A Crack In Everything: Talking With A Friend About Aging Gracefully + Announcing A Change To My Blog Schedule

A WHILE BACK I WAS TALKING with a Friend about a decision she needed to make. Not a huge one, but a smaller annoying one that comes down to deciding who she is comfortable being now.

Friend, much to her consternation, has to alter her way of thinking about something.

While the details of Friend’s decision are specific to her particular situation, there’s a bigger picture to contemplate, especially as you get older.  And a little bit cracked by life.

As we all do.

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HERE’S THE DEALIO: Friend is in her early 50s and has been running almost every day since she starred on her high school cross country team. As an adult she runs marathons, not ultramarathons or half marathons, but MARATHONS.

She’s very clear on this point.

Friend is known for, and is externally validated by, running marathons. She proudly & consistently defines herself as a marathoner, and up until this last year she’s ALWAYS been the fastest, or second fastest, in her age group.  She has ruled in every marathon she’s ever run, until now.

This does not please her.

Friend knows she’s getting slower, the numbers prove it, but she still wants to keep running because she likes to run. However from her point of view there’s a decision to be made, one that is more ego-based than anything else.

Should she:

A) Continue to run in marathons like she has her entire life while reluctantly accepting that there’s a good chance she’ll not be the best in her age group anymore which makes her sad?

OR

B) Start to run in half marathons, something she considers second-class to a *real* marathon, but wherein she believes she’d be the fastest in her age group which makes her happy?

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I’LL TELL YOU FRIEND’S DECISION in the comments below so that you, my little sparks of joy, can take a few seconds to contemplate how you’d handle a situation that involves your ego struggling with itself to gracefully accept the fact that you’re aging.

That is, are you more inclined to lean into doing the same thing as always, but in what you’d describe as a less successful way? Or are you more inclined to do something new that you consider inferior, but do it in a brilliant way?

To put this quandary in a more chit-chatty pithy way: do you keep on keeping on [focus on perseverance] OR do you accept that life’s tough and get a helmet [focus on modification]?

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PLEASE NOTE:

In order to allow more light to get into my life, The Spectacled Bean will be on SPRING/SUMMER HOURS until further notice.

I shall forget my perfect weekly offerings and instead post every couple of weeks, reply to comments here, and check-in with you on your blogs every so often.

Take it easy, everyone. Ring those bells!

Do good. Play nice. Be happy.

• • 😎 • •

In Which I Admit To Joyfully Thwarting Some Youthful Shenanigans + Reader Comments

 Joyfully Thwarting Youthful Shenanigans

Remember Muttley, Dick Dastardly’s sidekick?

It’s good to be an adult.

[Bwha-ha-ha!]

A few weeks ago we had an unusually warm day. The temps were in the 70s and it was dry and sunny outside. Around 4:00 p.m. I went into the living room to read.

Before I plopped down on the loveseat I decided to open the window just a little bit, about 2″, to take advantage of the pleasant fresh air. As I began to read I heard rustling sounds outside the window. That’s not unusual when you live on a wooded lot, so I didn’t think much about it.

It wasn’t until I heard voices that I became interested in what was happening outside the window.

“So you gonna do it?”

[Do what, thought I?]

I got up from the loveseat and walked over to look out the window.  Immediately below me were two neighbor boys, about 10 years old, who were scrunched down hiding in our bushes while having a serious conversation about what one was going to do.

“Maybe.”

The gist of their conversation, that I could clearly overhear through the open window, was that one boy had challenged the other to run up onto our stoop, ring the doorbell, then run back into the bushes to hide.

A classic prank, no?

They figured, correctly, that from their vantage point crouched down in our bushes they’d be able to see whoever opened the door and watch that person look confused.

IT WAS GOING TO BE HILARIOUS.

They just knew it.

So I waited patiently at the window. Eventually one kid found the gumption he needed to be a prankster. He ran up onto the stoop, rang the bell, then darted into the bushes.

THERE WAS SNICKERING.

Lots of it.

I did nothing except stand quietly at the window looking down on the youth below, waiting to see what they were going to do when no one came to the door.

