disease and diabetes. I had two little girls and a mountain of medical debt. It was not the time to celebrate.

Because 50 had gone unacknowledged, I especially wanted to celebrate turning 60. My siblings feted me with a Brazilian steakhouse dinner, which was a dream come true for this carnivore. I started thinking about turning 65 and considered throwing myself a party with friends and family that birthday, but when the time came, life got in the way, and it didn’t happen.

I’ll turn 70 in a couple of years. As in previous milestone years, I’ll no doubt take stock and reassess and reinvent if need be. My children were my whole raison d’etre, and I wouldn’t change that, but now they have successfully fledged, with lives of their own, and my days are somehow still full and rewarding. I feel fortunate for my excellent health, solid relationships, chances to improve myself and the opportunity to contribute to my family and community. So bring it on, 70—you don’t scare me!

I remember the excitement of the telephone ringing in my family home in the 1960s. The call might not be for me but for my parents or a sibling, which would be a letdown to a preteen. Phone calls were an escape for me—without a car, I was confined to my family and the neighborhood kids for companionship. A long phone conversation was a luxury. 

I remember the strict time limits applied for my calls, so anyone trying to reach my mother could get through. (No call-waiting.) We had a primary phone in the kitchen, one in my parents’ bedroom and an extension downstairs; until the touch tone came out, we dialed. I preferred the extension, so I could stretch the curly cord into the laundry room for privacy. It would get so tangled. More than once, it came out of the phone’s base. 

Before too long, my parents sprang for a “teen phone” with a separate phone number. Gone were the days of the please-get-off-the-phone dance and pantomime, when Mom was holding up the line, organizing her bridge group, one friend at a time. The big phone book would come every year. I knew my friends’ phone numbers by heart, and curiously, I still remember many of them. 

Fast-forward to today, when I don’t answer my phone. Yes, I pay for cell service for my iPhone, but if it rings, I don’t answer it. It’s mostly spam; I can count on my true friends and colleagues to text before calling to see if it’s a convenient time to connect. I don’t enjoy talking on the phone as much as digital communication. I schedule calls with my daughters for when they can put me on speakerphone in their cars, and I sit with a large cup of tea. 

Unscheduled phone calls are disruptive. They demand immediate attention and can interrupt other activities or conversations, whereas messages can be managed more discreetly and at the recipient’s convenience. Texting (preferred) or emailing allows you to focus on the message and be less likely to say something untrue or that you’ll regret. 

Phone calls are more time consuming than sending a quick text message or email. Their efficiency drives me toward communication methods that are more efficient within my daily routines. I don’t listen to or leave voicemail messages either. I’ll know you called if we have shared our numbers in Contacts.

So don’t call me, I’ll call you—but I’ll text first. 

Silver Century regularly recommends books—fiction, nonfiction, memoirs—that reflect our mission by portraying aging positively or by offering insights from thought leaders in the field of aging. Here are some of our favorites for holiday giving or to save for the winter months ahead.

Mrs. Quinn’s Rise to Fame

By Olivia Ford—Pamela Dorman Books, 2024

A terrific read for fans of the Great British Baking Show or any kind-hearted foodie. What makes this coming-of-(older)age novel truly special is the journey of 77-year-old Jenny, a woman who defies aging stereotypes and overcomes her lack of worldliness when she secretly applies to be a contestant on the prime-time TV show Britain Bakes. Jenny discovers new passions, learns the importance of embracing new people and experiences and bakes her way into readers’ hearts. If the tender story and the mouthwatering descriptions of baked goods aren’t enough to entice you, all the recipes are included.

Unraveling: What I Learned about Life While Shearing Sheep, Dyeing Wool, and Making the World’s Ugliest Sweater

By Peggy Orenstein–Harper Paperbacks, 2024

What did you do in the pandemic? This author learned to knit a sweater—from shearing the sheep to the final product, which is, she admits, ugly. Orenstein shares the intricacies of fabric crafts, providing readers with a rich understanding of the history and significance of these age-old traditions. This story is more than a memoir; it shows us the creativity of women across time, expressing their art through craft. It’s a thoroughly delightful, enlightening read. 

The Mostly True Story of Tanner and Louise

By Colleen Oakley—Berkeley, 2023

This heartwarming, funny tale tells the intergenerational story of Tanner Quimby, a 21-year-old college dropout, and 84-year-old Louise Wilt, recently incapacitated by a hip replacement and hiding a secret past. The two women form a friendship when Tanner’s parents hire Louise as her caretaker, a position neither woman is happy about. As they get to know each other, they learn they have more in common than they thought. As Louise’s past catches up with her, the pair tries to outrun law enforcement in an interstate adventure with surprising plot twists along the way.

Roctogenarians: Late in Life Debuts, Comebacks, and Triumphs 

By Mo Rocca and Jonathan Greenberg—Simon and Schuster, 2024

Who doesn’t enjoy the whimsy of humorist Mo Rocca? Roctogenarians profiles a wide range of individuals, some famous and some not, challenging the notion that people’s accomplishments dwindle as they age. Many of those profiled in the book faced setbacks, health issues or career obstacles but overcame them through sheer determination and passion. Rocca shows us there is no set timeline for achievement—it is never too late to pursue our dreams. 

Happy reading in 2025!

When my doctor took me by the hand, I expected a comment about my age spots or cat scratches, but no. He was looking for signs of illness and explained that fingernails offer valuable insights into our overall health. A touch of white here, a rosy tinge there or some rippling or bumps may indicate disease or nutrient deficiency. Problems in the liver, lungs and heart can appear in your nails. Changes in nail appearance can indicate various health issues, from infections to chronic conditions.

My nails have vertical ridges, which are common and usually not a concern. As people get older, their nails naturally thin and become more brittle, which can make ridges more noticeable. A lack of moisture or improper nutrition can also cause ridges, especially if you have an eating disorder or are low in iron, zinc, protein or folic acid. 

Horizontal ridges, or Beau’s lines, often appear when nail growth is interrupted by significant illness or treatments like chemotherapy. These ridges have also been observed in individuals recovering from COVID-19. And the appearance of Beau’s lines can offer clues about past health issues and recovery progress. 

Pitted or discolored nails might be a sign of nail psoriasis, an autoimmune condition. A dermatologist can diagnose the condition and recommend appropriate treatments. 

Dark vertical streaks on the nails, known as splinter hemorrhages, can be more than a cosmetic concern. While these streaks can result from nail biting or trauma, they may indicate more severe conditions, such as an infection of the heart valves. If you notice these streaks, it’s wise to consult a health care professional. Other signs to be aware of: spoon-shaped nails, suggesting iron deficiency anemia; or rounded, swollen nails, called nail clubbing, which could indicate cystic fibrosis. 

My fingernails now split and crack, and I don’t get regular professional manicures. Factors contributing to brittle nails include exposure to harsh chemicals, frequent hand washing and aging. To help prevent brittleness, I wear protective gloves when doing dishes or using cleaning products, limit the use of nail polish removers and use hand lotion liberally. I try to file my nails in one direction, but that’s a new habit I’m trying to adopt. 

I intentionally hide my thick, hard toenails. Thickening and discoloration of the toenails can signal a fungal infection. Fungal infections, affecting many older adults, often start in the toenails and can spread to the fingernails. It’s essential to treat both the nails and the surrounding skin. Over-the-counter treatments may not always be effective, so consult your doctor for appropriate oral or topical medications.

Remember, nails grow slowly—typically taking about six months to regrow fully. Nail abnormalities you see now may reflect past health issues or treatments, and it may take time for prescribed treatments to show results. By paying attention to the changes in your nails, you can gain valuable insights into your health—and seek timely medical advice. Your nails might be small, but they have much to say.

I have been committed to leading a healthier lifestyle, which has led me to purchase smaller clothes. However, I did buy my weekly pill case in a larger size, as the cubbies that held my daily vitamins no longer accommodate them. 

Since I am getting older and have started dieting, I am taking different vitamins, and it is challenging to identify which supplements are right for me, with the narrative changing so often. Ads for dietary supplements make tall claims, promising that some of these products will make you look great, feel better, keep you from getting sick or even help you live longer. 

It is essential to know that most of these claims lack scientific backing and are often generated by the supplement industry to sell their products. The National Institutes of Health is a good place to start for reliable health information. The Cleveland Clinic is another one. It is crucial to discuss any supplements with a primary care physician—though vitamins may seem harmless, they could impact any blood work and the effectiveness of prescription medications. 

According to the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention, most Americans can’t meet their nutrient requirements by diet alone. When buying supplements, look for seals from the United States Pharmacopeia (USP) or National Sanitation Foundation (NSF), and buy supplements made in the United States. Take the recommended dose, as mega-doses of supplements could be harmful. 

My pill case is filled with a multivitamin formulated for seniors and a calcium and magnesium supplement, as well as fish oil capsules and pre/probiotics. I’m now taking a daily fiber supplement and, to top it off, my ophthalmologist recommended a vitamin for vision.

I can’t get the pill compartment closed, but I can button my jeans and now feel healthier than ever.

I freely admit I’m a Scrooge. I simply do not like Christmas. Over the years, as a widow, everything fell to me to make a memorable holiday for my girls, and I don’t have Rockwellian memories of my own childhood Christmases. My siblings and I had to get dressed and attend church, which in my family’s faith included fasting, then come home to gifts that never seemed to measure up to those of our friends. As an adult and the de facto Santa in the house, I find there are too many people to please, expectations to live up to, and so much money! Then add the pressure—find the perfect gifts, get the outside decor up, the tree, the house…bah humbug. 

I’m slowly and consciously paring it all down. I stopped stringing holiday lights outside and opted for seasonal garden flags and holiday inflatables. I gave my young adult daughters much of the décor and the ornaments I’ve amassed over the years to get their collections started. The tabletop tree I introduced last year was a big flop, so I got a slightly bigger one in a January sale. As I put away all the decorations for last year’s holiday by myself, with many flights of stairs and enormous containers, I hoped to pare down even further. 

Both daughters were home this year for Thanksgiving (now that’s a holiday I can get behind!) when I learned they would both celebrate Christmas with significant others. After my self-pity became tiresome, I decided not to decorate for Christmas. No tree. No manger, snowman, throw pillows, dishtowels, shower curtain. The liberating feeling took hold, and I decided I would also not bake cookies or set the table complete with holiday dishes and glassware. I would not bring up a single tote from the basement. How’s that for Grinchy? 

But then I was looking for my dog’s winter coat and came across her holiday accessories—parka, sweater, collars and a kibble bowl that says Fa-la-la. I had forgotten about a photo of the two of us in matching hats, and when I saw it, I remembered that it would make a fun holiday card. Shopping for gift wrap, I spied a few ornaments I liked. The next thing I knew, Alexa was playing Christmas music while I was trimming my new tree. My unattached sister said she had no plans for Christmas dinner, so I told her to come over and ended up having people over after all. It was very nice. Different without my kids, but still festive.

