On turning six-times-twelve

Wednesday was my 72nd birthday. It's tempting to complain about such a big number, and about the aches and pains and extra medical appointments that seem to be a part of aging. But mostly I can accept my ailments as minor annoyances, and when I'm on good behavior I can try to manage them with sensible things like fruits and vegetables, exercise, and sunscreen. I used to joke that aging is "better than the alternative." My 58-year-old brother's death in January makes me very aware that it's no joke. I'm grateful to be alive.

Birthday flowers

We extended the birthday celebration over several days, as usual. On Tuesday, Peter and I saw the Second Best Exotic Marigold Hotel. It was not as good as its predecessor, but it was much better than the St. Paul Pioneer Press's review made it seem, and we enjoyed it even though we picked holes in the plot afterwards. Wednesday we had birthday treats with the grandkids (including special chocolate and butterscotch chip cookies from Abby), and all six of us went to Boca Chica, our favorite Mexican restaurant, for dinner. When we arrived the hostess asked whether we were "Peter and Nancy" and when we said yes she led us to a table with a large bouquet of flowers. This was very puzzling because we had not made a reservation! It turned out that our newly hired executive director at the carousel, who knew where we'd be, had sent them. I love that she did that, and that she is clearly a person who understands the value of "the grand gesture."

On Saturday Peter and I had lunch at our favorite special-occasion Italian restaurant, La Grolla on St. Paul's Selby Avenue. We arrived just after noon and for quite a while we were the only diners in a room designed to hold at least 40. We were glad to see the tables begin to fill later, because we'd hate to see the restaurant go out of business. As usual, we ordered enough food that we could just reheat the leftovers for dinner.

Birthday selfie

Spreading my birthday celebration over several days has a practical advantage. By the time the observances are over, I have grown accustomed to my new age. A couple of months ago, the idea of turning 72 sounded strange and harsh. Two weeks ago I still didn't like the sound of it. By now it's lost its strangeness. It's my age and I'm proud of it. And just for fun, here's a selfie I took on my birthday.

Better than the alternative...

Last year on this date, I turned 70. That number sounded old to me, but I didn't feel especially old--a good thing, of course.

You've probably figured out that today is my birthday again, 71 this time. This time I do feel older. It's partly because of those two or three falls I took in November, and the two cataract surgeries I had in February. And also this: Now that I can see better, I am much more aware of all my tiny wrinkles. I was thinking that my skin had aged a lot in the last month or so, and I was blaming it on our everlasting winter weather. Then I also noticed more "salt" in my salt-and-pepper hair. I like the effect, but that's beside the point. It isn't the weather...it's the fact that now I can see what's been there for a while.

To avoid falling when walking outside in winter weather, I plant my feet and walk slowly, watching the ground. I think, "Geez, I'm walking like an old lady." Then I remember that I am one. This is real.

In fact, growing old is a gift. My mother would have been a delightful old lady, but she died just before her 64th birthday. It doesn't take much for me to remember that as bad as it may be to grow old, it's better than the alternative.

This morning after breakfast I was sitting on the window seat in the kitchen and two lovely children crawled into my arms. We've been talking about my age. Vi has her eye on a few things she wants to inherit when I die. In the next moment she hastens to say she hopes I live to be 200. I tell her my goal is 90, or maybe 95.

I know, of course, that we don't control these things. Instead, I remind myself to enjoy the moments, the delights, the gifts each day brings. I make a birthday resolution to remain open to the lovely moments of life. Then I go back to writing the book, facing an unrelenting deadline. And then I take another few moments to write a blog post to remind myself, and to share with others, what a lucky woman I am.

Own your age...you worked hard for it!

World's greatest gift bag...

I'm two weeks into Being Seventy. Turns out that once I got used to the sound of it, things are not all that different from being 69, or even 68.

This past weekend I heard an NPR interview with Philip Roth, in which they implied that it was surprising that he continued to turn out novels in his 70s. He said he hadn't seen any reason to stop. His statement, as I recall, was, "I still had energy, and nothing had changed. I was eating the same breakfast cereal." Roth turned 80 last week, and he said he has slowed down. He naps every day--after he goes for a long swim.

