Oh Deer!

As I strolled around the clothing store Old Navy last week, a memory took me back nearly 50 years, clear as day.

Once upon a time, I had a boyfriend named Jim who celebrated Christmas. Each year for at least 3, I asked, “What do you want under your tree from me?” His answer was always the same: “A sweater with deer on it.” “Why?” I asked that first time. “Because I want to wear it,” he said, which essentially told me nothing.

I was surprised that this tough guy who rode a motorcycle would be drawn to this kind of sweater. What was the appeal? Was it… a macho move? holiday-themed apparel that he’d wear to his family’s Christmas gatherings? the start of ugly sweater phenomenon?

The question I wanted to figure out was twofold: Who would wear a knitted replica of an animal on his or her sweater...and why?

The answer may have been simple: a deer hunter, that’s who. Jim, his dad and all his buddies hunted deer. Traditionally they’d go to the mountains on multiple fall and winter weekends and return home animated, with stories galore, clearly having had a lot of fun. They spoke about the appearance and personality of the deer: their grace, resilience, reaction to fear, quick running time, and so on. I didn’t want to hear their strategies of hunting them and how delicious the fresh deer meat was.

When I asked Jim how he could care so much about deer and also hunt them, he said that it was necessary to prevent them from starvation and a long, painful death out in the wilderness, competing with large numbers of deer with limited food resources that could not sustain them all.

He was not talking my language, or I didn’t want to hear what I viewed as an “excuse” to have fun, when it took the life of something. I was a city girl, he was a mountain boy, and as you’d guess, our upbringings were very different. Spending time with each other’s families meant being exposed to a new world: Hunting deer was a big topic in his house, with décor including a stuffed deer head in the dining room, while Philadelphia problems and the political landscape were forever on the table at ours. I was pretty sure that my mom, who loved the mountains more than anything, would not be happy to know that her daughter’s boyfriend targeted beautiful deer and then put one on display.

One night, his mom invited me to join them for dinner. She said Jim told her I like meat…his family of 5 and I sat around the dining room table – I was facing that deer! I helped myself to a slice of meat, somewhat unnerved because it was quite dark and not what I was expecting. All eyes were on me when I took a bite…and then when I realized I was chewing on venison (deer meat)…I spit it out!  

That was in the 1970s…another lifetime ago. It wasn’t until my recent sighting of a sweater with deer that I wondered if I would still be shopping for one every year if we were still together. Would I have been OK with a stuffed dear head in our dining room? I highly doubt it.

When I got home from Old Navy, I asked David if it made sense to him that Jim would have wanted to wear a sweater with deer on it. He seemed to appreciate that doing so may have reflected his pride, like a badge of honor; high regard for the sport; a conquest of sorts; and endearment for the deer. All of these emotions could co-exist in this scenario.

I can finally put this question: Why did he want to wear a sweater with deer on it? to rest.

I didn’t understand the notion of sentiments co-existing when I was a teen, about deer or anything else for that matter. I also needed to evolve in my thinking to grasp the notion that perhaps hunting small numbers of deer is OK as an effective strategy in wildlife management.

We’ve had deer in the woods behind my house for many years, and I often think about how they survive. I hope they are OK back there, not only for their sake but for mine, because catching a glimpse of them always brings me peace.

The funny thing is that in all this time of seeing the deer, I hadn’t once thought about Jim and his sweaters until my walk around Old Navy.    

Robert Redford

He was a striking man, that Robert Redford, no doubt about it, especially in The Way We Were, which I have seen over and over again. I can recite both his and the lovely and amazingly talented Barbra Streisand’s lines – and facial expressions – without hesitation.

Facebook posters gave him a lot of attention when he passed. One such headline, “Robert Redford was a stunning man,” left me wondering how the public would respond. While I agree 100%, I was sure that the naysayers would trash him since that’s what people do nowadays. Even the most innocuous post can turn sour, with people intentionally spewing negativity to stir the pot.

I glanced down at the comments and saw that there were over 2,000. I wondered how long it would take to get to the contrary nature of the replies. I guessed that by the 10^th comment, someone would say that Bob (Robert) was a jerk, that Paul Newman was better looking, that he had no talent, that he was arrogant, that he had body odor...you name it.     

I got to the 10th comment and n o t h i n g! No harsh remarks! In a sick way, I was almost disappointed! What’s going on here, I asked myself. Surely by the 20^th comment, someone would have to criticize him for something. By the 50^th, I was more confused than ever: compliments multiplied. The guy loved nature and advocated for environmental causes; he created the Sundance Film Festival, where independent filmmakers had a voice, were seen, and advanced; he was a mentor to many actors; he was a caring and compassionate friend, father, grandfather and so on.  

