Beach Baby

August 12, 202635 Comments

The beach is my happy place, as another blogger (thanks Dave) recently reminded me. It’s one of the only places where I truly relax. The other is my swing under the trees. Both involve books. So why is it August and I haven’t even been to the beach yet? Because getting there requires a hot-but-not-sweltering, blue-sky-but-no-clouds kind of day, with a bit of a cool breeze, low humidity and no wildfire smoke. No I’m not asking for too much…that is the way the summers used to be!

The other reason I don’t go to the beach very often is that it is thirty minutes away, and involves packing up a whole carload of beach paraphernalia – beach umbrella, beach towels, beach chairs, cooler for drinks and snacks, (sandwiches, chips for salt, fruit for potassium), a thermos of coffee, suntan lotion, (face and body and lips), books (preferably murder mysteries in large print for easier reading in the sun), sunglasses, straw hat, beach cover-up, flip-flops for the sand, those scuba diving shoes if it’s rocky, and lots of water for hydration…..and then there’s the cell phone, camera (for closeups of sailboats), keys and some money for the chip truck. It’s like packing for a wilderness trip, so it becomes a whole day’s outing, as there’s no point in loading up all that stuff for just an hour or two. I envy my friends who live a couple of blocks from the beach and ride their bikes down for an after-dinner swim, carrying nothing but a small towel to sit on the sand. (I live near a river, but there is no beach or public access to it, and the water is so deep and cold and the current so swift, it would carry a non-swimmer like me away.)

So, let’s return to the beach days of my childhood, when someone else (my poor mother) organized all that stuff and in the glow of nostalgia it was always sunny and perfect beach weather. (I don’t recall it ever raining then, so there was probably a law against it, like in the lyrics of Camelot.) As my dad had a dairy farm, family vacations were few and far between, but Sundays at the beach were a constant every summer Sunday of my childhood.

Before church (another constant, as you could go to hell if you missed mass) my mother would put a chicken and some potatoes in the oven in one of those big blue roasting pans, and after mass the pan would be loaded into the trunk of our Chevrolet, (because everyone drove a Chevrolet – see song lyrics below), with a big Thermos of orange Freshie or Kool-aid. We would change out of our church clothes, into our bathing suits and shorts, and eagerly anticipate the 45minute drive to the beach through the countryside. I can still smell the roast chicken, and hear the ice cubes clinking away in the Thermos. We always went to the same beach in a small resort town along Lake Huron because there used to be a dance pavilion there when my parents were dating. It was smaller and narrower but less crowded than the city beach, but more importantly the roadside was lined with trees and bushes so there was shade for when the sun got too hot.

But first lunch in the adjacent park, at a picnic table under the tall trees. My mom was happy when KFC came to town, because then we picked up a bucket of fried chicken, which we all liked except for my dad who preferred the home cooked meal. Does anyone remember the plastic piggy bank of Colonel Sanders – when it was full of change that would be our picnic money. As you could not go into the water until an hour after you ate – lest you get a leg cramp and drown, (one of those unwritten rules of the 60’s) we played in the park on the swings after lunch, and explored the ruins of the abandoned dance pavilion. All that was left was some remnants of the stone dance floor and the concession stand. Still you could imagine it in all its grandeur, dancing under the stars to the big bands.

To get to the beach you had to descend a steep sandy bank, but as the car was parked above right along the road, it wasn’t a chore to carry all the beach stuff down. (not like the city beach where you might have to lug the stuff for miles from the far parking lot if it was crowded). I remember beach blankets as being wool and scratchy, but I see there is a striped one in my old pictures, and some striped beach towels too, but mostly I remember old bathroom ones. There were aluminum web lawn chairs for the adults, but no sign of a beach umbrella. They probably hadn’t been invented yet, but you could retreat to the shade of the trees, which my dad promptly did, falling asleep on the blanket, leaving my mother on water patrol duty to watch us four kids. Does anyone remember the distinctive chemical smell of Coppertone – SFP8 and their early slogan – Tan, Don’t Burn – with the little girl with the tan line.

