OLD Friends and Shakespeare

I love our book club in Brigham City--Sharon Williams and me with a comfortable group of like-minded folk.  Each month we're loaned a different book on the theme for the year, and 2016 is SHAKESPEARE. 

Book #1  Bill Bryson doesn't take himself too seriously in this informative, funny account:                      "A little known fact about Shakespeare is that his father moved to Stratford-on-Avon from a nearby village shortly before his son's birth.  Had he not done so, the Bard of Avon would instead be known as the rather less ringing Bard of Snitterfield." 



Book #2  By Greenblatt, an editor of textbooks such as the Norton Anthology of English Literature.   Our book read like a textbook at times but, like a textbook, was packed with details.

                 



Book #3  We read an excellent edition of Hamlet complete with illustrations and good notes.

The best outcome for me: In preparation I watched Hamlet 2000 set in NYC. Wow. Loved it.  "Don't be scared off.  Almereyda's Hamlet is a visual knockout that sets the Bard's words against striking images. 'To be or not to be' is spoken by this Hamlet in a video store." 

Best comment from our class discussion on Will's motivation:  "Everyone already knew the story.  He probably wrote it just to entertain. A soap opera."

Book # 4 Just got this one Thursday.  Can't wait. 







Suggestions:  You might like Bill Bryson's book, The World as Stage.  An entertaining yet informative overview of Shakespeare.
 
See the movie, Hamlet 2000, just for the clever filming, the images.  (I read a synopsis and reviewed the famous lines first.)

Little Old Lady -- Turning 60

OVERVIEW  Not bad at all, the 60's. In fact, they're good.  Barring catastrophe, 60's people carry on well.  Your sixties usually means retirement. In most cases, finances are OK.  We can get around and enjoy, still contribute, travel.  We have our wits about us.  It's fun!

And we're still vibrant. I mean, to my surprise, I got a couple of serious compliments from younger men while in my 60's. Their wives or someone told me that the husbands had said, "for an older woman" Donna was pretty "foxy."  A little weird, but I'm just telling that. 

Here we're all in our late 60's or early 70's

Of course, you still worry about the changes, but you laugh over it with your OLD friends.  You can't move around as fast. One girlfriend told about getting on her hands and knees to crawl out of the bathtub.  Another one couldn't reach to clip her toe nails. We laughed ourselves silly.

 

 


SIGNS OF THE TIMES
You see other signs throughout the 60's decade.

Diminished height
Sagging eyelids, more face wrinkles
Graying hair--possibly thinning
More memory loss, usually short term
Less energy
Food intolerance (often milk, red meat)
Bladder issues
Hearing diminished
Neuropathy in feet, middle toes
Tendency to hunch over
Occasional hand tremors
Possible joint issues
more

FALSE ALARMS
Since you're expecting to age, you may think you're aging when it's something else.

1. I went to a neurologist for neuropathy in my middle toes and fingers, thinking they were related. Turns out my feet were, in fact, aging slowly but nothing to worry about.  My hands, on the other hand, were just coincidental.  I learned that I had a weird habit. After slathering my dry hands in oily lotion at bedtime, I would curl up my fingers to avoid get grease on the sheets.  The curling-fingers habit was causing the neuropathy.  I stopped and it stopped.

2. We see so many bladder commercials that when I found myself needing to go more often I accepted it philosophically. "This is my life now."  But I was miserable, looking for a WC every hour.  After months, I finally took an anti-biotic, following the dosage strictly, and I felt young again! The problem wasn't age but a simple, curable infection.

APPEARANCE
Honestly, most of my friends look at their appearance differently.  As you get older, you still want to look nice, but you drop any ideas of trying to be cool.  That is, any aged woman who is trying to look young or keep up with stylin' trends just looks sad.  Some opt for an "artsy" look but that can appear hippie and contrived.  I mean, "You're that old and you're in that get-up, still focused on looks?"

