Cowtown Pattie's Texas Trifles





Thursday, September 30, 2010

Meet Renee, Joyce, and Jean 

Over at the Exhibits Hall I ran into (literally) three energetic women in TIARAS!  Their aura was so palpable it was contagious and I stopped to comment on their lovely headgear...I mean who doesn't love shiny rhinestone hair decor?

Turns out, they are guest speakers for AARP at the Orlando convention!

I sat down with Renee Fisher, Joyce Kramer and Jean Peelen for a few minutes to discuss their newest book: Saving the Best for Last: Creating Our Lives after 50.


This literary ménage à trois" have been best friends since meeting at a Washington, D.C. workshop 15 years ago.    Good celestial alignment or maybe just a fortuitous happenstance, these three ladies decided to collaborate a writing adventure based on their own personal aging experiences.

Their voices are honest, sometimes brutally so, but tempered with a dose of good old fashioned you-gotta-laugh-or-else-you'll-cry humor.  Renee explained they found a real connection with other women in all walks of life via all forms of social media and that this virtual sisterhood is growing.

Their newest book incorporates the positives of online networking in a special way.  Here's Amazon's short blurb:

Due to the overwhelming response of the authors' first book Invisible No More: The Secret Lives of Women Over 50, Saving the Best For Last incorporates several new chapters, as well as an exciting interactive element throughout. You, the reader, can not only read Renee's, Jean's and Joyce's enlightening and very real experiences of aging and reinvention, you can also participate in powerful life changing individual and group exercises and processes that will forever change the way you see the years after 50.The three authors speak candidly about many topics, including:*sexuality*dating and mating*money*faith and spirituality*our mothers*loss*friendship. As you, too, pass the threshold of fifty, you may discover, as these women did, that this is a moment in your life to celebrate--a beginning, rather than an ending. This is a journey you will not want to miss. Saving the Best For Last is your roadmap and your guidebook.

Jean has a radio program: Gray Matters and  Renee blogs at Life in the Boomer Lane.  When I get home, I intend to spend some more time getting acquainted with these terrific women  and their respective personalities

Oh, and tiaras are optional but highly encouraged for everyday wear and while surfing the net; a definite confidence builder and ice breaker.  Doubles as an extra wireless antennae in emergencies, I'm told!


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I'M AARP'ing NOW 


Very cool interactive touchscreen map below this sign...will post it later. I wanted you to note the mobile app:  m.marketart.com/aarp10

Wandering around the exhibit hall right now!


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Pattie Thinks She's Brenda Starr 


Brenda "Pattie" Starr here on the job! 

Experienced one of those generational gaps on the plane to Orlando yesterday. Young couple - early 30's - asked me if I lived in Orlando or if I was headed there on vacation or?  I chuckled and said this:

Well, actually I am getting to be Brenda Starr, AARP blogger/reporter, for a few days.

Then, I notice the total wide eyed confusion that often happens when generations disconnect culturally. I realized they were clueless as to whom I was referring.  Tried to explain it, but I think I lost 'em at the "funny pages" beginning.

Happens to me more and more these days, and I consider myself "with it".  I sometimes think it's my elder duty to ensure iconic symbols of my youth stay remembered.

Uh huh.

Today is full of good stuff!  Heading over to check in at the AARP Media Center/Press Room (I am loving being a part of the PRESS!) and need to take a cram course in video filming with my new Flip CAM -thank you, AARP!

On the roster today:  Florida Governor Charlie Crist (almost added an "h" to his surname), Patty Loveless, Martina Navratilova, football players Rod Smart and Darryl Talley, Olympia Dukakis, Cesar Millan, Dave Berry and Linda Gray!

I'm already feeling like it's Monday morning and I didn't finish my homework before class. Oh well, Texans are good for dazzling 'em with BS. 

With or without boots...



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Wednesday, September 29, 2010

I Wanna Get Digital, Digital... 

Let's get Digital...at AARP

I wanna get Digital, Digital, let me hear your Twitter tweet, let me hear your Facebook talk...

Not to late to join the fun and the excitement - virtually - here in Orlando. Join at the AARP site to log onto the Orlando@50+ convention and choose from a gazillion things to participate in right there in the comfort or your own home and in your PJ's! ( Don't look, I'm in my new pink with brown polka dot pajamas right now!)

Follow Twitter and see all the buzz about it - search for #orlando50.

