I’ll admit it—I love gadgets. I might even be addicted. It started in junior high when I saw my first eyelash curler. My friends and I would hang at the corner drugstore, checking out the makeup paraphernalia. We couldn’t wait until we were old enough to buy it.
Later on, my gadget addiction focused on kitchen items. My daughter says that I’m not safe in Bed, Bath and Beyond. (I just bought the Core Bamboo bottle cleaner yesterday. I used it this morning and it worked well.)
My kitchen drawers are filled with kitchen gadgets that I must have when I first see them. Now I only see them when I open the drawers they’re stored in.
I don’t want you to think I love all gadgets. I hate remotes. Ever since they came on the scene, I haven’t been able to watch television. Why can’t I have that simple on and off button?
In today’s world Amazon and Apple feed my addiction. Sometimes the two A’s work in tandem: I have several gadgets I’ve bought from Amazon for my iPhone.
Speaking of iPhones, it’s the Mother ship for a whole host of gadgets, otherwise known as Apps. Many are fabulous but I’ve got a ton of those I don’t use either.
Since I’m a weather freak, I love the Dark Sky app. It tells you what the weather is exactly where you are.
And then there’s the health App that connects to the iWatch. It measures all kinds of things.
One thing I don’t have is the wireless earbuds. (I think some techno geeks brainstormed how they could get people to walk around looking nerdy with white tubes sticking out of their ears.)
For us seniors, there are some fabulous new gadgets made just for us. My husband is walking great after having one of these replace his arthritic hip.
But the latest and greatest by far are our new hearing aids. Not only are they not visible when I’m wearing them–they actually work.
And they have the niftiest gadget accessory ever. It’s an adapter that connects to the television and then plays the sound through Bluetooth to your hearing aids. We now can even understand some one from Scotland when they talk!
I’m guessing that the days for gadgets will never be numbered. I’m just hoping I’ll be able to keep up with the newest innovations. I’ve finally gotten fobs mastered. What will be next?
I have been very busy trying to take care of my husband who is recovering from total hip replacement surgery. At first he was on a walker and needed help with just about everything. But he became ambulatory and more self sufficient as each day went by.
My problem in these situations, is that I think I need to be Super Woman and do anything and everything 100 per cent–for the patient, for me, for the world. That’s all well and good until, like a spinning top, I wear down. I’m still going in circles but in a slower, more erratic path. I also depend on coffee cake and pie to see me through.
A week ago, on top of my extra duties, I decided I needed to get back into shape. I attempted to walk 10,000 steps a day. I scheduled an appointment with a trainer. I cut up apples, oranges, carrots, celery and cucumbers for quick snacks versus cookies.
The morning for the workout with the trainer came. Before I went, I wanted to make sure my husband had a good breakfast. Full disclosure: I don’t normally make breakfast. It’s a do-it-yourself meal . . . along with lunch. But, during his recovery, I was doing three meals a day. (He’s very happy this week that he can make it to the fridge on his own so he can get back to grazing.)
All was going well. I’d gotten up early so I could help my husband with his shower, etc. And with getting the dreaded compression stocking on. That, in itself is a workout! I was dressed in my work-out clothes and in the kitchen, getting eggs out of the fridge, by 8:30. Then I stopped breakfast preparations to take the dog for his walk. Outside I noticed a lot of weeds in the front yard, which I felt needed pulling right then and there. By the time I’d fed the dog, it was 9:15 and I knew I had to hurry up.
I cracked the eggs into a favorite bowl and beat them with a fork. I turned to check that the pan was ready, and that’s when it happened. Somehow, the bowl tipped and most of the eggs landed on the floor, dripping their way down the cabinets.
I just stood there for a moment, looking at the oozing mess. When I was younger, I think I would have cried. As a senior citizen, I weighed my options. Might as well take a picture of this mess, I thought. It could be the basis for a blog.
After doing an initial cleaning that at least got the surface mess up, I opened the egg carton to find only one egg. Oh well, I thought, so I don’t eat breakfast. No big deal.