Even though a total time suck, I indulged myself in another 20 minutes of scouring the comments. I became obsessed with what I’d read next. I was determined to find cruel words that would feed into my assertion that no subject can be complimented without some kind of disagreement and then a barrage of personal insults. After about 100 more, I gave up. No unkind or dark commentary. WTF??? Maybe people aren’t as predictable – or as nasty – as I had come to believe.  

No one I know personally knew Bob, so it’s impossible to know what he was like behind closed doors. But, after reading all this praise, I felt pretty good about this heartthrob.

Fast forward to yesterday. I was reading about actor Michael J. Fox’s new book, Future Boy.  I adored him when he was Alex P. Keaton in Family Ties, before his Back to the Future trilogy. Unlike his prior writing where he shared his life as a man with Parkinson’s Disease, this book focuses on his acting roles and experiences breaking into the world of show business.

Turns out that Bob made a lasting impression on him too. Michael said that before he was in Family Ties, he wanted to play the role of the young boy in Ordinary People, a movie that Bob was directing, and he auditioned for it, with Bob present. However, it didn’t go as Michael had hoped. He said that Bob was clearly unimpressed with him, flossing his teeth throughout the interview, which suggested to Michael that he was not being taken seriously.  

I guess Bob wasn’t perfect after all…but almost.

Don't Ask, Don't Get

My girlfriend, who is in her early 60s and a longtime divorcee, texted me the other day, saying that she wanted to talk. My first thought was Oh No! because all too often that’s code for Help!

I told her to call, and she did right away, so I assumed something was wrong.  

However, her voice didn’t reflect that. She sounded hyped up, like she just consumed an extra cup of coffee. She then proceeded to say that she had taken a friend of hers – a much older gentleman – to do his errands and, on their way home, out of the blue, he began to reflect on their friendship.

“We have been friends for a long time,” he said…and “I’ve been thinking about this for awhile…if you ever want to cuddle, I’d be happy to do that.”

He went on to say that he is sure she misses the closeness she shared way back with her ex-husband and that he isn’t suggesting they be intimate but rather that he could provide comfort for her.

Maybe he simply expressed what his heart felt. Maybe he was so appreciative for their bond that he wanted to do what he could to soften the loneliness he perceived she felt. Maybe HE missed the cuddling, etc. since his wife passed over a decade ago. Maybe his proposal was a smokescreen for let’s just start here and see what happens. Maybe he was moved by the compassion he felt for his friend at that moment and surprised himself by saying it. Anything was possible.

At the time, she was speechless, as much about his boldness as his intention. In the moment, she wasn’t put off by it, but she also wasn’t interested, primarily because she couldn’t picture herself with a man who was a good 20 years her senior, but that feeling was about her, not him.

If the request was about what HE wanted, she and I agreed that it was pretty impressive that he put himself out there like that, just going for what he wanted.  What admirable chutzpah! I guess at his age, he’s figured out that If you don’t ask, you don’t get.  You don’t live that long and not learn that lesson. I’m sure he knew it was unlikely that she would take him up on his offer, but if he was going to wait for her to make a move, that definitely wasn’t going to happen.   

And if the request was solely about her, he truly is a good friend, and she feels very lucky to have him in her corner. Hopefully the two will move forward enjoying one another’s company as they always had, despite the possible contrast in feelings.

I ran into her a couple of days later and asked how it felt being the object of desire. She then asked me if I thought he was her target demographic now…should she be expecting to attract more 80+-year-old suitors?

Either way, she was smiling.

Young and Old

Most of the time, I’m living the quiet, relaxed empty nester senior citizen life with David. In the weeks leading up to summer, our days included at least one of these categories: doctors’ appointments; checking up on Medicare claims; discussing our new aches and pains; planning meals in accordance with voiding needs; discount shopping on Senior Day at the local supermarket; and so on.

Don’t get crazy now; this isn’t all we do. We each have things we enjoy together and apart and work hard to keep our days fun, productive and full.  

Starting in June with a 6-week visit with our Morocco family – including our 2 youngest grandchildren, ages 5 and 2 – I became keenly aware of the dichotomy of life as a senior when we are on our own vs. with the sustained presence of little ones.

During our time together, our familar home environment changed as we became immersed in the kind of children’s world that I haven’t experienced since my kids were toddlers. While it is true that there have been other long stays and we see our three local grandchildren often, this last visit impacted me on a different level: it left me more energized than I have in a long time.