Thanks to all the ladies I met this evening for a memorable dinner at Emeril's Tchoup Chop.  AARP certainly won the lotto in marketing savvy and talent with this bunch!

I really enjoyed meeting the other bloggers, Frank Paynter and Mark Patterson and his lovely wife - is it "Mary Jo"?  - hope I got it right. So many names this evening to remember. (She wanted to show me  a photo on her iPhone of her daughter and I laughed when I saw "she" was of the equine type of kid. Gorgeous horse with a perfect white blaze on her face.)

Looking forward to tomorrow and hopefully have some video/photos up for you to see.  Tonight my butt be draggin'.  Headed to those nice marshmellowy looking beds here at the Hilton Orlando to get some rest so I can hit the ground running.


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Off To See Orlando! 

Oh, Oh, Oh, It’s Magic, you know-o-oh!
O is for Orange county and juice that is rich
R is for Rockets and their red glare
L is for Lilo whose best friend is Stitch
A is for AARP, the group with gray hair!
N is for NAKED (got your attention?)
D is for Digital communication sublime
O is for Oh, Oh, Oh, It's Orlando@50+ Time!

(Apologies to Jerry Jeff Walker and his infamous M-O-T-H-E-R song)

And apologies to those AARP members who are not gray (or who are and lovin' it), but I wanted something to rhyme!

This is my second trip to Orlando.  My first visit was nine years ago via a charter bus as a chaperone to my youngest chick's high school dance/drill team on a trip to compete in Florida over spring break.

Let's just say that though I loved my time working with those very energetic and talented young women, I'll take the friendly skies anytime over a 20 hour bus trip.  One rockin' loo, gobs of fast food, Flamin' Cheetos and 25 girls with motion sickness do not a serene trip make. (And while we're at it, let's toss in a spring whamo thunderstorm at 2:00 AM just as the little darlings were finally quiet.)

The following video of the drill team is of the current set of girls, I didn't have time to convert some old VHS tapes into digital for a YouTube video of the team I worked with. (Sorry, Emmie Pop.) Football in Texas on a Friday night; what else could one woman ask for?




I am counting on this trip to be a little less traumatic; no promises on it being less dramatic.  I 'm bringing  my traveling tiara I won many years ago in a Miss Farm Bureau pageant, ya'll, so you can recognize me ;-)

Thank you, AARP, and all the gracious judges who participated in the contest. I hope I can carry the ball for at least a couple of first downs and a chance to dance in the end zone, like this little foot work by Number 87 of the Bengals  - Kelley Washington:

Yeah! Girls just wanna have fun!






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Monday, September 27, 2010

"How To Be a Texan" - No Experience Necessary 

Before we begin, I must clarify, sanctify, and preachify about the southern word "ya'll". When we say "ya'll come" to someone we mean the whole family.  When we say "do ya'll have really cold northers?",  we're talking about the whole town.

You never go up to a single person and ask "do ya'll have a beer?" cause you ain't askin' the world for a long neck, only one person.

You gotta know your conjugations, cowboy.

And word to the wise, we never, ever say "you all".  Mebbe "yew" but never "you all".  That's Yankee for ya'll (with many pardons to my very favorite up north friends !!) .

A brief dictionary of Texas words with pronounciation:

rat cheer: in this very place

rat chonder: over thetaway

bob warr: something to keep cattle in pasture

cheer: a sittin' on thang

amulants: a thang that takes you to the hospital when your lag is broke

syreen: a noise the amulants makes

puh cons: not pee cans, but tasty little things from a tree

punchard tar: goes flat when you don't have a spare

texaco all company: (say it out loud ) oil refineries

airrers: mistakes

far angine: something you call if yore house is burnin'

Ehr Ull: a man's name (Errol)

ignert: not smart

ranch: tool used to tighten bolts

farn: not domestic

bare: an alcoholic beverage

hire yew?: a greeting ( Heidi, Hire yew?)

view: contraction and pronoun "I ain't never seed New York City - view?"

Further, you know you are in Texas when:


The preacher says a prayer for the Dallas Cowboys

Restrooms are outside

No such thing as a "secret" sin

Folks gripe about coyotes being on the Ark

Hot water comes out of both taps

Break a sweat the instant you step outside at 7:30 AM before work

Discover how to drive a car with 2 fingers in July

Your biggest bicycle wreck fear is that you will get knocked out and end up lying on the pavement and cook to death

Asphalt has a liquid state

Potatoes bake underground, all you have to do is pull one out and add salt and pepper

Farmers feed chickens crushed ice to keep them from laying hard-boiled eggs ( aaigs if you are Texan)

You hear a Texan say "I wish it would rain - not so much for me, cuz I've seen it, but for my 7 year-old."

