Aging: The Physical Disaster

In response to the Daily Post Prompt:  Disaster

I find that even though I, at 73, can still walk quite a lot and exercise at the gym 2 or 3 times a week, physical activity makes me increasingly more tired.

Yesterday, I took the #17 Express Bus from Staten Island to 14th Street and 7th Avenue where I like to go for my favorite shopping in Manhattan.  Walked up 7th to 17th Street where I shopped at Bed, Bath & Beyond, Michaels, Blick’s Art Supply, Lowes, which are all in a 2-block radius, then walked back to 14th and Broadway, where I shopped at Blick’s once again, but at another one of their stores. Afterwards trapsed* over to Whole Foods, before catching the Express Bus home at 14th and Broadway.

Once, home I was totally exhausted like I have never been before.  While trying out my new paint markers from Blick’s, my eyes began to close.  I forced them open, but eventually I couldn’t any longer.  Fell asleep and slept for 3 hours.  Got up for about an hour to do the dished, then when back to sleep until morning.  The last time I did the same Manhattan routine, only a few weeks ago, I wasn’t nearly as tired. This was the most tired, I ever remember being, and I know as I age, it will just get worse.  It used to get a little worse every few years, then it was every few months, now it seems it’s every few weeks.

One can exercise and diet and keep active, but you can’t control the increasing amount of tiredness that comes after the physical activity.  Except, maybe, by praying.

Psalm 103:5

God, renew my energy when I am tired.

*I looked up the word “trapsed” to make sure I spelled it correctly, and the dictionary says it’s archaic.  This is a normal word in my vocabulary.  I guess using vocabulary that is now considered “archaic” is another symptom of aging.

**Header photo, Chelsea district in Manhattan, near where I went yesterday.  I took photo a couple of years ago while walking “The Highline.”

 

 

 

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The “R”Train

In response to the Daily Post Writing Prompt: Money for Nothing

A few years back, I had just come from having an over-priced Irish Coffee at The Boat House in Central Park.  After walking through Central Park, I boarded the “R” train to take me to 14th Street, where I planned on shopping at Whole Foods before catching the express bus back to Staten Island.

Sitting on the subway, for some unknown reason I fixed my eye on a man sitting across the aisle from me.  The young man was exceptionally well dressed in sports clothing and immaculate looking.  He looked as though he might be some kind of designer.  Also I surmised that he might be gay. After about a minute, another man sitting in front of me began conversing with me.  This man seemed to be a tourist and began the conversation by asking me where he could find City Hall.  I told him what stop he should get off from the subway.  I found him attractive.  Both of us were 60-ish.  We were getting acquainted with small talk, when the subway came to its next stop.

The first man, who looked like a designer, sitting across the aisle from me got up from his seat.  He stuffed something into my folded hand and ran off the subway car.

I opened up my hand.  It was a $100 bill.  I quickly closed my hand again in disbelief.  The man I was talking to smiled and said, “Does this happen to you often?”  I said it had never happened to me before.  He could see it was money.  He asked me how much it was, but, I being a suspicious New Yorker said that I would rather not say.

14th Street was the next stop and I departed.  I have a card that has my blog address on it that I hand out occasionally to people with whom I would like to have more contact. I have been sorry ever since that I hadn’t given a card to the pleasant man I had been talking to, but all I could think of was the money and how I was going to have a good time at Whole Foods.

 

 

Another Day on the Subway

In response to the Daily Post Blog Prompt:  Fleeting

What I was doing in Queens 5 years ago, I can’t remember, but I know it was time to start home.  Caught the subway to take me into Bowling Green in Manhattan from there I could catch the ferry to take me back to Staten Island.

The subway was moderately crowded, full, but everyone had a seat.  I sat down on one of those side bench-like seats that face another long line of seats across the aisle.  I barely noticed the young man, 30-ish, sitting next to me, a hippie-type, bearded, cheaply, but adequately dressed for the cold weather; however, I did notice that balanced on his lap was a small oriental-designed chest. Immediately, he began a conversation.  When I take the subway hardly anyone ever looks at me, let alone talks to me.  Since I was a 67-year-old woman, and looked nothing like a hippie, I was surprised that a man of his age would want to talk to me, but I didn’t discourage his conversation.  He told me how he discovered that one could buy marijuana over the counter in a market in Chinatown.   I didn’t know how he could tell that I would be a person interested in this kind of information, as I was.