I beat the last egg into the remaining egg mixture, checking the time. It was now 10:00. My workout was at 10:30. As I poured the eggs into the pan, I could hear my husband clumping towards the kitchen.
Okay, back on track, I thought. I turned away from the stove to check on the rolls warming in the oven. When I came back, I noticed the eggs had cooked nicely in the pan. It looks almost like an omelet, I thought and decided to give the eggs a flip. The result was the best looking omelet I’ve ever made.
And yes, ladies and gentleman, that is the story of my life. Sometimes from the pits of a disaster, I’ve rescued the situation to create a success. I never give up. I just keep on keeping on. Why not?
When I first saw this photograph I was struck by its beauty: the blue waters with an island in the right hand corner background; the Humpback whale’s tail, its graceful curve as the ocean water cascades off of the flukes. Then I noticed the clear image of the baby in the left foreground. What a magnificent shot!
I kept looking at the photo, entranced by it’s clear delineations, especially of the calf. I’m not sure if I’ve ever seen a photo like this. On further study, I noticed that the right fluke of the Humpback (in reality, it would be her left fluke) is not only damaged, but half gone. When I went to sleep, my last thought was what could have caused it? In the morning, I started researching. Two hours later, I’ve learned a lot.
For the last four years, my husband and I have lived in Hawaii in the winter. (When we were younger, we’d say that when we got old, we’d do just that. One day, we looked in the mirror and decided unanimously that it was now or never. The time had come!) We love the Big Island (Hawaii) and love sighting the whales that come by from December through March. But I wasn’t extremely curious about the whales–just accepted their presence while marveling at seeing them breach and slap their tails loudly on the water’s surface.
I knew that the Humpbacks left Alaska in the fall, but I didn’t know their annual migration of 6,000 miles is one of the longest of any mammal’s. It takes them six to eight weeks to reach Hawaii. This is where they mate, give birth, and begin nurturing their calves. A calf spends about a year with its mother.
But seeing the injury made me curious. I now know, for instance, that it’s called lobtailing when a whale sticks their tale into the air, swings it around and slaps the water. It’s thought that lobtailing could be a form of communication or a way to loosen parasites from the tail. It’s very loud.
So back to the injury. What could cause it? In my reading, I found out that there could have been a killer whale attack, or a collision with a ship. But the number one reason for the whale tail injuries is that the whale becomes entangled in some fishing gear. Of course, I have no notion of what caused this Mama Whale’s injury. I just wish the both of them well on their long trek back to the reality of icy waters in Alaska.
- Whalefacts.org has a lot of other great information.
I had the most interesting experience yesterday—it was also enlightening.
On my walk every morning in Hawaii, I pass by the Canoe Club, a private facility for members of Hualalai Club. Yesterday as I chugged up the incline I noticed a photo shoot in session. Since I do the Members Blog, I stopped to take my own picture of this Hualalai happening.
Ah hah, I thought. This is the demographic they aim for: a young woman and a middle-aged man.
I took several photos of the set up and then of the silver haired photographer taking the photo of the couple lounging by the Jacuzzi. I guessed this photo would end up in a magazine, either advertising life style or the swimwear the two wore. I could see the woman was young and beautiful (although I never saw her face). Although I was at a distance from them, the man looked much older than she was.
I left and walked back home, creating a whole story about the modeling session, the models and the photographers. It was a good story with all kinds of judgments and critical assessments. I was happy with the picture I’d taken and the picture I’d created in my mind.
Then last night, I met all of them: the photographer, his assistant and the two models. It was a mind blower! I didn’t want to give up the story I’d woven for the actual reality, but what are you going to do when you’re confronted with the real people?
The man was much younger looking close up than from a distance. The woman looked just how I thought she would even if I’d imagined her.
“So here’s what I thought,” I told them. “Whoever you were shooting for, the demographics were a young woman with an older, successful man.”
“Thanks a lot, I think,” the man said.
“You look much younger, now that I’m meeting you,” I said.
He grinned, looking even more boyish.“ Now that’s good to hear.”
“How old are you?” I asked.
