I Get By……

I had a little shard of glass in my foot yesterday,  Not even a shard, a grain of glass.  It is amazing how something so small could be so painful.  Hopping on my one good foot  I swabbed down a tweezer and a safety pin. I contorted my inflexible body so that I could sort of see the bottom of my foot, and set up my phone flashlight so I could take a peek.  I saw nothing- (this was one of those moments I hated progressive contacts- they neither help me close up or far away to any degree of accuracy)  So I did what any normal person in pain would do- I starting blindly picking at skin, while running my finger over the spot at what I then thought was a splinter, hoping I could will it out.  I exfoliated a bit of dead skin, but the foreign object was still there.

It was time to change my course of action.  I called my neighbor, asked if she was home, and if so, could she grant me a rather odd request?

This was very hard for me to do.  I am a person who takes her independence very seriously.  I always think I can figure it out, do whatever it takes, completely unassisted.  I have a husband, but I really keep him around because I enjoy his company and he takes the dog on the 10pm walk.  He’s perfectly happy watching me put together furniture and fix the internet connection.  I despise needy people- the kind that always need someone around, and can’t stand the pleasure of their own company- but that’s a whole other blog for another day.

As I’ve gotten older, I realize that sometimes you need help from others- sometimes it’s better to get a little assistance, like asking your neighbor to get something out of your foot (I’m happy my neighbor was home because I really didn’t want to ask my doorman)

After the shard debacle, I was having coffee with a friend, someone who is more fiercely independent than I am.  We discussed eventually moving to some sort of retirement community, because we realize, it would be nice to be surrounded by people in basically the same situation.  To be surrounded by people that we could assist, and if need be, assist us.  We realize that sometimes you need help, and it’s OK to ask for it.

I never felt comfortable asking my Mother for help.  My mother has things she is completely unwilling to even try to do, like reading instructions for a board game or art project.  She would tell me that instructions were written stupidly and she was not a “game person”.  She was also not an “outdoor” person.  Or a “sport” person. (She was, however a “shopping person”- but I digress again into a whole other blog)  So I learned to read instructions, and figure out my girl scout badges by myself.  But then, my Mother is also the queen of “I told you so”.  There are literally thousands of topics she is “expert” in, so if I were to admit I needed help, it would require a 3 hour lecture, and then this topic would be brought up constantly. (to this day, she still brings up thing from 40 years ago)  So I stopped asking for help and began to do things on my own.  I wanted to be strong and capable, not weak and needy.

It’s taken 50 years for me to realize that a strong person is one that has the ability to realize when they are in over their head.  It is a strong person that asks for help sometimes.  A strong person knows their limitations.  A weak person thinks they know it all.  A weak person thinks they can handle every situation completely by themselves.  I was right about wanting to be strong- I was wrong on how you become a strong person.

It’s OK to ask for help.  It’s OK not to know everything.  I’m glad I finally realized this.

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What’s a Widget

Officially, this past weekend was my one month blogiversary.  Technically, it’s been slightly less.  I always had a longing to write, and as my 53rd birthday approached, I thought- “Why not start a blog?  How hard could it be?”

To begin:  really hard.  It took me three days to figure out how to get “Site Map” off my one post.  Three days.

Then there was the title.  What am I trying to say?  Getting old sucks but it’s better than the alternative?  That’s a little depressing, and I’m a somewhat upbeat person.  I was thinking about the title while I was still in bed.  As it took me 10 minutes to stretch out the kinks and actually get out of bed- the title came to mind.  And the mission statement?  50 is half of 100- so I’m in the second half.  And isn’t the second half of a game always the best part?

I always thought I was a somewhat intelligent person.  I know how to read.  I know basic arithmetic.  I signed up with WordPress.  That was easy.  I entered my title.  And then I actually tried to form the blog.  Theme?  What’s is a theme? Is this like a party?  Choose A for Roaring Twenties B for Under the Sea?  I just wanted to write a little, maybe throw in a picture or two.  Why does there have to be a theme?  Is one theme better than another?  I knew I could sit stymied by this for days, so I chose what seemed to be the simplest.  And I wrote.

I noticed the Community Pool page, how it was a good place to share your blog and get feedback.  So after twenty minutes and a lot of swearing, I figured out how to put my URL (is that what it’s called) in the comment box.   My one and only response?  Personalize the widgets.

What?

