What'chu lookin' at?

Illustration by cartoonist Tex Avery

In my younger days I could turn a head. You know what I'm talking about - bring on a second glance from an admiring male. But, as the years have added up with the pounds, that has happened less and less. Or maybe it's because men are too busy checking out my beautiful daughters. That always makes me want to smack them (the men, not the daughters) and point out that I'm their mother and I'm RIGHT HERE! HELLO! I can see you! Once I was at an office party and talking with a group of younger men. One of them was clearly checking out my daughter, who was standing across the room. He even went so far as to make a suggestive comment to one of the other guys. I was all "ahem - before you take that thought any further, I want to point out that she is my daughter, and I would be happy to introduce you to her husband and her father, who are IN THE NEXT ROOM! Sheesh.

Recently though, I've noticed a strange new phenomenon. Older dudes are taking a second glance at me. I find myself wondering what that old guy is staring at. Why is he smiling in my direction? Really, I don't get it. Do I look familiar to them? Are they just passing gas? Because I don't feel like my looks are worth a second glance. I'm not saying that in a self-deprecating sort of way. I'm just stating it as fact. I have seen better days and a lot of cookies. I do have nice hair though. Maybe older men like nice hair.

I shared this thought with my sister and she pointed out that the "old" dudes were probably our age. I guess that makes me feel a little less creeped out but it really doesn't make me feel any better or give me an answer to the mystery. Because it does seem a little like a mystery.

If I only had a brain...freeze

Yawn. That's what my blog has been lately. Not because my life is a yawn but because I just...well, I just...I don't know what I just. I do know I enjoyed doodling the artwork you see on my blog. Maybe it's a metaphor for my life. Lots of interesting things flowering in my brain but very little of it fully colored in or complete.

We've had some relatives in. I burned myself on another cinnamon crunch bagel. That's becoming a weekly ritual. Maybe next time I'll go with something with less topping that can stick to my thumb and burn a hole in me before I can shake it off. I entered another writing contest just for the practice. The gig at United Way is good. We are getting to the heart of the campaign so it's rallies here and rallies there; Air Force base, police station, call center, and lots and lots of schools. That's where I've taken my dog and pony show lately. Hopefully along the way I've raised a little awareness and a little money.

I'm reading "The Secret Life of the Grown-Up Brain" by Barbara Strauch. It's subtitled "The Surprising Talents of the Middle-Aged Mind." I'm still looking for those talents. The other day I got out a pair of socks and my shoes to go for a walk. Once I finished tieing my right shoe I realized I was no longer holding my left sock. I looked everywhere - even retraced my recent steps and shook out my clothes. I looked everywhere except my left foot, which is where my sock was. I had already put it on. Does anyone else scare themselves like that or is it just me? Anyone? Hello?

What was I saying? Oh yes. So the author of this book quotes Laura Carstensen, director of the Stanford Center on Longevity who said: "I'd have to say from what we know now, that the middle-aged brain is downright formidable."

Really? Can it be true? Strauch says "Most of us, while beset with a normal level of middle-aged muddle, are, in fact, quite normal. What's more, we're quite smart." OK, I like that. I'll go with that.

I do think my mind leans more towards creativity and less towards sweating the small stuff and the details. Another thought from Strauch:

"A friend who is a poet told me recently that she does not think that she could have written the poetry she does until she had reached her mid-fifties -- until her brain had reached its formidable age. 'It feels like all the pieces needed to come together,' she said. 'It's only now that my brain feels ready. It can see how the world fits together -- and make poetry out of it.'"

Hmm. Think I'll go ponder while I watch Modern Family. Now if I could only remember where I put the remote.

The information you've been waiting for...or not

I know you've been waiting to hear if we've used up all five of our free visits to the gym. I don't want to keep you in suspense any longer. The answer is...sort of. Technically there are still spaces on the back of my card for a few more free visits. But we have been going. Occasionally. A few times a week. I tried out a second gym earlier this week, which didn't count against my five freebies. So give me some credit. That's way more non couch time than we've been pulling in recent months. I actually broke a sweat the last couple of visits. Shocking! I haven't, however been able to bring myself to enter a formal class like zumba or spinning.

I heard a phrase the other day that I've been thinking on. Something about creating a healthy environment. Dang it, now I can't remember it exactly. The gist is that to be healthy one must surround yourself with healthy things, a healthy attitude, etc. I know that's not a new thought. Duh. But it's not something I do. My life is set up for sedentary chub-i-tude. I work at a desk and rarely get up. At night I watch TV or lounge around reading a book. To get to the carrots I have to push aside the cookies, glazed donuts and pie that regularly appear on our kitchen counter. Even the dog is too old and tired to exercise. It takes a massive amount of self-denial and inner fortitude to push against the chub tide.

