Emily's Senior Moments

Emily enjoying a September vacation September is the month of transitions: endings and beginnings. The end of summer and the beginning of fall. When I was growing up my birthday often fell on the first day of school. The beginning of a new grade in school and the start of a new year for me.   My best friend was Jewish. She taught me that the Jewish New Year began in September. It makes so much sense. Why does the world use Julius Caesar’s calendar with the New Year honoring Janus, a god that nobody believes in anymore?             When I married Mark, whose birthday is also in September, I began celebrating the beginning of his life each year, too.   September became a month for giving and receiving. This, too, is a kind of transition, as I morph from being the one who receives gifts and chocolate cake to being the one who gives presents and bakes cheesecake for Mark a few weeks later.    ...

When we moved to our home in Oneonta, New York, 29 years ago our driveway was bordered by hosta and daylilies in a variety of colors. Tulips bloomed in the spring alongside daffodils and forget-me-nots. The kids liked to pop the hosta buds and the orange and yellow striped day lilies were Mark’s favorite flower. I was thrilled to have a good head start on the perennial flower beds I planned to have in abundance. Knowing that perennials would return every year, I figured I could look forward to many lazy summers once I had done the initial work of establishing my gardens. I started by reading books on perennial gardening and how to plan a color scheme with continuous bloom from spring through early fall. I dug up my garden beds, amending the soil with the free horse manure Mark helped me collect from a local farm. Then I went shopping for plants! The first few years I was very pleased with the results of my labors. Then strange things began to happen. Some of the perenn...

The other day I came across a magazine article that advised readers to slow the pace of modern life by handwriting a letter – on stationery – and putting some pretty stamps on the envelope. What a novel idea!   And what a way to make us seniors feel old, telling people how to enjoy an old custom that used to be a common practice.  I started writing letters as a child when my grandfather, a post master in Villisca, Iowa, told me that I had to write letters if I wanted to receive them! I wrote to Gramps, and he wrote back, often enclosing plate blocks of pretty new stamps for my collection.  As a high school student in the 1960s I had a dozen pen pals – several in different states, and others in England, Japan, New Zealand, and Australia. We loved filling each other’s mail boxes with the letters we decorated with a variety of stamps, because stamp collecting was part of the fun of receiving mail. Our letters were handwritten, because very few kids knew how to...

        My brother, Steve, and me dressed for Easter              As we creep slowly into old age it’s sometimes hard to know when we have actually arrived at that “golden” time of life. After all, the definition of “old age” varies, depending on who is defining it. According to Wikipedia, “ Most developed-world countries have accepted the chronological age of 50 years as a definition of 'elderly' or older person. The United Nations has agreed that 65+ years may be usually denoted as old age [9]  and this is the first attempt at an international definition of old age.”             When I saw that my local newspaper, The Daily Star, was seeking a new “Senior Scene” columnist, I asked myself if I’m old enough to take on this post. I will be 65 on my next birthday, so according to most definitions I’ll be a senior soon, if I’m not already. Sometimes it’s ...