Socal Mom

Growing Old Somewhat Gracefully

Dear Trinny and Susannah,

I'm one of your U.S. fans (having caught your show on BBC America -- I have never watched the American version; we always botch your programs, so I never bothered).

I love your site and have been reading up on the rules for women with my body issues (short, short legs, thick ankles and calves, bulging tummy - yikes!).

Obviously, I am not eligible to be a subject for your program in the UK. So I'm hoping you might have the time to indulge me by pointing me in a direction: What suggestions do you have for older women?

I recently lost 53 pounds (am hoping to lose another 7 pounds before I stop). I've dropped from a US size 14 to a US size 2. For the last 15 years, I haven't paid a lot of attention to style because I figured it was hopeless -- short and fat never looks good.

But now I need a whole new wardrobe. My taste in clothes is kind of where I left off before I got fat (back in the early 90's, when I was in my 30's).

Right now, I have one pair of jeans that fits, which I wear with t-shirts and sweaters (have not wanted to invest in more clothes until I'm done losing weight), and some workout wear.

This kind of clothing does fit my lifestyle: I live in Los Angeles and work at home, as a writer. I have a daughter who is turning 12 just as I'm turning 52. I would like to vary what I wear, but I need some guidance.

Southern California is full of older women who wear clothes that are inappropriately youthful (no one wants to see a 60-year-old woman in Juicy Couture, but they're everywhere). I went shopping yesterday, just to try some things on, but can't decide what to buy. I think a lot of the styles now are really cute -- but I'm not sure I can pull it off at my age. Just because I CAN wear certain styles now doesn't mean I SHOULD.

At the same time, I don't want to appear older than I am. Just because I could be a grandmother doesn't mean I want to look like one. And so here's my gripe: I don't know about the UK (because the dollar is worthless so I try not to do too much shopping when we visit!), but American stores stock clothes for young women and very mature women -- but there doesn't seem to be a lot for the woman who is in-between those demographics.

Thank you for providing this resource for all of us clueless people!

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I always thought I would grow old gracefully. By that, I meant that I would accept all the lines and wrinkles I earned by living all these years, and would not seek to look younger through surgery.

But where do you draw the line?

I spent several hours yesterday getting my hair colored. I had not touched it up since November, and it had become a weird melange of reddish-brown flecked with gray (not as much as I expected to have at my age).

I considered letting it go natural - which would save me a lot of money. But in the end, I made the appointment. It's not so much that I hate my gray hair; I just love how glossy and smooth it looks after it has been colored professionally. (I did not love it during the period when I tried to keep it up myself; then it just ended up having the texture of straw.)

Last week, I found myself at a "medi-spa" for a little facial waxing. When I made that "growing old gracefully" vow, I did not know that as my hormones depleted, I'd begin looking like the bearded lady at the circus. I learned the hard way that's an area I can't ignore for long. The only thing worse than having your husband pluck a nice long hair off your face is the discovery that it was also gray.

The medi-spa offered a range of scary-sounding services. There's Botox "cosmetic," which I tend to lump in with surgery. The idea of getting injected with botulism (and freezing my face in the process) doesn't sound very appealing. In fact, I think I will stay away from all forms of injectables No matter how "safe" the drug companies say they are. We all know how trustworthy the pharmaceutical industry is.

Laser treatments sound interesting. I'd love to get rid of that facial hair -- and monthly waxing appointment -- once and for all. But you need to go in for several treatments, which cost a bundle. In the long run, maybe I'd save some money over the monthly waxing fees. But, new hairs keep cropping up. Who's to say that after going through laser, I wouldn't have to do it again in a few more years? In the end, I think I'll stick with the devil I know.

Lipodissolve sounds interesting. That's all I'll say about that. See comments about the pharmaceutical industry above.)

The one other service I would consider is a facial. I've had both regular facials and microdermabrasion. Neither made much difference on my lines and wrinkles, but they left my skin feeling fantastic. If I had the money, I would add a facial to my monthly waxing visit.

But I don't. So that will have to be a very occasional treat (and an appropriate item to gift me with on occasions like birthdays and holidays -- hint, hint to my husband!)

In the end, I guess I'm fighting the aging process more than I thought I would. I suppose I'm doing it gracefully enough, so long as I don't end up with my skin pulled tight and an inability to smile.