I say, let the measure of your appearance be your character. And I'm not kidding. No one is looking at you expecting you to be a fashion maven.  I don't try to buy clothes for my 30 something figure--it's gone.  That doesn't mean you give up. Most women go for traditional dress. Tasteful, understated, classic

But "pretty" gets a new definition. It is, in all honesty, an evaluation of your FACE--not for "beauty" in the young sense, but for kindness, for your character.  One of my friends said that by the time women get old, they all look the same.  In a sense she's right.

Do stand up straight.  There are easy posture exercises. Ask Ben Gunn. I was fairly good until I was in a car accident and hunched over against the pain. I've had to work at standing tall. Well, 5'1" is not exactly tall.  Yes, you shrink.

MENOPAUSE
This probably will start in your 50's.  I'm not writing about it much because it is so different for every woman that I'm afraid I can't help. My mother hardly noticed it, but my cousin has had hot flashes for over 20 years. : /   I started taking Premarin in my late 40's at  Dr. Staheli's  suggestion.  The research said it was good for your heart.  Then the research said it was bad.  Then good.  Then I realized that Estrodial was much cheaper.  I'm only now going off of it altogether, and going through the hot flash thing again.

Along the same lines, what about intimacy? Are older women still active?  There's so much written about it that I don't need to add more.
 
CAUTIONS
1.) Take care of your back. Through the years, be careful.  Don't lift heavy things.  Bend and use your legs.  Or better yet, kneel down to get that spot off the floor or that item on the bottom shelf  rather then bending to the task. It takes longer but worth it to PROTECT YOUR BACK. 

2.) Your eyelids collapse.  This happens suddenly.  At first you think your face is puffy in the morning mirror.  You're surprised that your eyelids are swollen, but by afternoon it's gone.  But in the coming days you realize that, no, your eyelids are sagging--and it's permanent.  Most women consider their eyes their best feature, so this is a big loss, a big change. [Caution: warning about getting "work done" in another post.]

Turning 50

I liked my 50th birthday, a simple party at Sara and Steve's. In fact, I've been OK on most birthdays provided I've filled my life with the things that matter most and that I've used my time, my turn on Earth.  I only feel panic when I feel like I'm off track or have wasted time or missed opportunity.

I deserved to be celebrated for turning 50.   I had worked hard. Sacrificed.  Sought opportunities, and made them. I had loved. And I had been loved.  Our wonderful, amazing children were getting married, having babies, going on missions.

On my 50th birthday, I didn't know Mike and I had just two years left.

Fifties are good years.  You're conscious of being older, but so busy you don't have time to worry. You anticipate aging, but you still feel good, and really, you know you still look good. 

I was 55 when I remarried.

Passing the Torch

What do you leave?   No one really wants your stuff, I'm afraid.  They already have more than enough to take care of.

Lloyd Carlyle Pack, Gabrielle Stanley, Lucille Evans Pack, summer 1974

In my case, I feel impelled to bridge the gap, to leave information. (No wonder old people are verbose.)  My concern is, in part, because of the fast pace of technology.  Things are moving FORWARD so rapidly and it's so EXCITING, no one can be bothered with the dull past. I don't blame them.

They are right to think it's amazing.  It IS.  SO AMAZING.

But when you stand on the shoulders of Giants, sooner or later you may wonder about them. Then, too, in a lot of cases younger people don't get it.  They misinterpret the past--at least the little part that I know.   So I'll leave what little I can, and when they need it, it will be there.

Last week I finished my Dad's biography, which I began with interviews in 1989.  I say finished, but it's open-ended.  The very next day I found more photos to include. Here's the link.

 

70th Birthday

I am 70.

My birthday celebration was huge for me--the BEST ever over Labor Day.  I still feel euphoric to think of it.  However, when December 20th actually rolled around, smack in the middle of the Christmas Rush as always, self-pity seeped in. After all, I didn't have any of my family coming to town so the holiday ahead loomed bleak.  

But I thought of my dad.  One time when I was a teenager I muttered some petulant thing about being bored, and my father said impatiently, "Go do something for someone!"  It wasn't the first time he'd said it to us.

I determined to do 70 kind things for people on my 70th birthday.  A lofty goal, so I planned to count sending out 40 Christmas cards, possibly doing Indexing for 20 people to help me succeed.