What’s a widget? (That’s not exactly what I exclaimed, but you get the gist)

And I still don’t know if widgets are important or why they’re important.  I don’t think I’ve ever looked at someone’s widgets.  Honestly, I don’t know if I want to look at someone’s widgets.  I want to read their stories, and look at their pictures.  There’s nothing wrong with an attractive face, but I like to see the heart.  To me, in the heart lies the beauty.

Next, I read the “how to” page.  The takeaway was tag your blogs.  I sort of , kind of, know what tagging is.  I live with a #15yearold.  I’ve tagged and been tagged on Facebook.  But how do I tag my work?  What best sums up what I’m writing about?  Wrinkles, age spots and arthritis?  No- that’s not who I am.  Who am I?  A mature woman who has had life experiences, some good and some bad, and I’ve lived to tell the tale.  Someone who is not ready to pack it in just because she can’t walk fast or see with 20/20 accuracy.  Too long for a tag.  And I struggle with the tag every day.  So now I just write in the first 15 words that come to mind, because 15 is the magic tag number.

Then I started reading blogs.  All sorts of blogs because I am interested in all sorts of things.  I love learning new things, and I love finding someone who enjoys the same things I do.  I have read things by people all over the world, and seen photos that I know were taken on my street (though it is a little weird seeing a picture of your local diner on someone else’s blog- I wanted to comment, “did you ever try the French Toast?  It’s delicious”, but feared a restraining order in my future)  And I learned that while everyone is unique, we are still all the same-a bunch of people trying to live the best life they can.

The writing- though.  What about the writing?  That’s why I wanted to blog- because I wanted to write.  And the writing is easy and hard at the same time.  I have opinions on literally every subject there is.  I could write 500 words on how I need to reorganize my desk for maximum efficiency (I’m looking at my not so tidy desk BTW).  So I’m rarely short of ideas.  But what’s the best way to convey meaning?  How should I explain my thoughts?

So my process (as of today, because this whole thing is a work in progress) is to jot down an idea when it comes to me.  I think about it.  And I think some more.  What is the point I’m trying to make?  How do I best convey my point?  What form should I use to write?  And I make a cup of tea, and I write.

So thanks to all of you who are accompanying me on my journey.  Hopefully my writing will improve.  Maybe I’ll make you laugh, or cry, or just feel.  Perhaps I’ll actually learn how to set up my blog properly.  I might even learn what the appropriate tags should be. But most of all, I’m just going to enjoy this new adventure.

UM- You mean me?

It’s about 11 pm on a temperate evening in NYC.  A family exits a Broadway show and the daughter goes to the stage door to try to get autographs of the amazing cast.  A weary mother walks across the street and stands in front of the Scientology Center.  As she scrolls through her emails, a young man approaches.  He is not there to harm her- he is there to chat her up……

Yes.  I got hit on last night.  By a man probably 25 years my junior.

Of course my first thought was “Whaaaat?”

I was dressed rather plainly- simple black dress (think Breakfast at Target, not Tiffany), black flats, grey beaded necklace.  I was not overly made up, and this was not Times Square of the 70’s, so I’m assuming he knew I wasn’t for hire.  I’m attractive, but I look my age-   So whaaat?

I’ve had men approach me with more amorous intentions, but they are men of my age.  OK- not my age, but older.  Much older.  To a 70 year old guy at the gym, or Barnes and Noble, I am a vixen.  But younger guys….whaaat?

Part of getting older has a lot of challenges.  The hardest one for most people is the physical signs of aging- the loss of youthful beauty.  Skin is not as bright, hair is a little greyer, lines creep up around your face.  Gravity takes its toll on your body.  I take care of myself- drink water, exercise, eat reasonably healthy, moisturize every part of my body- but I don’t do these things to look younger- I do them simply to maintain what I have.  And I don’t look 25 anymore.  I don’t look 45.  I look like I’m 53.

So why was this guy asking me out for tea?  What made him stop and talk to a woman standing on the sidewalk scrolling through her smartphone?

He was nice looking, dressed neatly.  He was able to hold a conversation and seemed semi literate.  He was not crass or vulgar.  So what was wrong with him?  Why was he talking to me?

Notice how I think something is wrong with him, not how something was right with me?   That’s what age has done to my mind set.  When I was younger I didn’t question why a man was asking me out.  I assumed he was attracted to the exterior, and then after conversing, was intrigued by my intelligence and wit.  But I always assumed the physical attraction came first.  My mind can not conceive a man in his twenties being physically attracted to me.