There are 2 events in particular that may have led to this feeling. One weekend, we went to an amusement park – all the kids and grandkids, 14 in all – and after initially saying “No, I’ll pass” on a roller coaster that I hadn't been on in 40 years, I quickly changed my stance when I saw that our 5-year-old needed someone to ride with or she wouldn’t have been able to go. How could I refuse? I pulled myself together, didn’t overthink, and off we went. When I was afraid of how high we were, I looked at her smiling and I smiled, too, for the rest of the day….week…month.

Some time later, a handful of us went to a very large indoor playground and again one of our 5-year-olds wanted to climb to the top. This was the LAST thing I wanted to do, but her mom was busy with her 2-year-old sister, so I had to step up. She caught on pretty quickly that her MomMom is a wuss, but she ignored it and started to climb, knowing I was behind her. She cheered me on and encouraged me to go higher until she said she was ready to get down. I asked, “You sure?” as I breathed a sigh of relief. I was so proud of myself. 

What I realized during the visit was that there was no space free during the day – or night – to obsess about ourselves and to identify as old folks the way I know we do, when we are alone.  It was an exhilarating reset.

Just hours after they left, and we went back to looking at each other and saying Now What?!?!?, I could feel us sliding back into our patterns as we picked up where we left off.

At breakfast the next morning, the quiet echoed so loud without the voices of the kiddies talking and squealing and laughing. I was busy scrambling eggs when I noticed that David was focused on my pajama bottoms. He looked confused, then entertained, with a ghoulish grin on his face. I glanced down at my PJs expecting but fearful of some kind of nasty stain but saw nothing. I twisted around to see the back of them and there it was…a tail of toilet paper.

I had an immediate flashback of a similar scenario with my mom over a decade ago, but she was…96!  And here I am, 30 years younger, wondering what went wrong with me in the bathroom...and is this the new normal?!? It took me a couple of days to rebound.

All this to say that I realize I'm going to have senior moments from now until the day I’m no longer here. That’s the reality.

But – also a reality – I still have it in me to feel young and do youthful things!

 

Coincidences

There are run-of-the-mill coincidences that are haha funny, like seeing someone at a restaurant and then the next day at the farmers market, after not seeing him or her for years. It’s weird, and maybe you wonder about it for a minute or two but, in the scheme of things, who cares?

Then there are other coincidences that are so impactful in evoking emotion that it’s impossible to imagine that these two happenings were unrelated and mean nothing. NO WAY.  

As you might expect, David and I don’t see eye-to-eye on coincidences. You can probably guess which one of us believes coincidences can be meaningful in contrast to always being random.

I called David on my way home from running errands one day this past week, and we had the usual conversation that 2 retirees who are home together every single day all day might say to one another as we approach the lunchtime hour: “What should we have?”

Unlike most days, when I called this time, he said he needs to get out of the house (code for something’s not right), so let’s think of a place to sit outside for lunch. Once I got home and we started the 5-minute drive to Honeygrow, I asked what was bothering him. He told me that his former colleague’s wife had just died. She was just 59 years old.

Hearing about this woman’s passing and imagining the sadness of all those left behind transformed David’s serene state of mind after working outside on a perfect weather day into a very sad one with an endless plethora of memories and emotions about his beloved Matthew.  

I was glad that David suggested going out, knowing that more time outdoors on this sunny day would do him good.  

Just as we were ready to sit down in the dining area outside, a man called out: “David Minches?”

Turns out he was David’s former neighbor who he hadn’t seen for some 25 years, so after a warm greeting, the two started the catch-up conversation. Then I heard the dreaded question: “How are the KIDS doing?” Kids, plural. Ugh.

David brought up Lauren first, and said she and her family are living in Morocco…and I held my breath. I hoped the neighbor would somehow get distracted and forget about this family talk and that somehow the conversation would be redirected to something – anything – other than where I feared it was going. Instead, when David took a breath after talking about Lauren, the man asked, “How’s Matthew?”  

This guy still lives in Cherry Hill, where we live, and he has sons whose ages are aligned with Matthew’s. How did he not know – or forget? He likely blocked out the horrid information many moons ago.

And there we were, at Honeygrow of all places, to change the downward spiral of emotions that David was experiencing, counting on more fresh air and a change of scenery that would allow him to refocus.  

I didn’t know what he’d say, given that this is a question no one in David’s shoes would want to answer. He told his old neighbor that Matthew passed away 15 years ago when he was 20, and the neighbor was, as you might expect, speechless. My guess is that this man will never ask a question like this again to anyone he hasn’t seen for a long time.

We will never know if and how the 2 happenings an hour apart were somehow connected in some crazy way, but me being me believes there is meaning to be had.

