Television Tastes

Television through the ages. My, how tastes change and how television has changed. I can remember when a television show where one person got killed was astonishing and now, it’s become so commonplace that if there aren’t more than a dozen deaths in one hour, the show seems boring. And some say we’re not influenced by what we see every day? I would disagree.

Nevertheless, I really want to focus on some of the shows I watched through the decades and see which ones resonate with other seniors – or which ones they watched instead. Until I hit the 60s, I don’t remember watching anything other than whatever my parents had on.

The first show I can remember that I found titillating and scary was Dark Shadows. It’s the only daytime drama I ever watched – then or now. I would hurry home from school to see what Barnabas was up to.

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And I, like many of my schoolmates, was crazy in love with Little Joe from Bonanza. Well, that is until I went to a dance convention in Houston and someone said Little Joe was in the big ballroom next door and when we trooped in to see him in our pink tights, black leotards and clunky tap shoes, he was smoking a cigar and had his feet up on the table while people were eating around him. That ended my love affair.

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I moved on to a succession of shows through the decades – shows like Dick Van Dyke, Laugh-In, All In the Family, Dallas, West Wing, Mission Impossible and Will & Grace. Now, I watch a lot of CNN, Survivor, The Voice, Dancing With the Stars and So You Think You Can Dance.

Self-Image

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Yes, this was me in the 80s in “Jubilee” at Bally’s Las Vegas. So, some 30-odd years later, I’m 50 pounds heavier, have these great gray streaks in my hair, too many lines on my face to count, liver spots, not an ounce of tone anywhere (of course I have to lift the boobs to see some of those areas) and dimpled thighs. The question is: do I care?

Well, I guess I care only enough that I’d like to lose about 30 of those pounds but other than that, not much. The weight gain has most definitely made me feel less feminine but then again, I’m not in the game for attracting a mate so my goal for weight loss would no longer be for outside image but health issues. And the advantage to not wearing dresses any more is that I’m able to bend and stretch and sit in my most comfortable position (legs tucked up) without worrying about exposing anything. There’s a freedom in that I really enjoy.

I find that, although most women will tell you they’re not influenced by slick magazine ads or television commercials or even the women around them, that’s absolutely BS. When I was young, I was also one of those women who professed to have her own mind, one who really loved wearing those sky-high heels that lassoed my toes and caused me to have surgery for a permanently pinched nerve in my foot. Of course, if I’m really honest, I suppose there was a time when I liked wearing uncomfortable things for the sole purpose of “looking good,” because those were the youthful, looking-for-love years. Everyone wants to be sexy, attractive and admired in those mating years, right? The problem for me was that, as a dancer, I spent so much of my time in leotards, tights and jazz shoes – comfort clothes, fit for running and jumping and striking positions you’d never dream of in a form-fitting skirt and heels – that I was always acutely aware of when I felt reined in.

Maybe it’s simply a question of time and place that makes us choose the uncomfortable over the comfortable. I may not be dressing to feel sexy or to stand out in a crowd of women any more, but I still dress (reluctantly) for the occasion. Although I’d love to spend the rest of my life barefoot and in sweats and t-shirts, I wouldn’t wear that to work (but only because I still want the paycheck or I might give it a go). I dress just enough to conform to the culture and no more. I really don’t care if anyone there thinks my shoes look cheap (they are) or whether they look at my ancient history showgirl photos where we lived in G-string underwear and wonder if I now don granny pants. Yes, I do, and some of them are ripped in places but they’re comfortable and who the hell’s going to see them?

Do we dress for ourselves or for others? I think that in a traditional environment (read office), we dress to conform to the crowd standard. In a show business environment, we can be whoever we want to be. But then one’s pretty conservative and one’s a bit more liberal, right? Hmmm, there are a few more variables to what makes us dress the way we do than I originally contemplated.