Nostalgia

When I first brought home my new car, a little over a year ago, I vowed to keep it nice and clean, and made the effort to get it washed every week.

That lasted for about a month. While I like the look and feel of a freshly washed car, I can't think of anything more boring than sitting around the car wash while it's being cleaned. Unless, of course, you count washing it myself. Ugh. I was the first person to jump on the news that it is better for the environment to have it done at a commercial car wash that treats its water. Although one that also recycles is even better.

This morning, I decided that Inga (my car -- I always name them, and since she's a Volvo, I thought she should sound Swedish) was looking kind of grungy -- and as I was passing the car wash at 9:00 a.m. (before it gets busy), I brought her in. And while I was sitting there trying not to be bored, I noticed that her tires were looking a little flat.

I admit that I'm helpless when it comes to cars. My husband would say I'm helpless about a lot of things, but I'm especially clueless about all things automotive. The last time I tried to inflate my tires myself, I ended up wasting a couple of dollars in quarters WITHOUT getting any air in them (in fact, I think I ended up losing air). This is one area where I prefer to bat my eyelashes at my big, strong, smart husband (heh heh) and beg him to do it for me. But with no husband in the vicinity and a couple of kids to cart around today, I took the "Jewish American Princess" route and decided to pay someone to do it.

Fortunately, there are still such things as gas stations with full-serve bays. There aren't too many of them, because the only people who are willing to pay a premium of an extra 50 cents per gallon are wealthy senior citizens and "Princesses" who need a favor. It didn't take me long to create my justifications (i.e., my tank was only half empty, so I would be buying only half as much overpriced gas  -- what's a few dollars extra when the safety of your child is at stake? -- driving on improperly inflated tires impairs your gas mileage -- I can go on, if you like, but you get the picture).

I pulled into the station on the unaccustomed Full Serve side and felt a wave of nostalgia as I told the attendant to "Fill 'er up." Because when I was growing up, ALL gas stations were full service. I didn't start pumping my own gas until some time after the first "Mideast Oil Crisis" back in 1974 -- and not all the time, at that (because for years, I would still pull into a full serve station whenever I needed my oil checked. Not good at things automotive, you see.) And yes, those were the days when people were predicting that the cost of gas would some day rise to $1 per gallon.

Oh, God. I'm ancient.

Good Health

A few posts ago, I mentioned that I have a friend in the hospital.

Her health problems have given me quite a shock. You see, for as long as I've known her, she's done everything right. She was on her college track team and has always had a daily workout regimen. She watches what she eats and tries to live her life in balance.

Unlike me.

So what kind of crazy world is it when someone like my friend ends up in the hospital with an ailment that is generally considered the problem of people who are much older, overweight and have lived an unhealthy lifestyle?

Like mine.

Upon hearing what had happened to her, I was seriously freaked out. After all, we are the same age (birthdays two weeks apart).

I spent several days at the end of June running some errands for her and visiting with her. As always, she displayed great attitude. She wasn't moaning about her misfortune at ending up in the hospital (which is what I would do). She was laughing at herself and taking it all in stride. She was working on getting better. When I left for Sacramento, she was hopeful that she would be released soon.

But when I returned to SoCal, I learned that she had taken an unexpected turn for the worse, thanks to one of those nasty drug-resistant staph infections that have sprung up in hospitals and gyms.

She's in the ICU, on life support. The family members I've been in touch with are cautiously optimistic. But I was finally allowed to visit with her yesterday, and it was a shock to see this vital, funny, energetic woman laid up in bed, strapped down with tubes and connected to a monitor.

There was some debate as to whether it was a good idea to allow people outside the family to visit at all. Finally, her brother and sister decided that having people talk to her -- to "draw her out," as they put it -- was worth the risk of getting her too tired or excited. (And if that happened, a nurse would be let us know it was time to go.)

I was joined by another mutual friend who works near the hospital. The three of us met 28 years ago, working together at the same crazy local radio station. I was happy for the company, as I had no idea what I was going to say to my friend or how exactly to try to draw her out, especially since she was heavily sedated.

The ICU nurse instructed us to sanitize our hands upon entering the room, and to repeat the process before leaving. So, the first thing Wendy and I did was pump soap onto our hands before we noticed the sanitizer dispenser in the corner -- so we had to wipe off the soap and start all over.