Hope all my non-Texan friends enjoy this lesson in language!


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Monday, September 20, 2010

Big Hair In Cowtown 

** This is a reposting with a new video.

How to get your very own TEXAS BIG HAIR!

You better run tell the world
You gotta have a Lone Star girl
With her cast iron curls
Her aluminum dimples
Cause she's so simple to love

-Willis Alan Ramsey's "Northeast Texas Women"


Yes, I guess we Texas women are known around the world for having "big hair". 'Course, I think that probably got started in the 60's when Lady Bird was First Mama, and "back-combing" (read "ratting") was just the thing to give you nice poufy, helmet hair. I could never figure out why girls would rat up this big ol' mound of hair, then clip in a tiny velvet bow on the side or just above the bangs. I guess it gave perspective to this architecturally designed coif. Surfer chicks like Annette Funicello or Deborah Walley wore these do's, even though they didn't hail from Texas.

But something happened in the late 1960's to Texas gals' big hair. Suddenly, the groovy thing was to have fresh, natural hair, including legs and armpits. Pouf was out, long stringy locks were in. Clairol Herbal Essence made us all believe we needed to smell like a woodsy forest and patchouli instead of hairspray and Dippity-Doo. We had to get down to earth. For some reason, I always think of Joan Baez or Cher as the prototype for this era of hairstyle.

I personally had baby-fine blonde hair as a teenager (still is blonde with a little help from the beauty parlor to chase the VERY few wisps of gray away, ahem), and it was just plain homely laying there all flat against my head. My Mama had a vendetta against "hippie" hair and mine would have won the blue ribbon at the county fair for straightness.

When I was little she would insist on at least twice a year perms, but instead of the lovely curly locks pictured on the box, I got frizzed, fried, duck fuzz. And why is it, you gotta wait a whole week to wash your hair after perming it? Walk around smelling like a toxic chemical plant in Oklahoma. Always had this vaguely skunk-like stink to it when you sweated for at least three months after this tortuous beauty treatment. I digress.

Then, a Corpus Christi girl put Texas hair back on top. One name says it all, "Farrah" (RIP). Suddenly, blonde "wings" were all the rage, and Aqua-Net shareholders were estatic and singing "We're in the money".



Thanks to television, Texas hair was on its way to salvation. After Charlie's Angels, "Dallas" hit the bigtime, with bigger than life characters, and of course, with bigger hair than ever.

Occasionally in my office building, I see a woman I call "Barbie's Grandmother" prancing across the skywalk bridge. This lady is surely in her late 60's, but even so, her big platinum, teased hair can still grab men's eyes. I catch 'em watching her pass by. In the elevators, they take quick little sneaks at The Hair, and I would love to be privy to their testosterone thoughts. Doesn't hurt that she has a figure any 20 year-old would die for (hell, any of us would die for). Her hair probably accounts for 40% of her total body weight, and her fingernails for at least 20% more. I swear she must be the last living paying customer of Loni Anderson's hair stylist. I think I will nominate her as the Patron Saint of Texas Big Hair. At the very least, she deserves to be on the new Texas quarters instead of the boring state outline with a star. Now, that would be a coin to brag about. Big-haired Texas gals - I am proud to be in this Sisterhood.


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Thursday, September 16, 2010

Suddenly, I Feel In Danger of Being Left Behind 

Great Caesar's ghost, indeed, Reverend Jim:





This is just flat out cool, no?


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Darden Smith's Marathon 

I was recently given an opportunity to listen to a new compilation of songs by Texas troubadour, Darden Smith, entitled: Marathon; truly a labor of love for him.  (You can purchase your own Marathon album/cd here.)



“For me, Marathon is a place of mind,” Smith says. “Somewhere I wanted to go, and a place I could never reach. The desert reminds me of that: It’s barren, and it’s harsh. You’re alone out there. It’s daunting – but I’m drawn to it.” The elegant sweep of Marathon indeed evokes images of a foreboding vista, from the opening of “Sierra Diablo” to the aptly titled “75 Miles of Nothing.” And while it readily recalls the desolate landscape of West Texas, Marathon is, ultimately, about the landscape within.