I’m now facing the daunting task of de-Christmasing. The big plastic tubs await the dishes, mugs, pillows, placemats, stockings and angels. The porcelain Santa tea set has to be wrapped carefully, and the faux poinsettia put away. I swear I’m not doing this again next year.

Silver Century regularly recommends books—fiction, nonfiction, memoirs—that reflect our mission by portraying aging positively or by offering insights from thought leaders in the field of aging. Here are some of our favorites for holiday giving or to save for the winter months ahead.

The One Hundred Years of Lenni and Margot, by Marianne Cronin (Harper, 2021)

Lenni and Margot are two terminally ill women who meet in a hospital art therapy class. Lenni is 17 with osteosarcoma, while Margot is 83 with leukemia. Both alone in the world, they realize that together they’ve lived 100 years. They make a pact to paint a series of portraits representing pivotal moments from their lives. These paintings become a way for them to reflect on their pasts, to come to terms with their mortality and to create a lasting legacy. Their story is told in alternating chapters from Lenni’s and Margot’s perspectives. Lenni is full of quirky observations and a gallows sense of humor. Margot’s chapters are more reflective as she shares her memories of a long and eventful life. The novel is packed with wisdom and compassion, reflecting the preciousness of life and the enduring human spirit. The end comes too soon.

Killers of a Certain Age, by Deanna Raybourn (Berkley, 2022)

Touted as “Golden Girls meet James Bond,” this thriller opens with four women in their 60s celebrating retirement from The Museum, where they’ve worked for 40 years. Only, The Museum is a euphemism for a covert agency of elite, hired assassins, ridding the world of despicable war criminals, former Nazis, child traffickers and the like. It’s not a job that offers a retirement package, something the ladies—code name, the Sphinxes—realize when they become aware that former coworkers are trying to kill them. 

Billie, Mary Alice, Helen and Natalie are exceedingly wise women who know too much, and The Museum leadership wants company secrets to die with these assassins. Naturally, the Sphinxes are not about to put down their weapons and go quietly into the night. The story does an excellent job of showing how older women can be invisible, underestimated and often disrespected in the workplace. Having only each other and their experience to rely on, Billie, Mary Alice, Helen and Natalie are about to show The Museum that they’ve messed with the wrong retirees. 

The Book of Charlie: Wisdom from the Remarkable American Life of a 109-Year-Old Man, by David Von Drehle (Simon and Schuster, 2023)

Writer David Von Drehle was new to the suburbs of Kansas City when he first spotted his neighbor in the driveway, wearing swim trunks and washing his girlfriend’s car. Charles “Charlie” White III was 102 years old at that time. 

This remarkable biography takes us through America’s history and Charlie’s—as he grows older, so does America. We meet Charlie at age eight, as a boy listening to jazz on the radio, then teaching himself to play the saxophone, which was how the Midwesterner ultimately paid his way through medical school. We go with Charlie through Prohibition and the Depression, WWll and the hospital construction, where he becomes the city’s first anesthesiologist, practicing through his 80s. His mother always encouraged him to do the right thing, so Charlie does, for a remarkable 109 years. Through grit and determination, and always with a bit of humor, Charlie White takes us through the decades of the 1900s. It’s a heck of a ride.

The Marmalade Diaries: The True Story of an Odd Couple, by Ben Aitken (Icon Books, 2022)

In a story so utterly charming, you’ll double- or triple-check to see if it’s truly nonfiction, Ben Aitken enters a Share and Care arrangement with 86-year-old Winnie Carter, 50 years his senior. In the United Kingdom, this home-sharing model offers room and board for a fraction of the cost in exchange for companionship and a few chores. Clearly, it takes a certain kind of pair to make it work. 

Ben is a bit of a nomad, a travel writer who has written, among other things, of his experiences on bus tours with people who had retired. He is more than ready for this adventure. Winnie is a recently widowed aristocrat, living in a large home outside London; she can live independently but for a few tasks requiring some muscle. 

Initially, Winnie is nonplussed; she doesn’t welcome Ben as much as she tolerates him—he’s a millennial, after all. She’s quick-witted, acerbic and set in her ways. Though well-traveled, Ben seems to have missed key life lessons, thinks Winnie, who finds she must educate him on everything from boiling an egg to properly warming plates. The pandemic lockdown begins almost immediately after they commit, forcing the unlikely duo into a closer bond than either anticipated. Ben’s daily entries into his lockdown diary become the basis for this laugh-out-loud, British-to-the-core story. It’s packed full of Winnie’s witty repartees and non sequiturs, and it is a joy to read.

In my 20s, I worked in what we now call the “hospitality” business. I was a cocktail waitress for a time. One establishment had weekend entertainment: a jazz trio with a vocalist. They performed music from the Great American Songbook: show tunes and popular songs from the 30s, 40s and 50s. Those songs could also be heard from the jukebox when the combo wasn’t playing. I recognized them because, a decade prior, they were the music my mother listened to on her radio station and record player. Thanks to my immersion in this genre, I knew all the lyrics and artists who performed them. I could have been a contestant on “Name That Tune.”

Over the years, I saw Frank Sinatra perform a few times, something I’d tell Mom about, and she lapped it up: What songs did he sing? What were the ladies wearing? Fast forward a few decades, and I learned that Tony Bennett was booked for a venue near me, and I tried to get tickets. At that time, hopefuls had to punch in the phone number, which returned a busy signal, and repeat until the box office answered their call. 

When I asked my mother to join me, she was thrilled. She was twice widowed, and it might have been 50 years since her last concert (one not starring one of her five children, anyway). I thought we could grab a bite before the show, but she admitted she was too excited to eat. 

The drive to and from the theater became a trip down memory lane for my mother. I was astonished at her recall of people, places and things that came back to her while thinking of certain songs Tony Bennett made famous, not the least of which was singing “I Want to Be Around” as she grieved a serious love interest lost to her.

Tony Bennett’s passing had me on memory lane, thinking about how his music brought so much happiness to my mother and of our extraordinary night together. Mom has passed but comes back to me when I hear the songs of that era; I only wish she heard some of the duets he performed in later life.  

Let’s face it — losing weight is hard. As a lifelong dieter, I can attest it’s hard at any age, but weight loss as an older adult is extraordinarily challenging. According to the CDC, 41.5 percent of adults aged 60 and older are considered obese. 

I thought my extra pounds were here to stay. I was always bigger, but I put on a few pounds each year since my husband died. I had insignificant complaints but overall good health. My primary care provider found borderline prediabetes and prehypertension. In denial, I focused on the not-there-yet borderline diagnoses. I fretted more over my appearance, truly embarrassed by how I looked. To that end, I spent an inordinate amount of time dressing to camouflage the excess. In the words of Nora Ephron, “compensatory dressing”  had me hyper focused on faking a look I felt was unattainable. Ephron lamented that she felt compelled to hide her neck with scarves, necklaces and high collars; I was hiding 50 pounds of extra weight. No matter what area of your body you’re hiding for what reason, it’s exhausting and makes you feel bad about yourself.

But at 65 and just over 200 pounds, I did some soul-searching. I was experiencing more memory loss than usual, acid reflux, restless leg syndrome and, dammit, nothing fit. After a family wedding on the beach where I wore what was essentially a muumuu, I decided to just do something. 

I know my eating patterns and thought intermittent fasting might be worth a try. This weight-loss initiative involves eating only in a specific six- to eight-hour window, with only liquids the rest of the day. I don’t know about you, but I can make some bad decisions in that amount of time, so that diet didn’t work for me. 

I decided I needed the tried-and-true Weight Watchers plan. I didn’t want to sit through the meetings or weigh in publicly, but I could use the WW app on my phone and log my meals and snacks. I had a scale and started weighing portions. 

Talk about a wake-up call! Even the amount of oatmeal I had each morning was double what is considered a portion. My WW plan allowed for unlimited chicken, eggs and fish, so I didn’t need to give them up, but the chicken and salmon portions on my plate were also double, and I began taking smaller portions. I’m not a sweets-eater and I don’t drink alcohol, which helps, but I also didn’t like fruits or vegetables. Eating a single slice of pizza or a small pasta dish reignited cravings for those foods, so I skipped them. 

It did get easier with time. Over a few weeks, I noticed a change in my taste buds and cravings. I became content to have my chicken atop a bed of greens with fruit tossed in. A month or so in, my weight improved, and I am making good choices and learning to listen to my body. I can proudly say I’ve lost 50 pounds and am still losing. Hard? You bet! Impossible? Absolutely not. 

I can walk my little dog without panting and I’m more confident about my stability. Gone are the antacids and even the nightly melatonin. Eating the Weight Watchers way should be for a lifetime, at least for me. And no more compensatory dressing. 

I was recently asked about my retirement plans: Are you still working? When will you retire? This type of question is often an innocuous conversation starter, but it could be a conversation ender if asked of someone unprepared for the question. I’ve asked people this question myself, not thinking anything of it. But now that I’m a (Medicare) card-carrying senior citizen, I’m finding that it bothers me if strangers assume I’m retired. 

But why? I don’t like to be seen as idle, and I don’t think I look like a retiree (whatever that is). I struggle to find a response that isn’t as rude as the question. Truth be told, I cannot afford to retire, as much as I’d like to. Barring something unforeseen, I will continue to work well into the future. Some of my disdain for the retirement question is the reminder that, unlike my friends, I did not prepare financially for later life. I feel there is elitism in asking someone about being retired—assuming any older adult has the privilege of leaving the workplace. 

There is a slippery slope for an employer to ask when someone plans to retire. If they are trying to push the older worker out the door and hint at the employee’s age, it could lead to a discrimination suit. AARP writes that some terms are ageist and red flags: on the job, an employer can’t say they’re looking to “make room for the next generation,” or they’re looking for someone more “relatable” if they hope you’ll retire early.

As more of us are living longer and working until later in our lives, the question itself may get old. The next time I’m asked if I’m still working, I’ll say: kindly retire that question.

Recently, Senator Mitch McConnell, 81, tripped and fell in the Washington, DC, Waldorf Astoria, putting falls back in the headlines. McConnell was left with a concussion and a broken rib, and he will need rehab before returning to work. It’s not the first time he has broken bones in a fall; he had a serious shoulder injury in 2019. 

No matter how powerful we think we are, none of us are immune to falling.

There are several reasons why older people become more susceptible to it.

1. Decline in physical function: As we age, many of us become less agile and less able to maintain balance. This decline can be due to decreased muscle strength, joint stiffness and reduced reaction time.
2. Vision problems: Worsening eyesight affects our ability to see and avoid hazards, such as uneven surfaces and obstacles. 
3. Medication side effects: Taking multiple medications, some of which can cause dizziness or lightheadedness, increases the risk of falls.
4. Chronic health conditions: Arthritis, diabetes, neurological disorders—and so much more—can impact balance and mobility.
5. Cognitive impairment: If we can’t recognize or avoid hazards, we are at higher risk of falling.