This brings us to one thing I've learned lately. If you want to be healthy and active at 70 or 80, you'd better start working on it a lot earlier. Had I been strength training in my 50s, I probably wouldn't have fallen three times in my 60s. Had I built and sustained my stamina, I might have recovered more readily when I did break my leg. Surely it would have been easier to return to the fun activities that keep us healthy and alive.

But I'm not dwelling on that. I'm doing my tap routines several times a week, and I'm gently stretching for flexibility. I found my dumbbells, and I'm setting up a schedule. I will walk outdoors in a week or two, when the dratted ice melts from our treacherous sidewalks. In another month I should be able to work in the garden, or at least at its edges--always a favorite workout. We are seeing the sun for more hours in the day, and on those days when it chooses to shine, I salute and celebrate it.

and gifts that go with Being Hot. :)

Here's something else I've learned. If you are dreading a birthday, celebrate the heck out of it. Get your friends and family together, maybe several times over the course of a week, talk about life (the good, the bad, and the ugly), and see if you don't find yourself celebrating who you are. Part of that, of course, is being whatever age you are. The sooner you own it, the happier you'll be.

I can tell from your blog posts that most of my readers already knew that. I did, too, but aging brings all kinds of changes and I suspect some of them will be equally hard to embrace. As the saying goes, growing old is not for cowards!


P.S. The gift bag plays "Ring of Fire" when you open it. The perfect gift from my brother Al and sister-in-law Lynn!

Welcoming the unwelcome birthday

The birthday I've been dreading for more than a year is upon me. Today--Monday, March 11, 2013--I am 70. I think I'm finally okay with it.

All my adult life, people have told me I look younger than my age. Most of the time I have felt younger, too.

But this year some things have happened that tell me if I want to be a youthful and vigorous 70 I'd better make a few changes.

In June I broke my leg and badly sprained my ankle. I hobbled around on it for 10 days before finally going to a doctor, who put on a giant splint and ordered me to stay off the leg for six weeks. It didn't occur to me that I should have been exercising the rest of my body. Taking advantage of my inactivity, some old fibromyalgia pains flared up. Then I developed shingles--the mildest case imaginable, but even without severe pain it meant there was an active virus in my system.

I spent most of August exercising my legs and ankles and enjoying being active again. When the kids returned for daycare at the end of the month, I was mostly up to the task.

A week or so later, Augie started all-day kindergarten. He spends about 90 minutes with us in the morning playing and having breakfast, and then Peter takes him to school. Without Augie's driving energy ("C'mon Grandma, let's race around the house"), Vi and I settled into a routine of reading, crafting, playing Dragonvale on the iPad, etc. I began to marvel at her newly extended attention span, failing to notice how very sedentary we'd become.

I wrote on January 6 that I'd realized that I lacked energy and stamina, and that after Vi left each day I was resorting to chocolate and naps and ignoring my to-do lists. I made a New Year's resolution to be more active and to eat more wisely. But days later the flu hit me. I was sick for weeks and couldn't bounce back.  I wasn't going to be fitter and more energetic in time for my birthday, as I'd intended. I felt old.

I visited my doctor a couple of weeks ago. She said the flu was affecting lots of people the same way and she didn't find anything wrong health-wise. She was upbeat about my situation but matter-of-factly used the term "de-conditioned," which I found oddly appropriate. She agreed that rebuilding my activity level was a key to feeling better and sustaining good health.

I told her something I haven't yet told you: I began taking tap dancing lessons in early January. I missed a couple because of the flu, and the eight-week class is over now, but I've learned enough to put together a good workout several days a week at home until a new class begins. I love it, and it's one of a small handful of things making me feel better.

Friday my siblings and their families threw a birthday party for me, one of the best gatherings we've had in a long time. My sister flew in from California as a surprise, and she's in town for a few more days. Saturday Peter and I had a fabulous lunch at a favorite restaurant, followed by still-wonderful leftovers for dinner. Sunday we had comfort food with my sister, and tonight we'll have dinner with the grandkids and their parents. We are celebrating my turning 70, and in the process I am reminding myself to be grateful for the privilege. I even bought myself a refill for my planner so I can get back to scheduling and tracking my projects.