If you've never been introduced to the music of Smith, here's a prime opportunity to discover this true Texas talent.  With a soft voice reminding me of Lyle Lovett - both twangy and smooth, Smith delivers the goods: terrific lyrics with sometimes unexpected musical accompaniments like Spanish horns and orchestra strings. Though a native son, his sound defies fencing in; the usual Lone Star sound typified by the likes of Willie Nelson can't be found here.

But Texas-themed it is...in spades. Marathon even features a great short riff that includes the sombre, anguished call of a passing freight train, a signature sound in the far Big Lonesome country of southwest Texas. You don't get more Texian than that...unless you are grabbing the Bull By the Horns: (click through the offerings until you find it):

<a href="http://dardensmith.bandcamp.com/album/marathon">Marathon by Darden Smith</a>


"When you're out in the desert, you better get ready to shed your skin, yeah, yeah....




From Smith's website:


Growing up in rural central Texas in the 1960s and 1970s instilled in Smith a driven, independent artistic vision. He spent his early childhood on a farm outside of Brenham, the small town where he was born in 1962. “I grew up in the country playing by myself and wandering in the woods and pastures,” he says. He credits those hours exploring alone for “giving me an imagination and a gift for making up stories.” Singing in his local church’s choir, and listening to its pipe organ, sparked a hunger to connect with music, and by the third grade Smith was learning to play the guitar. His guitar teacher taught him how to play every song on Neil Young’s Harvest and After the Gold Rush albums, and, more importantly, instilled in him the idea of writing his own songs. He wrote his first song when he was 10 years old.

Any musician whose original muse was a combination of southern gospel and Neil Young is someone I want to take note of. Heck, at 10 years old, I was only still learning the important art of chunking dirt clods over highlines and riding my bike down a long hill without hands on the handlebars, much less composing music. Gotta respect a songwriter who knows his stuff from an early age.

And if that ain't inspirational enough for you to like this Texan, then surely you'll be impressed by his other passion - teaching how to open up and be creative to school kids. Smith's "Be an Artist Program" is one-of-a-kind, and he transistions it to adult audiences as well for seminars and the like. Where was this program when I was a snot-nosed kid?  I'd love to sit in on one of his classes.

This is an album to savor and listen to on a good sound system. My first exploration of it came while traveling Interstate 20 to the Big Bend over the Labor Day holiday; the roar of asphalt and passing big rigs plus the AC fan on high are not conducive to the best listening.  The nuances of Smith's music are too good to sacrifice them to a noisy road-trip sampling.  Take your time and absorb this stuff...it's gooo-od.

So many good choices on this album,  but I especially like "That Water" and "Sierra Diablo". Both songs are listed in the widget below:

<a href="http://dardensmith.bandcamp.com/album/marathon">Marathon by Darden Smith</a>




Opening with the sound of tires from an unseen car crunching and roaring away and an undulating beat mimicking a long slow ripple in a pool, "That Water" grabs the symbiosis of water to the desert, but also reverberates the undercurrent, the depth of a man's soul.   Smith asks lyrically, "So what makes a man fall in love with a mountain, a mountain too big to climb?" 

Ahh, Darden, we obviously share that secret.  And I love the last line: "Did the Earth just sigh?"

Smith's inspiration for Marathon came from that far far hunk of Texas known as the Big Bend. The stark desolation of the Chihuahuan Desert, the driest of North America's four real deserts, is an unforgiving badland that takes no prisoners, much less suffers the foolishness of a tenderfoot who strikes out on her trails uneducated. The second impressive component of the Bend is the pinyon-and-juniper forests covering the Chisos Mountains and the third important piece of this geographical puzzle is the Rio Grande river, cutting chasms and canyons to rival the grandest. Smith's masterful lyrics and sometimes odd juxtaposition of music captures the essence of what makes the Big Lonesome unique. But much more than that, the album is all about the unknown terrain in our own hearts.


The album Release Party will be September 30th in the Beergarden at Threadgill's in Austin. If you have a chance, definitely highlight this date on your calendar as a "must attend".  (I would be there, dang it, but I'll be in Orlando!) 

Wishing you much success with Marathon, Darden!

Here's a link to a live performance of "Satisfied" via YouTube (embed link broken).  You gotta love a song that starts with "If I could love you like Elvis..."