I stick to sidewalks and paths when I’m out walking, which lulls me into being a little less mindful than I should be. I often don’t pick up my feet as I should, and I feel my heavier walking shoes catch on the ground.

As we age, it is important to take action to reduce our risk of falling. Staying active, getting regular vision and hearing checkups, reviewing medications with a health care provider, and modifying your home environment can help you reduce hazards. And for heaven’s sake, do as I say, not as I do: pick up your feet when you walk. 

The change was subtle enough that I didn’t notice it at first. My hair scrunchies were slipping off my ponytail, and I began to see more hair in the drain after a shower and in my brush. Next, I look in the mirror—where did my eyebrows go? When was the last time I shaved? I asked my hairdresser, who observed that my hair was thinning, and I was losing hair around my ears. She attributed this, potentially, to wearing my hair pulled back tightly for so long or to the fact that I routinely push sunglasses off my nose and onto my head. 

But I was concerned. I knew older women often suffered hair loss for various reasons, and I didn’t think I should be one of them. Hair loss can affect your scalp or entire body (sayonara, eyebrows) and can be temporary or permanent. (Anyone can lose hair on their head, but it’s more common in men.)

Hair loss can result from heredity, hormonal changes, medical conditions, treatments like chemotherapy, or simply as a normal part of aging. According to the Mayo Clinic, age-related hair loss is common: about 55 percent of women experience some hair loss by age 70. 

The most common cause is female-pattern baldness, an inherited condition. In women, this often shows up as a widening of the part on the scalp. Other women lose hair in circular or patchy bald spots on the scalp; this is called alopecia areata. Based on how my hair was falling out, I wondered if it was from frontal fibrosing alopecia (FFA). FFA may be an autoimmune disease; dermatologists are still studying it, with few answers so far, but it is becoming more recognized in older women. 

My hair loss has slowed, but I’ll mention it when I go to the dermatologist. I plan to pencil in my brows, use a hairbrush made for wet hair and avoid the hair dryer. 

Who knows? I may embrace the hat.

After decades of being underinsured and, luckily, remarkably healthy, it had been quite some time since I participated in regular health care. I signed up for Medicare on turning 65 and found a new primary care provider. Thinking long term, I hoped to find a geriatrician, but where I live, the need exceeds the demand, and I couldn’t find one taking new patients. A client of mine introduced me to his osteopathic doctor; I liked how the doctor interacted with him, and he seemed thorough and very available. 

Right away, I was in front of the calendar, making appointments for the adjunct providers. The gastroenterologist ordered a colonoscopy. The sleep doctor ordered a sleep study and then a fitting for a CPAP. (And then a second, and another fitting, before I abandoned it altogether.) The gynecologist ordered a mammogram. The dermatologist removed some spots and then called for a follow-up. The cardiologist ordered a battery of tests in the hospital. Before too long, it will be time for annuals and more follow-ups.

It takes some time to schedule these appointments. I don’t work a regular nine-to-five job, so I can dedicate a morning or afternoon to tend to this task. People with less flexible work commitments must take time off from work. Other time-savers: I can get test results through a portal, so I don’t have to sit by the phone, waiting for a doctor’s office to call, and I have my pharmacy app on my phone.

But I live alone, and my daughters aren’t in the neighborhood, so when I need rides, friends or Uber get me to and from—add that to the scheduling challenge. If anesthesia is part of a procedure, Uber won’t do; the doctors require you to have someone to escort you from the office or hospital to the car and promise to walk you into the house. Fortunately, I have a reciprocal arrangement with another single mom.

Without something like that, it can be hard to ask for help when you can’t return the favor. If that’s the case, local ride services may be available, if you make arrangements ahead of time and are prepared to wait if you aren’t the only rider that day. Or perhaps your senior center can connect you with rides. 

Good health is a luxury I won’t take for granted, but maintaining it as I get older is going to be a challenge. I’m going to need a bigger calendar.

My two sisters, two brothers and I knew our mother’s condition was terminal. Together with her, we gathered to have a painful conversation about her final wishes. Grieving for a loved one is acutely hard enough; the last thing anyone wants to do just after the loss is sit across from a funeral director, rushed, making high-pressure, expensive choices.

Funeral homes provide essential services, but they are also profit-driven businesses. Staff may try to sell products and services you do not want or need or that you can’t afford. Most funerals and burial arrangements in the United States cost between $7,000 and $10,000, with cremation slightly less. Averages are broken down by state here. There is nothing wrong with an expensive funeral if that’s what the family wants. But many families who might prefer (or need) a simple, dignified ceremony can end up with something lavish and costly and live to regret it.

After Mom died, my older brother and I went to the funeral home she chose. We picked a casket, the date and times for the viewing and arranged for the priest Mom liked at the chapel where she worshiped. We gave the funeral home the outfit Mom chose and called the loved ones she wanted to participate in the service. It was lovely, and we knew it was what she wanted. 

Fast-forward a year and a half, and my husband died suddenly. He had cardiac issues complicated by insulin-dependent diabetes. I should have been more prepared, but sadly, indefensibly, I was not. 

I did what every guide tells you not to do. I went to the funeral home alone; I did not take along a companion to assure me that sensible, cost-saving decisions are OK. Unaware of the extent to which I’d now be living with crippling medical debt and the loss of the primary breadwinner’s salary, I still had the wherewithal to ask about the cost of what they recommended, to make choices based on price. But it made me feel cold and uncaring. 

I opted for cremation but still had the menu of services that are standard practice. I learned that I’d have to pay for transportation from the morgue, and every day his body was stored would be an additional cost. I had to rent the parlor for the mourners for a fee based on how many people I expected. How would I know? The newspapers carried obituaries, but they charged by the line, so my husband’s was brief and not at all what I wanted. Add to the bill the cost of transportation to the crematorium and the actual cremation. We’re not religious; there was no ceremony. 

In the fog of grief, I made no arrangements for anyone after the viewing. I took some criticism for that later, but it was what it was. I had two children to get to school the next day, and they were my singular focus. No one offered to counsel me and help me navigate the funeral world or even ask me if they could buy a tray of sandwiches. 

The key here is to plan in advance. And while it can be difficult, preplanning your own funeral is sensible and gives valuable input to your survivors when they are forced to make many decisions on short notice. 

Write down and share your preferences with loved ones and include them in the process to make sure their emotional needs are met. When we had the family sit-down, my mother said she didn’t care if she was cremated or not. My sisters said they wanted Mom buried along with my father. Decision made.

If you decide to go the traditional route with a funeral home, start by asking for its general price list in writing. The Federal Trade Commission requires funeral homes to provide a copy of their prices if you ask. Some funeral directors may encourage you to come in person. Deal only with funeral homes that readily supply detailed pricing information without requiring an in-person appointment. 

Many funeral homes push plans that let you prepay for your funeral. These agreements represent significant financial commitments, and many unscrupulous places have not protected their customers’ (prepaid) wishes. A better arrangement is to open a joint savings account with a likely survivor who will get immediate access to the funds upon your death. I have a small insurance policy earmarked for funeral costs.

There are several options for handling remains, such as burial with a traditional funeral, immediate burial, or cremation (with or without a funeral). I opted to cremate my husband’s remains. With my mother, we chose burial. It required a casket, a cemetery plot, fees to open and close the grave, cemetery upkeep, and a headstone. Needless to say, we didn’t “shop around.” We simply went to the monument business recommended by the funeral director.  

I learned that, for cost saving, immediate burial with a basic casket is the practical choice. A funeral home files the necessary paperwork, places the unembalmed body in a casket and takes the remains to a cemetery in one day, without services. 

Cremation is an increasingly popular choice. Like burial, it can be direct or after a funeral service. Cremation and immediate burial allow flexibility in the timing and location of services; many families now hold memorial services in a place of their choosing. Cremated remains may be scattered, kept at home, buried in a cemetery or interred in a columbarium. Burial of remains adds to the cost. 

You’ll want to make your wishes known to loved ones, your choice between a religious and secular service and where it will be held, along with any other requests. I can oversimplify my own cavalier approach by saying, “I don’t care, I’ll be dead.” But I’m woefully behind on identifying my own end-of-life wishes, despite being immensely grateful to my mother for spelling out her wishes and so remorseful about how I handled my husband’s celebration of life. It’s high time I let my daughters know what I’d like. In the end, it will be my last gift to them.

Silver Century regularly recommends books—fiction, nonfiction, memoirs—that reflect our mission through a positive portrayal of aging or that offer insight from thought leaders in the field. Here are some of our favorites for holiday giving or to save for the winter months ahead.

Sixty-two-year-old Annie Wilkins, diagnosed with terminal tuberculosis, bought an aging horse and, along with her mutt, rode west from Maine to fulfill a lifelong dream to see the Pacific Ocean. The Ride of Her Life (2021) shares the remarkable true story of Annie’s journey, detailing all the surprises, hardships, joys, mishaps and extraordinary human kindness she experienced along the way. This 1950s history-packed story, sure to cement your faith in humanity, is a life-affirming tale of a woman living out her days on her own terms.

In In Love (2022), Amy Bloom and Brian Ameche found each other in a whirlwind, later-life romance, enjoying travel, fine food and friends. But Ameche started showing signs of dementia and was aghast at the prospect of life without a fully functioning brain. He asked Bloom to research his options for assisted suicide, which were limited. She eventually discovered a nonprofit in Switzerland offering  “accompanied suicide.” Gently and lovingly, Bloom shares how they carried out his final wishes. Sad but not morbid, this is the candid and powerful story that Bloom promised her husband she would write. You’ll want to talk about this book.

Tova is a widow in her 70s, coping with the mysterious loss of her teen son. To distract herself from her grief, Tova works as a cleaner in the local aquarium, where she communes with the creatures housed there. In Remarkably Bright Creatures (2022), Tova has a special bond with Marcellus, an aging, giant Pacific octopus, who was rescued and rehabilitated at the aquarium. She knows he escapes and visits the other tanks, sometimes for a social call and other times for a snack. But Tova keeps his secrets; Marcellus is grateful. A young man named Cameron arrives, looking for the father he never knew, and takes a job at the aquarium. While Cam settles in, the intelligent and erudite Marcellus pieces together what happened to Tova’s son. Can the old octopus give Tova the peace she seeks before he dies? Narrated by the octopus and Tova, this charming story will have you longing for a trip to the nearest aquarium. 

