GETTING IN SHAPE

By Lois Jamieson

I just found out that May is National Fitness Month. I had to laugh as I thought of my efforts over the years trying to ‘Get in Shape’. For as long as I can remember I have had the image of myself as being a very athletic and agile woman. I just knew I could run faster than the wind, get the ball in the hoop every time, play par golf and win tennis matches. Somehow or other, I have never achieved that level of athleticism. My high school record was not exactly stellar. I played basketball so long ago it was when girls could only play half court. I was a guard and fearless, but I never had the chance to throw for the basket I knew I could make. 

 In my thirties I remember entering a swimming race at a local pool. I confess I talked one of my girlfriends into entering the race knowing I could beat her.  There were only three contestants and I felt confident that I would win the race.  That is, until the third lady walked up to the pool wearing a a racing swimsuit and a Speedo cap. Well, I did come in second. In my forties I took up golf and I don’t even want to discuss that, although I continued looking for a four hole group until late into my seventies. I rode my bike a bit in my fifties until I fell off and I still have a scar on my ankle to prove it. I was in my early seventies when I came to the realization that it was now or never. I simply had to get in shape. If my bank account had expanded as much as my waistline I’d be buying my clothes at Neiman Marcus.

So, I joined a fitness club.

I stepped through the door into a weird world of monstrous metal levers and pulleys, sweating bodies, ear splitting music, grunts, groans and grimaces. I turned and fled. About half way home I gathered up my courage andwent back. After signing up for a guest day I was weighed, measured and recorded. It was then I knew I needed to be there. I was taken to the workout room where everyone seemed to be twenty years old with l9” waists, 36” busts and the whitest teeth I’d ever seen. I didn’t have much time to dwell on that before being strappd to a disagreeable looking pullover machine and instructed in the art of lifting 80 pounds while lying on my back.

After exhausting myself on the machines, I decided a good swim would top off my experience. With that in mind I limped into the dressing room where lockers are provided.  I was told “it’s best to keep things under lock and key.” I must confess I didn’t lock mine. I’m not good with locks and keys and thing like that.  I had this horrifying picture of me. There I was soaking wet, draped in a towel standing in front of my locker, locked out. My clothes, purse, car keys and the combination to the lock were locked in.  Luckily I found a dark corner to squeeze into my size 16 red bathing suit.  I then made a mad dash to the pool. Once there, I bravely pushed off with my famous side stroke. Despite bumping into an indignant gentleman and losing an earring, I managed a lap and a half. After slipping back into my somewhat ripe sweat pants and shirt, I managed to sign my name to a contract, hand over my credit card and make it to my car before collapsing behind the wheel.

My enthusiasm returned by evening, however, and I said to my husband as I took the last bite of my double chocolate marshmallow sundae, “I just know I’m really going to get in shape this time”.

           

INVADED WILDERNESS

By Phoebe Maurer

The desert was endless, never bare.

Vegetation, drab in winter,

sprouted blankets of wild color

as heat warmed their roots.

Ugliness grew beautiful.

Lifeless? Snakes slithered

over the dusty earth.

Gophers peered out of their

holes, twitched their noses

and returned to the underground

world. The avian population

twittered and chirped in a language

I needed to understand.

It wasn’t a flat desert.

Forms and monoliths

loomed up creating a

mountainous range of

infinity.

The symmetry of four peaks

were shaped by nature’s

scalpel when ice melted

and raging waters carved

and gouged a future world

of awesome beauty

that was protected

and cherished.

Dawn banished the darkness of night,

casting a glow upon my chosen

homeland. The sun altered

mountain ranges hourly as it journeyed

towards a picturesque sunset.

Nature’s glory gradually faded

when civilization moved in.

Small pockmarks became massive

rashes, disfiguring the natural

arid beauty, spreading towards the

Mountains with unsightly developments.

Endless rooftops are now

the vision of infinity. 

WHO AM I?

By Lois Jamieson

Have you ever asked yourself - Who am I? Who is my true self? Perhaps it is time you did.

I often turn to a wonderful little book by Parker J. Palmer. In the book, Mr. Palmer quotes May Sarton who wrote -

“Now I become myself.

It’s taken time, many years and places.

I have been dissolved and shaken,

Worn other people’s faces….”

