Yellow warblers sometimes visit my small yard. — Art by Pat Bean
Aging My Way
“Old age is something only the lucky get to do.”
I was surprised on a recent morning to realize I was sitting in my small patio yard – doing nothing. I had gone out to sit in a cool breeze and watch birds as I drank my morning cream-laced coffee.
But the wind was not gentle, typical for Tucson, and the birds had gone into sheltered hiding somewhere. Their absence barely resonated with me, until I finally realized how comfortable and peaceful I was just sitting there, a state of mind that is fairly new to me.
But I guess that is what happens when one is an 86-year-old broad. In my younger years there was a time I was so impatient to get from one place to another that I ran instead of walked. And my mind was always racing.
This morning when I sat outside with my coffee, birds were twittering all over the place. Amy Tan’s The Backyard Bird Chronicles, which I’m currently reading – and enjoying – inspired me to go inside and get a notebook and start my own chronicles. While my small patio yard doesn’t compare to Tan’s bird haven, I do have a tall cottonwood and two tall oleander bushes in it, plus a couple of bird feeders and one for hummingbird nectar.
As I watched and listened, house sparrows, verdins, lesser goldfinches, house finches, mourning and white-winged doves, Europeans starlings and a spotted grosbeak made their presence known. The bonus was a rose-breasted grosbeak that as far as I know was a first to visit my backyard.
I enjoyed this morning, too, — but not more I think then I did the one in which I simply sat quietly, with only my mind wandering about. It has never stopped racing.
Scamp: What do you mean we can’t go for a walk at sunrise?
Aging My Way
“Old age is not so bad when you consider the alternative.” —Maurice Chevalier
I’ve always been a morning person, but things are changing. Instead of popping up out of bed bright and cheery and ready to tackle the world as I have done almost all my life, I stumble out of bed with a stiff achy body of an 85-year-old. Perhaps that is because I am 85 (86 in just a couple of weeks) and have the arthritis to prove it.
It takes a while for my body to warm up for the day ahead, something I keep trying to tell my canine companion Scamp, who is ready for a walk as soon as the sun creeps into our bedroom.
I’ve told him that I’m an old broad and suggested that all he needed the first thing in the morning was a quick pee, and that I would take him for a longer walk a little later, like 10 a.m.
He readily agreed to the quick pee, but still grumbles a bit about waiting until 10, preferring a nice long 9 a.m. walk. So, I compromised. We now usually get out for that good walk around 9:30 a.m., which gives my body time to slowly enjoy a bowl of oatmeal, which is good for my cholesterol, and two cups of coffee, which is good for my heart.
You think about these things when you’re 85.
And if you’re lucky, you’ll have a companion like my Scamp to talk it over with.
Pat Bean is a retired award-winning journalist who lives in Tucson with her canine companion Scamp. She is an avid reader whose mind is always asking questions (many of which are unanswerable), an enthusiastic birder, staff writer for Story Circle Network’s Journal, author of Travels with Maggie available on Amazon (Free on Kindle Unlimited), and is always searching for life’s silver lining. She also believes one is never too old to chase a dream.
A beach in South Goa — Image from a Goan government travel brochure
Aging My Way
It all started with a word I had never heard before: Vindaloo. From how the word was used in the sentence I was reading in The Storied Life of A.J. Fikryby Gabrielle Zevin, I determined vindaloo was some kind of food, as the book’s protagonist was heating it up in a microwave for dinner.
But what kind of food, I wondered, and thus begin my journey down the internet rabbit hole, a place I visit almost daily. My surfing told me that vindaloo is a spicy Indian curry. To be more exact, a Goan curry dish, according to Wikipedia.
So, what is Goan, my curious brain asked – and Wikipedia answered: Goan is the demonym used to describe the people native to Goa, India.
So, where is Goa? India’s Southwestern Coast, and additionally it is the country’s smallest state.
And since I’m into travel, even if it’s just from an armchair, I spent a bit of time researching Goa. The Indian state is nicknamed the Pearl of the Orient and its motto, according to the Goan government, is: “May everyone see goodness, may none suffer any pain.” I like that.
Among the other trivia tidbits I learned along the way is that vindaloo is based on a Portuguese dish called vinha d’alhos, which caused my rambling brain to remember that my great-great grandfather was a Portuguese sailor who jumped ship on America’s East Coast.