To David, it was just a bad coincidence on all counts, except for reuniting with his very kindhearted neighbor.

I Can See Clearly...Now

This week I went to see my eye doctor for a long overdue “annual” checkup. I have seen the same woman for almost a decade and always enjoy my visits, other than during the eye pressure exam for glaucoma, which makes me nauseous.

After our usual chit chat and exam, I was feeling relieved and pretty darn pleased with myself, thinking I was going to get out of there without anything to obsess about, or even write about in my blog post.

Just as I was getting ready to go, she said the C-word. Now when I say THAT, I so fortunately do not mean cancer. And I don’t mean the 4-letter word that is my least favorite in the entire English language.

So NO to cancer and NO to a word that rhymes with Hunt.

But YES to…Cataracts!

“Nothing to worry about yet,” the doctor said. “It’s in the early stage. We can talk about it more next time,” she said. That’ll be in the summer of 2026. Perfect! Should I have this appointment before or after my colonoscopy?

Add this to other age-related nuisances, such as my current bout with Arthritis, regular use of a stool softener, all sorts of creams – firming cream for the sagging on my neck, two face creams – one for the morning to and one at night, with a pair of readers nearby so I don’t mix them up, which I’ve done a few times, and so on.

I am aware that many peeps need surgery to get these little cataract buggers removed, so I know I’m not unique; I’m not going to make the history books with this issue. But – you know me by now – I’ll likely write about it along with more of the whole aging thing.

Obviously the longer we live, the more that will go wrong that we will have to deal with, and hopefully we will manage OK with whatever comes along.

As David’s former boss who always had catchy phrases for important situations used to say, “the alternative is worse.”

I am counting on that to be true.

Packages

Who doesn’t like coming home to a package with your name on it? Kind of like a birthday party all year long!  I always get a kick out of how easy it is to find something on the internet that I want / need / can’t find anywhere else, execute a few clicks, and get it delivered to my door. But, I often forget what I ordered and/or lose track of what is expected when, so it’s an especially fun surprise when I get it.  

Generally, David opens my packages to simplify the process for me. If I don’t want him to do that – always around his birthday or Hanukkah – I tell him in advance to leave my packages, unopened, on the dining room table.  

Some of you might be wondering… Why is David opening Judy’s packages at all? What kind of woman would allow this breach of privacy? Frankly I am glad he does this because I have a lazy approach to boxed items that require scissors to open them. I don’t feel like being bothered and don’t see the rush to do so. I’m fine letting them pile up until I need them that second, trusting of course that they’ll be there. Once I left a whole box of goat soaps unopened so long that I forgot all about them and almost placed an order for them a second time. That hasn’t changed my habit, unfortunately. David, on the other hand, always has his utility knife ready to open whatever comes our way.  

The other day, after I had gotten home from running errands, he said he put something on the dining room table for me. I got all excited, thinking Ooooh, what did I get today?!??!? And there it was, like it or not, shouting at me YOU DID THIS TO YOURSELF. It was Voltarin Arthritis Relief Cream. I glared at it for a moment, wishing instead that it was some beautiful, soft yarn for my next project instead of what it was, but that’s how I got into this mess to begin with…

The issue is that I had crocheted fast and furious for a period of time – as I recovered from my abdominoplasty – and ignored all the flashing red lights, because I was determined to reach my goal. I had wanted to create one scarf or baby blanket every couple of days, which I would then donate to a local organization. I first hoped to crochet 100 items but then I cut it down to 50…then 25…I think I had to put the crochet hook down at about 10.

While the arthritis cream is just one part of the overall plan for my situation, my OT instructed me to get it and massage it in as needed. This is in conjunction with warm water massage, ultrasound treatments and a couple of custom-made hand splints which I’ve been wearing non-stop. All this because I didn’t stop my crocheting when I felt the discomfort; instead, I thought that plowing through it was the way to go, until the pain went away for good. What I have learned since, however, is that in one state or another, it is here to stay.

My first session with my OT was very long, about 90 minutes. As we scheduled my next visit, she asked if I had any questions. After explaining to her that I only really have 2 hobbies, I asked, “How long will it take to get me back to crocheting?” Her response left a lot to be desired.

“It’s time to find a new hobby,” she said.

I don’t plan on completely abandoning my love for crocheting, but I do realize that I need to be a bit smarter about it and may need to find other avenues for my creative endeavors.

As long as I can find something that utilizes lots of colors and textures, is relatively simple, and I don’t easily tire of the process…and which enables me to order supplies that can be delivered right to my door…I am open to it. 

Any ideas?