I seriously did not set out to write yet another post on this topic. I'm going to start writing fascinating posts about my rock climbing experiences, my triathlon victories and my rock-star ability to just say no to cranberry orange scones.

Trouble is, all the writing gurus advise writing what you know.

If you want my body, and you think I'm sexy... (thank you, Rod Stewart!)

In about a week I'll be headed to my high school reunion. It's been thirty years since I walked the halls of Olathe High School, in a once-small town near Kansas City. The graduates of 1979 were the last class in an era where there was only one high school in town. Now there are four or five. I've lost track.

I guess I'm one of the rare folks who enjoyed high school. I'm not saying I'd want to do it again. Certainly, there was plenty of drama and angst and questioning and, did I mention drama? I wanted to be thinner, I always wanted new clothes...I wanted to look like everyone else. But it's not like adult life isn't filled with drama too. I mean, do you WORK in an office? There are still cliques and mean girls and incompetent authority figures in the adult world. We'd all like to think that we've left high school behind, but the issues back then are often still the issues today, just in bigger pants!

It's interesting to me that some of the same locations and names are still in the news. In 1979 the Ayatollah Khomeini returned to Iran after being in exile, Saddam Hussein became president of Iraq, and the Soviets invaded Afghanistan. Iran, Iraq, Afghanistan. Hmmm. Sounds familiar.

I hope in my own life I've moved on from the issues of an 18 year old. I hope I've learned something, grown a little, made some improvements, changed my priorities. I enjoy being 48.

But I do wish I was thinner for that 30th reunion. And I do want some new clothes. Maybe things haven't changed all that much.

Generation Jones...huh?

Hello 4:00 a.m., we meet again. It's Saturday morning and there's no good reason to be up, but tell that to my restless legs. But hey! I learned something this morning. I apparently have been living under a rock because I've never heard the term Generation Jones.

I'm a frequent reader of Jen-X's blog. She identifies strongly with the Generation X crowd - those born after the Baby Boomer crowd. Born in 1961 (happy birthday to me this month) I've never really identified with the Baby Boomers or the Gen X-ers.

Yes, I was alive when Kennedy was assassinated. But I was two, people! MLK and Bobby Kennedy? I was not quite seven. The Vietnam war was background noise to my Midwestern childhood, my father just barley too old to be drafted and my brother not born until the war was waning. Race riots briefly touched Kansas City. I remember being at the mall with my mother when someone interrupted the muzak to say the mall would be closing early due to said riots. My friend Susan's Dad rushed to the University of Kansas in 1968 to retrieve a college-aged child after the Student Union was burned down and the National Guard deployed. Nixon and Watergate occupied the headlines while I concentrated on sleepovers with friends.

So I'm not really a Baby Boomer. And I'm not a Gen X-er. Generation X claims Michael Jackson as an icon. Born in 1958, Michael Jackson didn't become quite the international pop icon until I was too busy raising babies to be impressed. Personal computers, video games, the Iran hostage crisis, the end of the cold war and the fall of the Berlin Wall...all I experienced as a young adult.

But, tah dah, I just found out there's a name for us folks. Generation Jones, the generation born between roughly 1954 and 1965. Who knew. Well apparently I didn't. Key characteristics?Less optimistic, distrustful of government, and generally cynical. Mmmhmm. Now we're talking.

George Clooney, Nadia Comaneci, Lady Diana, Michael J Fox, Heather Locklear, Julia Luis-Dreyfus, Jeff Probst, Meg Ryan, and of course Barack Obama - all born in 1961. So I'm in good company. Or at least interesting company! OK, yes, Andrew Fastow (think Enron) was also born in 1961, but hey, every generation has its crooks.

So at least I have a place, sort of. I don't really think "Generation Jones" is a very cool moniker. But maybe we're just not that cool as a group. Sandwiched between the hippies and the yuppies, between free love and AIDS, we are too busy trying to keep it all together.

Maybe we should be called the Polyester Generation. Like the preferred fabric of my teen years, we are low maintenance and versatile. Now if I could only claim to be wrinkle free.

Motivational moments

Today our office went to the big-deal motivation seminar at the Cox Center here in OKC. It was a surreal experience. There before my very eyes, on stage in proud little Oklahoma City, were Joe Montana, Steve Forbes, General Colin Powell, Zig Ziggler, Rudy Guilliani, and best of all, former First Lady, Laura Bush. I just love that woman. She fascinates me. She's strong, elegant, intelligent, and above all, gracious.

The surreal part came with the 30 minute infomercials interspersed amongst the big names. Painful commercials promoting stuff you see on the odd channels on cable. You too can become a millionaire by learning to trade on the stock market, by buying and selling real estate, or by learning the intricacies of e-commerce. All for a mere $99.99.