Life is a gift. I know how to make the most of it. I just got out of the habit for a while.

The most clever birthday gift ever

One night last week as his family drove home from the baseball game, Augie announced that during the game he had thought of a great birthday gift for Pa. (His parents had been working on the idea of getting something the birthday person would like, not something you would like.)

"We should give him his own copy of Pretend Soup (a children's cookbook) and all the ingredients to make Number Salad." Augie has his own copy but had never made this recipe. He was sure Pa would enjoy it.

His parents and sister agreed that was a wonderful idea. (Mom and Dad also marveled that he'd kept this exciting secret to himself while we were all together at the game.)

He proudly presented the gift on Sunday, and on Tuesday Augie and Vi made two batches of Number Salad for lunch at our house, sharing with Pa, me, and their mom (Dad was working).

The recipe begins with one handful of coconut and two tablespoons of orange juice concentrate. "Handful" is a subjective term; Augie pulled out at least 1/3 cup while Vi daintily withdrew about a tablespoonful. The beautiful thing: It doesn't matter!

Then you cut, count, and drop in 3 orange sections, 4 apple slices, 5 cubes of cheese, 6 banana slices, 7 pieces of melon, and 8 grapes. (Having put in the specified number of pieces, or any number you like, you can eat the excess.)

As you stir ("9 times"), the coconut and orange juice concentrate form a dressing - a pretty clever idea if you like coconut (we liked it more than the kids did).

The kids dished up Number Salad for lunch. Two batches was more than enough (we were still full from breakfast) so Pa and I had the rest with dinner.

We have many other wonderful recipes to try, as we continue to enjoy Pa's birthday gift. Timing is perfect; Peter had just mentioned that he wanted to involve the kids more in meal preparation this year.

Pretend Soup, by the way, is by Mollie Katzen, author of Moosewood Cookbook, and Ann Henderson, a preschool teacher. All recipes are kid-tested. Grownups do the difficult steps; kids use table knives for any cutting they do. They participate in lots of cooking at home, and they are very proud of their efforts. I wish I'd had that opportunity as a kid, but more than that, I love that they do.

The guy who taught me to fight City Hall

When people grow up in New York and then move to Minnesota, they sometimes can't avoid stepping on people's toes. New Yorkers are used to interrupting, moving fast, talking loud, and having a certain boldness that Minnesotans often perceive as pushy and arrogant. 

If they use these traits well, they can get a lot of things done. In the recent past, two such men became mayor of St. Paul, one was chosen as president of the University of Minnesota, two went to the Senate, and one saved a historic carousel whose horses were already removed and scheduled to be sold at auction.

Peter and Augie at Cafesjian's Carousel, 4/2008

The latter is my husband, Peter. He used his New York skills, occasionally tempered by my "Minnesota nice," to negotiate the purchase on behalf of our nonprofit organization. Then he used his story-telling talents to raise nearly $3 million to pay for the carousel, restore it, and get it situated in St. Paul's Como Park. We were not rich, famous, or powerful. Instead, we did our research, made proposals, forged partnerships, drove the message through dozens of media interviews, and took on a huge amount of volunteer work while doing our regular jobs. I would have given up several times; his will-power kept us going.

Eventually, the New York-born mayor at the time tried to wrest control of the carousel and place it downtown, where it would have died a lonely death. We fought City Hall, and we won. Among the things that made us effective were Peter's vision, determination, intense preparation, hard work, and, oh yes, being willing to offend a few people along the way. He told people the truth as he saw it and did not worry about being liked. When the mayor summoned us to a meeting, rolled out maps of a revitalized downtown, and waxed poetic about his vision (for which he intended the carousel as a centerpiece), Peter said, "Well, Mr. Mayor, not everyone shares your vision." There were gasps around the table.

As a Minnesotan raised to be a people-pleaser, I learned from Peter to speak up for myself and to take a few risks to accomplish something important. As I became braver and more confident, he smoothed his rough edges and added new strategies to that of confrontation. Collaborating on one cause or another, we get a kick out of how well we work together. We call it "Being Peter and Nancy."