"We're like the Three Stooges in here," she said -- a remark I repeated to our friend in the bed.

We spent a few minutes talking to our friend, with no response... and then, the monitor started to beep rather loudly. Not certain how to proceed or whether it was right to proceed, we left the room (after re-sanitizing) and tried to flag the nurse, who was on the phone talking about another patient, and didn't seem to notice that the noise coming from our friend's room. We finally flagged down another nurse, who said it was blood pressure, and she went into the room to do something about it.

Nurse #1 eventually finished her conversation. She told us that we could spend as much time as we liked talking to our friend -- just talking to her would be helpful.

So we went back into the room, and talked. We reminisced about our foolish 23-year-old selves, the people we knew, the silly things we did. We talked about what we would all do together when our friend recovers and gets out of that place.

And then she reacted, but not the way her brother told me she might. Her told me she might open her eyes, but this reaction was more disturbing. Her chest started to heave and what looked like tears seemed to be rolling down her cheeks.

Mindful of the fact that the last friend's visit resulted in a loss of oxygen (which is why the family debated letting us visit yesterday), and fearful that we were doing more harm than good, we cut the visit short. I did not talk to her brother last night and the hospital is only talking to family members (for privacy reasons).  I had wanted to visit again today, but I think I need to talk to him after work tonight to make sure we didn't make things worse.

Today, I enrolled in a medically supervised weight reduction program. It's costing me a lot of money, but seeing what has happened to my friend, It's time to stop kidding myself that I can take care of my health without help. I'm not doing a good job of it, and I want to live to see my daughter grow up.

The Ghost of Emily Litella

I took my car in today for its final (I hope!) repair after the robbery in January.

Between the deductibles on the insurance for both autos, the car rentals while the vehicles were in the shop, installing a new alarm on husband's car and replacing what was taken from us, I figure the little break-in has cost us about $2500. Never mind the time we both have had to spend to take care of all these things.

Thanks, criminals. I hope the Razr and discontinued iPod mini with a bad battery were worth it to you.

I had brought my car in for repairs two weeks ago, only to discover that they had not received all the necessary parts as scheduled. So when I returned the original rental, I told them I would be back in a week or so. The manager gave me his card with a notation that I was entitled to a free upgrade.

That was good, because I really hated the little Nissan Sentra I was given the last time around. It's not that there was anything really wrong with it -- it's just that this was not one of their newer models. It had over 40,000 miles on it, lots of scratches and interior stains, and smelled of cigarettes. Also, after driving the Volvo around for six months, the Sentra felt flimsy. (In comparison, the S60 drives like a tank - a sleek, turbocharged tank). So the one nice thing about having to bring my car in AGAIN was that it might be fun to drive something a little bit different. A little bit fun.

The nice lady at Enterprise first offered me a Chevy Malibu. Eh.

She then pointed to a silver Equinox.

When I was shopping for my car last year, I pretty much steered clear of the SUV's, more for their rollover problems and gas consumption than any real dislike of them. I enjoy being able to cart a bunch of Megan's friends around, and I think driving them is kind of fun -- but I figured one SUV in the family is enough. (My husband drives a Honda Pilot, and as a geologist who regularly has to go off-road for work with lots of heavy tools and equipment, he's one of the few people I know who actually NEEDS this kind of vehicle.)

But it was kind of cute for a Chevy, and I figured that for one low-mileage day (all I needed to do was some grocery shopping and take Megan to Hebrew school), I could live with the gas guzzling.

The Equinox handled pretty nicely. It felt a lot lighter than Gareth's Pilot (probably easier to rollover, I reminded myself). I spent a few minutes adjusting the mirrors and setting the radio station buttons before I did anything else. I had no problems with it -- until I got to the Ralph's parking lot. I tried locking it from the door, but it wouldn't lock. That's when I noticed that there was no remote entry function on the keyring they gave me. I locked it manually and bought my groceries.

When I returned, I attempted to open the back hatch and discovered there was no lock there. In fact, the only lock was on the driver's door. No problem. I used the key to unlock it and attempted to unlock the hatch from the door.

And that's when I discovered that the Equinox came equipped with an alarm. An alarm that got louder as I tried to fiddle with it. An alarm that WOULD NOT turn off until I closed the door and locked it again.