And with that, I jumped out of the rabbit hole and got back to my day’s activities, which a little bit later found me reading Steven Pressfield’s The War of Art, in which he encourages writers like me to stop procrastinating and write. And as if Steven had been peeking at me through a window, he wrote: “Resistance mounts to a pitch that becomes unendurable. At this point vices sink in. Dope, adultery, web surfing…
Pat Bean is a retired award-winning journalist who lives in Tucson with her canine companion Scamp. She is an avid reader whose mind is always asking questions (many of which are unanswerable), an enthusiastic birder, staff writer for Story Circle Network’s Journal, author of Travels with Maggie available on Amazon (Free on Kindle Unlimited), and is always searching for life’s silver lining.
“If your happiness depends on what somebody else does, I guess you do have a problem.” — Richard Bach
The older I get, the more I enjoy the little things life offers, like simply watching a pair of cardinals at my bird feeders. The scarlet male, with the morning sun making his feathers shimmer with light, was clinging to the side of one feeder while his red-fringed golden mate was sitting in a second one. I had a great view from where I sat at my computer jotting down my morning thoughts.
I also watched as a male mourning dove chased a female around the top of my wooden fence. It’s getting to be that time of year.
But I only noted the cardinals in the joy journal I keep, as I see mourning doves every day of the year. The doves don’t migrate and their visits to my small patio yard are a regular part of their daily routines, and I’ve noted their visitations numerous times.
Jotting things down in a joy journal reminds me of how blessed I am – even after suffering a heart attack. But then perhaps the heart attack was a blessing in disguise to make me realize how important the little things in life are:
Like a simple late-night walk with my canine companion Scamp while a cheshire-grinning sliver of a moon shines down on the two of us. Joy is a phone call from my kids and grandkids, and seeing photos of my distance great-grandkids getting a school award or enjoying themselves at Disneyland. It’s getting an invitation from my next-door granddaughter and her wife for a night out, and playing our favorite competitive card game of Frustration.
It’s a soak in a bath hot enough to turn my skin pink, or a new haircut.
Joy is a visit from my out-of-town brother, a neighbor dropping in for a beer and conversation, a good meal that I cooked myself, a visit to the library, my online writing chat group, the view I have each day of the Catalina Mountains, and of course the birds that visit my yard.
I’ve done the big stuff: Skiing down an Olympic run, interviewing presidents, going on an African safari, rafting through the Grand Canyon and spending nine years living and traveling all across this beautiful country in an RV.
I led an active life, and the memories I collected (well, at least most of them) give me joy. But now it’s my time to enjoy the little everyday things, like spending a whole day just reading a great book or simply watching my avian visitors.
There was no time for such things during earlier chapters of my life.
And while I do miss the adrenalin surges of the past, I’ve decided to follow Garth Brooks’ words: “Happiness isn’t getting what you want, it’s wanting what you got.”
And I got plenty.
Pat Bean is a retired award-winning journalist who lives in Tucson with her canine companion Scamp. She is an avid reader whose mind is always asking questions (many of which are unanswerable), an enthusiastic birder, staff writer for Story Circle Network’s Journal, author of Travels with Maggie available on Amazon (Free on Kindle Unlimited), and is always searching for life’s silver lining. She also believes one is never too old to chase a dream.
Bean Pat: If you want to check out birds, but none visit your yard, check out explore.org and watch some of their bird cams. My favorite is the one in Panama at Canopy Lodge. Cornell also has live bird cams for those who want to watch birds.
Bean’s Pat is back. It’s simply my way of saying I like something.
I woke up about 1 a.m. the other night and couldn’t get back to sleep. I suspected it was because my stomach, empty after an early, light dinner, was growling too loudly.
So, I got up and went in and fixed myself a bowl of oatmeal with some dried fruit, then sat down in front of the television, my usual substitute for a dining partner, and started flipping through programs. I wanted to watch something without violence or disturbing behavior, because shows featuring, dark characters with violent tendencies aren’t conducive to my sleep, some of which I was still hoping to get.
Because of the offerings, it took a while, but I finally, I came across a short series on Prime Video titled Travels with Agatha Christie with Sir David Suchet. It seemed a perfect choice for two reasons: I’m a big fan of Christie and I love traveling. Besides, having read almost all of Christie’s books, Suchet, who played the author’s Poirot for 25 years, is the only actor whose performances I have seen who matches my personal vision of the fictional detective.