[Truth bomb, I may have been smiling a bit too much.]

As you can imagine when no one came to the door these two boys were defeated. Their classical prank had failed. Their shoulders sagged, they stood up in the bushes, and muttered. Then the one who’d rang the bell stepped out of the bushes and started to walk across our lawn to his house.

“Dude not that way they’ll see ‘ya.”

To which the first one looked exasperated as he shouted back to his friend still in the bushes, “THEY’RE NOT HOME, haven’t you been paying attention?”

“Oh yah…”

And with that the boys walked slowly across our yard in plain sight, looking dejected, in a way that only failed pranksters can look.

And me, what did I do? I started laughing and am still smiling when I think about how I thwarted this prank. There are moments when being an adult is SO FUN!

Then, of course, who could forget Huckleberry Hound?

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AND FINALLY FOUR READER COMMENTS…

About your take on the word Matriarch:

“I am the matriarch in my family, now that my mom is gone…and I don’t have a problem with that word. Or crone or even sea hag. So long as it is said to me with love, respect and good humour. No one laughs harder at me than myself 😂.”

~ Deb

“Call me any name you want to as long as I think ‘the shoe fits’…. ‘Elderly’ is a tough one, though. Some day, many years down the road, I may earn that particular stripe but only because of the eighty or ninety wonderful years leading up to it.”

~ Dave

“Matriarch is a word that means she is the head of her tribe, in my case, that would be my mother. My turn will come. Interpretation is a funny thing. Words are used in various ways and transform over the years, their original meaning becoming muddled.”

~ Dale

“Wow. I grew up in a matriarchal family so I see it as a compliment! Isn’t it funny how we all have our own perceptions based on our experience? Sea hag would raise my hackles!”

~ Kay

In Which I Do NOT Steal A Man’s Identity, But Could Do So Easily

You put together a puzzle. You take a photo. You run it through the Waterlogue app on your cell phone and this is what you get: PRETTY!

HERE’S WHAT HAPPENED

I was sitting in the waiting area in a small boutique eyeglass shop that is in an old house, formerly a residence, but now zoned for commercial use.

I was having my spectacles adjusted. The optician helping me had taken my glasses with her into the back of the house, probably into what was formerly [maybe still is?] the kitchen, to have her way with them.

Across the room from me a different optician was talking with a man who was ordering new glasses. The room we were in was what would have been the living/dining room, with an 8′ ceiling, about 20′ x 15′ in size.

This man hadn’t gotten new glasses in over 12 years. The optician had found his file, a paper one, and was confirming details by saying things about him out loud to him.

Very normal.

BUT THERE WAS THIS LITTLE ISSUE WITH ACOUSTICS

Inadvertently I was overhearing everything that was being said between these two people. I didn’t want to hear but I did. I’ve changed the specific details to protect his identity, but the following is what I know about this man:

  • his former residence is 123 Oak Street in one community;
  • his current residence, that he moved into in 2017, is 4567 Eagle’s Nest Drive in a different community;
  • his last name is Smith;
  • his legal first name is Frederick, but he goes by his middle name, Daniel, preferring to be called Dan;
  • his wife’s name is Martha;
  • his brother who also buys glasses in this boutique is named Will;
  • he has no children;
  • he confirmed the date of his birth, he is 44 years old;
  • he confirmed his cell phone number, mentioning that he’s had it for years
  • he used to work for Blah Blah Blah Corporation but now works from home for Yada Yada Yada Corporation;
  • his medical insurance is Boring Useless Insurance Company;
  • he no longer has a checking account with Fancy Regional Bank;  and
  • he prefers to use his Visa for large purchases because he gets points for travel on Whoop-ass Airline.

The optician didn’t ask about the following but in the course of their conversation I also learned that:

  • he drives a BMW that was parked outside directly in front of this business;
  • he and his wife have been remodeling their house using Super Duper Home Remodeling Company;  and
  • they have a vacation planned for August.