It was great fun to go in the water to cool off, and sandy underfoot once you got past the shore rocks. You could ride the waves if it was windy. But if the waves were too big we weren’t allowed to go in too far.

Not like these kids, as there was no lifeguard like at the city beach.

I’m liking this little swimdress. I bought one from Old Navy this spring.

It was also fun to build sand castles with plastic pails and to bury your siblings…..and get buried yourself! The sand was damp and cool and you could easily spent an hour digging a hole deep enough to get to China.

After awhile my dad would wake up, and go for a swim, (he could swim a bit, but we could not as we never had swimming lessons) and then play with us for a bit. A bag of chips would come out, and some Freshie from the thermos. But all too soon it would be time to go home, where he would have to do the chores and milk the cows. As he often worked two jobs, no wonder he fell asleep on the blanket on his one day off. We would usually leave by 5pm, everyone washing their sandy feet off in a beach pail, so as not get sand in the car, another rule of the sixties before there were car washes with vacuums.

Sunday suppers would be casual – leftovers and sometimes bacon and cheese melts which were my favorite. Sunday nights were always Walt Disney, and Bonanza if I could stay up that late. I would usually in bed early, tired out from being in the sun all day.

I was always sad when the Labor day weekend came and it was time to wave goodbye to the beach.

Looking back at these old pictures I can make a few observations. I had a nice collection of bathing suits, but my mother had good taste and children’s clothes were cheap then. Oh how I wish it was so easy to find one today! Second, I used to tan when I was a kid, judging from my brown arms and legs in the first picture. I grew up on a farm so we were outside a lot and I don’t remember burning, but maybe the sun was less intense back then? But when I was a teenager I was always the one with the sunburn which peeled and never turned into a tan. Certainly the summers seem to be hotter now and the UV index higher. There are still families at the beach, but perhaps not as many now that more people have pools, or know people who have pools, and splash pads are so popular. I fail to see the fun in a splash pad but I suppose it’s better than nothing…and there’s no sand to drag into the house. Third, camera quality has really really improved. And fourth, my mother took us to Pierre, her French hairdresser which explains the short haircuts and why I have a thing about too short bangs to this day!

Healthy lunch – note soon to be burnt foot!

So last week we had 3 nice beach days in a row, and as the summer was slipping away, I decided to go to the city beach on the holiday Monday. It was actually a bit cool with a north wind so I didn’t go in the water. I sat under my beach umbrella and finished a book – The Guilt Trip (3 couples go to Portugal for a destination wedding, one person ends up dead), a perfect beach read. It was crowded being a holiday, but nice, so I went back the next day too when it wasn’t so crowded. (one of the perks of being retired is you can go to the beach any day you want). I read another beach book – Things to Do When It’s Raining – set in the Thousand Islands. It was hot, so I went in the lake 3 times – the water was warm and perfect, refreshing but not shocking like it can be sometimes when you first go in until you get used to it.

There was lots of sand, and it was clean, unlike a few years ago when there was only a narrow strip of dirty beach from the lake levels being so high. Now they are too low, and even the groynes are buried under the sand. I finished another book, but was so absorbed in it, I did not realize the sun had shifted and my feet were now exposed from under the umbrella.

And no, I was not trying to match my skin to my nail polish. By Tuesday night I realized my feet were burnt.

It was my own fault, and I should have known better. Although I had put sunscreen on my face that morning, it only works if you apply it, and I didn’t. I felt I was safe under the umbrella and just going back and forth to the water had limited exposure. I hate sunscreen. I’ve yet to find one that isn’t sticky or greasy, especially the waterproof ones. You have to scrub numerous times to get them off, and then scrub the bathtub out too. I’d rather cover up, but I didn’t. Blame it on the book, or the medication I was on, as I think it could have been a photosensitivity reaction (like an exaggerated sunburn) as my feet weren’t exposed that long.

