When I told my husband I was going to start a personal blog, he was the predictable voice of reason and practicality.
“I just have one question: What are you going to give up in order to have the time?”
“Sex,” I answered.
“No, Dear. It has to be something that you are actually DOING.”
OK, point taken. I don’t know what I’m going to give up. But I just know I need to do this. It may be nothing more than a mental exercise, a cleaning out of cranial closets rather than the actual ones I should be doing. But I’m a writer at heart, and I need to write. I write for a living for my PR clients, and I love it, but it doesn’t feed my soul. I don’t know if this will, but at least it’s cheap therapy.
So here are the facts.
I’m a daughter, a wife, a mom with three grown (well, semi-grown – we’ll get to that later) boys, a grandmother with an adorable and beautiful 9-year-old granddaughter and a blood-born North Carolinian now temporarily living in Virginia (my husband says until I die). I have a neurotic mutt named Scottie who is terrified of storms and likes to lick the carpet.
Both my husband and my mother have Parkinson’s Disease. It's our cottage industry. My mother’s mother probably had it, though it wasn’t diagnosed. Her brother and brother-in-law died from complications from PD.
Mom, 83, was diagnosed about 15 years ago and now lives in an assisted living facility in NC near my brother and sister-in-law, where they do the heavy lifting in regards to taking care of her. She is restricted to a motorized scooter, and falls a lot going to the bathroom in spite of the help she has at her beck and call.
My husband Bob, who just turned 66, was diagnosed with Parkinson’s two years ago, but he’s had symptoms for at least five years. Because he has difficulty swallowing, he’s lost 30 pounds in the last few years from his already slim self, taking him down to 134 pounds on his 6’ frame. He also has movement problems, especially in the morning. It takes him three to four hours just to get up, shaved, dressed and fed to go to work. In the evening, it’s the same thing in reverse.
Bob always told me that he would slay a dragon for me, and that dragon has emerged. He’s “dragon” himself to work until October this year so that I will have health insurance for a while longer. Since I’m self-employed and a mere 57 (I was a trophy wife), that goes away when he retires. He’s my hero.
As I mentioned earlier, I work for myself as a PR and marketing consultant as owner/managing director of The Buzz Factoree. (Check out my business blog, Beelines, for PR tips for small businesses.) I left my full-time job three years ago to start my own business, but I revisit that decision frequently as the end of health insurance looms near and the economy makes business ownership dicey. Recently I said to a friend that I felt like I was going through a phase much like that of my young adult sons – trying to figure out what to do with my life.
“I’m at that awkward age,” I told her. “Too old to be a pole dancer. Too young for social security.”
That seems as good a title as any for an angst-ridden boomer blog. There’s other stuff “About Me,” but that’s enough already. I wouldn’t want you to be jealous.
Gail,
Love your bravado and seem to share many of the neuroses you describe as I too have felt myself to be a 'tweener' of too many roles and goals.
If there's nothing worse than being a Boomer Mom, it has to be a Booming Tweener. I've been a struggling artist and business consultant for years as well ... I'd like to thank friend Janet Harris for sharing this w/me and I'll check in on your progress. I'll send you a link of a few works .. maybe one day I'll finish something ... Thanks again,
: ) Jenny
Posted by: Jenny Loveland | 05/21/2009 at 05:21 PM