Accepting AARP

According to Wikipedia, AARP (formerly called the American Association of Retired Persons) is an “interest group” in the United States focusing on issues affecting those over the age of fifty. It seems that every single American gets an AARP promotional mailing on or near their 50th birthday. It’s like a rite of passage. You get it, you open it, you groan (why are they ruining your birthday?) and you toss it as quickly as possible. But they do NOT relent. They keep sending you mail every six months or so.

Well, sometime between 57 and 58, I gave in. One of the mailings mentioned car rental discounts and I needed to rent a car, so I joined. The offer was $45 for a 5-year membership for me and my husband. (Later I got $8 back for paying with my Bank of America card.) Immediately upon joining, I saved $400 on a weeklong car rental. Why did I resist this for so long? (Because it’s for old people – duh!)

My husband has not yet accepted his membership. (He doesn’t want them to have his e-mail.) A friend asked if it was possible to access the discounts without actually saying the word “senior.” Another said they might join when they hit 60. Granted AARP does send a LOT of emails, but I’ve come to realize that joining 38 million other Americans as an AARP member is a way of accepting that I’m not alone and I’m not special. I can benefit from basic health, wellness, finance, and travel trips just like everybody else. (No, I did not realize that I should be getting 25 grams of protein per meal, including breakfast. And yes, I would like to see a list of the quaintest small towns in New England. Thank you!)

One of the things I was recently reminded of by an expert in AARP’s free, interactive “Staying Sharp” app is that you can cultivate positive emotions – like awe. Joining AARP can feel like giving up on your younger self, but there’s beauty in accepting the inevitability of aging. You’re just like everybody else. You’re basic – and you’re beautiful.

Revenge Weather 

[Inspired by this daily prompt]

New England winters get old, REAL old, after 50 years.  Sure, they start out great: sledding, skating, lots of snow days and hot chocolate when you’re a kid.  Later, when you’re young and single and living in the city, they might mess up your commute, delay a flight or two, or worst of all, force you to contemplate slashing your upstairs neighbor’s tires when he parks in the spot you spent an hour shoveling and had clearly “saved” with an antique trash can.  But, it’s not until you have kids, a house, and a driveway all your own, that you really start to HATE them.  (Don’t even get me started on snowblowers, ice dams, frozen pipes, black ice, and roof rakes.)

This is why so many New Englanders, the minute we have even the smallest amount of disposable income, cannot resist hopping on planes and flying three short hours to Florida in January, February, and March.  Now the winters aren’t always hot and sunny in Florida, but they are reliably better (much better) than from where we came.

Sometimes, the most satisfying thing about being in Florida is hearing about the New England weather you’re missing while you’re down there.  Whether you’re in Disneyworld, or at the beach, or simply strolling around outside between grocery shopping trips to Publix, it’s very satisfying to read something like this in The Boston Globe:

Monday and Tuesday will have highs in the mid- to low 20s, but the windchill effect could be down to single digits for Monday and as low as zero to -10 degrees for Tuesday. Up to 4 inches of snow is expected. 

Ha! And I’m not there.

the terribly guilty look of a woman who spontaneously abandons her family in New England for a weekend visit with friends in Delray Beach

Why Blog?

I’ve periodically kept diaries and journals over the years.  (I have a whole crate of them in the attic.)  At one point, in my 30s, I read through them all in an attempt to figure out my own personal “theology.”  (I did this for a class led by a minister at my Unitarian Universalist church.)

One embarrassing thing that I had forgotten about myself became clear as I read through those old journals: I was a cheater.  I had been caught numerous times in school passing notes or looking at other people’s papers.  Ouch!

Another thing I learned/remembered was that there was one song that had made a particularly big impression on me.  Billy Joel’s “Only the Good Die Young,” which was released in 1978, basically became my life’s permission slip to blow-off some of the more restrictive tenants of the Catholic Church.  (Google the lyrics and imagine yourself a heretofore “nice” Catholic teenager.)

So why blog?  I mean…it’s public.  Why not just keep journaling – in private?

I guess the answer for me is permanence and connection.

All my old journals could easily get tossed out in the next move, or ruined by the next interior water mishap…or God forbid, burned in a fire.  (Our attic, home of my old box of journals, narrowly escaped a lightning strike last year!  See photo.)  If you put your thoughts on-line, they’re basically permanent.  I realize I may come to regret that, but at the moment I like the idea of having some sort of permanent record that I existed and had thoughts.

The idea that someone else might read my blog, and perhaps relate to it in some way, is also appealing.  As someone who was born and came of age in the pre-internet world, it sometimes seems sad that people are now so glued to their various screens.  Still, I’ve come to understand that meaningful human interaction and connection can and does happen on-line.  Some people seem to find great joy sharing their lives on Facebook and other social media.  I thought blogging might be like that, but with just a bit more room to expand.

Lightening strike
My son in front of a tree that was struck by lightning in our front yard in August 2015.