In another intergenerational story, The Reading List (2021), we meet Mukesh Patel, a lonely widower living in a London suburb, simply going through the motions of daily life, and Aleisha, a disaffected 17-year-old, who cares for her mentally ill mother, and, although not a reader, works at a small library. She finds a scrap of paper listing book titles, “just in case you need it,” and she decides to work her way through the suggestions. When Aleisha is rude to Mukesh at the library, her supervisor asks her to apologize. She then makes a recommendation from this secret list; the book’s magic sparks a friendship. The two confide in each other and bring others into their circle. But when tragedy strikes Aleisha’s family, she pulls away from Mukesh and from reading altogether. Can Mukesh use the life lessons gleaned in the shared pages to bring Aleisha back from despair? 

If you enjoyed Olive Kitteridge (2008) by Elizabeth Strout and followed the goings-on in her New England community, you’ve already met Lucy Barton (My Name is Lucy Barton (2016) and Oh, William (2021). She’s back in Lucy by the Sea (2022), revealing how she navigated the pandemic back in her hometown with her first husband, Edward.

The third installation of the Thursday Murder Club is out. The original, The Thursday Murder Club (2021), by Richard Osman, introduced us to a diverse group of amateur sleuths who reside in an upscale retirement community. It was followed by The Man Who Died Twice (2021) and The Bullet That Missed (2022). There’s much mayhem and suspense as the self-proclaimed detectives solve other mysteries that stumped the local police. If you haven’t joined the fun, it’s time to catch up.

Happy reading in 2023!

MRIs show what we have learned over the millennia—reading has a positive impact on brain health. The National Institute on Aging recommends reading books and magazines to keep your mind engaged as you grow older. Good news for me—I’m a bookworm. 

I enjoy books in every format. I listen to books on audio, I read books on my Kindle and I have paper books from the library. I’m not a speed–reader, but I read consisently and am never without. I often research what I’ll read next when I’m not reading. 

In a discussion with someone unfamiliar with the wide world of audiobooks, he imagined that I was trudging through computer text-to-speech. Nothing could be further from the truth! Some very talented folks narrate audiobooks—sometimes several artists on one recording, and the books become almost theatrical to hear. (Tom Hanks made The Dutch House seem as if he grew up there.) I have a Bluetooth-capable radio to play audiobooks from my phone. I have a subscription to Audible, where I can choose from a wide selection of trending titles. I have other apps for free audiobooks, like my library app, though I may not be able to get a best seller immediately. (That can be said for hardcover best sellers as well). I can even ask Alexa to play the book of the day and go seamlessly between car and home. 

If you’re reading for pleasure, consume books in a way that’s most accessible to you. Researchers conducted a study in 2019 in which they used neuroimaging to see how written words and heard words are processed in the brain. Participants read or listened to the same stories for several hours. The researchers found that language is processed similarly by the brain whether you listen or read with your eyes. One difference: if you’re studying for a test, you might be better off with print. 

There’s a bit of magic and comfort in being read to, especially when the author is the narrator. A narrator’s accent adds authenticity if the story takes place in a foreign land. Or, in the case of an autobiography, the author’s voice comes through with such honesty.

So, if your friends are talking about the newest best seller, and you think you don’t have time to read it, give the audiobook a try. Plug in your earphones and take a walk or fold laundry with the author, and in no time, you’ll be a bookworm like me.

When chatting with others, do you ever struggle to feel “in the know”? This is how I’ve been feeling about my place in society lately. The world is changing, and I don’t want to be left behind. 

My daughters do their best in their quest to keep me current, albeit not without eye rolls. When my husband died, leaving me a single mother, it was more of a challenge to stay current with news and culture, but once the kids had earphones, I was free to listen to NPR or escape with a best seller. I disavowed those “when-I-was-your-age” admonitions, but I had many occasions when I recognized their world was very different from the one in which I grew up. I enjoyed my kids’ music, in contrast with the arguments I had with my parents about the hippie sounds of the lawless, morality-free ʼ60s. 

I could count on my daughters to help me with technology. “How many times do I have to show you…” came from the child, not the parent. (Really? I taught you how to use a spoon.) As they grew older, more changes became harder for me to process, not the least of which revolved around appropriate attire. Did they miss the lesson on modesty, or did I miss the lesson on freedom of expression? I couldn’t keep up.

One daughter had a beau over for a movie and make-out. I felt compelled to remind them I was in the house, party pooper that I am. The young man was African American, and I was caught in thoughts about how far we’ve come. I told her that young Black men were lynched for less when I was in high school in the ʼ70s, and my daughter was shocked to realize just how recently mind-sets have changed. On this matter, I can say I have kept up. 

A decade ago, my 14-year-old daughter asked me if she could get her belly button pierced and I agreed. I was vilified by many. Today I have friends who accompany their kids to get matching tattoos. I’m trying to keep up. 

I experience challenges around language that I hope to overcome. I’ve had a lifetime of using terms that I now know to be offensive to others. I accidentally asked a new high school grad if they felt “gypped” out of their rites of passage by COVID. I caught it and apologized. When I was rebuked by my daughter for saying “lame excuse,” I was taken to task: refrain from ableist language. Not quite there yet.

I may not master current practices, but I do want to stay relevant and, of course, respectful, and that’s going to take some open-mindedness and gentle reminders. But let it be known that I am determined to keep up.

I don’t like summer. There. I’ve said it. Seaside, poolside, outdoor activities—not my thing. I hibernate in the summer. An unseasonably hot day in May caused me to miss out on a community Spring Fling arts-and-crafts event I looked forward to all winter.

One reason I don’t fare well in heat is that I carry extra weight. Imagine doing what you like to do in 90-degree weather, wearing a backpack full of bricks. Add in some chafing and perspiration-laced sunscreen dripping into your eyes, and you begin to understand why I’m not playing frisbee on the beach.

As climate change is making summers longer, older adults—even thin gardeners and fit sun-worshippers—need to know about heat-related health challenges that caused 1,577 deaths in the United States alone in 2021. As we age, we can lose the feeling that we’re thirsty, making us less inclined to grab a drink. Medications may have a diuretic effect, or we drink alcohol, coffee or tea, which also promote fluid loss. This, along with perspiration, and even breathing, can leave us dangerously low on the fluids, salt and minerals we need to cool ourselves down naturally. 

The two most common risks to the dehydrated are heat exhaustion and heat stroke. Heat exhaustion is your body’s way of saying your fluids are low and your body can’t cool down. Dizziness, fatigue and confusion can be accompanied by muscle cramps, loss of balance, headaches and thirst. Hallmarks of heat stroke are skin that’s not sweating, an elevated body temperature and severe confusion, possibly convulsions. Heat stroke can occur suddenly, without the precursor of heat exhaustion symptoms, and can cause organ failure. Heat stroke should be considered a 911-level emergency. 

To prevent these heat-related illnesses, stay hydrated. Mark your water bottle and set a goal, so you can be reminded that you need to drink. Consider a sports drink like Gatorade with salt and minerals to replenish your electrolytes. Always pack more drinks than you think you’ll need. Choose foods that have a high water content, like watermelon or strawberries, that won’t weigh you down and will give you some electrolytes. Stay in the shade or, at the very least, know where to find shade if you start to feel overheated. Dress in breathable, light-colored fabrics. Plan your activities for times of the day or week (or season!) when the temperature is more forgiving. 

As for me, you’ll find me in an air-conditioned room until the community Fall Fest comes around in October. 

As the eldest daughter in a big family, it fell to me to set the table as my mother prepared dinner each night. Once my father arrived home from work, all seven of us ate together. I grew up with both “everyday” dishes and “good” porcelain china, reserved for holidays and special occasions. When I got married, I registered for and received ”good china,” but I set a table for my family using simpler, stoneware plates.

When my husband died, our dinners became more casual, with less of a focus on the ceremony and more centered on communicating about our day. Once my kids became involved in extracurricular activities, like sports, scouts and friends, dinner was rushed; no one set the table, it was every woman for herself. Pasta. Chicken nuggets. Pizza. Ramen. Repeat. We often ate in front of the television, then they went off to do homework before bed. 

Now that I’m an empty nester, my “table” is actually a tray, but it’s set: fork, knife, water glass, cloth napkin. I bring it to the family room to eat while catching the nightly news and a little Jeopardy. This is, actually, what my mother did in later life, when she was an empty nester. My siblings and I would chide her about taking her good china and silver with her to her smaller house where she ate off Pottery Barn plates. “Use the china that makes you happy,” we’d say, to no avail. 

As I slowly downsize for my next, smaller home, I ask myself why I’m packing my good china instead of selling it. I haven’t used it in a long time, but knowing it’s behind the doors of the china cabinet is a sentimental comfort that harkens back to the promise of my marriage and what the future would hold: proper dinner parties with perfectly plated meals for family and friends. That spelled success to me. 

My daughters don’t want the china. And like my mother, I wouldn’t use it while dining alone. I don’t see myself doing any entertaining on the scale that would merit the lovely French china, but if such an occasion should arise, I know how to set a table. 

The pandemic’s isolation and loneliness hit us hard. At residential care facilities, some residents were locked in, meals left at the door, no one in or out. People who are homebound turned to delivery services, cautioned against having any face-to-face contact, even with family members. It’s no wonder we all turned to screen-based conversations. FaceTime and Zoom became our connection to the outside world. Many of us made new friends online, using Facebook and dating sites. Even elders who were reluctant to use social media were forced to join—or embrace the silence. 

Sadly, along with the new users came their exploitation. According to the Federal Trade Commission (FTC), reported losses to romance scams reached a record $304 million in 2020, up about 50 percent from 2019. Mind the word “reported” here—many victims, feeling foolish, are too embarrassed to report these crimes.

These scams often start with a friend request. Ensuing conversations can go back and forth for weeks, months, longer—scammers could be targeting multiple victims at the same time, and they can wait for the payoff. Often a scammer has a fake profile that looks like a real one to the untrained eye. Once a “friendship” has begun, conversations often go off social media to the more private settings of email or text but never occur in person. Craving a connection, a lonely person may believe a romance is blossoming, and when the request to send money comes, the hopeful romantic can be sucked in.

The hardest-hit group has been adults ages 60 to 79, with their median loss close to $9,500. 

How can you protect yourself? The FTC recommends: 

• Never send money or gifts to someone you haven’t met in person, even if they send you money first.
• Don’t give out your personal information, like birthdate, Social Security number, PINs or account numbers.
• Talk to someone you trust about this new love interest, because it can be easy to miss things that don’t add up. 
• Ask a lot of questions and take note of  inconsistent answers.
• Report the scam to the FTC at ReportFraud.ftc.gov.

Were you scammed online and feel duped and ashamed? Take comfort that you’re not alone. If you are a victim of an online dating or romance scam, the Minnesota Attorney General’s Office suggests taking the following steps:

• Cease all contact and block phone numbers, IM accounts and email addresses.
• Keep copies of all communications.
• Report the matter to the dating website.
• Report the matter to your local police.