So seven days of pain and misery, and I’m just now reaching the itchy peeling stage. Repeated trips to pharmacy to buy Solarcaine/Lidocaine spray, Aloe Gel, bandaids for the worst parts. Feet and ankles so swollen I could not wear socks or shoes for a whole week. (I wore moccasin slippers to the hairdressers on Friday.) It reminded me of my teenage years, the chills and blisters and miserable Noxzema nights, before I got sun-savvy.

Lesson learned. Never let your guard down!

Not sure if I will get back to the beach again this year but if I do I’ll be wearing socks. Luckily, socks and sandals are supposedly back in style.

Were you a beach baby, or did you prefer a pool?

Vintage 1950’s photo of city beach. I would love to live along the top part with my own private beach.

Summertime Fun

June 25, 2025June 25, 202534 Comments

I’m feeling nostalgic lately, and old, as with the passing of Brian Wilson and Sly Stone this month, the soundtrack of my youth is slowly dying.

The Beach Boys were always there in the background with their summertime music. I can’t pick a particular favorite song, as there were so many, (Let’s Go Surfing, California Girls, Little Deuce Coupe, see the whole Best Hits Album) but perhaps, Fun, Fun, Fun and Good Vibrations remind me the most of a summer day.

As for Sly and the Family Stone their hits Everyday People and Dance to the Music, were popular with lots of radio play, but my favorite was always Hot Fun in the Summertime.

The song was released in August 1969, around the time of their performance at Woodstock, which greatly increased their fame, and reached number two on the billboard in October, long after summer was over.

So where was I in 1969? Certainly not at Woodstock – I was 13, almost 14 and getting ready to start high school, so I was probably at the beach or in the backyard, working on my (very light) tan, lying on a scratchy wool blanket, and reading the latest copy of Seventeen, with the scent of Coppertone in the air, and Sun-in in my hair, because “Sun-In and Sunlight, and you’ll be blonder tonight.”

I tried Sun-In once but it never did much for me, as the formula was so weak and my hair was already kind of blondish, and I probably didn’t sit out in the sun long enough for it to work, as I burnt so easily. (Remember Noxzema? Deep dark tans were the goal, and many people applied baby oil, but after a couple of blistering sunburns I knew that was not an option for me.) Although one summer I dyed my hair lighter, with Summer Blonde, but the smell of the peroxide scared me and I ended up rinsing it out sooner than I was supposed to but it was still plenty light enough and it took forever to grow out, as we wore our hair straight and parted in the middle which showed the roots.

I liked my grade 8 graduation dress – white lace dresses were in style then, and mine had a green satin bow and matching bell bottom pants, which I wore because my mother thought the dress was too short without them. I grew my bangs out in high school, but have worn bangs ever since.

What an ugly uniform – white shirts with navy sweaters and skirts, although pants were an option later. They must have wanted us to look like nuns. A plaid kilt would have been much more preppy. I remember my mother sewing my early uniforms, out of some polyester material, a long open vest and a plain skirt, which got progressively shorter over the years so the skirt was the same length as the vest!

I thought you might enjoy a peek at these 1970 copies of Seventeen Magazine which I rescued from the attic when my mom moved off the farm. They are summer issues, and the magazine was in a large size format then, similar in dimensions to Look and Life. They cost 50 cents and in the July issue they are already gearing up for fall clothes – and so was I as I prepared to enter high school that fall, with some trepidation, so it was important to look cool. The Fall issue of Seventeen was always a big deal, as although we girls had to wear those ugly uniforms, we had dress-up day once a month, which was like a fashion show, except for the guys who got to wear jeans and t-shirts all the time. Now the guys must wear ugly uniforms too, which is only fair.

I wanted to look like this ad, but instead ended up buying a brown striped t-shirt-like dress which I wore with a gold chain belt, an outfit I bought at a store in the mall called Cojana, which was so dark inside, that you could hardly see the clothes. It was the epitome of cool though, with beaded curtains and funky music. I was not happy with my first-day-of-high-school outfit, because it didn’t look like anything in the magazine, but we were always behind the U.S. in fashions by several years. Plus, my father, who never ever shopped, was along on our shopping expedition, and he said he liked it, and how embarrassing was that! (I suspect my dad only gave it the stamp of approval because he wanted to go home as I’d dithered long enough over the perfect outfit!)