And here's a Radney Foster song that Darden co-wrote. Really touching (and it has Foat Wuth in the lyrics!). "Angel Flight", named after the designation for the Texas Air National Guard C-130 that transports the bodies of Guardsmen slain in combat. Smith learned about "Red River 44," a mission in Iraq in which seven Texas National Guardsmen died when their Chinook helicopter crashed outside Tallil, Iraq.



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Tuesday, September 14, 2010

Daddy Loved Bluegrass, But I Can't Play The Fiddle 

My Daddy could play most any musical instrument he set his mind to. He had an ear for natural pitch and after a couple of listens, could sit down and pick out anything on his guitar in less time than it takes water to boil. While other parents were tossing their teens' Beatles' albums into a flaming church bonfire, my dad was avidly listening to their music and expressing his awe of John Lennon's talent. His favorite tunes were Till There Was You (which, of course, is not technically a Beatles song) and Nowhere Man, both of which he learned full through.





But more than any other music, he enjoyed bluegrass. My earliest memories of television are those of watching the "Grand Ole Opry", "Porter Wagoner", and "The Wilburn Brothers" - all courtesy of Black Draught laxatives, and Bull Of The Woods chewing tobacco.

Mostly, Dad loved a good fiddle tune. He was a better than fair-to-middlin' player himself, and would often yell, "grab my fiddle" so I could run and bring his favorite violin just in time for him to join in for a few notes with whatever picker was setting fire to the stage on Opryland television. Didn't take much cajoling on my part to get him to play for me and I loved his version of Orange Blossom Special, a hard song for even very talented players.

It was his heartfelt dream to have one of his children really master this fine instrument. So, one day in 1961 Dad brought home a surprise present - a student-sized violin for baby brother and I to share while taking lessons from the local high school band teacher (with a bad case of halitosis, I might add - the teacher not the violin). Only problem was, I was left-handed while the sibling was right-handed. Guess who had to learn to play as a righty?

I have exceedingly large amounts of respect for those gifted individuals who can read bug-looking marks on a sheet of paper and translate them into beautiful sounds on any given instrument, but especially, I am humbled by violin players. After many longs hours of "fingernails on blackboards" screeching practices, and no small torrent of tears, Dad gave up any hope of seeing his progeny up on the great Opry stage. Later, I would take piano lessons in a blind belief my barely-defined sheet music reading skills could still be useful. Three years of keyboard instruction and I can only remember the opening rift to two recital tunes, "A Little Girl's Waltz", and "Waltz of the Parakeets".

Years passed, the Beatles disbanded, and the little student violin grew dusty; the fine horsehaired bow became disheveled and unstrung and the rosin under the green felt case lid turned to stone. A new generation came on the scene and Dad decided he would single-out his granddaughter, Lara, to be the next great violinist of the family. My little student violin was too small for her, so Dad bought Lara another used one.

A very close friend was a music teacher and a devoted fan of bluegrass music and he agreed to give Lara lessons and keep my Dad's dream alive, if only briefly. Lara did give it her full attention for, oh, about three months - which was a MON-YEW-MENTAL effort for her. Then, she discovered fast-pitch softball and the spotlights of a little league field at night. No contest.

Last Sunday evening, while watching O Brother, Where Art Thou for the fourth or fifth time, I caught myself closing my eyes, trying to "see" the musical notes in my mind for the mournful tune, "A Man of Constant Sorrows". Try as I might, I can no longer read sheet music, but my appreciation for a fine toe-tapping fiddle tune has stayed with me.

Dad would be glad to hear that.


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Friday, September 10, 2010

Foat Wuth Meet Orlando! Yippee! 




I'm going to Orlando to cover the AARP Orlando@50+ Digital convention!

I am feelin' that Sally Field speech a'comin' on...."You like me, you really like me!"

Congratulations to Frank Paynter at Listics, and to Mr. GoTo at Go To Retirement. Looking forward to meeting you guys!

Many thanks to AARP's very generous judges (Craig Newmark, Ronni Bennett, and Alejandra Owens) and to all my blog buddies for encouraging me to participate. This is the second fairly "Big Prize" I've won this year, and I am headed down at lunch to QuikTrip Mart to buy a wagon load of lotto tickets. On a roll and baby needs new shoes!

Which brings up the dire question - what to wear? I think all day at a convention pretty much means leave the Justin Ropers behind, but geez, it's almost required gear for a Texan. Do Texans wear Birkenstocks? The world is about to find out.