Anyway, my point of view made all the difference.  First thing, I helped Salli and kids out (our Mac grandkids) who were leaving early, sending them off with some quicky breakfast food.  I spent the whole day focused on who needed what and kept a little log of how I was doing.

A highlight was a visit with EllaRee, my 90-year-old friend.  She sent me a lovely note saying how much she needed a visit. "Have a Happy Holiday Season and so will I, thanks to you."

I didn't reach my goal--even with my work on Christmas cards and Indexing.  But what a life saver!!  I was in genuinely good spirits all day. Even patient with Rog when we rounded out the day with a boring Gossner Classic Aggie basketball game--in overtime. 

(FYI, I don't really mind a December Birthday.  It's mine.  But everyone, including me, is absorbed in celebrating another December Birthday which has far greater significance.  I loved celebrating this year over Labor Day.  Or mine can wait, such as the card promising a dinner date in January.)

True to the Faith

How grateful I am for my heritage of faithful Mormons!   Good, honorable, hardworking and intelligent people--people who were true to their faith.  "Honest and true."

The Packs, my father's family, joined the Mormon Church in the 1800's.  They survived the conflict in Missouri despite Julia and John Pack being kidnapped by an anti-Mormon mob.
 She wrote,

           "[The leader said], 'You can bid your husband goodbye. You will never see him again'....I told him I would not go one inch, I said, 'If my husband dies, I will die with him.' I put my foot on the wheel of the wagon to jump to the ground when my husband took hold of my hand and whispered to me: 'You stay with the wagon and take care of the horses, I am not afraid of them and will be back soon.' They took him through a patch of hazel brush to an open space covered with grass. Sachel Woods, a ... minister said: 'Here will be your grave, we are going to kill you unless you will deny Joe Smith.' My husband said: 'Joseph Smith is a Prophet of God. You profess to be a preacher of righteousness and so do I. I'll meet you at the day of judgment.'
There were five or six of them. They talked around inquiring who would shoot him, but none seemed really willing to do the deed. Finally a man standing by our wagon called out--'Let that damned Mormon go.' "

Later the Packs trekked across the plains to join in establishing Salt Lake City.   The Pack women, all of them I knew, were outspoken and confident and smart, and they married fine, able, honorable men.  And they had fun and laughed a lot.  : )  They were faithful.

The Evanses, Mother's family, were similar. They were faithful Latter-day Saints who came West as well.  David Wooley Evans, evidently lucky to have made it, was from cultured people and he played the violin in the first SLC Symphony.  In addition, that branch of the family produced advertisers, as well as Richard L. Evans, the speaker for the Tabernacle Choir for years and an Apostle.  Richard and David were my Grandpa Willard's cousins.

These people were true to their faith.  My father and both of my grandfathers served missions and were true to their families.  My Grandma Harriet Pack's Book of Mormon with its worn leather binding, was full of her markings and notes. After being widowed, she worked for 30 years in the Salt Lake Temple.

My other Grandmother, Rachel Evans, was equally faithful, working for years in Stake Primary and at the Visitor's Center at the Los Angeles Temple.

Their faith has been passed down to me, so that I can say, "Jesus is the Christ. The Heavens are opened to revelation today.  The Church provides the way to return to Him and to our loving Heavenly Father, the way for Families to be together Forever.  We have living Prophets on the earth right now.  The Book of Mormon, along with the Bible, is true; they give us the words of God for us today."

There are plenty of other nice sounding messages out there, dispensed by good-hearted, well-intentioned people, but no message greater.  Mormon missionaries will be happy to give you details.

Art:  Minerva Teichart

Writing, FYI

Last month Aaron, a neighbor, asked me for help submitting a graduate school application.  His cover letter needed fine tuning.  I miss using all that knowledge I've acquired--like a lot of old people--so I loved helping him.

I told him not to feel foolish.  Few people remember everything they learned in writing class because they have little reason to think about it.  They'd be weird if they did think about it a lot.  But when you need it, you need it.