My fashion obsession started young, and because we were so behind in styles, I turned to home sewing, (yes, me an expert with one year of mandatory grade 8 home economics) and these issues are full of ads for sewing patterns. Only mine never turned out that great, and were usually finished by my ever-patient mother, who once smocked a dress for me, like this one only with sleeves, which I wore exactly once. I would enjoy picking out the material and the pattern, and cutting out the pieces, maybe a bit of straight seam sewing, but anything else was beyond me – blame the old Singer sewing machine as it was so temperamental, not like today’s sleek models with their electronic programs.

I was allowed to wear makeup when I was 12, and I remember a brief period when mascara came in a powder cake, and you added a bit of water and applied it with a tiny brush, so the advent of mascara in a tube was a big improvement, as you could always add an extra coat in the girl’s washroom between classes! I had the exact same eyeshadow palette as I got it for Christmas that year – looking back I’m amazed that my mother was so hip at forty-four! Although, I only ever wore the blue, as blue eyeshadow was cool….

As were blue aviators. I’m sure I had a pair. I also had a blue checked summer blazer made out of seersucker material which I loved.

I had a two-piece bathing suit like this, made from some imitation blue jean material, which I thought was really hip and I had a poncho too, but who would wear a poncho to the beach? The wool blankets were already scratchy enough – I think blankets only came in wool back then, but if they came in synthetic or crochet or something softer, you certainly wouldn’t be allowed to take one to the beach! Beach towels were just old bath towels. Beverages came in a thermos, and were usually Freshie or Kool-aid in colors and flavors I cringe to remember. There was Tab or Fresca for those who were dieting, both tasted awful – pass me the sugar please. A snack on the beach was a bag of chips, french fries or ice cream. There were no beach umbrellas, if you started to burn you moved to the shade of a tree.

Nobody I knew went to summer camp, or if they did it was only for a week, not the whole summer like kids do now, with soccer camp, hockey camp, theatre camp, church camp, Girl Guide camp, and what-ever-else-so-we-don’t-have-to-pay-a babysitter camp. A vacation was a trip to Niagara Falls or renting a (rustic) cottage for a week, or perhaps a weekend trip to visit your cousins in Michigan. I wonder about kids living such a scheduled life so young. Do they ever get a chance to be bored, or is constant stimulation and no downtime just normal to them? It’s one thing to be influenced by reading a monthly magazine with pretty pictures, but quite another to be constantly bombarded every day with social media. No wonder so many kids are struggling with mental health issues.

13-14 is an awkward age anyway, with no wheels and when you lived in the country like I did, that could be a problem. My young teenage life was nothing like the magazines or movies. So, what did I do that summer while I was waiting for high school to start and real life to arrive?

I read a lot, (I would go to the library once a week and get a stack of books), and watched tv – reruns at night which were new to me as I never watched much during the school year as the bus came so early, and soap operas in the afternoon, (my mother’s General Hospital and Dark Shadows, a vintage vampire soap). I had a few chores in the house, and the garden (my mother canned a lot) but nothing on the farm, unlike my brothers and dad who were forever baling straw or hay, first cut, second cut, third cut if you were lucky, it was all hot dusty work. My cousin, who was three weeks older than me, lived right next door and she was always up for something. We would ride our ten speed bikes two miles down to the corner store to get ice cream, or I would visit with my grandma who lived across the road, for homemade root beer. And if I was really bored, I would go watch my younger brother’s baseball games, as my uncle was the coach, and there was an ice cream shop next to the baseball diamond.

