I smiled before going to bed last night. My thoughts were about how fortunate I’ve been to have so many readers of my Aging blog write back to me with words of wisdom and encouragement. I can’t express how deeply it has enriched my life. One observation that has been proven …
On Christmas Day, 1954, Jimmy Newsom, age nine, received a load of gifts from Santa. The last one he opened was a beautiful, leather-bound book titled “Holy Bible.” In the lower right corner on the cover, in gold embossed print, was his name, Jimmy Newsom. Jim left the book …
I feel no obligation to give Christmas gifts to those adults I love. Thank goodness. Casual acquaintances have accused me of being lazy or uncaring for my lack of attempting to figure out what my friends may be hankering for but have failed to purchase for themselves. That’s …
My favorite Christmas gift was not receiving the present “Santa” had planned to put under the tree. I was five years old and my dad, Vern, whispered to me that he heard a rumor from up North that Santa was considering giving me my own Schwinn bike. I started to cry and …
One area of my aging experience continues to baffle me. My life has always been dominated by a sense of urgency. I’ve never been one to slow down and smell the petunias. It’s like I’m always in a race, often uncertain where the finish line is located. With this attitude, I …
Darn it, I can’t remember his last name. Tim Something was my psychology professor my junior year in college, and he said something that has stuck with me all these years. It is simply that little things in relationships matter – like even whether you hang your toilet paper …
I purchased a cowboy hat for our corporate Christmas party being held at an old hotel in Virginia City. It cost me $150. I’ve purchased two suits with matching ties for less than that. The moment I put it on my head in this authentic western store, I knew it was meant for …
Jody Beth, my faithful pup, brings me my cane I left in the bird garden. The carved, wooden handle of my cane is dangling, chewed up. The cane is useless. As told to me by my mother a hundred times, when her mother was dying upstairs, little Donnie Kuhl, age three or so, …
It’s so weird. My son turned 50. How can that be? I was 50 just a few years ago. Wasn’t I? If you have children and you remember “The Howdy Doody Show,” there’s a good chance your children no longer consider themselves young – or you as anything but old. Not that they will …
I just finished a good book: “The Art of Dying Well” by Katy Butler. It’s not in my strategic plan to drop dead for many years, but Dr. Butler brings up many facts and recommendations people of any age can ponder. At 74, I’ve been present while six individuals have died. …