Language is fluid and changes all the time.  The current big hitter is social media.  For example, texting requires only half the alphabet, and those patterns have made their way into formal writing, IMHO. Cryptic messages are the norm as social media writers "omit needless words."   I don't mind the current trends, but some things haven't changed.

 A few reminders:

• Seasons of the year are not capitalized.  Write "spring,"  not  "Spring."
• Write "sons-in-law,"  not  "son-in-laws."
• Begin sentences with words, not numerals.  Write "Two days ago" not "2 days ago."
• For numbers under 10, write the words out; some people say under 20 so it's optional.  Write "Brucie is seven"  not "Brucie is 7."
• Avoid split infinitives.  Infinitives:  "to work" or "to think" or "to laugh."  Write "Max began to laugh joyfully,"  not "Max began to joyfully laugh."  In the last example, "joyfully" splits the infinitive.                                                                                             (Image from tcu.edu)

 

Inception of Blogs

This is how I remember it.

My girls told me about "Daily Candy," a fun site that read like a newsletter and was illustrated with clever, quick, colorful watercolors.  There was nothing like it.  Readers learned about any number of cute little frivolous styles. Or places? Or food?  Lots of things. Short and sweet.  It was one of a kind. And I maintain it was The Model for what followed. 

  https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/DailyCandy

About that time Liz sent us a photo of spring time--Manhattan from Hoboken in the spring. It looked kind of like this, but Liz's photo was better. A day or two later she sent another photo from Jared on the edge of the Grand Canyon. The immediacy wowed me. 

There it was.  Now.  RIGHT NOW.  Normally one waited for film to be developed to get photos. Then waited the time it took to get mail.  But this. This was immediate. Amazed,  I seriously stopped and sat and considered it. 

 

I'm not sure but I think Ben Blair may have been the first in the family to start an actual blog.

At about that same time, Gabby had a yen to do some writing.   Jordan started in 2006 and was first in the family to get that photos were everything in a blog;  no one wanted to do a lot of reading.  Jordan has had good instincts on every platform.

I don't know who else inspired the girls.

I will add that we think Gabby was the first to do a give-away.  She had readers who never commented and she wanted to spur their comments.  She was also the first to do a major online friend fundraiser when Stephanie Nielsen crashed.

[This post started about 2013.  Finished Nov 2023.]

Fall 2013

Pumpkins began turning orange in August.  And the garden produce came in such abundance, it was more than we could consume or even give away.

I haven't canned in recent years but I broke down and made Megan's "Awesome Salsa." Had to borrow my neighbor's canner. Mine wasn't as awesome as Megan's.  : )

 We loved the summer squash, cut in four or five lengthwise slices, drizzled with olive oil, then barbequed and sprinkled with coarse salt. Sometimes we did sweet onions, eggplant, mushrooms along with it.

Los Angeles County Fair

Los Angeles County Fair arcade, c. 1958

Many lessons we don't remember learning, but this one I do.

Every September we rode with our parents across LA, the car windows down, to the Los Angeles County Fair in Pomona.  We knew the routine.  We split up in pairs with our allotted $1.50, supplemented by a few of our own quarters and we ran off to see the sights. At the appointed time, we checked back in with Dad or Mother by the Big Clock. After reporting, we took off again.  I usually went with my older brother.  We both liked the model train displays, and we always wandered by the animals and fruit exhibits in the big halls.

 One year, we went to the carnival, the Fun Zone.  It was busy and bright and noisy. We eyed the makeshift rides, the hall of mirrors, the games.  It wasn't the games themselves that intrigued, but the PRIZES.

Anyone who could knock down the fake milk bottles with a baseball could win a GIANT stuffed animal, the man in the booth promised in a loud voice.  A HUGE teddy bear or poodle or whatever.  The plush toys were crowded up overhead in each booth, bright in the lights, so beautiful and new.  Now and then a bigger boy and his girlfriend would walk by us, awkwardly carrying their enormous prize, smiling and laughing.