On Wednesdays, my mother would drive into the city to go grocery shopping, and I went along to shop for clothes, although I seldom bought anything as we didn’t have much money and the styles were so boring. Although you could make 50cents/hour babysitting, I only did that occasionally, as the family down the road had 4 or 5 kids, most of them bratty. My mother would visit three different grocery stores looking for the weekly sales (something I do myself now that I’m retired and groceries are so expensive) and then afterwards we would go to Macdonald’s for a treat – a hamburger, fries and a chocolate milkshake. (75 cents) The only other fast-food restaurant in town was the A&W drive-in, where you could get a big refillable amber jug of frothy yeasty root beer which tasted far superior to their root beer now, and KFC, whose finger-licking-good buckets were usually reserved for picnics.

In fact my life in retirement looks a lot like my early teen years, and I’m okay with that, with no set schedule and lots of time to do nothing, except I can get in my car and drive someplace if I want to. The past few years have been challenging, so when people ask me what I’m doing this summer, I’m happy to say – I have no plans. A normal life is highly underrated – you don’t appreciate it, until it’s at risk. So, I want to do absolutely nothing until I’m rested and totally bored, and then I’ll figure out what I want to do next that’s fun.

PS. And every single Sunday during the summer we went to the beach – I don’t remember it ever raining on a weekend or being this hot? The weather was just pleasantly warm and if you were lucky your favorite song would come on the radio, the perfect soundtrack to a summer day.

I love this new TV ad for the retro Volkswagon, and the song lyrics are stuck in my head, Are You Having Any Fun? The shot of the little girl at the end with the beach towel, is priceless and says hello summer! Wishing you all a summer of leisure, simple pleasures and fun! As for me, I’m going to have an ice cream cone to welcome the season.

What were you doing in the summer of 1970?

A Garden Party – The Queen’s Jubilee

July 6, 2022July 6, 202232 Comments

I went to a garden party….in honor of the Queen’s 70^th Jubilee on Jun 4. Canada is a commonwealth country, so I grew up singing God Save the Queen in grade school, along with our national anthem, Oh Canada. One of my very first memories is of the Queen’s visit to my city in 1959, although as a wee tyke of three I wouldn’t have had any idea of who she was, but I do vaguely remember standing on the riverbank near the church watching the Royal Yacht glide by. All I knew was an important person was onboard, so we had to wait…and wave.

So when I read that the city was throwing a garden party in honour of the queen’s 70^th anniversary on the throne, I went straight to the website to sign-up…..but the registration was already full, as the event was limited to only two hundred people. So I spoke to a very nice lady at city hall who put us on the waiting list, whereby I happened to mention that my mother at 96 was the exact same age as the Queen. (I’m not without my devious ways.) A few days later an invitation arrived via email – Hear Ye, Hear Ye – you have been added to the Queen’s guest list. Attendees were encouraged to dress up and wear a hat, including vintage 50’s styles from the era of the Queen’s visit.

Attendance was limited at this exclusive event as they wanted to model it after the Queen’s own garden parties. She holds three every year on the grounds of Buckingham Palace and one in Scotland – a tradition dating back to the time of Queen Victoria in the 1860’s. The parties are by invitation only and fancy dress is required. Tea, scones and cake are served to about 10,000 people. It’s a way for the Queen to recognize and reward public service, and a chance for her to mingle. This year due to mobility issues, other members of the royal party filled in. Here’s a link to more information about the Queen’s annual Garden Party.

The day of the party dawned warm and sunny, with a delightful breeze – one of those perfect June days you so seldom see anymore. The venue was a public park with beautiful gardens (I posted about Plein Air Painting here in Sept. 2019 when the flowers were at their peak) and we walked through the arbour strung with hanging baskets to the registration desk.

Chairs were set up under the large shade trees for the required speeches, with every stripe of politician represented – federal, provincial, municipal. A pipe band opened the ceremonies.

And then to the food tent – we snagged a table in the shade. The food was wonderful…..the traditional tea party fare.

The sandwiches – salmon, tuna, egg, cucumber – were all excellent. I tried my first cucumber sandwich – where else can you find a cucumber sandwich but at a tea party! And scones of course, and all kinds of dessert squares, and cookies, including these special Union Jack ones.