I’ve come to this conclusion:  my inner beauty shines brightly.  The confidence that only comes from life experience radiates through every pore and wrinkle on my face.  I am a force to be reckoned with.  It’s a good thing I’m married or watch out……Maybe maturity tops youth.

Or maybe he wasn’t wearing his glasses.

 

 

 

 

Letting Go

I decided it’s time for a mid-year resolution.  I tend to get a little crazy about the small stuff- like irrationally crazy. Like,  I have a hard time letting go and it ruins the rest of my day crazy.  So last Friday, I decided when something irks me, I would take a deep breath, say “Pins and needles, needles and pins…”(extra points to anyone who gets that reference) and let it go.

Here is a list of all the times I took deep breaths in the past three days:

  1. My husband left wet towels on the bed.  Wet towels only belong on drying rack or in the washing machine
  2. My husband put the peaches purchased at the supermarket in the fridge.  I realize the fresh fruit situation is tough in our house because I have rules for every type of fruit and vegetable, and peaches have two.  If peaches are bought at farmers market they are ripe and can be refrigerated.  But he was putting away groceries…
  3. Husband put vegetables in fruit bin and fruit in vegetable bin (I know- I’m a joy to live with)
  4. Daughter used my credit card to buy three small items.  I got three separate emails stating that the items were not in stock and now I have to look for three credits to charge card- (really- how could she purchase something if it was out of stock)
  5. Went to store to pick up light bulbs and hand soap and left store with everything except light bulbs and hand soap
  6. I put in a load of dark laundry and forgot a to put in two items
  7. I forgot to plug in my laptop yesterday, and I didn’t want to write at my desk, but here I am at my desk….

OK- obviously these things are still annoying me.  I rationally know that they are small, insignificant parts of my day.  But the older I get, the more annoyed I get at trivialities.  I have less tolerance and I know  that this is not healthy for my heart or my mind or relationship with family.  I know that life really is too short to obsess about things not being perfect.  Or done exactly my way.

That’s the problem.  It’s becoming set in my ways.  It goes against my own first rule of aging (flexibility).  I am that stereotypical grouchy old person.

But not for long.

From now on, I’m going to be footloose and fancy free.  If someone puts and unused bag in the garbage can I’m not going to ask who did it and give a lecture.  If someone doesn’t throw out garbage when the bag is obviously so full you can’t fit anything in it, I am not going to stomp my feet in disgust.  (technically, these things should have been on the list, but I’m letting it go…..)

I’ll keep you informed as to my progress….

Baby Steps

As my daughter successfully navigated her way through her sophomore year of high school, my husband and I navigated our way through what I can only think of as Pre-K.  Remember pre-k?  Your child spends more time away from you.  They make new friends, learn new things-  it’s the beginning of independence.  This is basically what my husband and I experienced this past year.

For the better part of 15 years, I’ve cringed at the sound of “MOM”.  OK- not really cringed, but how many times can you hear a word before you start to dread it?  It was a Pavlovian response- I hear Mom and I stop what I’m doing and follow the sound.  But that changed this year.  I began to hear the word less and less.  I was no longer asked to help with homework-( To be fair, I no longer understand the questions she’s being asked.  When she showed me a question she had on Dante, I just laughed)  Armed with a metrocard and an Uber app, she no longer asked me to pick her up or meet her when she was returning home.  A part time tutoring job gave her a little financial independence.  Things that I had previously done for her she began doing herself.  I was proud of her confidence and her ability to get things done, yet….it was a little weird.  I now had more time to spend with the husband.

The husband?  Oh yeah- that guy I share the house with.  We had more time together.  What now?

I have friends who have already experienced empty nest, but now my husband and I got to preview it for free.  The daughter is obviously still around- we feed her and all, but she’s got her own life.  Now we had to recreate our own life.

But how to start dating your husband after fifteen year?

I tried to think back to what we did when we were dating.  Remembering anything can be a challenge, and I really wished my old palm pilot still worked so I could look back at my social calendar.   But this shouldn’t be too hard.  I mean- I talked to this guy every day….So I came up with a plan and made a list.