It was easy, and only10 cents per game.  I could toss a coin into an array of dishes or a tennis ball into muffin tins or bean bags into something.  I KNEW I could win. We chose a booth.  I tried once and was surprised to lose, but I was SO close. I played again more intently, more carefully.  And then again, almost winning.  My brother, bored, left me there, playing alone. I slowed down as I found myself with fewer coins until finally, they were gone.  All of them. But I still had hope. Carried along by my passion, I hurried to meet our parents by the clock.

My hope was this: Maybe they would give me my souvenir dollar. At the end of the day, we had a custom. We each got one more dollar to spend on a souvenir as we exited the big gate to the parking lot. So as we gathered at the clock, I asked, I pleaded with my parents to give me my final dollar there and then.  After all, a giant panda was going to be a much better prize than the little, celluloid kewpie doll I had planned on getting later. Finally, reluctantly my father relented.  "But you are not getting another dollar when everyone buys their souvenirs!" he warned firmly.

I ran off to win my prize.

During the long, hot ride home that evening, I refused to look over at my sisters who were playing with their feathered kewpie dolls or my brother with his treasure--a rubber, collapsible knife?  I didn't care.  I KNEW I could have won.  I KNEW it.  Just a few more dimes.  I COULD HAVE WON!

When was it that I realized my passion had been a lie?  Was I still young?  I think so, because the Fun Zone never again appealed. 

My Father

I've been thinking about my dad lately. He wanted to serve, to be helpful, to be useful.  

Dad was happy.  He had a corny sense of humor and he liked to laugh.  He got "a kick out of things," as he would say.  He was honest.  He was clean.  In fact, he was disgusted by vulgarity.  I never heard him swear.  OK, once he called something "damnable."

He worked hard.  He went to work earlier than necessary.  He didn't shy away from any task. On Saturdays he worked in the yard, coming in dirty and sweaty and tired.  Even in his 70's he would help the "elderly" when they moved.

He was outspoken and he liked a little debate, but he was kind. If he had a spirit of competition he kept it in perspective. That is, he liked to win, but I never saw him vengeful, never tried to get back at someone, never hurt deliberately.

He swept the gym floor after Ward dinners, he took the Scouts to the Grand Canyon, he rode the bus with mother and others to the AZ Temple before they built ours in LA.  He taught.  He was the Bishop. He was on the High Council and in the Stake Mission Presidency.  He was a Temple Sealer.

He loved to grow a garden.  From our California yard he brought Mother the best and most beautiful camelias.  Of course, I think of him every single time I see one. 

He loved his family and worried over each one of his five children.  He was loyal to my sister, Mary, and patient with her.  He took his grand children fishing.

He wanted us all to be provided for and couldn't do enough.  When Mike and I were raising our family, Dad would show up with a crate of oranges or a large ham or 10#'s of cheese.  "These were on sale and I bought too many.  I have to get rid of them or your mom will be upset with me."

He was smart.  When we planned to start Senior Sampler he counseled us not to focus on our profits but to concentrate on providing a product people would value, to fill a need. And he was supportive. When we published our first issue, he stood out in front of the new Smith's and handed the paper out to shoppers as they came and went.

And he had faith.  During those days when he was dying of cancer mother told us he had become withdrawn and less talkative.  But when I walked in he perked up and was glad to see me and wanted to talk.  Mom was surprised but glad he liked my visits. Among other things I asked, "Is this a trial of your faith?"   He thought for a minute and said matter-of-factly, "No."

The doctors kept giving him pain meds but he protested that he wasn't in pain.  (A sweet  blessing.)  He wasn't a deceptive man, but sometimes mother would find his pain pills on the floor.  He would submit when she insisted he take it, but then, after she left he would spit it out--too tired to do anything but drop it.

He loved me.  Mom always said we were alike.

I felt him near after he died.  Among other things, I felt he wanted me to stop worrying about always looking for the discount or the bargain, something I learned all too well from him.  It was as if he told me it was OK to expect quality instead.

It's an odd thing to me that I don't miss him.  It's not easy to explain, but it's like he loved me so much that he doesn't want to add even an ounce of grief to my life. So it's OK.  With both of us.