 

 

 

 

After months of medical intervention and prayer, a friend made the agonizing decision to euthanize her very old, very loyal dog. I am an animal lover who has been in her shoes, so I could appreciate what she was going through. Making the call to “put them to sleep” is merciful, but not easy, and can leave feelings of guilt and doubt for quite some time. Did I give up too soon? Should the call have been sooner? Did I end their suffering, or mine?

So many of us find love and companionship in later life from faithful canines. If you’re lucky enough to know the steadfast love of a good dog, you know they can be relied upon to never judge and to always comfort. Often, our dogs outlast loved ones, who leave us for a variety of reasons. When they come after the parting, dogs fill holes in our hearts. I got my bulldog, Maisy, after my oldest daughter left for college. Maisy’s at my desk now and by my side whenever I’m home. I know she won’t live forever, but I can’t imagine my life without her, and I’ve lost friends, parents and my husband. 

Why is it so hard to lose a cherished pet? When I lost a human partner, there were the usual funeral rituals and sharing of memories and support for weeks afterward. Being an emotional basket case seemed understandable. But our culture treats the death of a pet more like the loss of an automobile. When it wears out, you should just go buy another one. When I lost my dog, well-meaning friends and family members had advised this in their attempts to help me feel better. What they didn’t get was that I had lost a soul mate—an irreplaceable relationship—not a piece of property.

We’ve learned that pets can help us maintain our health by reducing stress, lowering blood pressure, imparting a sense of purpose and bringing us companionship and joy. As an older adult myself, having a dog gets me out of the house—a little walk each day, moderate exercise and often a chance to meet new people. 

So I’m asking you to understand, if you don’t already, the very real grief that someone can feel when they lose a furry friend, especially if they had to make the choice to end their companion’s life. 

Silver Century regularly recommends books—fiction, nonfiction, memoirs—that we feel reflect our mission by portraying aging in a positive light or that offer insights from thought leaders in the field of aging. Here are some of our favorites for holiday giving or to read yourself in the winter months ahead. 

When it comes to role models for aging well, you can’t go wrong by emulating Queen Elizabeth. In Long Live the Queen: 23 Rules for Living from Britain’s Longest-Reigning Monarch (2020), we learn Her Highness’s habits that keep her so vital: she works, sticks to a routine, walks her corgis, eats simply and reads voraciously to keep abreast of global current affairs. This book contains many insider observations we’ve not read anywhere else. A gem for royal-lovers and anyone who wants to age like one. 

In The Thursday Murder Club: A Novel (2020), a group of amateur detectives work on unsolved crimes each Thursday in their retirement village. When a local contractor turns up dead, they couldn’t be happier to have an actual murder to solve. The four quirky octogenarians use their wits and life experiences to uncover the killer ahead of the befuddled local law enforcement. It’s a smart whodunit laced with mirth.

Lionel Shriver’s thought-provoking novel Should We Stay or Should We Go (2021) has a couple—Kay and Cyril, both health care workers in their 50s—making a pact to end their lives when they turn 80. They’ve just supported a dying friend and now have both professional and personal experience with a drawn-out death, and they refuse to let the same fate be their own. The next three decades pass and, now at the age where the pact might come to fruition, a dozen different possibilities, brilliantly thought out, are explored. In one alternate universe, they end up in residential care, neglected and forgotten; in another, at a posh facility, they’re treated like royalty. This novel is serious and provocative but not morbid, and an excellent discussion-starter for you and your family or your book club. 

There is no cold so bitter that The Funny Thing About Norman Foreman: A Novel (2021) can’t overcome. Norman, age 12, and his best (and only) friend, Jax, make a terrific comedic duo with a dream of appearing on stage at the famous Edinburgh Fringe. Jax has the presence and timing; Norman, the straight man, has an unfailing belief in his friend. When Jax suddenly dies, Norman is inconsolable until he decides to honor Jax’s memory by appearing at the Fringe himself. His single mother, Sadie, is dubious about making the trip because Norman also wants to meet his biological father along the way. Making that quest more challenging is the fact that Sadie isn’t sure exactly who Norman’s father is. It’s only when 80-something Leonard, Sadie’s co-worker, agrees to join the quest that the threesome head off. Leonard is the brains behind the trip; he brings the common sense, the computer savvy and a lifetime of useful skills, upon which Sadie and Norman draw time and time again. There are snags, hits and misses along the way, but if you’re up for a sweet escape, this is the trip for you. The “Little Big Man of Comedy” will warm you from the inside out. 

I’m a widow with two daughters in their 20s, who both live on their own. I have a two-story, four-bedroom house that is becoming harder to maintain. Could it be a good time for me to sell? It seems to be a “seller’s market,” and I am considering what’s best for me for the next phase of life. 

Whether I stay or go, it’s kind of overwhelming. On the “stay” side of the argument is that my daughters will have a place to return to for holidays and comfortable, familiar bedrooms waiting for them if life doesn’t go according to plan. I have a nice backyard for my dog to play in, and moving is just so hard.

The “go” side is clearer but no easier. I am at a stage where I can find a condo in a 55+ community, and it could conceivably be the right home for me in which to grow older. I’m looking at first-floor, two-bedroom units and no steps. I want to stay in this town that’s been home for almost 50 years. And it’s quite possible that I could end up lowering my monthly expenses.

Of course, I would have to downsize—that’s challenging and so time consuming. I have too much stuff. And I like my stuff. I tell myself I can always get different stuff and I’ll like that as well. 

But did you know that it’s also expensive to get rid of stuff? I just paid a small fortune to have junk removers empty two-thirds of my unfinished basement. (Time-plus-damp adds up to unsalvageable stuff. Ewww, what did that used to be, anyway?) You really can point and make it disappear (with your checkbook handy). A truckload cost $700, but it’s gone.

As for the upstairs, if I move, I won’t need the girls’ beds and dressers—they have little value, that’s easy. But they have stuff collecting dust that carries a great deal of sentimental value for them. They are apartment dwellers, so they’ll need to invest in a storage unit for things I can’t take. On one hand, I feel badly about making them choose, but I tell myself that downsizing benefits them in the long run. My conscience tugs at me: how much do I owe them in memory-storage? A few large, plastic tubs? A second bedroom-full? It is an emotional point to consider that gives me heartache.

Beyond the extra furniture, knickknacks and kitsch, I have trappings of my former, married life. I have a teapot collection, sterling silver and “good” china that the girls don’t want and I don’t use. I won’t be entertaining on a grand scale and I won’t need it. But it will hurt to put it into consignment. There are a few furniture pieces I like and will keep for my next home, but if I consider the cost to move something versus the prospect of having something new, I can let most things go. (I’m talking to you, saggy, old mattress. You too, every-single-holiday decoration.)

Meanwhile, a multifamily yard sale is being planned in my neighborhood. I need to A) stay away from their stuff and B) promise myself to bring absolutely nothing of my own back inside. 

Do you need any stuff?

 

There was a time when I could outlast every guest at a party. And though I gave up the bar scene decades ago, for the longest time you could still think of me as Pepper “Last Call” Evans. As I get older, however, I get my fill earlier and earlier. It’s not the hour of the day that does me in, but I get “people-full.” I’m spent. It takes more energy to make the small talk and chit chat that I relished in younger days. At the weekend-long family reunion, my need for conversation can now be met in an afternoon. The very thought of having company—or being company—for an extended period holds absolutely no appeal. Am I becoming a late-blooming introvert?

A quick Google search, asking if it’s common to become more introverted as we age, shows that I’m not alone in my introverted inclinations. Like me, others commented on feeling less inclined to go out or even gab on the phone, as they did when younger. Could it be that the sense of who we are is more developed, and we no longer need the quantity of interactions, but are satisfied with more quality interactions?

Even though I crave company less, I have no fear of becoming a hermit or one of the many, isolated older adults dying of loneliness. Many older people living alone have felt the absence of connections, especially in the pandemic. No one wants to feel neglected or forgotten.

Studies show loneliness and social isolation can accelerate dementia and cause mental health issues like depression, anxiety, even suicide. My primary care provider always asks if I remain social, and I do. I’m an elected official in my town and serve on the boards of a couple of nonprofits, plus my work has me in the company of others and my adult children are close. I am not concerned that my social pendulum has swung too far in the other direction, I’ve simply begun to appreciate solitude over conversation as I age.

I have a long day ahead tomorrow—my regular workday plus a doctor’s appointment and a board meeting. I’ll be on the go from 8 am to 9 pm. I need to mentally prepare for a few conversations so I can make them more efficient, and I know at day’s end, I won’t join colleagues after the meeting, nor will I make phone calls when I get home. I’ll need to just curl up with a book or watch some mindless television. Like Greta Garbo, I’ll want to be alone.  

For a while now, I’ve felt as though I’m not firing on all cylinders. I have no complaints about my health; I just feel like I’m not my old self. Not the well-oiled machine of yesterday. I’m more tired than usual, forgetting more and struggling to focus. I can attribute some of this to COVID. No, I haven’t had it, but the trauma of the pandemic seems to have taken its toll on me. 

I was concerned that I was suffering from early-onset dementia, so you can imagine how relieved I was to read about a very real (and likely temporary) state some are calling “brain fog.” According to neurologist Andrew E. Budson, MD, “Brain fog is not a medical or scientific term; it is used by individuals to describe how they feel when their thinking is sluggish, fuzzy, and not sharp.”

How does brain fog manifest in my life? My memory is worse than usual—not simply forgetting why I am in the living room, but locking myself out of the car, key on the front seat. I’m easily distracted and cannot stay on track, daydreaming through Zoom calls and forgetting what I’ve just read or heard. I’m not incorporating new information in a way that I can recall later: which insurance plan offered the lower co-pay and which one was a lower premium? Back to page one.

Maybe we all have a little brain fog. How many times during lockdown did you wonder what day it was or lose your train of thought? Stress is a major cause of brain fog. Let’s not minimize that. We are trying to process a traumatic change in our daily lives—we’ve been isolated, assaulted by masked faces and constant reminders to wash our hands. We are bombarded with death tolls and fear-inducing newscasts. We’re living a Groundhog Day-life without the positive, stimulating experiences that kept us vital and engaged, and it’s this sameness that’s causing our brains to shut down, suggests Moya Sarner in the Guardian. Boredom from the blending of one day into the next—no new experiences or change of pace—can rob the brain of the context it needs to process information. 

But what can we do other than ride out the pandemic and hope our ability to multitask comes back? Switch things up when possible. Call someone different. Move some furniture. Work from a different room. Less screen time, better sleep, move your body. Then move some more. Outside is better. 

A little change can make a big difference. As soon as it’s safe, we can get back into the world and enjoy a variety of stimulating people and experiences to shoo away the fog. The worst is behind us and, with any luck, our resilience will kick in, leaving 2020 and 2021 in our rearview mirrors. 

