I just fell in love with my computer. I took an IQ test on line and I came out with an IQ of 140.  I know just a little bit about testing and I know for sure this 20 question IQ test is valid.  

I was with my family once and we were discussing stepping on the scale. Others said they step on it three times and average the three different weights it reads to determine their weight.  I step on it three times and select the lowest number to determine mine.

I love to buy things on sale. A local department store has sales where they take 50% off, PLUS 50% off that. I love it….then I wonder if I wear clothes that nobody else wants or that I’m always one year behind the styles. I don’t really care, I like my sales and I like my clothes.

I’ll get back to this blog soon. With my 140 IQ I often forget the password, so it may be a while.


I was going to blog yesterday about being forgetful, but I forgot.  Welcome to the golden years.  I used to have an excellent memory.  When looking at houses to buy if I saw eight in one day I vividly remember each floor plan in detail. I  could remember what I had last time in a restaurant, even if I hadn’t been there for a year. I could remember phone numbers, birthdays, and could add in my head.  I could go into a room and actually remember what I was getting there. I never needed a shopping list and came home with everything I needed.  

Good-bye to all of that.  These days I have replaced my memory with sticky notes, a palm pilot, calling myself and leaving a reminder on voicemmail, and putting things I need to take to the car in front of the door so I will see them on the way out.   Of course this means I need to remember to do all of these things, so I do them the second I think of it.

I have at times been very disturbed by my failing memory.  I jump from simply forgetting my grocery list to picturing myself drooling in a nursing home with a blank bewildered look on my face. Fact, I forgot the grocery list and  live independently and work three days a week at a job that requires intelligence and skills.  Not even close to walking through the nursing home door.  So I’ve decided to just accept that this old mind is like a computer and will slow down as it becomes fuller.  I have to admit that I feel  good when someone else forgets.  I love it. It makes me normal.  I have decided to accept the slips of my mind. When I am not sure if I told someone something I will say,” Did I mention?”  

I forgot to remember to write about forgetting yesterday, but I remembered today. That’s good enough.

I hate to admit it, but I think I spend more time with my computer than with any one person.  I live alone, so it almost feels like a relationship.  We even go out to lunch once in a while, usually to Panera Bread.  Once a week we drive 45 minutes into Tampa to the Apple Store. I get a one on one tutorial  to learn how to communicate better with, uhm,  I guess his name is Mac.  It’s a little like couples therapy, but Mac never gets defensive or blames me for anything.

I do get concerned about the time I spend with Mac.  There are books to be read, tasks to be done, phone calls to be made where I speak to actual people.  For the most part Mac is a good friend. He was good enough not to mention my new haircut. Although he is very quite and sits silently in his place he is very alluring.  If I wonder about a subject I just go to Mac and he searches for the answer.  Whenever I think of something I want to say to a friend, Mac is there to relay the message.  If I need directions he’s there to offer a map.  When I need a recipe there’s good ole Mac with tons of recipes including comments by those who have already made it. Need a product, he’s right there and I know how to push his buttons so he’ll search around and find a list of all of the best prices.  

This is the most incredible thing.  Mac is not jealous at all.  He helps me to find men to date.  He’ll show me their pictures and give me all sorts of personal information about them.  I think he knows its mostly for naught, but likes to see me get out of the house once in a while.

I do not think my relationship with Mac is all that healthy.  If I don’t watch it I’ll become addicted to him to the exclusion of more important things, like life.

I cut my hair, from long to almost shoulder length. I feel I belong in the 50’s. The really scary thing is that I look like my mother who got a C- when it came to hair styles. The other scary thing is that it always looks best when the stylist does it.  When I was shopping today I  looked like an egotist because I kept running to every mirror I saw to see what I looked like.  I don’t know why I had to keep checking. I was hoping I would begin to like it during the brief  span between mirrors. I kept glancing at other woman’s hair and felt a grudge towards those who had long stylish hair and liked it when I saw long frizzy hair.

My hair is naturally curly, very curly and there is A LOT of it.   I knew just how to work it when it was long to make it look pretty good in 30 seconds.  Product. Scrunch. Scrunch. Scrunch. I’m set. Today it was styled in a sort of straight flippy do – think the 50’s. Now I’m concerned about tomorrow when I go it alone.  I can try to do what the stylist taught me which never works, I can try product, scrunch, scrunch, scrunch, pray. I can wear a sun hat, I do live in Florida.

I think I’ll read my last blog to remind myself nobody cares.

Oh me, oh my, I thought I had proofread my last post, but I just reread it, and wanted to erase the whole thing. I should learn not to do this so late at night, as I am not all the coherent after a long day. At this age I know myself well enough to know what mistakes I will continue to make and this will be one. Sorry folks. Actually I did proofread it, just not well enough. My new motto in life is “Nobody cares.” Nobody cares is a motto I wish I had incorporated into my philosophy of life at an earlier age

My hair is out of place…… nobody cares.

I have a little stain on the front of my shirt…… nobody cares.

I wish I made a different main dish for the dinner guests……. nobody cares.

I didn’t make my bed today…… nobody cares.

I don’t know what kind of dress I should wear to the wedding…….. nobody cares

Everyone else is talking to somebody…….. nobody cares

I should have gotten a better wine to bring to the party………. nobody cares

I made a typo ……… nobody cares

I forgot to ………… nobody cares

I sound so self centered on this blog ………. nobody care

On this blog or in this blog?………… nobody cares

I’ve always been intrigued by newborns.  I remember when my daughter was born just watching her every move and being thrilled by it all. The little scrunchy facial movements, her arm and legs moving in all directions, her little baby noises.  It was the closest I ever came to heaven on earth.  Fourteen months later with the birth of my son I was too busy with two babies to be able to afford myself that joyous pleasure. Sorry Sam, well actually, sorry self.