So, all in all, my self-image at 65 is pretty good. I’d like to lose some weight but mostly for health issues.  I don’t have a huge objection to getting older. Or let me clarify that: I don’t have a huge issue with looks as I age. I do object to the health limitations! But as a child, the people I loved spending time with and talking to were the adults and the older the better, especially when their faces had enough wear to know they had interesting stories to tell. I want to be one of those old-timers and have some interesting things to share. Just let me do it in sweats and t-shirts please.

The Pet Conundrum

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As far back in my childhood as I can remember, I’ve always had pets: a baby chicken at Easter one year when my dad would take it away from me because I was squeezing it too hard and then I’d cry when my older brother got to hold it (probably wasn’t the best idea regardless of our ages); a Dalmatian puppy picked up from a family in the “back woods” of Texas, a puppy that continually dug under the fence and ran free for days at a time, much to my chagrin; a couple of rabbits that, as you might suspect, gave us about a bazillion other little bunnies and the backyard resembled more poop pellets than green grass; an assortment of guinea pigs and parakeets; and over the past twenty years, pairs of cats so each would have a companion and playmate while I was at work.

Clearly I love animals. If I had property with a big yard, I’d probably have a small zoo on site. So here’s the problem. At what age must I decide I can’t get another animal? I’m torn in two directions. On the one hand, I read about what great companions animals are to seniors; on the other hand, I can’t bear to think of dying and leaving them for someone else to decide how they should live or even if it’s easier to place them individually even though they’ve only known each other for years.

Anyone who pays attention to their pets knows that animals bond with us, they understand far more than we give them credit for and they experience emotion. How selfish is it to want their unconditional love all the way to the end? Wouldn’t it be better to let someone else adopt them who can live a life span with them? But then, what if one of my cats dies and the other one is left behind to grieve? That’s happened to me before and it’s pitiful to watch an animal mourn when you can’t explain to him what’s happened and where his companion has gone. When I’m a little older, will I want to get a new companion for the one left behind? The problem with that scenario is that if I die and someone has to place them, they may decide to split them up.  And take them back to a shelter? Never.

My female, Pyewacket, adopted me so don’t try to tell me they don’t know where they are and yearn for someone to rescue them. I showed up at a local shelter, not realizing that hundreds of cats were allowed to roam around amongst several rooms. I was overwhelmed and didn’t know how I would decide which two were perfect for me. I sat down on the floor, set my purse behind me and waited to see who would come over. Pyewacket was the very first one to come check me out. She climbed up in my lap and proceeded to purr and knead but quickly got pushed out of the way by other curious kitties. After checking out several dozen, I started looking for the sweet little female who’d made the first overture but I couldn’t find her. I finally turned around to see her curled up inside my open purse. In the almost ten years I’ve had her, she’s never once done that again. So, try to tell me she didn’t want to come home with me!

I guess when I lose one of the two I have now, I’ll have to do some serious thinking about this dilemma or, rather than choose another young one, opt for an older cat. They are often the hardest to place and the ones who could really use some love and attention. And being an older animal myself, I get it.

 

Abrupt Halt to Spending

There are many things to look forward to when contemplating retirement. Curbing my spending habits to adjust to a significantly lower bank account is not one of them. I’ve had two bankruptcies in my lifetime and know full well how painful it is to give up spending habits – Starbucks was my hardest indulgence to do away with. I remember the agent at the debt restructuring firm I approached saying he’d never seen anyone spend that much on Starbucks. At the time, I would stop every morning on my way to work and often would make a second trip after lunch. And yes, that adds up.

So here I am, on the cusp of retirement, looking forward to having free time all the time with no higher-up around to rein me in and, at the same time, dreading the adjustments that will come – primarily the money thing. What will I have to do to live comfortably without forgoing heat or having to ask for Meals on Wheels to get by? Scary.

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I made a list but I haven’t had the courage to put them in order yet from least offensive to part with to “I’ll never give that up” … and then having to do so. Here’s my list so far: Starbucks (yes, still a part of my life – just not every day), magazine subscriptions, fast food (well, truthfully, that one isn’t all bad), expensive things like meat (time to become a vegetarian?), using less electricity, trade my car down to something second-hand that I don’t have to make payments on, learn to cut my own hair, see if I can walk to more places rather than drive, cable television, dinners with the family once a month, buy generic brands at the store, and/or look for part-time work (sort of defeats the purpose of retirement but may be necessary). Who knows? Maybe I can even figure out a way to cut back enough in other areas that my Starbucks treats don’t have to suffer.