I called Enterprise. "You didn't give me a remote for this car and now I can't turn off the alarm," I told them.

"That feature doesn't come standard on every car," was the reply.

"But I can't turn off the alarm," I repeated.

"Nobody has ever complained about that before," said the woman on the phone. I took this to mean that she thought I had done something to the car to make it behave this way; something out of the ordinary that no normal person would do.

"It should go off when you turn on the engine," I was advised. I unlocked the car again and the noise started back up. "This is really annoying," I said. "May I bring it back and exchange it for another?" She said that would be OK.

I had to keep the engine running while I loaded the groceries into the back of the car, and I deliberately left it unlocked while I put them away in the house. I hoped that the people who broke into our cars weren't actually neighbors who would steal this unlocked car with an open hatch while it sat for five minutes on my driveway (yes, I am still suffering from a bit of paranoia after this experience).

When I returned the car, I decided to leave it locked so they could see for themselves. I remembered that I had first tried to lock it from the inside, so I hit the lock button on the door again. And sure enough, when the young office manager unlocked the car so he could note the mileage, the alarm went off.

I felt smug. "See? I bet this car is supposed to have a remote but someone else didn't return it."

"I guess that's possible," he said. He locked the car again - without first pressing the button in the door. He unlocked it. No alarm.

So I suppose I did set the alarm myself by using that button. If I had taken the time to read the manual in the glove box before driving off, I probably would have figured that out. But I ask you -- do you take the time to do this every time you rent a car for a day? Before you've realized that the car has features you don't understand?

They did let me take a different car -- a cute little Jeep Liberty. But I still drove away feeling somewhat sheepish.

Lately, I remind myself of Emily Litella, a character Gilda Radner used to do in the early days of Saturday Night Live. Emily was an old lady who would be introduced during the show's Weekend Update section, and she would deliver an impassioned editorial on some hot issue -- something like, "What is all this fuss I hear about the Supreme Court decision on a "deaf" penalty? It's terrible! Deaf people have enough problems as it is!" 

Upon hearing what the editorial had actually been about, she would say "Oh. That's different. Never mind." (Thanks to Wikipedia for this actual example.)

I've been having a lot of "Never mind" moments these days. I had a couple of good ones last week, when I was trying to set up my computer.

To fully understand how humiliated I felt, I need to tell you about the conversation I had with the sales clerk who sold me my new machine.

"Would you like us to set your computer up for you? It's free this week."

When I told him I didn't need them to install my program for me, he got insistent. "It's not that easy. You should let us set it up for you."

This kind of got my dander up. I have probably been using computers (and setting them up myself) since before that kid was born (a phrase I refrained from actually saying to him). I'm not sure what bothered me more -- that he thought I wasn't knowledgeable about computers -- or that he thought I was old (and therefore wasn't knowledgeable about computers). As he completed the sale, he asked to see my ID.

"You're just a year older than my mom," he said.

That settled it. He was treating me like an imbecile because he thought I was old.

So you can imagine my sheepishness when I started setting up my new computer and it did not go as smoothly as I'd expected.

For one thing, new computers no longer come with printed manuals. It was easy enough to access the PDF manual on the hard drive -- but the information I needed resided somewhere on the Sony website, and the links would not work because I could not figure out how to access the computer's "SmartWi Utility." There was reference to a separate Smart WiConnection Utility Guide. The user manual instructs:

"To access this on-screen guide:

1. Click Start and Help and Support.

2. Cick Manuals & Specifications.

3. Click SmartWi Connection Utility Guide."

I did the first two steps without a problem -- but there was NO listing for a SmartWi Connection Utility Guide. I finally found the SmartWi utility by clicking on the Start button and scrolling through the programs, and I was able to get online without the guide.

But I discovered that I needed it again after I activated the wireless broadband service that came free (for 30 days) with the computer. I wanted to give it a try. And for the life of me, I couldn't figure out how to access it.

I brought up the User Manual again. I clicked around, trying to find the utility, to no avail. I was convinced that somehow, my computer had shipped without it. I went on to Sony.com to see if I could download another copy, but all they had was the User Guide. After literally HOURS of this, I decided to try technical support.

I chatted online with "Amy":