We’re both foodies, so I started researching restaurants.  My goal wasn’t to try the top 50 dining establishments in my city- I wanted it to be fun.  We love ethnic street food, so I picked a staple (hand cut and knife pulled noodles) and began visiting establishments that served them.  We compared our favorites, discussed why we didn’t like certain dishes.  We tried new places and explored neighborhoods we didn’t know much about.  We created new memories of just the two of us.

I read up on things to do in the city (OK- I live in NYC- there is literally something happening all the time) Pinball, shuffleboard, indoor driving ranges.  Galleries, lectures, outdoor concerts.  Instead of planning activities that we thought the daughter might like, we concentrated on things we might like.   When we were home during the week we played backgammon or darts. I’m guessing we’ll eventually take up bridge.  (My friends Mother in law said that you can’t survive empty nesthood without learning how to play cards)  It really didn’t matter the activity- it was being able to connect with one another.

We also upped our double dating game.  I made a conscious effort to plan outings with our friends.  When the kids were younger, I didn’t like socializing with friends because the outings often included children. ( I know.  I’m horrible.  But I don’t love hanging out with other peoples children.  Everyone is allowed to parent their child any way they see fit.  I just don’t need to see it)  But an “R” rated evening- maybe PG13- is always welcome.  And the husband got to see how great a wife I am.  Sometimes side by side comparison is your friend.

There is also some compromising involved.  I watch Ranger games with the husband.  (This is especially hard as I grew up in the shadow of Nassau Coliseum as an Islander fan)  He goes to video installation art with me (I’m obsessed with any sort of edited footage of different events to create a story- him- not even close).

The biggest challenge is learning to communicate without your child as buffer.  Conversing for an hour or so without mentioning the kids is often difficult.  You know how acquaintances will start discussing the weather?  Parents just automatically talk about the kids- and it’s a hard habit to break.  Each partner needs to make a conscious effort to talk about other things.  Remember when you were dating?  Remember the conversations?  You didn’t talk about kids back then- don’t do it now.

Preparing for the nest to be empty is a work in progress.  There will be bumps in the road, but we just have to figure out how to handle them.  Baby steps- a little more each day.

 

You Can’t Remake Your Youth

Apparently, a remake of “Dirty Dancing” was made.  I saw a commercial.  I saw some of the stars being interviewed.  What I did not see was the actual remake.  I refused on the grounds of….I just don’t want to.

I remember when the original came out.  I loved that movie.  I thought it was an amazing coming of age story.  You watched Baby learn how to navigate an adult world, toeing the line between being a teen age daughter and becoming an independent adult.  It also gave the viewer a glimpse into the historic cultural changes that were about to hit in the 1960s.

Debra Messing portrays the Mother in the remake.  I saw her interviewed.  I love Debra Messing as an actress.  She is funny and warm and intelligent, and she starred in on of my favorite all time sitcoms.  But when she talked about how you were going to see much more of the mothers story…….stop.  Stop right there.  This isn’t about the mother.  It’s about Baby becoming Francis.  That was the beauty of it.

So watching the remake was never going to happen.

I couldn’t help but wonder: why remake this movie?  This movie that people adore?

Can something become more iconic?

Or are we just trying to recreate a perfect experience?

Sometimes things need to remain a memory.  Sometimes things need to remain in the past.  There are no do overs.

When life gets tough, we often think back to “the good old days”.  We look at old pictures, watch video, reread journals…..anything to bring us to a better place.  We want to recreate the good feelings that we had.  But you can’t recreate an exact moment, an exact feeling.  A unique set of circumstances happened in a unique order to create a singular experience.  A guy walks into a room exactly when you turn your head…..Love at first sight.  You can never remake that specific moment.  That specific feeling.

You can’t remake your innocence.

The reason past experiences seem so much better is because we viewed them with less mature eyes.  Getting older is simply adding more life experience to our bodies, to our minds, to our hearts.  As each day passes we may suddenly understand something better, form a new hypothesis.  Conversely, things could get a little more confusing, add new questions to our already overloaded circuits.

We can’t remake our memories because we are no longer the people we were.

So:

Remember the past

Plan for the future

Live in the present

 

 

 

 

 

Lessons I Learned at a Day Spa

For my most recent birthday, my family gifted me with a spa certificate.  The aesthetic of this particular spa is soothing water based relaxation, featuring steam, sauna, plunge pool and jetted pool. The goal of an experience such as this is pure relaxation.  Pure relaxation can lead to thinking about varying things, both deep and shallow…..So, in no particular order, are the things that pure relaxation brought to mind.