These individually wrapped souvenirs were sugar cookies with royal icing – almost too pretty to eat, but I managed.

There were macrons in red, white and blue. I’m always disappointed by macrons, as they look better than they taste, and aren’t they French?

There was tons of food left-over, as witnessed by the trays of sandwiches behind the tables, so I hope the food bank benefited.

There was no cost for the tickets as the event was paid for by a heritage grant, but I wonder if some of the people who RSVP’d forgot to show up, or changed their minds, although there did seem to be a good crowd there, including a few people who were walking through the park and asked if they could join in.

The table décor was lovely, and a few lucky souls got to take the centrepieces home.

I really liked these royal blue satin tablecloths.

There were flags,

and tents. Nothing says fancy summer party like a white tent.

It was fun to check out people’s outfits, and their hats.

I wore a floral yellow dress from the 80’s, and got several comments on it, but sensibly wore flat sandals, although I did see a few people tottering around on impossibly high heels, sinking into the grass. I’m too old for that and too afraid I’ll fall over and break something. I needed the sweater because it was cool enough in the shade, and also to cover my arms, as I don’t do sleeveless anymore. It felt strange to wear a dress again, for the first time in five years. I wasn’t too happy with my hat, an old straw relic also from the 80’s, but didn’t have time to look for anything else. Plus, I think those fascinators are silly things on most people.

A vintage clutch purse which closes with a satisfying click, like all 50’s style purses do, including the Queen’s. She has over 200 of her iconic brand, in many colors. It’s rumored that she sends secret signals to her staff with her purse, shifting it’s location to indicate that she wishes to be rescued from a conversation or wants a dinner to wrap up.

And pearls of course, there were lots of pearls in evidence.

After lunch, there was an enactment of the Queen’s life put on by a local theatre group, with various members representing the queen at different stages in her career. No matter what people might think of the monarchy, there’s no denying the Queen has lived a long life of dignified service, not to mention surviving all those family scandals. She must be a woman of fortitude, strength and resilience.

Afterwards, we wandered through the garden pathways admiring the baskets, although the flower beds themselves were just newly planted.

All in all, it was a beautiful day and a wonderful party. Long live the Queen!

Grannychic

December 16, 2021December 16, 202140 Comments

Although I’m not a granny, I was happy to read that the latest home decorating trend is Grannychic – also known as Cottagecore, or Grandmillenial style.

I first read about this new style, a direct reaction to the popular beige minimalist décor, in the October issue of Susan Branch’s blog. (Here’s a link to her blog.)

Susan Branch she is a cookbook author and watercolor artist, who lives on Martha’s Vineyard. She published a bestselling hand-written cookbook thirty years ago called Heart of The Home (recently re-issued), and has a long list of other cookbooks to her credit. I discovered her a few years ago, after reading a review of her self-published journal, Martha’s Vineyard – Isle of Dreams – which piqued my interest enough to order it. This illustrated journal centers around her adventures buying an old cottage on Martha’s Vineyard while in her 30’s and fixing it up. She also has two other handwritten journals, The Fairy Tale Girl about growing up in California in the 1960’s-70’s, (worth it for the chapter on meeting the Beatles), and A Fine Romance about her three month trip to the English countryside with her husband, (for those who always wanted to rent an English cottage). These gorgeous books are all for sale on her website. You can also sign up for her blog/monthly newsletters, which are always cheery and uplifting.

To me, Susan Branch is a perfect example of Grannychic. She lives in a big old (1849) white house on Martha’s Vineyard, which she bought with the proceeds of her first cookbook, (a far cry from the initial shack). The house itself is my idea of house heaven, complete with a white picket fence and flower gardens. Her husband Joe (he owned a restaurant, they bonded over cooking) is a sweetie, and even her tuxedo-cat, Jack, is a lovable character. In fact, her life is so perfect, that sometimes I’m too envious to read her blogs. She’s not Martha Steward though, she’s more casual and laid back.

