​We old women have secrets and younger folks have secrets about us. The issues of technology are especially fraught with secrets and misconceptions among the generations.
     I grew up dialing a rotary phone, driving a stick shift, listening to the Brooklyn Dodgers on a transistor radio, receiving wedding congratulations via telegram, using a tape recorder, reading an analog clock, and watching my doctor listen to me and write down what I was saying. These aren’t secrets, but if you didn’t grow up with them, they might be holding some secrets from you in the same way that computer technology is holding secrets from me. At the very least, it is a challenge for the generations to communicate about it.
      Case in point: let’s consider the medical world. On Wednesday I arrived on time for an 10:45 annual check up with my doctor and was immediately handed an Ipad and told (asked?) to update my medical history for their files. Twenty-five minutes later I handed in the Ipad and was immediately taken to the examination room.
      Yes, twenty-five minutes. No, the doctor wasn’t behind schedule. That’s what it took me to scroll down to respond to hundreds (I didn’t count) of intensely personal questions that I’d never asked before by a doctor, questions, that in my humble opinion, were certainly not necessary to ask an old woman. Thankfully, somewhere along the way I noticed each section was marked as *Required or *Not Required. Eureka! I could speed up and mark something along the lines of ‘choose not to answer’--that is, until all those required, legal, non-disclosure forms at the end.
      My comments to the nurse about the Ipad experience went on deaf ears. Instead of being an active listener and offering something along the lines of, “Yes, it is tedious,” she defended the process and need for all that information. My lovely doctor wasn’t tuned into my frustration or opinion either. She suggested that this summer she might have her teenaged daughter be in the office to help seniors “fill out” the form. “No,” I told her, “I can handle the technology, I just find the entire form is over the top.”
     There are many secrets floating around among the old and young with this story. Maybe not secrets as much as generational misunderstandings and divides. We don’t get each other; that’s the way it is. I do, however, have some secrets about life and death that I’d like to share if anyone wants to listen. I don’t want the medical world to keep me alive for as long as is medically possible.
     I’m not afraid of dying, nor am I afraid to face the death issue. As I watch all those TV ads from the pharmaceutical industry, and as I record my medical history on an Ipad, I have to wonder if the medical world can simultaneously embrace death and do all they can to save a life. Don’t get me wrong. I know that doctors participate in palliative care and hospice and that hospitals have medical ethics committees. I believe that those who work in the in health care are compassionate people.  I am aware that the intricacies  of medical insurance and the fear of lawsuits add to the complexity. But still, why as all those questions to an old lady? Maybe you have to be an old lady to even think about it.  
     Which brings me to a final secret on the topic. We old people know ageism when we see, or rather when we feel it. We don’t like it, and when we can work around it, we do. So, next time, I am going to refuse to fill in the Ipad form; instead I’ll pick up the book I’ve brought and start reading

One of the secrets of my old women secrets has two parts: I forget things and I don’t care.
Case in point: I forget what I write on this blog and so I write about it again; but I don’t care that I do this. I have little interest in reading through pass posts. I am not publishing, I’m posting.
As far as I’m concerned I love that I don’t care. I don’t care what others think about repeating an idea. Not that it matters, but I bet many of you forget what I’ve said, and if you remembered, you are just like me: you don’t care.

    I am blessed to be part of a group of long-time friends who get together to share what’s going on in our lives. The six of us are all circling eighty. Here’s the essence of my contribution to a recent email exchange.
 
Our honesty and hopefulness helps us be realistic and resilient. We each take our turn; at the moment two of us are on center stage, the rest of us with essential supporting roles.
 
Each one of us is strong. We have high P.A.—personal authority, but that doesn’t mean we don’t need each other’s support.  Although I believe that when all is said and done we are alone in this world , I also believe that we can only embrace and cherish this aloneness if we are surrounded and loved by others. (For example, I am peaceful and not lonely traveling alone because I have family and friends who love me and support and understand this long of mine.)
 
     Maybe it’s not a old woman’s secret that we need our peers. 