For the past two weeks I have been helping my daughter after the birth of my newest grandson, Mikey. Again I was able to bask in the wonderment of a new life.  Now that I am home my mind continues to visualize that tiny little face, those little hands and feet, the way he yawns, hiccups, and the satisfaction and sense of accomplishment when he finally burps.  When that happens everyone in the room cheers.  The 1200 miles that separate us bothers me.  Jet Blue will benefit.

Now his big brother, an almost three year old, I will call Cakie, is an entirely different pleasure. He  just makes me laugh with his antics and warms my heart when he runs up to me, puts his arms around my legs and says, “I love you, Grandma.”  He’s lost his thrown as the king of the castle and at this point is dealing well with that. His Moms and their friends make it a point to give him time and presents when they come to see Mikey.  Cakie like all of us likes to get presents.  He plays with the present for a while and then always says to the person, “I really like this.”  There have been a myriad of gifts each thrilling to him.  Little pills like capsules when soaked in water become small sponge toys. My personal favorite. A small SCUBA diver toy that allows me to tell him that Grandma knows how to SCUBA dive.  I’m a hero for a moment until he goes onto the next thing. Books and more books. There are some benefits to giving up the crown.

I am truly a Goldengrrrl when I see my children happy and when I see my grandchildren period.


As I age it always seems that when I read about someone five years younger than me,  I think they are old, and then I suddenly realize I am OLDER than they are.  When I was sadly listening to a rescue of an elderly lady in a fire they stated her age at the end as 53. To me 53 becomes more middle aged as each year passes.  I am probably one in a million who believes that she looks and acts younger than her actual age, Hooray for us!  I have long curly, girly hair and for the past year have been asking people if my hair is too wild for my age. I finally realized that it must be my very own self who thinks this, so I’ll cave and cut three inches off.  I was watching some fashion show about jeans, how they should be cut, pocket placement and such, and when they got to the more mature model and said that her jeans should be understated and very plain.  They are probably right, but I never even thought about age appropriate jeans.  Living in Florida I can delude myself that I am younger, so many people are a lot older.  However every once in a while when I’m in the mall I will see a spunky little very old lady looking at the sales as she is hooked up to an oxygen machine.  That’s my dream, to still be shopping when I’m in my 80’s. I plan to drive to the mall myself, take myself out for a bite, and have energy left to climb the two flights to my bedroom.

It’s been a long time since I’ve written  on my blog.  The format to do it changed and I just scratched my head and never figured out what to do.  Now I’m with my daughter and she has helped me to start again.

There’s been a few times I wanted to write, a couple of times I felt down and wanted to pour my heart out.  This blog seems like a good place to do it.  I have a difficult time dealing with being tired more than I would like and it get me depressed, especially if I haven’t been doing much..  I’ve always been fairly energetic, and can go, go, go but recently I have just poop out. I hate it.  Now I’m not sure it is my age  or that there has been something physically happening to my body.

I have had a bad taste in my mouth for a number of month that had become increasing worse in the pat month, and then it seemed to alter my sense of taste.  This frightened me enough to go to my MD.  I usually go to him later, rather than sooner.  He seemed  a bit concerned and said to go off of all my supplements for a month and if nothing changed he’d do a brain scan.  A BRAIN SCAN!!!  That can’t be.  It’s too scary and I’m invincible. Oh no!  I’ve been off of the supplements for a week, and that taste in  my mouth is gone.  Sigh of relieve.  So it was either the supplements or something environmental in my house as I’ve been visiting my children for the last week. In either case, it is not anything in my brain.  I need to keep this brain up and running as long as possible.

I don’t seem to be highly motivated to blog.  Who cares, I’m 60 something, and I am at the sauntering though life age.

I’m still having fun with internet dating.  I’m meeting so may  interesting men.  This week-end I’m going out with someone who went to Yale law school with Hillary and Bill.  I’m going to have a hard time restraining myself  from finding out about them, instead of finding out about him.  Then of course I have a little of    he for real? thoughts. 

My drug of choice is St. John’s Wort. It is known to help with mild depression, and I can verify that it does. Usually an optimistic person I have recently found myself looking at life as if the cup is almost empty. Realizing that I was doing a lot of whining in my head about this and that, I gradually become aware that I was depressed. I knew it was a chemical imbalance as absolutely nothing in my life had changed since all of those days I was perfectly fine.

I rummaged through my medicine cabinet,  as I remembered having some left since the last time this happened. I read the label and preceded to take them as prescribed. Two tablets three times a day. Although my memory isn’t what it used to be, I have remembered these each and every time. Sure enough after taking them for a while life is good again. Now I have to convince myself to continue them for a reasonable amount of time to get those neurotransmitter do to their job on their own.

Internet dating has been fun this week. Is it me or is it Memorex? I spoke with someone who it turns out lived on the same street as I in a tiny little town in PA way back when. Not only that but his daughter was friends with my sons best friend from age 3- 7. Turns out this little kid, ended up with about a 4 point average in college and is now a CPA. Michael? Little Michael.

I’m also talking with a man who lives near my children in NY. Is this my chance of being able to move from Florida and live near my kids? Fantasy are so much better than reality. He is in the same profession as I. I’m a workaholic in recovery. He’s still a workaholic. I need someone who will smell the roses with me. Sorry Sam (my son, who tells me never to use clichés.)

Another internet guy, is very bright, verbalizes relationship savvy, thinks he likes me a lot even before he’s met me (oops), and may even be a possibility. I’m meeting him tonight. I’ll see.

Believe me I’d like to have one man in my life instead of all of this, but I usually enjoy the process. Hey, I’m in my 60’s, I can do whatever I want and have learned to enjoy it all, with a little help from St. John’s Wort.