Note: Brain fog could be a symptom of a bigger issue: nutritional deficiency from a poor diet, poor sleep, boredom and inactivity, depression, or even a thyroid condition. Certain medications can cause brain fog. Serious brain fog may be a sign of an underlying condition. Share your concerns with your doctor.

 

I’m watching out my kitchen window as cars come and go from my neighbor Tony’s house. Last month, Tony celebrated his 89th birthday, and family came out of the woodwork. Last week, he left the hospital to die at home on hospice care; the family has returned. Saturday morning, I brought over some bagels, looking for information. Tony’s kids were grown and out of the house when I moved here 15 years ago, but I see the local ones regularly. In truth, I see the adult daughters. I asked one of the daughters how it was going with hospice. Her reply: don’t die on the weekend. 

Like many who are terminally ill, Tony insisted that he not die in a sterile and impersonal hospital, hooked up to machines. Despite the family’s lack of familiarity with dementia care, they brought him home. They weren’t told that hospice services would begin on Monday; they were on their own for the weekend with a man who would not go gently into that good night. 

Tony’s daughters spent the better part of Friday night on the phone with the hospice helpline, learning which medications would help calm their frightened, agitated father. They needed to go to several pharmacies to fill the prescriptions and retrieve the items on the list from hospice. Sadly, Tony needed to be restrained until the medications kicked in. So much for the dignity they hoped would be a benefit to dying at home.

When a hospice nurse finally arrived, she only took his vitals and made a few suggestions for the family to keep Tony comfortable. Tony was polite to her, but he had been horrible to his family. The nurse had no resolution for that. 

My own experience with my mother’s end-of-life wishes and her hospice care was also disappointing. I had heard stories of the angels of hospice, so my expectations were high. I was also under the impression that the medical pieces would be handled by professionals. This was not the case.

I might have made a different choice for her if I had known the deeply intimate and personal care required of me and my sisters. The physical strength, fortitude and patience needed, even with a compliant patient like my mother, can’t be glossed over. Being a primary caregiver at the end of a loved one’s life requires resources beyond measure at a time when it’s hard to summon them. I regret that the caregiving took over the actual caring, but the tasks before me were overwhelming.

I don’t know if my neighbor has weeks or days, but I know it’s hard on the family. I now question if I can have a “good death” and die at home.

When a 70-something friend went to a podiatrist for foot issues, the prescription for alleviating the pain—mostly in her arches—involved a golf ball. Not to walk the links with her clubs, but to massage foot muscles by rolling her bare foot over the golf ball. 

Many people live a sedentary lifestyle with long hours of office jobs or inactivity. Sitting in one place can become a serious problem because it contributes to muscle tightness. This can result in pain in your lower back, hips, tailbone, knees and feet. A few minutes a day of exercising with a therapy ball at home can help you manage muscle pain—a simple, low-tech solution, a drug-free answer for your muscular and joint problems. The right ball can improve blood circulation and relieve tension with prolonged, gentle pressure that you control. But what ball do you choose? 

Though some massage balls are made for massaging, others are repurposed sports balls. A medium-size one—think playground size—may be a good place to start (always consult your health care provider before starting a new exercise). I used this size when I had a frozen shoulder and simply pressed against it, against the wall, push-up style. Ten-dollar physical therapy is hard to beat. Sadly, the ball didn’t hold up against my dog’s teeth. For deeper muscle pain, try a lacrosse ball, which is hard and tennis ball-sized. 

Massage balls work immediately to target knots and pain anywhere on your body. They’re great for muscles and their surrounding tissue to relieve tightness in the muscle. You can use a ball anywhere—sit in a chair, stretch out on a yoga mat, or even lie on a bed. 

While muscle rollers (another possibility) have many benefits, they usually relieve pain in larger areas that may not be as deep. Chiropractors from the Cleveland Clinic suggest the best way to roll out your pain:

1. Get in position: Place the roller under your trigger points and lie across it. Let your body weight press the roller into the tight spots.
2. Slow your roll: Less wiggle, more pressure. Try to press the roller into the tight spot and stay there. That deep, steady pressure should ease tension.
3. Hit the spot: It may help to roll just above or below a trigger point. Use some trial and error to find the right place to press. It might feel uncomfortable while you roll, but your muscles should feel more relaxed when you’re done.

Other beneficial tricks with balls include putting tennis balls in a sock, then pressing into them with your back, shoulder or hips against the wall or the floor on a yoga mat. See this video for more ideas with tennis balls. 

What about the spiky balls that look like what I put in my clothes dryer instead of fabric softener? Roll them over sensitive areas all over the body; they’re especially good for the arches of the feet.

In the end, my friend did find relief from her foot pain with the golf ball exercise: she simply rolled her arches over the ball, getting to the smaller muscles and breaking up tightness. She may even be back in her heels before too long, having a ball.

My phone rings, my laptop pings—proof that I remain popular with the many, many websites and organizations that took my information so I could get the COVID-19 vaccine, or “the jab,” if you listen to BBC radio, into my arm and into the arms of people in my care. 

In January, I became eligible for vaccination as an elder-care provider. I also qualified due to comorbidities, but rather than saying I’m plump and old, let’s stick with my eligibility via my profession. 

Initially, I had no idea of the time it would take to lock in my appointment, let alone schedule my clients, who qualified by virtue of age or health status. My initial foray was to sign up online everywhere: on New Jersey’s official registration system, at county websites, health care groups and hyperlocal locations, plus getting notifications from Facebook and Twitter. I optimistically and naively sat back and waited, but no one responded. 

I observed that caregivers who worked with agencies were getting vaccinated (I am a self-employed consultant)—and returned to my task more aggressively, more singularly focused on getting myself vaccinated. In a plane crash, we’re told to put our own oxygen masks on before we help others, right?

I sat at the computer at the website of a health care consortium that I heard had a wide range of available time slots. The tips I found on a Facebook page suggested that loading the sign-up page and hitting refresh over and over might turn up an appointment, but you had to immediately put your information in lest you lose out to a faster typist. I finally secured an appointment an hour away, at the end of the month. The relief I felt is hard to describe.

A week before my appointment, I was told they were rescheduling everyone for some time in the future, as they were not given the promised allotment of vaccines. It was back to the drawing board for me. So close!

The frustration, anxiety and sense of futility when I made no progress made me decide to limit my attempts to once in the morning and once before bed. Finally, I secured appointments for myself and two family members, and eventually for some of my clients. 

The next step was getting the vaccine itself. A client with intellectual disabilities was up first. I drove him an hour away, parked, then nearly fainted when I saw the line snaking around the building. A staff member with a counter said there were 250 people ahead of us. Thank heavens, it was a nice day. We later learned that two days’ worth of appointments canceled due to snow had been rescheduled for that day. What bad luck.

But the line moved quickly enough; we were scheduled for 1:15 and the shot was administered around 3:00. When I regaled friends with this story, some asked why I stayed in the line at all. What choice did I have—return to the drawing board, pushing the vaccine date out by weeks or months? Fortunately, the rest of my clients’ appointments went smoothly.

When my date came, I drove 35 minutes to an empty department store. My second dose also went without a hitch. I had no side effects beyond fatigue. The nurse administering the vaccine told me it was the “happiest place” she ever worked. My own feeling was of a weight being lifted, or an exhalation of long-held breath. 

For the remaining client appointments, I turned to a group of vaccine volunteers who found a spot at a pharmacy close to home. When I took a client, he was one of three people who showed up for 12 doses. They, like other pharmacies in my area, had begun calling people to claim immediate appointments. 

Everyone I know who wanted to be vaccinated is now a card-carrying member of the club. The world is reopening for many of us. I had an Easter dinner with family I hadn’t seen in the pandemic, and my daughter will have an in-person, outdoor, college graduation in May. 

All that’s left for me is to get myself off all the lists, websites and social media pages that offered vaccine sign-ups. This could take a while. 

As part of my job assisting older people to live independently, I pay their bills by check, as requested. But I’m in my 60s and I rarely write a check for my own bills. I pay them online either at my computer or on my phone. When I get paid by check, I use my phone to deposit it. 

It’s no secret that we’re moving away from paper transactions toward a completely digital economy. With new payment technologies emerging left and right, it’s important to stay up-to-date. 

As my 20-something daughters are quick to remind me, there’s no need to carry cash or credit cards when you have a “digital wallet” on your smartphone. A digital wallet serves as a virtual bank where you can store payment information securely. Your wallet can contain your bank accounts and credit cards, as well as apps that allow you to pay with your phone—without ever touching a keypad, card slot or cashier. 

These digital, contactless transactions are as secure as the “old-fashioned” payments we are used to. They are much more convenient and safer in our COVID-avoidance environment. Apple Pay and Google Pay let you take advantage of this technology—the apps link to your credit or debit card to make contactless purchases from your cell phone. 

Gone are the days of desperately searching for change or making sure you stop at the ATM for cash. There is no need for money to physically change hands, thanks to PayPal, Venmo and Zelle. Using these peer-to-peer apps, you can send and receive money from anyone in mere moments. 

My daughter and her roommate use these apps to share household expenses: they split the rent, utilities and groceries, paying each other using Venmo. Because their paychecks are directly deposited to their accounts, and they do their banking online, they never have to leave home or even enter the bank. They don’t carry cash, nor do they expect their friends or colleagues to. While checks may have come with their bank accounts, they’ve never used them—or a deposit slip or maybe even a postage stamp, for that matter!

Older adults are becoming more comfortable using these digital payment methods, yet they haven’t given up their checks yet. According to a 2020 report from AARP, smartphone adoption is 81 percent for those 60 to 69, but it drops to 62 percent for those 70 and older. When older Americans use smartphones, it’s most often for email, directions, online searches or checking social media, not bill paying.

I’ve embraced the cashless society, but even though COVID has pushed us closer to it, I don’t think it will be universally accepted for a while. Not everyone has a smartphone, and it takes time to become comfortable with using the technology. It’s important that banks and merchants don’t marginalize people who aren’t prepared to go cashless.

As for me, I’ll try to help my clients get up to speed, even as I write their checks. 

 

The global pandemic in 2020 brought many changes to our way of life. Over the summer in some places, when it was moderately safe enough for us to leave our homes—masked up, travel-size hand sanitizer at the ready—many of us encountered a new protocol at banks, doctors’ offices and restaurants: the QR code.

A QR (Quick Response) code is similar to the box of lines you see on products that are scanned at store checkouts. The code consists of black squares arranged in a square grid on a white background, which can be read by an imaging device such as a smartphone camera. The code usually links to a website, so you don’t need to type in a web address. Easy, right? 

Maybe. For the tens of millions of Americans who still don’t carry smartphones, this new process can be a problem, as you must have one to read a QR code. I’m comfortable using my smartphone for everything, and I’m in my early 60s. While the device isn’t universally embraced by older adults, the tide is turning. A study found that the generation gap in smartphone adoption is narrowing—ownership has jumped 70 to 77 percent among older adults in the last two years. The rate is higher for adults who are slightly younger and lower for those over 70. 