The program seemed the perfect wee-hour viewing – and it was. I give it a Bean Pat. Perhaps you will like it, too.
Pat Bean is a retired award-winning journalist who lives in Tucson with her canine companion Scamp. She is an avid reader whose mind is always asking questions (many of which are unanswerable), an enthusiastic birder, staff writer for Story Circle Network’s Journal, author of Travels with Maggie available on Amazon (Free on Kindle Unlimited), and is always searching for life’s silver lining. She also believes one is never too old to chase a dream.
Me in my favorite place, a busy newspaper newsroom back in the late 1980s. — Photo by my work colleague and dear friend Charlie Trentelman.
Aging my Way
I came across the above picture of me sitting in a newsroom in Ogden, Utah, and my first thought was that I looked quite young. But reflecting back on that time in my life, I realized I wasn’t, well at least by some standards. The photo was taken some time in the late 1980s when I was pushing 50.
While the past 35 years have been kind to me in many ways, my body has gone the normal way for my years – it’s succumbed to the pull of gravity and become flabby and wrinkly.
As I look at that photo of me, I recalled that it was taken about the same time I hiked up a mountain with a woman who was in her 80s, and I remembered that she got to the top of the mountain before me.
I recall hoping that I would be as spry as her when I reached my 80s. It was wishful thinking that didn’t happen. Somewhere in my late 70s, hiking up a mountain ceased to exist as a possibility for me. And a couple or so years later I got a rollator, which lets me take nice walks on flat ground – and I bless the person who invented such a device because my balance is the shits.
Meanwhile, despite my sagging body, I am blessed in many ways, including having love and laughter in my life. While the love, which I didn’t feel I had when I was younger, is comforting, I don’t discount the laughter. As George Bernard Shaw said: “You don’t stop laughing when you grow old. You grow old when you stop laughing.”
I think that’s especially true when you can laugh at yourself.
Pat Bean is a retired award-winning journalist who lives in Tucson with her canine companion Scamp. She is an avid reader whose mind is always asking questions (many of which are unanswerable), an enthusiastic birder, staff writer for Story Circle Network’s Journal, author of Travels with Maggie available on Amazon (Free on Kindle Unlimited), and is always searching for life’s silver lining. She also believes one is never too old to chase a dream.
After 85 years, I still believe that behind every storm there is a silver lining. — Art by Pat Bean
From vowing on Mondays that I will have a more productive week than the one before to life after a divorce, starting over has been the theme of my life for the past 85 years. The first time I remember this happening was when my family moved when I was 12 years old.
I saw the move as a golden opportunity for a new beginning. It meant I would be leaving five years of being bullied and the nickname of Cootie Brain behind. I was that kid whom nobody chose to sit with at lunch and the last one called when team captains picked players. I wasn’t even popular with teachers due to my inability to stay in my seat and a loud voice that they were continually shushing.
I suspect the brain part of my nickname came from the fact I was a straight A student whose hand was always the first to go up when a question was asked, and the cootie part came from the fact I always came to school with stringy, tangled hair. I blamed my mother for that for many years, until I realized I used to scream when she tried to comb my hair, besides which she was burdened with two toddlers just 11 months apart, was the sole caretaker of her bed-ridden mother, and had a husband who spent most of his paycheck before coming home late Friday nights.
It was a stressful household, and I cried a lot, both in school and out of it. At least by the time we were forced to move from my grandmother’s house after her death, I had learned to wash, comb and even curl my own hair.
The move came at the end of fifth grade and I had the whole summer ahead of me to mull over the persona I wanted to present to my new schoolmates. It just so happened that this was the summer I read Eleanor Porter’s books about Pollyanna, a fictional character who is always cheerful and who always looks for the good side of things.
I credit these books for helping me get through the rest of my school years with at least a few friends, even though I still hadn’t conquered my tendency to get too loud when I was excited. Years later, I realized that the friends who accepted me as I was were really the only friends I needed.
Meanwhile, Pollyanna’s philosophy continues to influence me today in that I look for a silver lining when bad things happen. The glitter usually isn’t too hard to find – until this past year when I had a massive heart attack that required three surgeries and the placement of three stents.