​Mary Oliver died yesterday. She was 83, four years old than me. Three years ago she was diagnosed with lymphoma. I don’t know if she suffered from it, but I like to think that she knew her journey was coming to an end and that she had lived the journey she had encouraged her readers to follow: determined to save the only life you could save.
    Instructions for living a life. Pay attention. Be astonished. Tell about it. Mary Oliver followed her own instructions; she told about her life throughout a life time of writing poetry. She showed us how to pay attention and be astonished.
      Mary Oliver didn’t seem to have old woman secrets; she just kept writing. She was transparent and honest. We old (and young) women will continue to learn from her. 

​    On December 30th I turned 79. I don’t feel old, and in many ways I don’t fill the usual stereotype of someone entering her 80th year. In other words, I’m healthy and active. But I feel an old woman secret creeping in, which has to do with travel.
    I’m fine going to Florence because I know the routine. As the expression goes, I could do it blind-folder, although my eyes are excellent. But flying to a new airport, renting a car and getting onto the highway, and being my own tour guide over-whelms me.
    I’m beginning to understand the attraction of tours, but I’m not interested in spending energy hooking up with them. Plus, and here’s another secret, tours are inherently social, and I want solitude—which is why I love traveling alone.
     Old women are happy staying at home. I don’t know if it’s a secret, but it sure is true. 

     I notice that I am not judging others as much as I used to-- pastel hair coloring, loud tourists, fancy or scruffy attire. People look and act as they do, and I am one of those people, too. In part this is one of the secret benefits I’m feeling as an old woman. It has freed me to wear my warm hat with ‘Thankful’ on its rim. Certainly not a fashion statement, but I am warm and I am not worrying that people might be thinking, “There goes an old woman.”  Who cares.

      Are there any old woman secrets about traveling alone to Italy? I feel confident in the same ways I’ve always felt; I am not fearful that something might happen; I can manage my luggage with ease; I am not lonely; I love eating alone. The secret is that I am aware that these solitary trips will come to an end—soon, within the next few years.
      We old people know the finality of life in a way that hasn’t always been in our consciousness. For me, it began emerging when I turned 70, and became hardwired by 75. It’s not a depressing thought, but a prominent one. Living in the moment has becomes essential to my well-being.

​Here is the old woman secret that appeared to methis morning. I hate all the grumbling I hear from old people, and yet, here I am doing just that. Today’s specific grumble is how we long for ‘the good old days’ by complaining about how things currently are in the world. This one can totally consume us if we let it. And, in case you’re wondering, it is not about good memories. It probably has to do with lack of control in our lives. 

     ​We old women still want to be perfect, both in our own eyes and in the eyes of others. From our old age stance, however, we offer the wisdom that no one is perfect, nor can they. It’s not that we’re lying; it’s just that we want what we can’t have. It’s a life long conundrum, starting with wanting cookies for breakfast, to a perfect teenage complexion, to  a glamorous job, to compliant children.  Then, as we learn that those dreams are unattainable, we soften our expectations, and become satisfied with the nuances of every day life.  But we still hold onto that ideal of perfection within us.
    Maybe that’s a good thing, not letting go of wanting to be perfect, or shall I say, the best we can be, especially in a old woman kind-of-way.  

 A secret of many old women, at least this one, is that as kids we were immersed in the  Subway Series. What’s that you ask? It was when fans took the New York City subway to the World Series games between the Brooklyn Dodgers and the New York Yankees. *
      The 1955 season was my season. In no particular order I remember the entire Brooklyn Dodger line up, the arrival of rookie pitchers Sandy Koufax and Don Drysdale, the catch of Sandy Amoros, and calling my grandmother in Brooklyn after our Bums won. And then O’Malley moved the team to LA and my ‘wait ‘til next year’ days were over. It took me until 2013 to wave the Red Sox banner.
     Being a Brooklyn Dodger fan isn’t one of my secrets, but it sure dates me. Just three weeks ago at the second playoff game against the Yankees at Fenway Park, I comment to some fans sitting near me that I had been a big Brooklyn Dodger fan and gone to Ebbets Field. Wow, did their eye brows raise! We’re they saying, “You are old, but you don’t look it”? I’m going to think that.
 
* In all fairness, I must mentioned New York Giants as participants in the Subway Series. I remember Bobby Thompson’s shot heard round the world in 1951. It took four years for redemption.