But for those of us with the ability (and phone) to do so, scanning a QR code might be intimidating. One of my first experiences was when I schlepped my cat in a carrier to the veterinarian’s door, only to find it locked, with a sign containing a QR code. To announce my arrival, I followed the simple directions, held my phone camera to the code, then dutifully returned to my car. Kitty and I humorlessly awaited our summons, then banged and clanged our way back to the entrance. 

But I quickly adapted. I attended a function where participants checked in via QR code and answered quick health questions before they were admitted. You may encounter the QR code at a restaurant where diners don’t want to exchange paper menus with others. You may even be able to order without contact with a server. At some restaurants, customers order and pay with their phones as well. It’s actually pretty handy.

It’s almost certain we’re going to need to use QR codes for the foreseeable future, and that these types of procedures will stick. For the time being, if you don’t have a smartphone, you may want to call ahead to ask about procedures for entry to buildings, check-ins at appointments, ordering at restaurants, etc. As for me, I will miss the banter with my server at my table, and I resent the extra steps to get into the bank, but it’s grow-or-go time for getting around town in any familiar way.

Most of us have accepted the new normal of mask-wearing to help curb the spread of COVID-19. The benefits, sketchy at first, are now widely accepted, and masks are mandated apparel in more places than not. I jumped on the mask bandwagon, even pulling my sewing machine from the depths of the basement to make a few, so I wouldn’t need to wear the same white-on-the-inside, blue-on-the-outside as everyone else. 

But, good grief, what’s happening to my face? I’m too old for acne! It seems I have a type of dermatitis doctors call acne mechanica, or, as people are calling it, “maskne” (mask + acne = maskne). It’s caused by a combination of heat, friction, oils and bacteria accumulating under my mask. It’s quite common, especially for older skin, to react, and there are a few reasons why this is happening to me and likely to many of you too.

Aging skin is often thinner, more prone to dryness and more susceptible to irritation. The bridge of your nose and the area around your ears may be rubbed by the mask, which should be worn tightly, but not so tightly as to chafe. Wearing the mask in summer’s heat and humidity can cause a heat rash on your cheeks, which is often exacerbated by masks made from materials that don’t breathe or that are treated with antimicrobials or chemicals to kill bacteria. This can result in blemishes or skin with a red, rosacea-like appearance. If you are already suffering from skin issues, such as rosacea, acne, eczema or allergies, your mask can make breakouts worse. 

So for starters, masks must be clean. Disposable masks should not be worn over and over, and washable masks should be laundered with a non-irritating detergent, especially when new, to remove any chemicals in the fabric. Skin needs to breathe, so go mask-free when it’s safe.

WebMD offers these tips to avoid and treat maskne. Keep in mind, as with other self-care tips offered here, this blog is no substitute for the opinion of your health care provider—it is merely a guide to what’s going on behind the mask.

Cover wisely but don’t squeeze too tightly. Masks, bandanas or other barriers should fit snugly over your cheeks, nose and chin, but they don’t need to squeeze or press so tightly that they leave indented marks behind. 

Wash or replace your mask. Experts recommend washing or replacing your mask after every use. 

Cleanse your face regularly. Remove makeup, dirt, oil and bacteria from your skin by washing your face once or twice daily with a mild cleanser. If you don’t have immediate access to a bath, shower or sink, a sensitive-skin wipe may help to reduce breakouts.

Target bacteria. Cutibacterium acnes is a bacterium on the skin that’s known for causing pimples. Fight it with an over-the-counter ingredient, such as salicylic acid, benzoyl peroxide, glycolic acid, sulfur or tea tree oil. Suds up with a wash containing one of these ingredients once a day or apply a cream or gel version for a more powerful effect. Start sparingly and with caution, since any of these ingredients could be irritating or cause redness or an allergy. (And before you ruin your favorite T-shirt, remember that benzoyl peroxide bleaches fabric.)

Try a vitamin A cream. A nightly dab of adapalene gel has been proven to shrink and prevent blemishes. This vitamin A-derived ingredient is the most powerful retinoid available without a prescription. Find it in La Roche-Posay Effaclar Adapalene Gel, Differin Gel or ProactivMD Adapalene Gel 0.1 percent. Apply a thin layer to clean skin at bedtime with your regular moisturizer on top. Start just twice a week and gradually increase to using it every night if your skin tolerates it. At first, adapalene may cause dryness, peeling, redness or irritation. Any irritation tends to go away with continued use.

Handle skin with care. Avoid rubbing, picking or overscrubbing. Exfoliate no more than once or twice a week, use a broad-spectrum SPF and soothe your complexion with a moisturizer once or twice daily. 

Check your products. Scan your makeup and skin-care products to make sure the term “non-comedogenic” is on the label. This will help to ensure that whatever you put on your skin won’t contribute to clogged pores and pimples. 

With no end in sight to the virus, masks will be part of our wardrobes for the foreseeable future. I’m looking for a bright side: think of the money I’ll save not buying lipstick.

A year like no other, 2020 had many of us finding our way to the reading chair to escape the stress of the lockdowns and the fear brought on by the news. While fate played a cruel trick on me by wiping out my ability to focus on a plot, I was finally able to return to my favorite pastime and restore my sanity. As with my previous, year-end suggestions, each of my picks connects to aging, from midlife on up.

When I was pining for a visit with an old friend, taboo in the wake of COVID, Olive Kitteridge returned in Olive, Again (2019) by Elizabeth Strout. Now widowed at 73, Olive retains the acerbic demeanor that endeared us to her before. She reacquaints herself with a man she and her late husband once knew and finds they have a fair bit in common. To everyone’s surprise, they marry. As in the original novel, the story unfolds in vignettes that reveal the character of this exceptional woman. Gradually, she becomes the person we all hope to be in later life when confronted with the grow-or-die circumstances life throws at us. It’s not necessary to read the original to thoroughly enjoy this sequel.

Have You Seen Luis Velez (2019) by Catherine Ryan Hyde is the kind of story that will put the warmth back in your hot chocolate, if not your spirits. When 92-year-old, blind Mildred sticks her head out of her apartment and asks a neighbor, 16-year-old outcast Raymond, if he’s seen Luis Velez, it begins a friendship so life-affirming that you’ll want to share it with everyone you know. Raymond becomes the helpmate to Mildred that Luis was before disappearing and commits to tracking down the missing man, despite being awkwardly introverted and unconvinced that people are good at heart. This story will be enjoyed by readers of all ages. It’s a perfect pick-me-up for the times.

You’ve undoubtedly read about the crisis in residential care for older adults in this pandemic. It’s had many rethinking alternatives to care for their loved ones, which may mean accepting the role of default caregiver. If that’s you, drop everything and read Your Caregiver Relationship Contract: How to Navigate the Minefield of New Roles and Expectations (2019). Debra Hallisey writes from her own experience both as an adult daughter and as a professional caregiver. The “contract” is a discussion (or discussions) between caregiver and cared-for to identify ways the recipient can benefit from support and set boundaries. Creating the contract cements an understanding that will manage expectations for all concerned. Hallisey gives examples of ways to assess the person’s ability to undertake activities of daily living and how to assimilate the feelings that will come up along the way. We want loved ones in our care to feel dignity and autonomy but often unwittingly strip that away. She gives us techniques to state our own needs without feeling (as much) guilt. We’ve read many books on caregiving—this one gets five stars from us.

Buy two copies of A Glorious Freedom: Older Women Leading Extraordinary Lives (2017) by Lisa Congdon or you won’t be able to give it as a gift. This pretty book, with butterflies on its jacket illustrated by the author, is a collection of inspiring stories about women who have found or recreated themselves. Their journeys are different, but all embraced the freedom to be more truly themselves in later life. Each woman here felt empowered to try new things, caring not what others might think. You’ll find stories of the famous (Laura Ingalls Wilder, Julia Child) and meet those you’ve never heard of, such as a woman who started walking at age 64 and, at 74, has marathons and an ultra-marathon to her credit, and an 85-year-old lifestyle consultant who gives talks to audiences on creative aging. This is a book worth savoring and sharing, one to move you to find your sneakers or that old easel. These stories show us it’s never too late to live an extraordinary life.

I hope I’ve given you books to give or keep that will be warm on a cold night, provocative in a good way and a very pleasant diversion. As always, I welcome your suggestions for my 2021 reading list. 

 

 

 

I recently deliberated about making an appointment for a routine colonoscopy. Not only are we in the middle of a pandemic, I had to change gastroenterologists, and I just wasn’t sure what to do. My primary care provider insisted there are many precautions in place for outpatient procedures and that it is important to stay on top of routine care, so I decided to move forward. 

I had to schedule a virtual appointment, which left me feeling uncertain about my needs being met and questions answered since it was a new-to-me practice. A staff member returned my call the next day to make the appointment, asking me the usual questions, but also whether I had access to a computer (yes) and could I respond to an emailed questionnaire (yes). Next, did I have an iPhone? As it happens, I do. She set up a day and time for the doctor to FaceTime with me. In the end, my virtual visit left me feeling confident about my new doctor and my procedure. 

Similarly, when a friend’s anxiety increased with the ever-present gloom of the virus, she found teletherapy to be better than she expected. Her psychologist held sessions over Zoom, so she got to stay home, curled up in her comfy chair with her laptop and mug of tea. She pays for her session with a banking app on her phone. She actually prefers her sessions this way.

In the pandemic, many providers are moving to telemedicine to help us maintain our health care routines the best we can. Many chronic conditions like diabetes, high blood pressure and skin issues can be easily managed through telemedicine; same for sudden, minor illnesses like a cold, rash, GI issues or headache. 

That’s all well and good if you and your doctor are computer-savvy. Unfortunately, the digital divide is affecting health care options for people 65 and older—the cohort also making up 80 percent of COVID-19 deaths. Senior centers and libraries that usually offer tech support are closed, and those who rely on family support are prevented from getting it by quarantine restrictions. 

For a telemedicine appointment, you need internet access and a computer or smartphone. Your doctor may set up a patient portal—a secure website to store your information—and may ask questions in advance of your appointment. At the designated time, your doctor will connect with you and you’ll discuss the issues at hand. 

Because I rely on my laptop and phone for virtual meetings, I am experienced in using my cameras and screens to chat. Before my appointment, I fully charged my phone because I know video calls can quickly exhaust a battery. I also have a dedicated space for teleconferencing with good lighting and privacy. When my doctor came online, I was ready.

My appointment was brief, about 10 minutes. That’s not to say I felt rushed, but my doctor was efficient. I had a list of questions, which she covered without my asking, and paper and pen for jotting down the instructions she gave. I should have had my pharmacy number handy; she had to wait while I looked it up. 

My expectation is that for many of us, the pandemic will change how routine health care is delivered even after the crisis is over. With no more waiting rooms, we may need to get our magazines at the newsstand.