Holdin' your breath now, are ya? LOL

If you would like to keep up with me in Orlando, and be a virtual attendee, here's a short flash clip about how to participate. More information can be found here at AARP's site, too.

I'll be needing some help from all ya'll to pull this off, okay?


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Thursday, September 09, 2010

He Was the King! 




Just sittin' here at my keyboard tonight, and I felt a little tap on my shoulder. Turning my head slightly, I managed to catch a hazy blur. No one in the room except me and my little electronic friend, PC, right?

Nope.

Elvis stopped by for second and said he wanted to hear that old rocker guy's tribute to himself ( I knew he meant Neil Young). So, Elvis, just for you:



And though you didnt' request it, here's a couple of more tributes I bet you'd have chuckled over during your bodily days on Earth:

Gillian Welch's "Elvis Presley's Blues"



And Irish Elvis song courtesy of Richard Thompson:



And even a tribute from The Boss Bruce:


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Tuesday, September 07, 2010

Travel with Pattie 

I have the first installment of my latest post for our Labor Day weekend trip to the Big Bend at my Travel Texas blog.

This will be a multi-posting review; we went everywhere, man!

Have you figured out yet, I LOVE BIG BEND!

The following photo was taken around 6:30 AM on Monday morning on the highway out of Marathon to Fort Stockton. The crescent moon was a slice of silver bling in the lower sky. Unfortunately, the mountain silhouette on this highway is more spectacular on the west horizon than the east: (click on photo for better viewing)

 
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Thursday, September 02, 2010

Ad Astra per Alia Porci 


To the stars on the wings of a pig


John Steinbeck so loved this phrase that every book he wrote was imprinted with this insignia. Kinda sums up how I used to view getting older: yeah, right, I’ll get old…when pigs fly.

And then suddenly one morning, my bacon came adorned with small white downy feathers. The realization that I had less years in front of me than I had in the past was both sobering and panic-inducing.

At 56, I am not merely middle-aged anymore, more like early old. (Too bad there isn’t a category of wine for that; “early old merlot” has a catchy lilt, don’t you think?) My generation cut its adolescent teeth on pronouncing the untrustfulness of decrepit deceitful old people over the age of 30. And here I am - 26 years past that channel buoy marker complete with most of my limbs in good working, albeit slightly deceitful, order. (Knocking my knuckles against my trustworthy wooden skull as I type this.)

Much to my unexpected joy, I don’t feel old on the inside. My dread of getting old from the perspective of a 20 year-old included a fear of mental infirmness; a debilitation of not only the physical self, but also the essence of my being. Quite the opposite has occurred; I feel much more in control of my life than I ever did in my twenties or even thirties.

I only thought I knew what liberation was during my pro-feminism years; getting older is the real secret ingredient to such emotional freedom and a potent addition to a fully baked life. You really can’t see the forest for the trees when you’re only a fourth of the way up the mountain, thus I intend to reach the summit for the best view.

There is something innately spiritual about aging, and I suppose old Meletus, the ancient Greek fanatical, would find disapproval, but I think Socrates got it right: finding your own inner god takes perseverance and guts, but the reward is immeasurable. (Luckily for me, I didn’t have to drink a poison to make this observation.)

I remember being surprised one family summer vacation when I was swimming in the warm gulf waters off of Galveston beach with my grandmother. The unexpectedness at her sudden spurt of sheer unabashed joy with each rolling wave caught me off guard; this wasn’t the woman I knew as my “old” grandmother who normally was full of bitter warnings about not touching her stuff or playing too loud on the piano in her front living room. Her laughter came deep and full-throated, her arms flew up and projected her into the oncoming surf with the vitality of an Olympic swimmer, and her salt and pepper carefully coifed hair clung in soft ringlets around her face. Her usual disdain for being out in the sun was quickly forgotten upon the first step into the frothy water. She will never know the lastingness of her gift to me that day; my preconceptions of both my grandmother as a person and of growing old changed forever. I treasure this self-awakening and the sweet memory.

I began my aging journey with trepidation, but with each passing year, my fears have become less, my quest for learning more intense. And with the passage of time, I have a sense of humbleness knowing that I will never answer my very last question, and an acceptance of wise Socrates’ pronouncement: “I know that I know nothing.”

**I'm trying to blog my way to the AARP Orlando@50 conference. This blog post is an entry in their competition to find the official blogger to travel to and cover the event. Find out more about the conference here.


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