He opened the oriental-style box on his lap to show me.  The box was full of what appeared to be small cellophane-wrapped packages of marijuana.  After a quick peak on my part, he closed the lid.  I asked him what it was called and he said this Chinese name.  I took out a pen to write it down, but only got about half of it written down when the subway came to my stop, and I had to depart, before I got the entire name written down.  I tried googling the information I had managed to get, but never could find anything.

 

The Screen Star

In response to the Post Daily Prompt:  ScreenXAAB1367

Back in Los Angeles, in 1956 or 57, one afternoon after school, when I was 14, I was peddling my bike going east on Pico Boulevard at about 5 miles an hour, at the most, to get to my Flamenco dance class, which was near La brea.  A man in a big convertible started driving slowly beside me.  I was in the right-hand lane and he was in the middle lane, which is suppose to be for fast traffic.  The man looked over and smiled at me and I smiled back.  He kept looking over and smiling at me for what seemed like a long time to me, but it was only a minute or two, maybe   This mustached-man wore glasses, a funny-looking cap and had a cigar in one hand as he steered his car with the other.  He was going as slow as I was on my bike and the cars behind him were starting  to form a traffic jam.  Angry people began to honk their horns.  He ignored them. He just kept smiling at me and ahead intermittently.  A car finally passed him in the far left lane,  while giving him a quick nasty look to see who in this big car was being such a nuisance.  When this driver saw who it was driving the car with a benign smile on his face, his face lit up and he yelled with his head out the window “Hi, Groucho.”   This little episode ended after about 1/2 mile when Groucho Marx sped up in front of me and turned right off Pico into Hillcrest Country Club.  He waved good bye to me.

I always thought this as my Groucho Marx incident.

Post Daily Blog: Just Another Day with the Cats

In response to Just Another Day–Our days our organized around numerous small actions we repeat over and over. What’s your favorite daily ritual?_____________________________________________

For the past 4 years, every single morning between 5:00 a.m. and 7:00 a.m., depending on when I wake up,  I venture outside, regardless of the weather, to feed the stray cats in my neighborhood.straycat

The same cats don’t show up every morning, but there are always two that do.  These 2 are living in the back of my building.  These two are pictured here.  Both have been in my backyard since kittens.

I was terribly worried about them during the blizzard we had this last week, but my worrying was unjustified.  They built a snow cave or igloo for themselves under some bushes and got along just fine.  I live in a senior home and we are only allowed one pet, and I have one cat of my own, so I compensate by feeding the strays.  My building supervisors don’t particularly like this, but they tolerate it.  I have to be very discreet, or other tenants complain.  It’s a good thing that I’m only allowed one pet, because I would probably have an apartment full of them, if it weren’t for this rule.

This morning ritual gives me something to get me out of bed for in the mornings.  I also like feeling needed.  I usually put the coffee pot on, and drink my morning coffee after I get back from feeding the cats, while checking my e-mail, then going on twitter and Pinterest, currently my 2 favorite sites.  I forgot to mention I also feed the birds and squirrels, too, right after I feed the cats.  This is my morning ritual.

blackcat

 

 

 

 

 

Post Daily Prompt: Quote Me

This quote from the Bible was the first to immediately come to my mind.  I say it to myself several times a day usually when my mind goes to thoughts that I would rather not be having.  Or, if my mind gets logged down in some kind of rut that I want to get out of.  I’ve been saying it to myself since the late 1970’s when I first heard it on the radio in an interview with Howard Thurman, who said it was his favorite quote from the Bible, because it’s all inclusive.  I like it because I think it is a quote that instigates spiritual progression.

Psalms 139:23

Search me, O God, and know my heart

Try me and know my thoughts

And see if there is any wicked way in me.

And lead me in the way everlasting.

 

Post Daily Blog: Key Takeaway

In response to the Post Daily Blog:  Key Takeaway

Give your newer sisters and brothers-in-WordPress one piece of advice based on your experiences blogging.
_____________________________________

My only regret in blogging was that one time I criticized someone’s art work.  I made a suggestion of what I thought she could do to make it better.  She never spoke to me again, and I really liked the artist and her work, and we had been exchanging “likes” for some time.  Therefore, don’t ever criticize anyone or their work.  If you can’t say something nice, just don’t say anything.