It turned out he was 53 and she was 40.
“Ah, so I wasn’t far off.” I gave them my know-it-all smile.
I told the photographer I’d taken a picture of him photographing the couple. “I hope I framed it well,” I said.
I turned to his assistant. “It was so early this morning it looked like you needed a cup of coffee to keep you awake.”
She looked startled and then gave me an embarrassed smile.
It turned out they were all from Oahu. The man was a teacher who worked with students from the Marshall Islands. I’d worked with students from there the year before when I volunteered at Palamanui Community College, so we chatted for a while.
As my husband and I walked away I said, “I feel like was just in a Woody Allen movie.”
“What do you mean?”
“Remember in “Annie Hall” when Marshall McLuhan shows up? That’s how it felt. Kind of like a bent reality.”
As I tried to fall asleep, I couldn’t stop thinking about meeting the real people who’d become figments of my imagination. It was interesting. But also a bit more than unsettling.
People often ask me when I started writing. I seriously began when I was in seventh grade, writing poetry. But I started story telling much before that. I remember creating stories for my sister when we were little. They were always dramas involving our paper dolls, who survived only with the help of scotch tape.
Recently when I should have been writing, I got caught by an internet website, which showed famous people when they were young and what they look like now. A couple of them were photos of our movie star paper dolls.
This is Arlene Dahl who is now 93. I read up on her–six husbands and three children. She is very into astrology and is still very beautiful. Of course being me, I wanted to change her eyebrow color immediately. A little microblading?
Ann Blyth was another movie star paper doll who had adventures in our playroom. She was born in 1928. At 90, she’s still a stunner! She’s the mother of five children.
I still remember when my mother gave me a dollar to buy ground round for meatloaf for our family of five. I walked the mile to the grocery on Broadway, feeling very important. There was enough money left for me to go next door to the drugstore and buy paper dolls. What a luxury.
I think I’m so smart but I’m as stupid as ever. One of my NYRs was to slow down and see the world around me: to not be in such a rush; to not cram more into a day that can fit; to not rob Peter to pay Paul. But give me a chance and I’ll do them all.
Take this morning. I started my day right with a walk and yoga. But on my walk to yoga, I talked to my daughter the whole time so I was basically in two places at once. I attempted to stay in the present during yoga but my mind wandered to places all over the world.
But that wasn’t so bad. It was on the way home that I really blew it. I started doing my email, thinking that I could do it then and save time when I got home. Fortunately something made me look up and I realized what an idiot I was being. My walk is on an ocean pathway that is gorgeous any day. But today it’s very windy (there’s a storm somewhere) and the surf is amazing.
The waves in front of me hit the rocks with such force that the spray blossomed like a fireworks flower.
Why was I looking down when all this glory was around me?
“Put your phone down,” the actually wise part of me said. “Quit multi-tasking and enjoy!”
A lesson learned? I hope so.
So I did the radio interview. I did a two-hour preparation for the eight minutes, consolidating and outlining my main points. I’m not much for promoting myself but I knew this was an opportunity to push Radio Days so I had half a page just on the book. Someone advised me to spread out the pages on my desk so I could see all of them at once, which I did. But the time went quickly; I didn’t have time to look at the color coded pages. Eight minutes goes so fast that I left some important things out. Like thanking Writer’s Relief for guiding me all these years.
Not to say I’m an anxious person, but I did wake up at 4:30 in the morning—of course I did. Even if I’m in the elderly category, I’m still a nervous jervis. As my Aunt Lil always said, “Where ever you go, you take yourself with you.”
Besides, when you’re in the senior aging department, you have more to worry about than simply failing. You have to make sure your hearing aids have fresh batteries and are tuned up. You have to make sure your voice will be clear and not hoarse. (This required gargling with salt water, drinking tea with honey and sucking on a cough drop.) Another problem I have as a senior is sneezing a jillion times. Since they mowed the grass today, I had to use the Neti Pot and take Sudafed. Also, I only get two bars on my cell phone so I had to remind myself not to move while I was talking.
One good thing though about radio—it didn’t matter how I looked.