 

My college-age daughter is home. With orders to shelter in place, she lost her campus job and her restaurant job, and few opportunities were available when she arrived back in town. So she gamely decided to be an Instacart shopper.

I found this amusing because she’s never shown much interest in food—has, in fact, elevated picky eating to an art form—and never once offered to shop for our family groceries. And it wasn’t long before the first call came in.

DAUGHTER: Mom, is tarragon the same as oregano? 

MOM: No, why would you think that? 

DAUGHTER: I know sometimes things go by different names, like coriander and cilantro. (She knew that, wow!)

DAUGHTER: (Twenty minutes later) Mom, what is a shallot and how big should it be?

DAUGHTER: (Ten minutes later) Mom, where would I find chives?

So, I’ll admit I had a few laughs at her expense. Maybe more than a few. By her second trip, she didn’t call me at all. I was impressed. She did a few orders each day and was starting to earn some money. 

I wondered if I should give it a try. After all, I worked as a culinary professional for a decade, so I know my produce. I fed myself and my family for several decades and, above all, I love to shop. I know all the local stores, and I can work a grocery run into my schedule. It could really help someone who wasn’t leaving home. I signed up to be a shopper.

A prospective shopper answers basic questions and consents to a background check. You need to have a clean driving record and no arrests. You agree to the hygiene rules: always wear a mask, sanitize hands before shopping and wipe down the cart handle. To deliver prescription medications along with a grocery order, you need to pass a HIPAA test to show you understand patient privacy rights, as well as agree to Instacart protocols for leaving prescription meds with an adult. 

There is also a food-safety lesson that tests the shopper’s knowledge about keeping hot foods hot and cooked foods at a safe temperature. Instacart asked me to submit a photo of the cooler I’d use to transport temperature-sensitive foods, and, when it was accepted, I was good to start shopping.

With my first order queued up in the app, I swiped on my phone to start shopping. First items are customers’ priority items; I was sent to frozen foods. Nope, that had to wait. No one would start there, would they? OK then, paper towels. Not a big selection, so I grabbed one and scanned it. Wrong item, try again. Wrong item. Click: can’t find item requested, find substitute. Done. 

The next few items had me zigzagging all over the store. Fortunately, the app supplies the aisle numbers with the items. My inexperienced daughter was able to make good choices because there’s a photo of the item requested; when the bar code is scanned, the app tells you right away if there’s something wrong with your choice. For example, if a customer requested low-fat hot dogs and you scanned all-beef hot dogs, it lets you know. If a substitute is necessary, the app will text the customer with the available substitute, so the client can approve or cancel the item. 

I quickly learned that keeping six feet between myself and the next shopper slowed me down. Ditto with the required weighing of each produce item. Then there are quirks: for instance, customers may ask for six pieces of fish but then reject them because they wanted less than two pounds. 

On my maiden mission, the customer texted to tell me not to drop off the order for another hour or else to cancel it. I was an hour-plus into my trip with a cart full of carefully weighed meats and produce. What was I to do? Leave the cart? I opted to wait him out and killed time listening to my audiobook. 

But first I called my daughter for advice on whether I should comply or stay the course. I also had to ask her to bring a phone charger because running the app ate up my phone battery.

My second mission was also rocky. Again, I called my daughter. (Who’s laughing now, Mom?) My customer wanted to add items to the list and I didn’t know how. Also, my Instacart payment wasn’t going through at checkout. The groceries are paid through the app and my phone wasn’t connecting the way it was supposed to. I panicked, looking at the people who were in line behind me, glaring. Finally, something clicked and I was able to get out of there to deliver the groceries. Only I forgot to take a photo of the groceries on the bench where I left them. Maybe I’m not cut out for this after all?

When you’re at the store next time, look around for the professional shoppers. Some wear Instacart shirts or lanyards. They’ll be glued to their phones and scanning cans and bottles. Don’t engage; they are on the clock. It’s better for them if they finish quickly and move on to their next order. If you use a shopping service, keep my experience in mind when you tip. It’s not as easy as it looks!

 

I’m an unapologetic bookworm. I read four to six books a month. I consider reading to be my self-care and my hobby: it’s the thing that quiets the chatter in my brain. It’s my vacation when I can’t go anywhere. 

I have books on CD in my car, audiobooks on my phone, a Kindle app and a well-worn library card. When I got the email that my branch library was closing due to the pandemic, I drove straight to the library and checked out a dozen books. Given the feeling of doom in the air, I had passed over my usual literary fiction in favor of thrillers and memoirs. 

But a strange thing has happened. Nothing can hold my attention for more than a few moments. I’ve attempted book after book off the pile, only to abandon them after a failed attempt at reading before bed. Now it’s a magazine article here and there, and not the Atlantic or the Economist either. I’m reading Reader’s Digest and Real Simple. Which is how I feel—real simple. 

I went on a booklover’s Facebook page and admitted that, while I assumed my reading pile would evaporate with so much free time, it has grown instead of shrunk. At the page, I saw I was not alone. Many readers like me are struggling to concentrate on the words before them. They can’t read or can’t process what they’ve read. 

A friend of mine who is a therapist told me that even if I don’t feel stressed, I’m affected by my surroundings, subliminally picking up cues all around me, whether it’s noticing masks where there once were smiles or absorbing the news we can’t avoid. The toll it’s taking on my frontal lobe is not allowing me to process words on a page. Cruelly ironic, since that’s the one thing that always relaxes and comforts me.

My fellow bibliophiles suggest I relearn how to enjoy books by starting slow. Short stories or essays to start (really missing my library right now), then move on to something light and happy, like a “beach read.” If that fails, I will have to accept that this is temporary and find a different escape. Maybe TED Talks or podcasts? Just not snacks!

How do you define successful aging? There are textbook definitions, but it’s a fair guess that we all know it when we see it. 

The ability to age in place is one of the most common themes of successful aging. When I’m not writing for the Silver Century Foundation, I work as an independent-living consultant. I help people stay in their homes—even a downsized home—for as long as possible. My tasks run the gamut from bill paying to property management, from interfacing with health care providers to keeping pantries stocked. I help clients remain able to navigate their homes even if they do not drive. (Mobility is another piece of successful aging.) 

My clients have sufficient wealth to maintain comfortable lifestyles. This relieves many of the challenges older people face and provides access to services that those with a low income may be denied. Yet what I’ve seen makes me wonder: financial security definitely enables people to age in place, but does it guarantee successful aging? 

One client is a widow who lives in a large home with a big yard and a live-in caregiver. She developed depression after her husband’s death several years ago, so her sleep schedule is out of whack and she’s prone to falling from tiredness. She has a yoga instructor, fitness coach and massage therapist who come to the house. She enjoys their company but doesn’t care for the exercise. An accountant and financial advisor also come to her. She was once gregarious and outgoing, but her friends—who no longer know what a good time would be to call—have stopped calling, so outings are limited to adult children and grandchildren. 

Another client is a brilliant woman whose husband has in-home hospice care. The couple always put careers first and never established a social network. They do not have family nearby. Their combined resources allow for unlimited support, including 24-hour caregivers, a housekeeper, a daytime caregiver/driver, a hospice nurse who comes on a schedule, a concierge doctor who visits and an omnipresent array of handymen. They have vacation properties they haven’t visited in years. I’m there to interface with the accountant and pay bills. My client goes out to physical therapy and to medical specialists. She feels her memory is too impaired to keep up with former professional colleagues, so she has no social life. Indeed, the staff, myself included, provide all of her conversation at this point. 

Are these women aging well?

By way of contrast, I assist Tom,* who has an intellectual disability and shares an apartment with Mike,* who has autism. They live like messy adolescents. They spill, forget to clean up, clog drains, break things and leave windows open when the heat or A/C is on. But they abide by their budgets, shop and prepare their own meals, use public transportation and come and go as they please. They both have hobbies and enjoy going to local athletic events and holiday gatherings with family. Both Medicare-eligible, the men work low-skilled, minimum-wage jobs five days a week. Their work gives them social contacts and a reason to get up in the morning. 

Who’s aging better?

I know other older adults whose astute financial planning affords them enviable opportunities in later life. I know women in their 70s and 80s who can take up bridge or go on long hikes if they’re so inclined. But when I consider how financial security impacts older people, it’s surprising to see that even with great privilege, aging well is not guaranteed. To age well, perhaps, is to remain relevant; it requires full participation and a level of emotional and physical health. 

I want my own later life to have purpose, good company and a fully stocked bookshelf. 

*Names have been changed to protect privacy

I hope people living in the time of the coronavirus are journaling about their quarantine. Our memories are often distorted by time, and our memories are singularly ours to recall. 

What will my grandchildren want to know about this unprecedented time? In my journal, I’d write that I’m among the very fortunate right now. I’m healthy and so are my loved ones. If everyone over 60 is at a higher risk, count me in; ditto for anyone compromised by underlying health issues, as I’m carrying excess weight that I cannot attribute to quarantine. Medically speaking, I’m in good health; I have no chronic conditions and a remarkable immune system. I’m not denying my age as much as that I don’t feel like someone who is high risk. I’m a susceptibility denier. 

My future grands might wonder who I’m quarantined with. I’m sheltering in place with my daughter, Nelle, who was sent home from college early. I’ve come to love my empty nest, but Nelle is good company and we both value our solitude, so it’s working out. I can’t speak for her, but I’m loving this time together.

Did I lose my job? No, my work for Silver Century entails reading and writing about aging, which I do from home. My other work is caring for older adults who need a little support to stay in their homes. I have clients counting on my help to navigate the lockdown remotely, like with a little shopping or a car repair. I also have uncompensated but challenging work for the school board. Nelle’s college classes take place in the home office now, but we easily reconcile shared space. 

What do we do for fun since restaurants and movie theaters are closed? Nelle and I do jigsaw puzzles, play board games and try to remember rules to childhood card games. The best enhancement to the quarantine has been the absolutely glorious weather we’ve had in New Jersey. Our house has a wraparound porch that never translated to the repose and enjoyment one imagines. We’ve gotten more mileage out of that porch in lockdown than in all the other years put together. It feels like time stands still out there. And we walk the dog. 

We talk to my older daughter, Mariefred, who lives in Baltimore with a roommate, Daysi. They both telecommute to full-time jobs, but their part-time restaurant jobs shut down. Both young women are separated from family and, maybe harder, boyfriends. My daughter is considering hiring a rental car when that’s a possibility—public transportation is too risky for visits home or to her boyfriend. She worries she’ll be putting me, or those in my care, at risk if she comes home, and interstate travel is ill-advised right now anyway. I can’t be with her. It’s hard. 

If I wanted those future grandchildren to know how I survived the pandemic without losing hope, I’d want them to have this advice: stay connected, find joy in the simple things, get outside and keep mind and body active.