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Peels and Books

Posted in aging, Art, Birds, Books, Journeys, Writing, tagged book banning, Jose Andres, Vegetables Unleashed on June 6, 2023| 4 Comments »

***Tucson’s saguaros are now in bloom — and the Gila Woodpeckers love it. — Art by Pat Bean***

Aging My Way

I shared some potato salad I had made with my friend Jean the other day, and she asked: “Why did you peel the potatoes? “Because I don’t like potato peels,” I replied. To which she said, “I do.”

I thought about this yesterday while reading Vegetables Unleashed, a cookbook by Chef Jose Andres who talked about vegetable peels, clearly stating that he always peeled his vegetables, even tomatoes.

“If the skins don’t bother you, you can skip that, but I’m not sure we can be friends,” he wrote. The comment, I suspect, was written as a joke. But then it reminded me of something I had read the week before in a post about books. Yes, I know. My over-active brain is always trying to connect dots.

Anyway, the earlier comment, was “I don’t think I could be friends with anybody who doesn’t read books.”

I thought that was a bit self-absorbed, even though I realized on reading it that my conversations with other book readers were always more fun, especially when discovering that the two of us liked and had read many of the same books.

Andres’ comment, meanwhile, was way over the top. I mean my friendship with Jean, who is also a chef, isn’t the least bit unhinged because one of us likes peels and one of us doesn’t.

Differences are what makes the world go round, or so I’ve been told – and believe. So as long as you don’t make me eat potato peels, or ban me from reading whatever I like… Oops, now my over-active brain is thinking about people who want to ban books.

Now those are people I’m sure I could never be friends with.

Pat Bean is a retired award-winning journalist who lives in Tucson with her canine companion, Scamp. She is an avid reader, an enthusiastic birder, the author of Travels with Maggie available on Amazon (Free on Kindle Unlimited), is always searching for life’s silver lining, and these days aging her way – and that’s usually not gracefully.

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But: I Was Never Silent

Posted in aging, Art, Birds, Journeys, Writing on May 1, 2023| 4 Comments »

Aging My Way

My generation lies between what Tom Brokaw calls the Greatest Generation — those who lived through the Great Depression and then went on to fight in World War II – and the Boomers (1946-64).

Born in 1939, I belong to the Silent Generation, one the Encyclopedia Britannica says consists of: “cautious conformists who sought stability, worked hard, and thrived by not rocking the boat in an era of booming postwar economic prosperity.” This generation also had a lower birth rate than the generation before or after, it was noted.

I think we Silents were also influenced by the Great Depression because it was our parents who lived through it. I was raised by a mother who could stretch a penny to the moon and back, and a bit of it rubbed off onto me. By sometimes following her example, and also setting spending priorities, I was able over the years to follow a few of my dreams to completion.

But I’ve never been silent. And while my generation had fewer offspring overall, I had five children. That was awkward when all my work colleagues once were sprouting zero population growth pamphlets. Looking around at what we’re doing to Mother Earth today, I’ve shifted over to their way of thinking – and my adult grandkids seem to agree.

Time changes everything is an understatement.

Today, some politicians – racist ones in my opinion – are calling for families to have 10 or more kids. Ouch. I feel sorry for their poor mothers. Frankly, I wish we would all just mingle together more so that everyone would end up a golden brown.

Meanwhile, I’m trying to understand what the Generation Xers (1965-79), Xenials (1976-85), Gen Y/Millennials (1980-94) and Generation Z (1995-2012) are all about. Yes, I had to do a bit of research to name them all.

Today, looking at my grand and great kids – who range in age from four to mid-40s — I think they’re doing all right. I know for one thing; they don’t put up with all the crap we Silents, who didn’t want to rock the boat, did. And that’s a good thing.

But I would like them to be more respectful when I tell them I had to walk 10 miles to school in a snow storm.

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The Idea of Dragons

Posted in aging, Art, Journeys, Writing, tagged dragons on April 3, 2023| 1 Comment »

Aging My Way

I’m always toying with writing ideas and, like many writers I keep an ever-changing list of them. The topics get erased as I follow through with a piece of writing, or deleted, when on second thought I decide the idea is worthless.

For about seven years now, the word dragons on this list has been taunting me every time I see it. My original idea was to write an essay called Dragons: A to Z. While that never panned out, I was reluctant to hit the delete button, probable because like other writers down through the centuries, these mythical creatures fascinate me.

And while I didn’t get all the way through the alphabet with dragons, I did come up with some good quotes about them. Some, like the following, have had a special meaning to me.