And then he goes on to say, “What a long time it can take to become the person one has always been!”

I believe I spent my first 79 years trying to find my true self. Perhaps now that I am an octogenarian I will finally solve this puzzle. My life began in 1929 in the midst of the Great Depression, in the small borough of Blawnox, Pennsylvania. I developed into a shy little girl, who found it difficult to speak to adults. Now I am an outgoing fun, party loving, people friendly octogenarian who can hardly wait for the next phase of my life.

I’m a product of my German father and my Irish mother. I have stumbled through a life of broken families, hardship and tragedy. Not unlike many of you, I suspect. I have the good fortune to have a beautiful, happy marriage and two strong, successful, loving children. The gift of a strong faith and a happy spirit has carried me through the bumps and dead-ends of the road.

Where did that shy little girl go and how did I become the person I am now?

The answer, I think, is that the glass is always half full to me. I’m an optimist, but also a realist and basically a very happy person. I find joy in whatever it is I am doing, including my garden, books, family, entertaining friends, and my life in the church and in service to others less fortunate.

Somewhat like a child watching his favorite blankee tossing in the dryer asking, “Mommy, can I have my blankee now?” “No dear, it isn’t finished yet.”

Perhaps I’m not finished yet. I have much more to learn and to experience.

Maybe I will discover more about myself as Phoebe and I write our book. Maybe I won’t.

I darn sure know I will joyfully try to find out who I am and have fun while doing it.

*Let Your Life Speak by Parker J. Palmer

THINKING OUT LOUD

Guest post
By Loys Bolduc
Being an octogenarian isn’t all bad. Sometimes it has its advantages and humorous moments. When asked my age I answer honestly and the person responds, “Oh, you don’t look it.” That sounds pretty nice, even though I might question the person’s eyesight or honesty. No one expects much from an octogenarian. They don’t expect me to run a marathon, go door-door getting pledges for a worthy cause or bake and frost four dozen cupcakes for a church bake sale. Best of all, someone might even get up and give me a seat in the doctor’s crowded waiting room.
There are many bright spots. Last month I celebrated my 87^th birthday. I donned a Mardi Gras mask and funky glasses and my teen aged grandkids laughed hysterically. They said “Weird, Grandma, but cool.” In
teen talk I guess that’s a compliment.

There are, of course, the drawbacks. I have difficulty getting around and have to use a cane or walker. I’m grateful that I can still live independently with a little help from my Kids. Actually, I get a lot of help from my kids. My eyesight is better than average and I am able to enjoy the beauties of nature, to see the smiles on my grandkids’ faces and to read a good book. My hearing is a little impaired, but I still hear the early morning call of a mourning dove to its mate. I hear the coyotes howling a hundred yards from my back door. What dialogue I miss on TV probably isn’t anything I need to know anyway.
I thank the Good Lord every day for retaining my mental faculties. I enjoy family and friends. I’ve had a very good life.

The world is far from perfect but I’d like to stay around a bit longer.

DO I REALLY NEED TO KNOW

By Lois
I ask myself this question. -- Do I really need to know about Facebook, Twitter, I-Pods, I-Phones, I-Pads and all the rest?

I may as well admit it….I’m on Facebook! Well, sort of. Here’s how it happened. My dear 29 year old grandson forced me into it by sending me some promised pictures….on FaceBook. The only way I could see the pictures was to join the dreaded FaceBook.

So, that’s what I did, and here is what happened.

First, I had to enter a password. So, I did that. Let me stop right here and give you a little advice about passwords. Pick one you can easily remember and use it on everything you need a password for.You’ve guessed it, after entering my FaceBook password, I neglected to record it along with my passwords for my computer, my e-mail, my home alarm and myriad other things.

But I digress. The next thing I knew I had 20 FaceBook friends, or that is what my e-mail was telling me. Mostly, they were people I like. I felt rather proud about that, but unfortunately I couldn’t answer them because I FORGOT MY PASSWORD.

Well, the messages kept piling up along with admonishments from FaceBook that I was ignoring my friends. Each time this happened I would try another password, but could never come up with the right one. Then a line would appear that I grew to hate - it said, “Forgot your password? Here’s a new one. All you have to do is type in this combination of words and you will be given a new password.”