Obviously I accidentally know a lot about this man, the proverbial ship I passed in the night. If I was a person with nefarious intentions I could easily have snapped a fast photo of him + his car’s license plate, then assumed his identity by knowing these random, but incredibly personal, details about him.

KIND OF SCARY, HUH?

Please discuss 😳

The Tale Of Diligent Dave & The Wily Fiber Optic Cable

We were told that the switch from coaxial cable to fiber optic cable would happen on Wednesday from 8:00 a.m. to noon. Here’s what actually happened.

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This is my DIY standing desk arrangement. It’s a wonderful use for the 1966 50th Anniversary Edition of the World Book Encyclopedia.

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The following will please the optimists, inform the curious, disappoint the naysayers, and entertain the pre-amused…

At 3:00 p.m. on Tuesday we got a knock on the front door from a man who told us he was going to be digging a trench through the yard where the new cable would be buried. He did so without any fuss.

At 8:30 a.m. on Wednesday, only a half hour late, a man who I shall call Diligent Dave but Z-D refers to as That Kid, pulled into our driveway to start things rolling. Diligent Dave sat inside his truck for a while goofing around on a computer, wandered around our front yard a few times, then backed out of our driveway and drove up  & down our street many times.

At 9:30 a.m. Diligent Dave came to the front door and told us:

  1. there was something wrong, his computer indicated that the connection to the above ground fiber optic utility box on the street didn’t exist even though lines had been installed on this street earlier in the fall;
  2. he had called the department that installed the lines to have someone come out to find out what was wrong; and
  3. he could come inside the house and start running the cable line from the basement up to the home office while we waited to see IF the connection outside on the street really did exist.

At 11:00 a.m. a man, let’s call him Happy Henry, from the outside installation department came to the front door to talk with Diligent Dave. They chatted about what wasn’t happening.

At 11:30 a.m. two trucks, each driven by one man, arrived. After conferring with Happy Henry those two men pulled out a table and some tools. They went into the neighbor’s yard where they set up the table and started messing around with the above ground fiber optic utility box, hoping to find our house’s particular cable connection inside it.

At 12:15 p.m. a miracle occurred and voilà the “missing” outside fiber optic cable connection was found, meaning that all we needed now was for Diligent Dave to finish his job.

At 1:15 p.m. Diligent Dave succeeded in getting the cable line across the ceiling in the basement, up through the wall and into the home office… behind my desk.

At 1:20 p.m. Z-D and Diligent Dave carefully moved my desk with all the stuff on it [my desktop computer, Keyzia, included] away from the wall so that Diligent Dave could fiddle around near the baseboard and attach a small magical box to the wall.

At 1:30 p.m. our fiber optic cable connection happened.  Then under Diligent Dave’s watchful eye we started testing all our electronic gadgets [computers, phones, iPad, TVs] to confirm that the wifi, now connected to the fiber optic cable, was indeed working as advertised. It was.

At 1:45 p.m. after Z-D and Diligent Dave moved my desk back into place,  Diligent Dave left and there was joy in the land.

But, of course, there is more to the story, the After Party so to speak…

Once Diligent Dave left the house Zen-Den and I ducked out of the house to go to the grocery.  At 2:30 p.m. whilst in the midst of shopping in the grocery we received a phone call from a slightly frantic Diligent Dave who had left his tool bag in our basement and REALLY needed it to be able to do his next appointment at 3:00 p.m.

Thus we quickly bought our food, rushed home [a 10 minute drive] so we could retrieve Diligent Dave’s tool bag in our basement and hand it to him.  He was pleased, expressing thanks, telling us that his next job was only 8 minutes away so he’d be there to start it on time.

Unlike our job where he showed up a half hour late BUT who doesn’t like a touch of innocent irony to go along with their new scary fast fiber optic cable?

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Questions of the daY

Regardless of the type of computer you use, do you have a sitting or standing desk? Or do you prefer to sit at a table? Or to plop your computer onto your lap?

Do you know how you get your internet connection in your home? Do you like it?

Considering that Zen-Den continues to refer to Diligent Dave as That Kid, do you believe, like I do, that Z-D the recently semi-retired is well on his way to becoming an old codger?

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