Augie learns to love stories 12/2007

Way back when we were getting to know one another, he told me, "Lots of adults don't like me much, but children love me." Well, lots of adults like him, too, but he was right about the children. At Saints' games, for example, children would regularly come to chat and ask him to read them a story. He always obliged, only pausing to mark each batter's activity in his scorebook.

Maybe all of that was practice for being a grandpa. He is a great one. It was his idea to provide daycare until the grandkids are in school. As with the carousel, I took my cue from him and now we are a great team. Peter and Nancy. Pa and Grandma.

In the summer, when the kids are not here every weekday, it's Pa that they ask to see. For example, just the other day ViMae was getting weepy at the breakfast table. "Mom," she said, "I miss your dad." (Yes, they've been working on figuring out extended relationships.) They called so Vi could talk with her grandpa, and then they came over for a play date. 

Pa and ViMae swim together 8/2011

When Peter was 19, he was diagnosed with lymphoma. Doctors told his mother she'd better have his big "turning 21" party a year early because he wouldn't live to 21.

Today, August 14, 2011, he turns 63. Or, as he put it the other day, three times the age he wasn't supposed to see. It turns out he didn't have lymphoma at 19, although he did have it at 58. We were lucky; surgery took care of it. I'd like to say I hope we have at least another 21 years together, but we are a little superstitious about "watching what we wish for," so I won't say that.

Happy Birthday, Peter. I'm so glad I met and married you...glad we are Peter and Nancy, Pa and Grandma. I hope you and I have many more years together, and that we enjoy them all. It's because of you that I am a blissed-out grandma.



 

On my birthday, I wished for more birthdays

The year I turned 19, my mom made my favorite birthday treat: spice cake with penuche icing (brown sugar, butter, etc.) with Bridgeman's butter brickle ice cream on the side. She didn't have 19 candles in a single color, so she used a whole variety of colors. I must have seemed unusually resolute as I blew out those multicolored candles, because she asked what I had wished for. I wouldn't answer, and I probably blushed.

An hour later, the sweet-faced young man who had been smiling at me all week called. We went out for coffee - the start of a lovely teenage romance - and I blushed again when I told him I'd wished on those candles for him to call. Mom and I had a running joke about multicolored candles after that, but I can't remember wishing for anything really special.

Yesterday, I had two opportunities to make a birthday wish. Peter put one pink candle in the yummy banana-chocolate chip-pecan muffin that Abby brought for my birthday breakfast. A second, in a candle holder artfully fashioned from an orange, was provided by the Chinese restaurant where we gathered for dinner. The kids helped me blow out both candles.

The wish that came to me both times was simple: Let the happiness that I feel this moment continue for a long time.

What it meant was, Let Peter and me be healthy. For a long time.

Seriously, I have everything I could want. I'm retired since December, Peter's business is both flourishing and manageable, we love being able to care for the grandkids, we have health care coverage, and we have plenty of interests and hobbies to keep ourselves amused.

Every day Peter talks about how delightful the children are, how lucky we are to be in their lives, and what good choices have brought us to this point. It's a useful habit, appreciating all the good things. But I can't silence the tiny voice in my head that says, "You'd better hope you both stay healthy so you can keep enjoying this."

As I turned 68 yesterday, that was the only thing I felt a need to wish for.

Clearly I'm not the only one thinking that way. This wonderful birthday gift should provide lots of ideas and information for eating wisely and well. It's by America's Test Kitchen, whose recipes and detailed instructions I've come to appreciate in my new role as she-who-cooks-dinner.

There are no guarantees. But with this and a little more exercise, I intend to try to help my birthday wish come true.

If you could do anything you want on your birthday...

...could you think of anything better than this?

Happy Birthday to me...

...Happy Birthday to me,
Happy Birthday Dear Me,
Happy Birthday to me.

I'll be playing with grandbabies all morning, working all afternoon (since we didn't win the Powerball Wednesday night), and then going out with hubby for dinner and a strawberry limoncello martini. Sounds like a good day to me!