Panama – Part III

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Keep in mind that this little Panamanian adventure was taken when I was 63 years old, traveling alone and in search of a retirement location that would be more affordable when living off nothing but social security. The goal was to cash out my 401K, use it to purchase a small cottage with a backyard suited for establishing a lush garden to revel in on a daily basis and yet still be close to decent medical care.

So I drove from David, Panama to Boquete, where the instructions were to turn left just past the bank  and before the town square as I was descending into the valley. Now really, how could that go wrong? However, as you can see from the photo above, you can’t miss the fact that you’re traveling down into a valley. And here was the town square:

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I quickly found my host’s house and settled into the one-room casita in the backyard – right next to a babbling brook that attracted all sorts of birds throughout my stay. It was an idyllic setting: perfect temperatures in the day – t-shirts, sweat pants and sneakers – but cold enough at night to sleep with the window open and a blanket pulled up under my chin. The morning bird calls would wake me and I’d make a cup of coffee and sit outside the front door and watch the resident creatures come to life and dip in and out of the backyard.

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The first thing I noticed was that the town seemed to be more expats than locals and that most of them made little or no effort to talk to the locals (at least that I could see). I didn’t like that. My stay overlapped a three-day celebration on the founding on Boquete and there were “parades” daily. I use that term loosely because the first one was a constant stream of men on horseback, interspersed by pickup trucks with women freely pouring booze into plastic cups for anyone who walked up to them as they passed by. I watched one horse, made to lift his knees and prance down the street, foaming at the mouth and no none seemed to mind a bit. These same horses paraded around in a giant square for the better part of 5 hours. I sort of wished we’d made the rider prance around like that for hours with no water and see how much he liked it. And then there was the public drunkenness. When I returned to my casita, the owner asked about my day and when I told her the public drunkenness concerned me, she responded, “Well, there is that.” Hmmm. How safe would a lone foreigner be in the city with drunken men routinely tottering around the streets?

I took a tour of a coffee plantation, enjoyed that and booked a tour that only had three of us and a guide, walking uphill in the forest in a light drizzle for the better part of two hours. They may have seen this tour as “an easy uphill walk” but as a senior, there were times when I thought that if we didn’t stop for breath, I wouldn’t have any left.

I used my time in Boquete to walk some of the back streets to see what the houses looked like and how the locals lived. The houses were dilapidated but the locals were friendly. I also asked my host lots of questions. I thought maybe I could make herbal and essential oil products from my company, Scentsibility, and sell them but her response was, “Who’s going to buy them?” When I said “hopefully the locals,” she responded, “They grow herbs in their backyards and wouldn’t have the money to buy products.” She suggested I check out the weekly open market to check out the competition and so I did.

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I was mostly struck by the fact that this was the height of entertainment for the locals. There were no department stores, no big grocery stores, no library that I could see, and television programs in Spanish. I started to realize that although this would be wonderful for about a month, then what? I found the local doctor’s office and decided I’d need to head to David or even back to Panama City for health care and that would certainly not be convenient.

I talked about buying a small house and my host discouraged it. She (as well as all the expats I talked to) said I should definitely rent for six months to a year before settling there. That would mean I’d be depleting my funds for a purchase. She added further fuel to my thoughts by asking me who would buy my little cottage if I decided after a year or so to leave? The locals couldn’t afford it and the expats tended to band together in gated communities on the outskirts of town so they wouldn’t buy it.

Although I thoroughly enjoyed my time in Boquete, I realized that I probably would not want to settle there. So I flew back to Panama City for my last night’s stay in the country and was picked up by my trusty driver, Sinar (see Part I).

So it appears I’m back to square one – where to go and how to live on social security.