“It does not do to leave a live dragon out of your calculations if you live near him.” – J.R.R. Tolkien. This was the first dragon quote I copied into my journals, and metaphorically speaking, I was living next to a dragon at the time.

“Fairy tales are more than true: not because they tell us that dragons exist, but because they tell us that dragons can be beaten.” ~ Neil Gaiman. A good quote for anyone whose path becomes dotted with potholes – or deep gorges.

“We are our own dragons as well as our own heroes, and we have to rescue ourselves from ourselves.” ~ Tom Robbins. I remember clearly the day I gave up my idea that a knight on a white horse ever existed. It was a harsh reality that turned into major, and positive, turning point in my life. And it became the theme for my group of white-water rafting buddies.

And finally, a reminder that there are things in life worth fighting for. “Here be dragons to be slain, here be rich rewards to gain; If we perish in the seeking, why, how small a thing is death!” — Dorothy L. Sayers.

Perhaps you have a favorite dragon quote you would like to share?

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High Five to Differences

Posted in aging, Art, Birds, Journeys, Writing on March 27, 2023| 6 Comments »

***The Meadowlark and the Chukar, different but both still awesome. — Art by Pat Bean***

Aging My Way

It is the part of us that is not like the others that is the best of us.

I came across these words recently, and it set my brain cells to pondering. I mentally started listing my own oddities, going back to my childhood when I was way too loud. I know that for a fact because I was always being told to lower my voice.

And being told to be quiet and shut up didn’t stop at home, where my mother and grandmother often told me that children are to be seen and not heard. It was frequently echoed by my teachers and classmates.

Except instead of being cute — I was skinny and freckle-faced with stringy hair — I can see myself, when young, as being very like Hermione in the Harry Potter stories: a know-it-all and always the first student to raise a hand when a question was asked.

My classmates nicknamed me Cootie-Brain, which followed me around from first to fourth grade, finally ending when my family moved and I went to a new school.

But the label Cootie-Brain was so hurtful to me as a child that I couldn’t speak it as an adult until I was in my 40s. And it wasn’t until I could finally write the word down and talk about it that the wounds it had inflicted on my soul could heal.

While the years toned me down, I also came to the realization that my true friends accepted me just as I was, because the loudness still returns when I get excited or enthusiastic about something. But now at 83, I’m happy I can still get excited. Maybe if I had tamped down my enthusiastic loudness when I was young, I wouldn’t have this wonderful asset today.

There are many ways I’ve always felt different from others, but the years, along with life and books, have taught me that we are all different in our own ways. And isn’t that wonderful?

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Self-Portraits of Two Self-Confident Artists

Posted in aging, Art, Journeys, tagged Judith Leyster on March 20, 2023| Leave a Comment »

Judith Leyster, holding 18 brushes in her self-portrait

Aging My Way

The theme for the March issue of Artists Magazine is “Put Your Best Face Forward.” It then goes on to feature self-portraits of artists, of which two stood out to me as being women who knew their own worth. The portraits were painted by Dutch artist Judith Leyster and American artist Alice Neel.

While we live in a world where too many of us spend way too much time trying to copy media influencers and others who may or may not have admirable qualities, the self-portraits of these two women tells me that, flaws and all, they knew they were enough.

I wonder if their self-confidence was easier to come by because they lived before the age of social media.

Judith Leyster even knew her worth, or so it looks like from her self-portrait, as far back as the 1600s. Her self-portrait (above) exudes confidence, even though she lived in a time when women were still considered property. In fact, her work, after her death, was attributed to her husband and another artist, a common practice back then

Thankfully, Judith was rediscovered in 1893 and her work properly attributed.

The second artist, Alice Neel (1900-1984) is an artist whose work I have long loved. And the self-portrait she painted, and is sitting beside below, is one of my very favorite pieces.

Alice Neel, sitting proudly by her self-portrait.

It’s called Alice Neel at 80. The painting tells me that Alice was a confident old broad who didn’t give a damn that her body parts had succumbed to gravity. Alice knew her worth despite the toll the years had taken.

Although I have no intention to paint a self-portrait of my own nude 83-year-old body, Neel’s painting does let me feel more self-confident about it – and to see the beauty the years have given all us old broads.

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A Blog for Trekkies and Oldsters

Posted in aging, Art, Birds, Journeys, tagged Star Trek on March 13, 2023| 8 Comments »

Aging My Way

Some asshole writer commenting on William Shatner, in the NY Times no less, implied he wasn’t a fantastic actor and hadn’t lived an incredible life. The comment had me screaming.