My whole life became a start over, and I didn’t take it graciously. While I appreciated that I had family and friends who were there to help me, I resented that they were too eager to help me. I had always been, out of necessity for most of my life, self-sufficient. It hurt me that suddenly I couldn’t fully take care of my own needs. Having to accept that I couldn’t do it all on my own was even worse than being called Cootie Brain. This was a start-over that was out of my control and I resented it.
Thankfully, I’ve mostly come to grips with my new life by now. On the plus side, I have more energy this year than I did at the start of 2024 and have healed enough so I can mostly take care of my own needs once again – but I’m not so dumb as not to know how blessed I am that I have loved ones waiting in the wings.
In the meantime, life has become even more precious – plus just as important, I still believe in silver linings.
Pat Bean is a retired award-winning journalist who lives in Tucson with her canine companion Scamp. She is an avid reader whose mind is always asking questions (many of which are unanswerable), an enthusiastic birder, staff writer for Story Circle Network’s Journal, author of Travels with Maggie available on Amazon (Free on Kindle Unlimited), and is always searching for life’s silver lining. She also believes one is never too old to chase a dream.
I was reading an essay Michael W. Clune wrote about his panic attacks, which began when he was high school. He was told by an emergency room doctor that the best thing to do when he had one was to breath into a paper bag.
There was a technical explanation for doing this, something about hyperventilating, too much oxygen and the lack of enough carbon dioxide. I didn’t quite understand the specifics – but then that’s not what I’m writing about.
It’s what Clune did afterwards when he wanted learn more about panic attacks. He went to his local library, where he checked out the card catalog to locate a book or two about the topic. Not finding much, he then flips pages through the thick “P” Book of an encyclopedia set – which back then was a common item in many households. My family bought one from a traveling salesman and paid for it weekly.
Michael’s description of his search for information took this 85-year-old broad back in time. For years I had duplicated Clune’s actions to satisfy my insatiable curiosity – or to educate myself for a newspaper article I was writing. I also learned to use the Periodical Index. A huge book that was updated monthly listing where to find magazine articles on just about anything.
Those searches back then often took hours, maybe even days. If I think about how I can instantly find information online, it stuns my brain.
But then a lot of things blow my brain these days, like the watch I’m wearing on my wrist. It was a Christmas present from a granddaughter and her wife, who have been worried I would fall or something and couldn’t get to a phone. That I don’t always have my phone on me is a hang up of my age, I’ve concluded.
The new watch lets me both answer and make calls. It reminds me of Dick Tracy, a tough-talking crime fighter portrayed in a comic strip created by Chester Gould way back in 1931. Beginning in 1946, he had a watch in which he could call or be called.
Those facts, by the way, were found almost instantly by a Google (actually I use Bing) search. While I remembered Dick Tracy and his watch, the details hadn’t been stored in my brain.
Pat Bean is a retired award-winning journalist who lives in Tucson with her canine companion Scamp. She is an avid reader whose mind is always asking questions (many of which are unanswerable), an enthusiastic birder, staff writer for Story Circle Network’s Journal, author of Travels with Maggie available on Amazon (Free on Kindle Unlimited), and is always searching for life’s silver lining. She also believes one is never too old to chase a dream.
While this is the year and model 1949 Studebaker convertible in which I learned to drive, the one I did that in was a lot more scuffed up and less shiny as I recall.
Aging My Way
One thing leads to another is the way my brain works, especially as an old-broad, and retired journalist who has time to let her mind wonder.
It started with a mention of the Stutz Bearcat, which I thought was a funny name for a car, and which sent me scrambling to learn more. My search had me acknowledging that information at one’s fingertips is the No 1 redeeming feature of the internet.
What I learned is that the Bearcat was designed and built by a man named Harry Stutz because he wanted to enter the Indianapolis 500-mile race. The year was 1911, and Stutz’ car placed 11th in the race’s inaugural event.
While uncovering these bits of history, my mind wandered back to the car in which I learned to drive back in 1955. It was a maroon, 1949 Studebaker convertible owned by a boyfriend.
Wanting to refresh my memory of that 70-year-old part of my personal history, I once again strolled through the internet until I came across a photo of the exact same model and make of that 1949 car.