So, what is grannychic – antique furniture, shelves full of books, candles, wallpaper, fabrics (chintz and toile and florals), plaid pillows, and lots of color (especially blues, pinks, greens and white). Check, check, check – I have all of those. Although I’ve renovated the outside of my older style home and parts of the inside, I never got around to getting rid of the wallpaper and wainscoting in the dining room and now I don’t have to!

Which just goes to show, if you wait long enough everything comes back in style.

It’s also a way of living – flower gardens, feeding the birds, listening to old music, baking and cups of tea.

It’s cluttered versus bare surfaces, lace doilies, pretty tablecloths, and china. I’m envisioning those who de-cluttered now frequenting thrift shops trying to buy their stuff back.

It’s even Laura Ashley (must check closet). I’m hoping that it invades the fashion world too, so we can all dress up again. I’ve been watching old re-runs of Murder She Wrote lately with my mother, and wow, the clothes, everything so colorful and coordinated. It seems like a different world.

Grannychic is the kind of comfy, classic look which never goes out of style. It’s not that I don’t appreciate the aesthetic of those beige minimalist rooms, it’s just that I don’t think I could relax in them. We’re now into the time of year when the winter winds are howling, so it’s time to draw the curtains (I don’t have to replace those either!) light the candles and get cozy.

Now, if only it extends to Christmas decorating, as I have way too many decorations….

Fifty Years Ago Today

November 18, 2021November 18, 202158 Comments

“It was fifty years ago today, Sergeant Pepper taught the band to play….”

No – if my memory serves correct, the lyrics are, it was twenty years ago today.

You know you’re getting older when the Beatles are considered senior’s music and many younger people don’t even know who they are. One youngster upon hearing an early Paul McCartney track remarked that he thought the singer would go far. If you haven’t seen the cute British movie, Yesterday, it’s based on the same premise – a world where no one knows the Beatles music. (Aside – British actors must get annoyed when every lead role goes to the lovely Lily James.)

I recently turned old enough that the government is now sending me money – along with an information package that I’m now eligible for free drugs and pneumococcal and shingles vaccines and reminders to get routine tests done so I don’t become a drain on the heath care system someday. I’m right smack in the middle of the baby boomers, and the problem with my generation is that there are so many of us.

I came across this list in a magazine geared to boomers the other day, and yes, we are still a marketing demographic.

Suddenly I’m fifteen again in the kitchen of our old farmhouse waiting for the bus, with the radio tuned to the local FM station. It’s 7:30 and I’m wearing a mini-skirt and trying to grab a few bites of breakfast with the smell of perked coffee in the air. I’m sure my mother sat down and enjoyed a cup when we were all out the door and peace and quiet reigned once more. Maybe she changed the station to some easy-listening music.

The bus stopped frequently as practically every farm had kids and my brother playing lookout at the window could see the flashing lights down the road, thus giving me a few extra minutes to gather my books and fringed suede purse, (all the rage then.) The bus picked up students for six different high schools in town so it was crowded. (Did I mention there were so many of us?) As we were the last ones on we often had to sit three to a seat, and someone from another school would reluctantly move over to make room, but the advantage to being scrunched in like sardines near the front, was close proximity to the bus-driver’s radio and more top ten hits. I got in at least an hour of music a day that way. (A few years later when I was in my senior year, the peak had thinned out and there were empty seats. Now there are only three high schools left.)

Even though we lived in the country, we weren’t country music fans, unless you counted cross over artists like Anne Murray, Kenny Rogers and Crystal Gayle, so the only one I recognize from the country list is Charley Pride – Kiss an Angel Good Morning, but I know every one of the top ten billboard hits.

Of the movie list, I only remember seeing Billy Jack (with my cousin) and Fiddler on the Roof (my mother’s choice), both rather forgettable, other than perhaps one memorable song each. We didn’t have the money or the wheels to go to the show very often. I think Love Story was out that year too, a more popular film for teens, but not all movies were good, then and now.

We might have had better music but would I want to be that age again – no! Too much homework, and not enough money.