While I might agree Shatner’s acting might not be Oscar worthy, his role as Captain Kirk helped launch Star Trek’s incredible popularity, and as for leading an incredible life, how many of us can say we’ve flown in space.

Besides, I believe that each and every one of us lead incredible lives, ones that no one else can duplicate. I know I have. While I may not have had as many incredible things happen to me as Shatner – aftercall I’m only 83 and he’s 91 – I’m still enough.

Even if people have the same experiences, no one reacts, comprehends, thinks, or responds exactly the same. Each of us is valuable in our own way. But that nitwit writer judged Shatner, I suspect because of his fame, against some higher standard.

The writer’s words certainly weren’t kind – or necessary, and in my mind represent the bullying that we’re trying to stem among our youth.

Still, since I’m not a Trekkie, you may be wondering, why the words of that nincompoop had me screaming, I’m kind of wondering about my reaction as well.

Screaming at something I read is not common, but then again, it’s not rare either. But this reaction was pretty strong.

Maybe it was my growing awareness, now having time to reflect on life, that each of us, in our own way, is incredibly enough for this world. Or maybe it’s because I have a grandson who qualifies for that Trekkie moniker, and I was screaming for him. .

Or maybe it was just one old person taking up for another old person.

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Memory Triggers

Posted in aging, Art, Birds, Journeys on March 10, 2023| 2 Comments »

***A trip down memory lane — Art by Pat Bean***

Aging My Way

My granddaughter Shanna often calls me as she drives to work in the mornings. She’s a fantastic woman who at 40 found herself starting life anew. She was a bit downhearted about it, but I told her that my life only got more interesting and exciting once I reached that landmark – and that’s the honest truth.

Yesterday morning as we chatted, she mentioned that she had met someone who might turn out to be a good mentor for her.

The word mentor triggered a memory of my first, a tall, down-home, y’all-speaking, Texas county sheriff, who taught me the ropes for covering a murder investigation when I was a green-behind-the-ears reporter – after he had humiliated me a couple of times. But then that taught me the power of persistence.

It was a good memory. But then I’ve always tended to bury bad memories beneath a heavy rock that rarely gets lifted — and that’s a gift I treasure.

Memories, at least for me, are one of the positives about growing older. And if you’re into your eighth decade, and embraced life, you’re bound to have a lot of them. And the years have taught me that sometimes the simple and quiet ones, like a phone call from a loved one, or staring out at a field full of Texas bluebonnets, can be as meaningful as standing under a waterfall at the bottom of the Grand Canyon.

But don’t get me wrong. I’m not through with creating memories. I collected one just this morning as I watched a pair of courting mourning doves prance around my yard. At 83, I’m a lot more observant than I was at 23.

So, listen up brain. You better make some more room up there.

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National Women’s History Month

Posted in aging, Art, Journeys, Writing, tagged National Women's History Month on March 3, 2023| Leave a Comment »

Aging My Way

These days there seems to be a month for everything. In March, there’s Sing-With-Your-Child Month, Appreciate Dolphins Month, Berries and Cherries Month, Mad for Plaid Month and National On-Hold Month – and that’s just to name a few of the many I usually never hear about, nor celebrate.

On a more relevant note, at least to me, is that March is National Women’s History Month. I’ve come a long way from being raised in a time when women’s proper place was thought to be married, barefoot, and pregnant to thinking I should have the same rights as a man.

My original perspective was that women’s fight for equality began in the 1960s and ‘70s, spurred by women like Gloria Steinem and Betty Friedan, and the fight for the Equal Rights Amendment.

These were the years that marked the beginning of my awareness of inequality and unfairness in the world, and not just for women. Not surprisingly, these years coincided with the beginning of my 37-year journalism career and my personal fight for equal pay for equal work.

History, however, tells a different story. While there are many individual stories going way back in time, the big fight for equal rights for American women began in 1869 with the founding of the National Women’s Suffrage Association by Elizabeth Cady Stanton, who along with women like Susan B. Anthony and Victoria Hull, fought for women’s right to vote.

This resulted in an 1884 decision by the Supreme Court that citizenship does not give women the right to vote. Women didn’t give up, however, even though many of them were severely harassed or even jailed simply for continuing to fight for the vote.

Then, in 1913, thousands of women marched on Washington D.C. demanding the right to vote, a right that was finally achieved nationally in 1920 with the passage of the 19^th Amendment. As a writer, I think of all the stories, told and untold, that led up to this momentous occasion. I also am still astonished that this took place just 19 years before I was born.