1) There is no reason to post a “Maximum Occupancy 2” sign above an ice cold plunge pool.  I didn’t see one person go in past their ankles.

2) The locker room made me self conscious.  I am not thin, nor am I heavy.  But my body has changed with age.  Since Voldemort (I’m using this word because I don’t want to use the dreaded “M” word) I have gone up a few sizes.  My body has shifted uncomfortably south.  Changing into my bathing suit in a locker room of extremely fit 20 somethings was a little intimidating.  I felt judged (and honestly, I probably was) and I wanted to scream ” talk to me in 30 years…after you’ve had a kid”) For the first time in my life I changed out of my bathing suit in the stall( to be fair, the location was practical).

3) Two cups of chamomile tea, three glasses of lemon water and the sounds of a waterfall  are not great on a post childbirth bladder.

4) The smell of eucalyptus in a a steamroom is intoxicating.  I am going to buy a dram of eucalyptus oil to sniff whenever I want to get to my Happy place.

5) Mothers and daughters visit the spa together.  I could never do that with my Mom.  First off, she would hate the spa experience.  She would not find water therapy relaxing.  She would not enjoy a massage.   But more importantly, my Mom is not my friend yet- she is still clearly trying to control any situation we are both involved in.  This wasn’t a new thing I learned at the spa- it just highlighted my relationship issue with her.  After 53 years the relationship between my mother and I is still in the rough stages.  My goal is for my relationship with my daughter will be better.  I don’t know how to fix my relationship with my Mother.

6) I don’t understand why people want you to be quiet in a loud coffee shop, but have no problem being loud in a whirlpool tub with only classical music and rushing water sounds as backdrop.

7) I found the steam room to be a little claustrophobic at first.  I almost didn’t want to shut the door because I had this insane fear that I wouldn’t be able to open the door again.  (I think I saw that scene in a horror movie) But it was also about how steamy the room was (duh)- I couldn’t see in front of me.

8) I found myself in the sauna with two men.  No, I didn’t feel self-conscious about my body (that special privilege is reserved to when I’m around women).  But I had to laugh, because I think men just always talk about sports.  I learned way more than I ever wanted to about the basketball playoffs.

9) Warm towels are spectacular.  I can think of no other word to describe drying off with a big, fluffy warm towel.

10) When the masseuse asks if there is any part of your body that is particularly tense, it’s easier to list the parts that aren’t tense.

Alas, my spa day ended way too soon.  When I returned home I found to my dismay that I was not exempt from:

1) walking the dog

2) baking brownies for a bake sale

3) laundry

4) buying peaches and eggs

5) accompanying my daughter to her annual check up

and so on……

But while it lasted, my day was perfect, for body and soul.

 

We All Get Older

Every day, we get a little bit older.  Every day, the people around us get a little older.  There’s a young woman who lives in my building. I remember the day she came home from the hospitol.  In a month, she’ll be graduating high school.  She got older.

There’s another woman in my building.  I met her when she formed the building book club.  She was 55 then, not much older than I am now.  She was a practicing therapist and an avid bird watcher,- divorced  by choice, with absolutely no interest in remarriage.  She was living a rich fulfilling life.

She retired as a therapist five years later, age 60.  And at age 60, she wrote a book.  Over the next few years she became an active fund raiser for causes she believed in.  Her secret dream was to be a stand up comedian- and she began performing at amateur nights.  To watch her onstage was mesmerizing- she was having so much fun.  Her behavior post 60 was what my teenage daughter would refer to as goals.

A few years later, things began to change.   It was a small thing at first- she had always brought fruit to club meetings, and suddenly she stopped.  I like fruit as a snack, so I began bringing fruit.  And she yelled at me- told me fruit was her thing.  Normally I’m a huge fan of conflict, but this particular issue wasn’t worth my ire.  I just brought something else and book club went fruitless.

A few months later she  quit the book club she lovingly formed and cultivated.  The woman who once embraced all genres suddenly only wanted to read novels of espionage-which was odd in that she had always abhorred books like that.

Fast forward a year.  I saw her in the lobby of my building.  She pulled me aside and said:

“Someone has been taking things from my apartment.  I’m missing things.”

I asked her if she told the super, and she replied that it was the super who was taking things.