Almost needless to say because of the year, the convertible had a manual gear shift. It made learning to drive a bit more difficult than today’s automatic transmissions, which I use as an excuse for my first driving lesson. While attempting to work the clutch and gas pedal at the same time, I and that convertible ending up taking out a hedge growing too close to the driveway.
There have been a lot of cars in my life since then, including a 1976 Ford Mustang, which was the first new car I owned and which cost less than $4,000; a 1990’s Subaru Legacy that wasn’t happy unless it was going at least 80, and which earned me three speeding tickets in one year (my first and still only speeding tickets) but which I still consider the best car I ever owned: and a 21-foot, 2004 Volkswagen/Winnebago RV that took me around the country for nine years after I had retired.
I wonder what it would have been like to have driven that 1911 Stutz Bearcat. But then that is something the internet can’t answer.
Pat Bean is a retired award-winning journalist who lives in Tucson with her canine companion Scamp. She is an avid reader whose mind is always asking questions (many of which are unanswerable), an enthusiastic birder, staff writer for Story Circle Network’s Journal, author of Travels with Maggie available on Amazon (Free on Kindle Unlimited), and is always searching for life’s silver lining. She also believes one is never too old to chase a dream.
Mr. Eastern Bluebird on my RV Mirror — Photo by Pat Bean
Aging My Way
When I was traveling around the country in a small RV with my canine companion Maggie, I awoke one morning to find a bluebird, the eastern species to be exact, perched on my RV mirror. It stuck around long enough for me to take its photo, actually seeming to pose for me.
This avian visitor started my morning with a smile of happiness before Maggie and I continued on our way driving down the Natchez Trace Parkway, a historical route that began as a path used by animals and Native Americans, then was adopted by the multitude who followed. The designated scenic parkway is now a 444-mile drive through history, traversing through Tennessee, Arkansas and Mississippi.
The bluebird’s own history as a symbol of happiness is said to have begun with a Chinese myth that goes back thousands of years. It has been included in depictions of a fairy queen who was the protector of women who didn’t comply with role of females in a traditional Chinese family.
Nice myth, I thought, when I came across it while researching the origins of the bluebird’s symbolism. Native American folklore identifies the bluebird as a spirit in animal form associated with the rising sun, while Russian fairy tales see the bluebird as a symbol of hope.
The myths have inspired more modern days song writers to come up with such tunes as: Somewhere, over the rainbow, bluebirds fly, which Dorothy sang in The Wizard of Oz. Or There’ll be bluebirds over the White Cliffs of Dover, which the British sang during World War II – despite the fact bluebirds have never flown over those cliffs. Even the Beatles sang about the bluebird of happiness.
Not to forget poets, I came across 44 poems during my research that used the bluebird to represent happiness, such as this simple ditty by A.S. Waldrop: This bluebird is special/so cheery and merry too/ He’s here for just one reason/to bring happiness to you!
Ah! It’s nice myth. But, as I’m mostly a happy person, I believe that happiness comes from moving on from bad things and finding your own silver linings, be it a hug from a friend or a change of circumstance. At 85, I have plenty of experiences doing just that. I choose to be happy. As Barbara Kingsolver says about having the strength to go on during bad times: “You stand up at sunrise and meet what they send you, and keep your hair combed.”
Or, as I have been doing lately, keep your hair short enough that it doesn’t need to be combed.
Pat Bean is a retired award-winning journalist who lives in Tucson with her canine companion, Scamp. She is an avid reader who always has many unanswered questions, an enthusiastic birder, Story Circle Network Journal staff writer, author of Travels with Maggie available on Amazon (Free on Kindle Unlimited), and is always searching for life’s silver lining. And she believes one is never too old to chase a dream.
Looking for a supportive network? I found mine at Story Circle Network. Check us out at: https://www.storycircle.org/
Join 2,191 other subscribers
Blog Stats
243,819 hits
“It is good to have an end to journey toward; but it is the journey that matters.” — Ursula K. Le Guin
Pat Bean is a writer, avid birder, hiker and passionate nature observer with wanderlust in her soul. She spent nine years living and traveling in a small RV. She now lives in Tucson with Scamp, a rescue who was supposed to be a Schnauzer mix but turned out to be a Siberian Husky-Shih Tzu mix who is as stubborn as his owner, her granddaughter says. She was also a journalist for 37 years, and can be reached at patbean@msn.com
Pat Bean's blog 