It’s because of these strong women of the past that I have the privileges I do today. And I’m thankful. Yes. National Women’s History Month is one I will celebrate.

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A Brain Full of Questions

Posted in aging, Art, journalism, Uncategorized, Writing on February 23, 2023| 2 Comments »

Aging My Way

I came across a quote by John F. Kennedy this morning that I thought was worthy of being copied into my journal. “Too often we enjoy the comfort of opinion without the discomfort of thought,” he said. As I don’t want to write about politics today, I’ll let you put your own understanding and meaning to these words.

Meanwhile, I frequently copy quotes into my journal. Usually, they are ones that cleverly and inspiringly put into words something meaningful to me, sometimes even causing me to rethink a subject.

One quote that came to my wandering/wondering brain this morning was the well-known (well at least it sure be familiar to some of you) was “The pen is mightier than the sword.” As I added those words to my journal as part of my thoughts, I wanted to give credit to the author. My brain was telling me it was Benjamin Franklin, but then the old reporter adage, “double check even if your mother says it’s so,” sent me doing some quick research.

I’m glad I did because I discovered that the phrase was first written by novelist and playwright Edward Bulwer-Lytton. He penned the words in his historical play Cardinal Richelieu in 1839.

As so often happens, that search sent me on another search. Why was Edward’s last name hyphenated? The answer was that his father’s name was General William Earle Bulwer and his mother’s name was Elizabeth Barbara Lytton.

Now that seemed odd to me, as in those days women were still considered property. So, who was Elizabeth?

My research continued and I learned that she was a member of the Lytton family of Knebworth House in Hertfordshire, England. After her father’s death, Elizabeth resumed her father’s surname, by a royal license of 1811. That year she returned to Knebworth House, which by then had become dilapidated. She renovated it by demolishing three of its four sides and adding Gothic towers and battlements to the remaining building.

She lived at Knebworth with her son, the writer Edward Bulwer-Lytton, until her death. Because of a long-standing dispute she had with the church, she is buried not with her ancestors at St Mary’s Knebworth, but in the Lytton Mausoleum.

Hmm. I wonder if the dispute had anything to do with women’s rights. But what’s the significance of Knebworth House. My brain was still on a roll.

It’s an English Country House (Looked like a mansion to me), according to Wikipedia, that has been the home of the Lytton family since 1490. Furthermore, the grounds are home to the Knebworth Festival, a recurring open-air rock and pop concert held since 1974, and until 2014 was home to another hard rock festival, Sonisphere.

And suddenly I realized the morning was almost over. This happens a lot.

It’s a good thing I’m retired.

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The Gift of Having Pets

Posted in aging, Art, Dogs, Journeys, Uncategorized, tagged cats on February 15, 2023| 5 Comments »

I came across a blog this morning about the gifts your pets bring to you.

The first thing I thought about was Chigger, the cat my son rescued in a canyon during a snow storm. She was quite tiny, probably less than six weeks old, when he dumped her in my lap on Christmas Eve and said “Merry Christmas Mom.”

She got her name at about 2 a.m. the next morning when I wanted to sleep and she wanted to play. Nothing, I thought, is pestier than chiggers. Chigger and I spent the next 18 years of our lives together.

One of the first things she gifted me with was a bird – this was before birding became one of my passions so I have no idea what species it was. But it was alive and seemed unhurt. I quickly shut Chigger up in the bathroom until I had released the bird, which because of my love of wild things, I was glad to see could quickly fly away.

Chigger let me know she was pissed, and never brought me another bird. Instead, she chose to bring me dead field mice – often.

Then there was my Cocker Spaniel Peaches. She and Chigger were pals, although I never knew until both were aged and hard-of-hearing, and I spied them sleeping curled up together. This, I thought, was a very good friendship because it was a time when I worked long hours and they were home alone.

The only gift Peaches ever brought to me was a tennis ball – and that was with an ulterior motive in mind. She wanted me to throw it for her to fetch – over and over again.

My current canine companion Scamp occasionally brings me a toy to throw for him to chase, or to initiate a game of tug of war, but mostly he expects me to give him gifts. He especially likes to receive his own piece of mail.

He sits in front of me expectantly after I bring in the mail, clearly asking me with his eyes: “Where’s mine, where’s mine?”

So, I give him an envelope or piece of junk mail, and he bounces off happy. A while later, I find myself snooping down – it’s good exercise – to pick up tiny bits of paper scattered around the house. It’s always made more difficult by Scamp trying to rescue as many of the pieces he can. So much fun.

But the best gift all my pets have given me has been unconditional love – and they always know when I need it the most.

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