I'm just not a signer-upper. I do not run to the latest fad. I do not believe they make anyone rich except the promoters. It's possible I miss out on fabulous, life-changing opportunities by living this way. But I doubt it.

I'm pretty sure that hard work, persistence, integrity, compassion and treating people right are the keys to a successful life. I'm aware those are not innovative thoughts. Those are free to all and do not require two day seminars.

But hey, I got to explain such things as hanging chads and life-threatening George Bush pretzel incidents to coworkers who were barely out of grade school when Laura Bush became First Lady. And they got to explain kj52 (kj5tweezy) to me. So that was an experience not to miss.

The day was, in fact, oddly motivating.

The view is spectacular up here

My baby brother turns 40 today, which makes him not so much a baby as a middle aged man.

My middle aged bother turns 40 today. Happy Birthday Stephen! (note - I was just proof reading and realized I wrote bother instead of brother. I'm gonna leave it, because really, have you ever had a baby brother?)

I was talking to my brother on the phone the other day, discussing our upcoming family trip to visit him and explore Portland and the Oregon coast. I mentioned the fact that both he and Mark are marching over the hill. Mark turns 50 in June. Mark is waaayyyy older than me!

Stephen aptly pointed out that everyone has it backwards. It's not like everything is easier and on a breezy downhill slope when you get older. I have to agree. Everything gets harder. The knees and back hurt more readily, energy is in shorter supply, even peeing is sometimes optional -or sometimes involuntary.

According to my brilliant brother (and he is brilliant -his IQ is in the stratosphere), we should consider all of life a downhill journey until we get to middle age, at which point it turns uphill. So I guess rather than all those "Over the Hill" party supplies, they should really say "Enjoy the valley. It's all uphill from here!"

So enjoy the climb little brother. Seriously - the best years are ahead of you.

Too much information

I gotta tell you, Mother's Day with grown children is a pleasure. They don't have to rely on another adult to help them pick out a gift, they can cook, they get it when their mother plasters her blog with Mother's Day reminders. I pretty much got spoiled yesterday with a home cooked meal I didn't have to make or clean up after and a nice walk in the park. After that we spent a relaxing couple of hours doing cleansing facial masks and manicures and such at Angela's house. And my son-in-law was good enough during that part of the celebration to go to his man den to play video games and take a nap and not wander around pointing out how not beautiful we were with our mud masks. I always said he was a smart young man!

And at the end of the day I got to spend a little time with my own precious mother. I still can't believe I have the good fortune of living in the same town with her, my twin sister, and my married daughter. After living for decades in far flung places, it still seems like a miracle. We used to call one another, jokingly say "want to go get a cup of coffee?", then shed a few tears knowing it wasn't possible across so many miles. Now when someone says "Want to go get a cup of coffee?" we can say, heck yes, and jump in the car and go. Miraculous.

So after all that sweetness and light, you probably don't want to hear about how cranky I am this morning. It's raining AGAIN, I'm HUNGRY because I'm on a strict food plan, and my RLS is driving me crazy. The diet is something I'm not going to talk about until I actually have some positive results to discuss, because really, who wants to hear about yet another failed attempt at losing weight. And the Restless Leg Syndrome everyone thinks means I get a few cramps in my legs, when in reality, it means violent, full leg, creepy crawly cramping that keeps me from resting comfortable in a chair, from falling asleep, and wakes me up long before the sun. And for some reason the medication I take for it has stopped working. And I'm working all day, then teaching a four-hour class at a local university tonight on about five hours of sleep. So right now I"m CRANKY. If you know me in real life, I would suggest just staying the heck away today. Might be in your best interest.

Just when you were lulled into thinking this was a sweet mommy blog, it takes a nose dive into midlife. At least I'm not having hot flashes.

Permayouth isn't what it's cracked up to be

Yesterday an overly chipper personality on morning television noted that it was Meg Ryan's birthday. She's 47. Cool! So am I. Wait, not so cool. I don't look anything like Meg Ryan. Is it just me or do celebrities seem to be more like kidults, wearing the same clothes and doing the same activities as teens and adultescents? Try and think of the last time you saw a celebrity photographed with adult children. Go ahead. I'll wait.

See? It's cause people will realize just how old they are! I read recently that middle age is now considered 50s or 60s. People routinely feel (and sometimes act-you've seen it!) ten to twenty years younger than their actual age. 27is the new 47! We're stuck in permayouth.

I don't know about you, but I'm happy to be older and hopefully wiser. Yes, I would be thrilled to have the body of a twenty-year-old, as long as I get to pick which twenty-year-old body I get. Because with some 20 somethings I've seen, I'd be getting a makeunder. I'm just sayin', that's not the direction I want to be going!