What do I do?  Part of me is thinking, she’s a little older, she could be misplacing things.   I knew that her family had recently hired a companion to help her during the day and I certainly didn’t want anyone taking advantage of her.  I knew her son came by weekly to check on her, so I left a note with my doorman.

Her son called.  He was happy that I was watching out for his Mother’s well being.  He explained that he did a weekly inventory of his Mom’s belongings, and everything was accounted for.  The only thing missing were little bits of her memory.

I’ve watched this amazing woman for years.  She lived her life and did the things she wanted.  Her bucket list is all crossed off. So why am I a little bit heartbroken?

Maybe it’s harder to watch someone else get older.  Maybe I worry that this is my fate 15 years from now.  Maybe I worry that one day my daughter will be taking inventory of the things in my apartment.  It’s probably a compilation of all of the above.

So what’s the message?  Live, love, enjoy.  Eat, drink, dance, sing.  Thats all I’ve got.  Perhaps, that’s all we need.

 

The End (of a theater)

One of my favorite movie theaters will be closing in January.  The building is going to be torn down and supposedly will be replaced by a retail establishment (as yet to be determined).  There is no historical ot cultural significance to this theater.  It is not a landmark, nor do I have specific memories tied to it.  So why is this seemingly benign event bothering me?  Let me count the ways:

1) They feature under the radar movies.  Critically acclaimed, foreign, documentaries- movies that I love to see but are not shown in a traditional cineplex.

2) The seats are large and comfy, with decent legroom, and most importantly, stadium seating.  As I’m short, I appreciate being able to see the screen instead of someone’s head.

3) They serve hot tea.  My beverage of choice is tea.  Very few theaters serve tea.  The combination of tea and a movie is intoxicating.

4) An usher comes out before the film starts and welcomes us to the theater.  The usher tells us that they will come back into the theater 15 minutes after the film has started in case we have issues with volume, picture quality or temperature.  I like this.  It makes me feel cared for in an often uncaring world.

5) The theater is easily accessed by public transportation.  This is important during bad weather when movie viewing is highly desirable.  It is also a nice walk on a pleasant day.

But most importantly:

6) The theater is in the middle of a virtual food Mecca.  All types of cuisine, all price ranges, casual to trendy to fancy.  It’s perfect.

So why is this the most important reason?

I love quirky movies.  I embrace sub titles.  I look forward to learning about something new.  The husband though…..not so much.  His passion is not film, it’s food.

So I approach my husband as follows:

Me: There’s an awesome documentary about cats in Istanbul out in the theater.

The Husband:  That’s nice.

Me: I read about an awesome Sri Lankan place.  They have this dish called roti, which is where they take the roti, cut it up, and sauté it with this marinated chicken.  It’s right around the block from the cat theater.

The Husband: What times the movie and do we need reservations?

And everyone is happy.

Until now.  Cause this perfect theater is closing.  But until the credits roll in January, I’ll take advantage and savor the moments.  And start looking for theaters with good restaurants around them.

Happy Monday!

 

Fill in the Blank: _________ can wait

No, this is not one of those dreaded tests you took a kid.  This is just a little exercise in mindfulness.

I went to see the movie “Paris Can Wait” yesterday.  (Side note- starring Diane Lane.  When there is a movie about my life, I want Diane Lane to play me.  I think she’s perfect.  And look at my optimism- I’m sure I’m going to do something notorious enough to warrant my life on screen)

But anyway.  The literal plot of the movie is that it takes 2 1/2 days to make a 7 hour car journey to Paris. The figurative plot is that sometimes we have to slow down and savor life and remember what’s important.  The figurative plot is the winner here.

On their journey from Cannes to Paris, they stop at museums and old churches.  They buy gorgeous fruit from vendors, indulge in luxurious wines, order every chocolate dessert on the menu.  They try.  They experience.  They slow down.  They live.

How often do we actually live life?  Savor the taste of food?  Sit and actually listen to music, paying attention to its subtle nuances?  Sit at a dinner table without a phone or electronic device?  Sometimes we need to slow down.  Sometimes we need to live in the moment.

So- I said it wasn’t a test, but I didn’t say there wouldn’t be homework.  Here’s your assignment:

1) Figure out something that can wait, a chore, an obligation, anything.   (Mine would be shredding.  There is no timeline on when routine household shredding needs to be accomplished)

2) Engage in an activity you love

3) Stretch out the time you engage in this activity- pay attention to each step of the process

4) Live in the moment

5) Enjoy