"Okay," I said to myself, this should be easy. I scrolled down the page and there were something like 28 screwy words that looked something like this - MWLFTY except they weren’t in a straight line and were crazy looking.For three weeks every day I found myself screaming at my computer, “GIVE ME THE DAMN PASSWORD!”


Did you know there is no-one there? I always thought there was a Facebook central office or something equally sensible.
WRONG!


Now I just ignore it and all the new and old “friends” who, incidentally, have grown from 20 to 79. I’ll just have to wait until my grandson, who lives in the state of Washington and I am in Arizona, comes to see me at Christmas time.

P.S. I finally remembered my password and even receive written messages on my wall. I’ve also become a blogger - but no TWEETING. Here is the link to my other blog: Kids Without Stuff
I GUESS I DID NEED TO KNOW!

AGELESS AT 88?

By Phoebe

Ageless at 88? Yes and no. Does it sound ambiguous?

The mind is an endless source of ideas for the future, youthful and creative. However, my body is another story – Oy!

The joints from head to toe are corroded, rusty, squeaky, on fire and betray my youthful

spirit. Just the perils of growing older, not old, but older.

How does an elderly lady of eighty eight and a half escape the turmoil my body creates?

I write short stories, poetry and a novel. I delve into the worldly wisdom that has accumulated from an interesting life.  My beloved husband of almost sixty seven years is my cheerleader, nudging me on to new heights.  That is, if I can find the four inches I lost during the journey. Now that I am five feet three inches my feet rebel against wearing fancy high heels.  So I trudge up the hill in sneakers or sensible oxfords, hurting each step of the way. Do I cry? No, I laugh at the humorous sight in the mirror.

Can any of you on the internet relate to the picture I have painted in words? 

Please tell me your stories.

Lois writes

You might be interested in how I receive Phoebe’s posts. They come to me, handwritten, in the mail. I’m not kidding. Phoebe does not write on a computer. She can’t send them via e-mail or as an attachment. We rely on the U.S. Postal Service to get them from her to me.

Guess what

It works! Phoebe is such a wonderful writer. I don’t care how she manages to get her stories to my computer.

ENJOY! ENJOY!

  By Lois Jamieson

I once heard a wonderful sermon, given by the Rev. Phil Carlson, at my church St. Barnabas in the Desert. Father Phil has given me permission to share some of his thoughts with you. You don’t have to be an Episcopalian or even a Christian to appreciate his wisdom.

He spoke of the author Harry Golden, who grew up on the Lower East Side of New York City in the early part of the last century. In one of Mr. Golden’s essays he spoke of his mother’s faith in God. His father was an intellectual who spent a lot of his time discussing God. Golden wrote: “My mother, of course, thought all those discussions were nonsense. She cooked and sewed and cleaned for the family and the neighbors.  Even if a dish turned well she would not take credit. The credit went to God. My mother talked with God all the time, actual conversations.”

Out of this faith came one of the few English words she knew – ENJOY!

Golden wrote, “When my mother served our meals and placed before us a dish that may have turned out particularly well, she would always say Enjoy! Enjoy! The word covered hundreds of other situations. When the school had an outing and we all went off with our teachers, the last thing we heard going out the door was Enjoy! Enjoy!”

Father Phil went on to say, “For nearly fifty years Harry Golden’s mother’s faith and admonition have given illustration to a basic tenet of my Biblical faith – Enjoy!

God wants us to enjoy this life – and the next. The joy promised is not the mad dash for happiness we see in the proliferation of books on the subject, nor the ever expanding market for better living through chemistry, nor the preachers promising financial success.

Of course the promised joy is happiness, but it is also sadness. It is deeper than both.

It is a mystery that keeps opening to us as we walk life’s way. And it is a gift.”

He continued, “In my life I have experienced the normal highs and lows, successes and failures, but I have never experienced anything catastrophic. If I do, it is my prayer that I will have the faith to experience the joy of those terminally sick persons who decide to spend their days living rather than dying. Life’s journey is not to arrive at the grave safely in a well preserved body, but rather to skid in sideways totally worn out shouting Wow what a ride!”

Out of her life of faith Harry Golden’s mother said it all, “Enjoy! Enjoy!”

Thank you Father Phil for these words of wisdom.


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