Many of my fellow boomers are retiring. My dentist recently retired and when his millennial-aged children took over the practice, the first thing to go was the oldies-but-goodies radio station. During my last checkup I heard Spirit in the Sky for the first time in decades, (possibly not the best soundtrack for a root canal.) Now it’s some variation of that horrible rap music. I turned the radio on the other day and heard this snippet of a lyric, “I held your hair back when you were throwing up.” Now, there’s a romantic visual. Contrast that to “Well, she was just seventeen, and you know what I mean…” Not that all those hits on the list were great though – Knock Three Times on the Ceiling was pure cheese – the same thing could be easily handled today by a text message.

My financial adviser recently retired – I’ve been with him since I was 32 and took an “Investing in the 80’s” evening course he taught at the local community college. We had a meet and greet to introduce me to his much younger replacement, and I swear we both had tears in our eyes reminiscing about old times and 12% interest rates and that $150 dot.com stock I once sold for $10. I only saw him once a year at RRSP time, but he was someone you could count on for wise advice, well except for that one stock whose name escapes me, although it caused much angst at the time. Now I have to start all over again with someone else. The same with my doctor, my accountant, my hairdresser. I’m already on Lawyer Number Three. The previous two died young, and as the replacement is the same age, I’m worried. You see all that expertise and work ethic walk out the door, and it can be unnerving having to adjust to someone new, whatever their age.

That’s the other thing about being in your sixties. People YOUR OWN AGE start to die on you – cousins, work colleagues, the spouses of friends. You start to read the obituaries online. I lost a work colleague last week, a kind soul who always used to call me SISTER, and I felt incredibly sad that I hadn’t gone to visit her, hadn’t even known she was that sick.

I remember the head nurse of chronic care once saying that the key to a successful old age, was being able to adjust to change and loss. No wonder they say, “old age isn’t for sissies” but really what is the alternative? Another approach is accepting the limitations that come with age, not necessarily giving up but pursuing more realistic and meaningful goals. I won’t be backpacking in Europe anytime soon, but I might still become a rich and famous novelist and rent a villa in Tuscany and invite all of my blogging friends…..

It also helps to have a passion in life, a sound mind and good health. It’s hard to enjoy yourself at any age if you are in constant pain or suffering from any of the many indignities of growing older – bad knees, hips, cataracts, etc….many of them fixable, but reminders all the same.

Now that I’m officially “young-old” my mother must be “old-old” although she has never really seemed her age. She has certainly been an inspiration when it comes to aging (she built a new house at 72, took up painting at 87 and has had several solo exhibits) but somehow I doubt if I’ll see her age. I have more of my dad’s genes, hence the need to start taking better care of myself. (You might have noticed there have been no baking blogs lately…..maybe next week)

If there’s one thing that scared me when reading Keep Sharp – Dr. Sanjay Gupta’s new book about building a better brain, it’s that our habits in middle age (good or bad) help determine how we will live our old age. Number one was exercise. Some people were motivated to make positive changes during the pandemic, others waited it out like hibernating-couch-potato-sloths addicted to multiple streaming services. I recently signed up for Netflix – the last Canadian holdout – as I figure it’s going to be another long winter ahead.

If anything I think the pandemic has aged us all to some extent. We stay home more, get more sleep, take afternoon naps, watch more TV, have tea and toast or Meals on Wheels/Door Dash delivered when we’re sick of cooking and fill our days with errands and appointments to minimize exposure……plus scan the flyers for bargains as food costs soar! I’m sure I’ll be taking up bird-watching any day now – seriously, I have three sets of binoculars and this is on my Bucket list for next year. If old age is for the birds, I want to see them!

Apparently albums are back in style again for music connoisseurs, so I’m thinking I might pull some of those old records out of the basement and crank up the stereo (Pioneer with vintage 70’s turntable – make me an offer) and listen to some Carly Simon if “it’s not too late.” Let the Music Play!

PS. A neighbor of mine lived to be a vibrant 105, but she was always young at heart…